Cocky Jerk Read online

  She flashes me a smile and it’s the first time there isn’t a trace of malice, or suspicion and again, I’m fucking winded.

  She’s got a gorgeous smile.

  “Oh, and thanks for bringing me my license. I was a bitch earlier, but, well, you know what kind of day I had. It was really nice of you to go out of your way for me.”

  “Like I said, it’s no big deal.”

  “Right, because you’re friends with my boss.”

  “Exactly.”

  She nods.

  “Well, maybe you don’t tell my boss I elbowed you in the gut and asked you to pretend to be my lover? I’ve already left a shitty first impression,” she says, lowering her thick black lashes.

  Instinctively, I reach out and press a finger under her chin, forcing her eyes back to mine.

  “I don’t know about that,” I tell her, admiring her features and committing them to memory.

  I was right.

  There’s definitely more to Antonia DeLuca than meets the eye.

  “I think you leave a lot to be desired, Curly Sue,” I continue, dropping my hand back to my side. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

  “Oh, you’ll see me for sure,” she says, turning to enter the house. Closing the door, she peeks back at me, a smirk toying on her pretty mouth. Her mischievous eyes meet mine and she says, “You’ll see me in traffic court when I fight those tickets.”

  Game on, Curly Sue.

  Game fucking on.

  Chapter Six

  Antonia

  After I got rid of Hound and bid farewell to the hunky cop, I locked myself inside my childhood home and ordered a pizza—half pepperoni, half sausage, the cure to all. By the time I had scarfed down most of the pie and binged an episode of Criminal Minds, I was feeling much better. I might even go so far as to say I was relaxed. A rarity for me ever since my dad ordered me to spend my nights at the clubhouse. Coming home, though, giving myself a break from the Corrupt Hellraisers, was just what I needed to recharge.

  However, I knew it was only fleeting. Hound didn’t show up here last night of his own free will. He’s not the type to chase girls. Not when he’s looking to get in their pants and sure as hell not after he’s done with them. Which is why as soon as I heard the blare of his pipes, I knew my dad had sent him. I also knew he probably ordered Hound to drag me back to the clubhouse, and for a minute there, I expected the beast to do just that—to drag me, kicking and screaming across the lawn until he had me secured to the back of his bike.

  That’s where Marco came in. I figured if Hound thought I was on a date, he’d relent. Like he doesn’t chase girls, he also doesn’t fight for them. Well, at least that’s what I thought. I didn’t expect him to punch Marco in the jaw, but before I could analyze that, Marco fired back and almost revealed he was a cop.

  Now, it’s one thing for Tank DeLuca’s daughter to be with a man outside the club, it’s a whole different ballgame for that man to be a police officer. In an attempt to keep him from spilling the beans, I elbowed Marco in the ribs and left him reeling to go deal with Hound. As suspected, he demanded I leave with him. The caveman thing was hot when he was giving me orgasms, but it lost its appeal as soon as he zipped his pants and moved onto the next chick. Hound didn’t get to order me around. He didn’t get to act as though I was his possession—even if it was all fake and at my father’s command, and he certainly didn’t get a say in who I dated or fake dated for that matter. Bottom line, Hound needed to back off. We exchanged words, and I offered him front row seats to my pretend night with Marco, which he declined.

  Thank fuck for that.

  I don’t know how I would’ve pulled that one off. It’s one thing to force a cop you barely know to be your boyfriend, it's fucking awkward to follow that act up with asking him to get naked.

  Eventually, Hound gave up. He straddled his bike and dragged his pipes to deliver a message to my dad. All I wanted was twenty-four hours of peace. No ex-booty call meddling in my life and no overprotective father trying to control me.

  I barely got twelve hours, but it’s something.

  Sighing, I enter the kitchen and my eyes connect with my dad’s. Next time I decide to spend the night as an introvert, I might want to change the locks.

  “What are you doing here?” I question, diverting my eyes to the two cups of coffee from Dunkin Donuts he holds in his hands.

