Deep (Chicago Underground #8)(33)

My sex pulsed in wild pleasure, leaving my panties wet and my body wrung dry.

Something hitched in my chest. My first orgasm with a man had been in my dorm room, with Philip bleeding and half-conscious. And now my second, in a dirty alleyway behind the Meat Market. Were we always destined for these strange and broken moments of pleasure? Was the wholesome and sweet simply out of our reach?

My breath caught again, and then I couldn’t hold them back anymore. Tears wrenched my chest, and I fell against him. He caught me in his embrace, murmuring to me, “I know. I know it was hard for you, kitten. You were so beautiful, so brave.”

He held me until the sobs turned to quiet sniffles, until the sniffles faded to a silent numbness. And all the while he stroked my hair, my arms, my back. All the while he cradled me in his arms as if I were something precious, something rare.

*

AFTER THE BACK alley orgasm, he took me with him to his initial destination.

A pawn shop.

And it was closed. At least that was what the sign said. Philip rapped once, glanced up at the ancient-looking security camera, and waited on the cracked city sidewalk. A minute later a mechanical buzz unlocked the door.

It looked like a standard pawn shop, with shiny garland and Mardi Gras beads lining glass casing. I could see watches, jewelry, cameras. The man who emerged from the back—and the smell of pot—were pretty typical too. So what was Philip doing here?

He was the only thing out of place, austere and aloof.

The man smiled when he saw us, exposing yellowed teeth. He nodded to Philip, a greeting of two men who have met before. Then he looked me over from head to toe—his gaze, clearly accustomed to calculating things of great worth. His expression was speculative when he turned to Philip again.

“What do you have for Raine tonight?”

Without speaking, Philip pulled a small velvet pouch from his pocket and set it on the glass case.

The man pounced on it with almost childlike eagerness, tipping the contents onto a black velvet mat. There was only one thing inside—a single, brilliant diamond. My breath caught.

The man sighed in obvious admiration. “Ah Murphy, you always bring the good stuff.”

“I’m looking for a kid.”

Raine glanced at me. “Looks like you already have one.”

“A boy. Her brother.”

Raine put a small cylinder to his eye—some kind of magnifying glass. He held the diamond with tweezers and examined it. The sound he made was almost sexual and a little disturbing. “Raine knows about this.”

“You do.” The statement was low and dangerous.

Raine might have sensed the danger, but he was a little busy having a visual orgasm with his new diamond. “I don’t know where they’re keeping him, mind, but I know why.”

My heart pounded. Tyler. He knew about Tyler.

“We already know why,” Philip said, just as low, just as dangerous as before. Maybe more.

Raine looked up with a smile. “Not because of no gambling debt, Murphy.” His smile faded when he saw Philip’s face. “Because of you.”

Philip took a step toward the counter. “You have exactly one minute to explain, or this shop loses my protection.”

Bloodshot eyes widened. “I’m not involved in that shit—you know I wouldn’t—Fuck. I keep my ear to the ground, don’t I? That’s my business, isn’t it?”

“Then tell me something that helps me find him. Where is he? Who has him?”

“Someone wanted to hit you.” Raine glanced at the diamond. “Where it would hurt. It ain’t nothing to be ashamed about. Everybody got a weak spot.”

Philip went completely still. I wasn’t even sure he was breathing. And I was struggling to understand what Raine meant. Tyler hadn’t been taken because of my dad’s gambling debt? Then why?

He’d implied it was done because of Philip, but Philip didn’t care about my brother. He barely even cared about me. Except he’d been watching me. Protecting me.

Everybody got a weak spot.

If you would have asked me a week ago, I’d have said he didn’t have one.

Raine looked around at the glass cases and cluttered shelves. “People come in here, they love their things. Rings. Guitars. They can’t live without them, they tell me. But then they leave and realize that they can live without them.” He paused, studying me. Then he turned to Philip. “Let this be something you live without.”

“He’s not a thing,” I said. “Not a guitar or a piece of jewelry. He’s my brother.”

Raine smiled, a sepia-toned Cheshire cat. “I wasn’t talking to you, precious.”

I sucked in a breath. He meant me, that Philip shouldn’t help me. I was the weak spot.

“Leave,” Philip said on a breath, so quiet I barely heard him. Raine heard him. He shoved the diamond into the pouch and disappeared into the back room in a rustle of hanging beads.

“Who did you tell?” Philip asked without turning. Now it was his voice that sounded raw.

All that anger, the force of his will, was directed at me. He wasn’t even looking at me, but I could feel it—dissecting me, ripping me apart. “What are you talking about?”

“Who did you tell about me?”

My hopeless crush on him. The unsigned postcards. “No one.”