The Unforgivable Fix Read Online Free

she swung her legs off the chaise, pulled herself up, and stood naked as he sat two inches from her. She reached for her robe and teased it onto her shoulders, savoring his slack-jawed immobility before she tied the sash and walked out of the sun into the living room.
    She knew he’d follow.
    She glanced at the clock, a silly habit from earlier times. She no longer had to justify when she poured her first drink of the day. Four years with Patrick made the rules of etiquette and decency no more applicable to her than they were to him. She stepped to the small bar on the far wall and dropped three ice cubes each into two crystal tumblers. She poured dark rum into one and gin into the other, then added equal parts of chilled tonic and squeezed a quartered lime into each.
    “What has you so riled?” She handed Patrick his rum and settled into the low-back sofa. It was turquoise silk. The same color as the sea it faced through open patio doors.
    “There’s been a raid.” Patrick’s voice was little more than a hushed whisper. “Our warehouse in Brighton. The inventory’s gone and three men are dead.”
    “Nigel Lancaster’s territory.” She crossed one leg over the other, mindful to let her robe fall open.
    “This isn’t Nigel’s doing.” Patrick downed his drink in one long gulp. “The last thing he wants is to disappoint me again. Besides, he’s spending most of his time at a London rehab hospital seeing to Jillian’s recovery.”
    She pushed his last sentence out of her mind. She’d long ago accepted the definitive actions required by Patrick’s line of work, but she didn’t need to hear the details. “These three men, you knew them?”
    “Not directly. They were guards. Teenagers trading their bravado for a spot in the organization.
My
organization. They worked for
me.
”
    Patrick began pacing. She allowed him his mounting anger. The bond Patrick shared with his men was the backbone of his empire. Drug operations were built on loyalty and protection, and Patrick spent years using his dogged devotion to his team’s wealth and safety to create an enterprise supplying narcotics to more than sixty countries. While the Mexican government targeted the older, smaller, more violent cartels, he’d forged civil alliances there and throughout South America that allowed everyone to get rich. As Nigel Lancaster and his wife had learned, Patrick dealt harshly with employees who crossed or disappointed him, but he always kept his men safe from external mayhem.
    “It’s the fucking Russian.” Patrick paced the room.
    “How can you be sure? Was there a message?”
    “What more message do we need beyond the brutality?” Spit flew from his lips. “He’s a barbarian. And he’s declaring war.”
    She stood and walked over to him. She couldn’t let his feral reaction to his men’s deaths build to levels that might threaten the business. Channeling Patrick’s anger effectively had always been her contribution to their partnership.
    “You need time to think.” She laid her head against his chest. “To grieve.” She pulled his hand to her breast, tucking it inside her robe. “You need to move carefully. Deliberately.”
    “I’ll put a bullet in Tokarev’s throat.” His voice rumbled against her ear. “He’s not taking what I have built.”
    “Shh…” She pressed her hips against him and caressed the small of his back. “Now’s not the time. Your serenity is your strength.” She brought a hand around to stroke his growing erection. “I want you down on your knees,” she whispered.
    He pulled away and stared into her blue eyes. She held his gaze, untied her robe, and let it drop. “Now,” she whispered.
    Patrick hesitated. Then he lowered himself and pulled her toward him, his hands massaging her back. She ran her fingers through his dark hair and moaned.
    “Your serenity is your strength,” she whispered again. “Your strength comes from me.” She pressed against him and let the soft salty