  “I gave you your time, Tonia,” he says, pushing one of the containers toward me.

  Lifting my chin, I meet his gaze and note there is an unfamiliar sense of desperation reflected in his eyes. The more I stare, the older he looks, and I start to count the lines on his face, wondering how many of them I’ve caused and if it compares to how many are a result of his beloved club.

  Shaking the thought from my head, I take the coffee and sigh.

  “Dad, I can’t do this right now. I have to get to work.”

  “Antonia this can’t wait anymore,” he says.

  From the sound of his tone, I can tell he’s losing his patience with me. I just wish I cared.

  “Now, I get I might not have been the best father to you, but I tried my hardest. You want to pull away from the club, we can talk about it…down the road. Now is not the time to act like a petulant child.”

  “A petulant child?”

  “What, you didn’t think your old man knew any fancy words?”

  Honestly? No.

  But I don’t tell him that, not when the vein in his forehead looks like it might explode. He places his cup on the counter and advances toward me.

  “Tonia, I’m all for you spreading your wings, but maybe you can do it when the club isn’t on the cusp of another street war and we don’t have the NYPD’s gang unit sniffing around, looking to throw us behind bars,” he growls, roughly running his fingers through his salt and pepper hair.

  The club is always on the verge of war. If it’s not a rival club itching to move in on my dad’s territory, it’s the mob pushing in or worse, a common street thug looking to make a name for himself. As far as the cop thing goes, of course they’re sniffing around. They’re always looking to arrest them for one thing or another. If the world ever runs out of toilet paper, they can wipe their asses with all the rap sheets of the Corrupt Hellraisers. That should tide them over.

  Meeting his gaze, I lower the coffee cup and swipe my keys from the table.

  “With all due respect, Dad, you and I both know they’ll never be a time when someone isn’t out to get you and asking me to wait to start my life isn’t fair.” I pause, tearing my eyes away from his because I can’t stand the look of regret radiating from them.

  I don’t mean to make him feel like he’s done an inadequate job at raising me. I don’t know how to get through to him. If I ask nicely, he pacifies me. More time passes and I remain a fixture in his world.

  “For the first time in my life, I’m making my own choices. I’m learning new things and I’m trying to find out what makes me happy. This internship may amount to nothing, but I’m proud of myself for even getting it and I don’t want to mess it up, so I’m going to leave now. I’m going to go to work and for eight hours, I’m going to be Antonia DeLuca. Not Tank’s daughter, not the princess of the Corrupt Hellraisers—just me.”

  Whoever that might be.

  His jaw ticks and he balls his hands into fists.

  “It’s not safe,” he scolds. “You need to be at the compound where I can protect you. Not sleeping here and working in some office that I don’t have access to.” He pauses, and his lip curls in disgust as he grinds out the next sentence. “Hound says you were on a date last night.”

  There is one thing my dad and I do not discuss and that’s my love life. For a criminal who isn’t afraid of much, the idea of his little girl getting busy with a man scares the shit out of him. I’m not complaining about it, though.

  I was eleven when I got my period for the first time and my father completely lost his shit trying to explain what was happening to me. It
was awkward as all hell and the trip to the drugstore that followed scarred me for life. When it came time for me to have my first boyfriend, Dad made Sandy, his girlfriend at the time, take me to the drugstore for condoms. He then had Butch, the road captain of the club, show me how to roll one onto a banana. Yeah, scarred might be putting it lightly. At this stage of the game, I’m not looking to put myself into therapy. The last thing we need is to have a conversation about who I’m sleeping with…or pretending to sleep with.

  “So?”

  “So…” he fumes. His eyebrows shoot up and his grip tightens around the Styrofoam cup, nearly crushing it. “Where’d you meet him?”

  Huffing out a breath, I throw my hands up in frustration.

  “What does it matter where I met him?”

  “Answer the damn question!” he roars, taking another step forward. He crushes the cup in his hand and doesn’t even flinch as the hot liquid spills all over him. The act startles me and I realize this isn’t just another power play, this is a dad truly losing his mind over the welfare of his daughter.

  I contemplate easing his worry by telling him the truth about Marco and how I used him, but then I’d have to also give up the fact he’s a cop and that might make that vein in his forehead burst altogether.

  Swallowing, I draw in a deep breath.

  “I know you’re worried about me, but I’m not going to forfeit a job I might love, to sit here and fight with you. I’ll make sure I go to the clubhouse after work and we can talk then.”

  “You’re missing the point, Tonia,” he growls. “You going off to work and being out of my sight is dangerous.”

  “No more than standing idle in a clubhouse waiting for someone to attack,” I fire back. “I bet Cash thought his wife was safe there too and that he could protect her, but that’s not how their story played out.”

  It’s a low blow and as I watch his shoulders slump with defeat, I instantly regret delivering it. Like we don’t talk about my love life, we don’t speak of all the carnage his club has caused.

  “I’m going to be late,” I murmur, grabbing my bag from the back of one of the kitchen chairs. Without giving him another glance, I turn and head for the door.

  “Antonia, don’t you dare walk away from me.”

  It’s not a demand but rather a plea and it causes me to look back at him.

  “We can talk over dinner, okay? Come to some sort of agreement?” I ask hopefully. His eyes bore into mine but he doesn’t respond. He simply gives me a jerk of his head and crosses his arms against his chest.

  “You’re hardheaded,” he says, and I smile at him.

  As rough as he is, he’s got a soft spot for me.

  “I wonder where I get that from,” I reply.

  Sighing, he runs a hand over his face. His eyes meet mine and he gives me a slight shake of his head before muttering something under his breath.

  “C’mere,” he commands softly.

  I don’t argue because I know what’s coming and when I spin around, I close the distance between us, throwing my arms around my dad’s neck as he envelopes me in a great big bear hug.

  “Call me as soon as you get in that office, Antonia. I’m not kidding.”

  * * *

  As soon as I got into the office, I didn’t call my dad. I gave Penelope my license and we got to work with the new-hire papers. An hour later I was officially an employee at the “Ask Ida” advice column with access to the server and the thousands of emails, all from people who were seeking wisdom from Ida.

  Soraya was locked in her office on a phone conference with Ida, but she had left specific instructions for me to review past published works. The idea was for me to get a feel for how to respond to the questions in an appropriate manner. Apparently, telling a cheating asshole he should get gangrene on his dick is not an acceptable response for the column.

  A little before lunch the door to Soraya’s office opens. I tear my eyes away from the cheating scumbag’s email and straighten in my chair. Soraya steps out of the office and I immediately note she looks pissed.

  “God, that fucking woman is infuriating,” she hisses as she flips her long locks over her shoulder. “Penelope!” she bellows. “If Ida calls again, tell her I’m not here.”

  “Where should I say you went?” Penelope questions.

  “I don’t care what you tell her. Tell her I died if you have to, just do not put me on the phone with that woman,” Soraya replies.

  Whoa.

  That’s quite the contrast in attitude. Yesterday she was so inviting and understanding, today she’s acting as though Ida pissed in her Cheerios.

  She must sense me staring because she quickly turns to me. The look of annoyance vanishes from her face as she sighs.

  “Oh, good, you’re working,” she says, heading for my cubicle. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to get into the system without a license.”

  My mind instantly wanders back to Marco and I’m even more grateful I didn’t have Mouse fix me up with a phony I.D.—that would be fun to explain to my already pissed boss. Forcing a smile, I shrug my shoulders.

  “So, a funny thing happened last night…when I got home Officer Pirelli was waiting for me with my license.”

  Her dark eyebrows arch curiously and she leans a hip against my cubicle.

  “Marco had your license?”

  “Yeah, he said he went back to where he pulled me over and found it lying in the middle of the street. Crisis averted.”

  A devilish grin works her lips as she crosses her arms under her chest.

  “Is that right?” she questions, smugly.

  I think I like angry Soraya better. The cat who ate the canary look doesn’t really suit her and I don’t feel comfortable having her assume there is something going on between me and her friend. Sure, it was nice of him to give me my license, and I’ll even give him some points for playing the role of my boyfriend, but that’s it. We’ve got a date in traffic court, and I plan on beating those tickets—I don’t care how hot he is.

  Attempting to divert the conversation, I turn my computer screen toward her, but she doesn’t take the bait.

  “What?” I question.

  She shakes her head.

  “Nothing,” she replies.

  “Right, okay, so…these submissions are—”

  My words get cut off as Penelope’s voice sounds.

  “Soraya, Marco—er, I mean, Mr. Pirelli, is on holding for you on line two.”

  The shit-eating grin spreads wider on Soraya’s face and I silently curse Marco as she turns on her heel and heads back into her office to take the call. When she’s out of sight, I slam my head against the keyboard.

  “Speak of the devil, and he will appear.”

  Chapter Seven

  Marco

  You know you’re fucked when you spend the better part of the night with a bag of frozen peas pressed to your cheek. Bringing Antonia her license was a mistake, but I couldn’t stay away. I wanted more of that wild woman and as I nursed a six-pack of beer and tended to my bruised jaw, I decided one chance encounter wasn’t enough.

  I wanted Antonia DeLuca in my bed.

  I wanted her writhing beneath me, screaming my name and begging me for more.

  Convincing myself I was drunk, I pushed those thoughts out of my head and forced myself to go to sleep. I figured I’d wake up a new man. I’d forget all about the hot-blooded vixen that sent a typical Monday into a fucking tailspin.

  But you know what they say, drunk words are sober thoughts. When my alarm sounded, I opened my eyes to find my hand wrapped around my cock and like a fool, I turned, expecting to see Antonia beside me.

  Dreams, man, they’ll fuck you up.

  I dragged myself out of bed, took a shower and the whole fucking time I struggled to keep her out of my mind and my hands off my junk. By the time I got to the precinct, thoughts of her resurfaced. This time she wasn’t naked and sweaty from having been fucked six ways to Sunday, she was with that sleazy bike
r, Hound, and my mind kept replaying the same words over and over.

  “Hound thinks he has some type of claim on me, that I’m his responsibility.”

  That’s a pretty big stand for a man to take when he’s not her boyfriend. I didn’t like it and instead of typing up my reports, I found myself digging into the database for information on this Hound character. I didn’t have a real name for the asshole, so I did a search on the Corrupt Hellraisers, but before the system could pull any hits, I got called out on a domestic dispute.

  Prying into Antonia’s life would have to wait.

  My partner, Richie, and I hit the patrol car and sped to the location dispatched over the radio. There we found a disgruntled wife setting her husband’s clothes on fire because he forgot to pay the cable bill. Reason seven-hundred and thirty-six not to get married.

  Women are fucking nuts, they flip on a dime and still, as Richie got on the radio with the fire department, I couldn’t help but think of Antonia. She’s definitely the type to set a man’s boxers on fire along with the begonias.

  Once the fire department came and put the fire out, we took the husband’s statement.

  “Ten bucks says he’s back in the house tomorrow,” Richie says as we finally pull away from the house.

  “Twenty says we’re here next week,” I counter.

  He shakes his head as he turns the corner.

  “If Tina ever lit my shit on fire, I’d run for the hills.”

  Raising an eyebrow, I turn to him. He’s full of shit. If Richie’s wife set his clothes on fire, he’d fuck her into next week. Like me, the guy gets off on crazy. It’s the reason he’s on his fourth wife. The first three were too timid. Tina keeps things interesting and Marco prefers a woman who raises hell from time to time.

  We’re alike in that regard.

  I like a woman who isn’t afraid to express herself. Someone who will challenge me and keep me on my toes. I’d prefer she not light my shit on fire, but if I deserved it, if I played her dirty—well, I’d expect nothing less.