Run This Town: Complete Series Read online

  Run This Town

  A Dark City Romance

  Sadie Black

  Lost Coastline Media

  Contents

  Swirl Saturdays

  Copyright

  Run This Town 1

  Run This Town 2

  Sadie Black

  Don’t Miss These Deals!

  About the Author

  Swirl Saturdays

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  Copyright © 2015

  All rights reserved.

  Published 2016.

  All titles are reprinted with permission.

  Copyrights are retained by the original authors.

  Please note that this is a work of fiction. This book does contain graphic depictions of sexual activity and adult language. It is intended for mature readers over the age of 18. All characters, fictionally depicted, are over the age of 18.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  Run This Town 1

  Ciara

  With one week to go before she was scheduled to move to New York, Theo invited Ciara to dinner with his parents. She was sure that it would be their way of bidding her a safe trip.

  She was wrong.

  From the way they continued to question her choices, Ciara wondered if it wasn't a last ditch effort to keep her in Iowa with their son.

  "I suppose I don't understand why you need to go all the way out there when our Theo is so gainfully employed." Southern finery clung to his mother's words.

  The family moved from their cozy home in Louisiana to Iowa following hurricane Katrina and never went back. From time to time, Theo spoke of his youth in the south and the injustices he'd endured based solely on the color of his skin. Each memory he shared made Ciara happy she always lived in bigger cities. Sure she'd dealt with racism and ignorance too, but she'd never been in danger of losing her life.

  With a small huff, Suzanne sank back in her chair and shifted her weight from thigh to thigh. The pearls around her neck caught the light from overhead and gleamed. Burgundy lips dipped momentarily into a frown.

  "I think what my wife is trying to say," Theo's father picked up where she left off. The preacher was a rotund man with a bald, polished head. There was a grit to his voice most vocal when he laughed, "is that you could stay here and do your internet writing while Theo brings home a salary. That's the point of the internet, isn't it? Why travel all the way to New York?"

  She could explain her choices a hundred times, but Ciara knew they'd never understand.

  "Your wine will be arriving shortly," the waiter interrupted the inquisition, and Ciara was thankful. "L'illustriosi apologizes for the delay. We would like to offer each of you a complementary apple blossom for dessert to thank you for your understanding."

  "With the price my son is paying for this meal," Theo's mother declared, "I'd expect to be compensated. What is it that could delay wine, of all things? How ridiculous."

  Embarrassment burned hot in Ciara's cheeks, but she didn't let it infect her voice. Instead, her words were confident and clear. Waiting on tables was difficult enough without customers who puffed up over every tiny issue, and she wanted to avoid a scene. Ciara's heart went out to their server; she had to give him an out.

  "Apple blossoms sound fantastic. Thank you very much. Please bring the wine as soon as it is available, it's no issue."

  The waiter caught her eye, his nod of thanks was minuscule, but she caught it before he took his leave. Theo's mother still huffed and puffed, offended over a matter that didn't bother her until it was pointed out. Ciara hoped that she'd never become so particular.

  Ciara turned in her chair to look to her right, catching Theo's eye. "Theo, you're paying for this?" she asked in disbelief. This was the same man who went out earlier that day to buy a suit he intended to return, because the return policy would guarantee it would be less expensive than a rental. The same man who'd once invited her over for a romantic dinner and prepared ramen noodles. Theo's parents were delusional about their son's income, but Ciara wasn't blind. Tonight's dinner was too lavish to fit Theo's budget. Letting him bring her here was a mistake.

  "Yeah, I got it," he said with a curt nod. There was a tightness to the way he spoke that suggested the opposite. They'd been dating for a little more than eight months, and Ciara could tell when he was lying. Why would he bring everyone out here when it was well beyond his budget? There were plenty of other restaurants to choose from that were much more affordable. Why blow what little savings he had on a farewell meal? Especially when the unspoken truth was that the relationship was dead in the water?

  "Theo..."

  Ciara found her appetite lacking. Although they'd seen each other often at the beginning of their relationship, lately she saw Theo once, maybe twice a week. Not for lack of availability. The few possessions in her apartment were packed. Now she spent her days attempting to secure small details concerning her place in New York.

  It wasn't as though she were avoiding Theo, but the thrills of a new life appealed to her more. Ciara had dated plenty of men, but none had ever captured her heart. Not seeing Theo didn't hurt, because the truth was, she just wasn't attached to him.

  The same probably couldn't be said for the man to her right.

  Ciara's eyes were still on her Theo when the waiter returned, a round, silver tray balanced on extended fingers. Four tall flutes of sparkling wine glimmered under the restaurant lights as he placed each glass around the table. The last flute of wine was placed before Ciara, and the man bowed his head politely and made his leave.

  "Oh lord," Theo's mother declared in a shrill falsetto. Did she find a smudge? A speck of sediment in the bottom of her cup? Whatever the emergency was this time, Ciara wasn't interested. It was Theo who held her attention now.

  The young man fixed her to her spot with a downy, affectionate gaze. Lower lip naturally pouted, big brown eyes gorgeous, Ciara found it hard to look away. Guilt sang in her heart as though it were a bow upon a violin. Theo was much more serious about their relationship than she was — why was she only seeing it now?

  "Ciara," Theo said, eyes darting away from hers to look at the glasses of wine, "are you thirsty?"

  "What?" The question left her perplexed, and her confusion drew furrowed lines of distress from Theo's brow. Once more he glanced past her toward the table, as though encouraging her to look. Ciara took the bait.

  The tall, pale flute of sparkling white wine was generously filled, bubbles rose merrily from its depths. But neither the wine nor the glass it sat in kept her attention for long. Sitting in the bottom, visible against the pale liquid within, was a simple diamond ring.

  Ciara's heart sank.

  All of it happened quickly, and yet time seemed to stretch on forever simultaneously. The heavy scrape of wooden chair legs against the restaurant's fine wood floor was far too loud to be real. The rush of air as Theo stood from his chair, approached her, and then sank to one knee chilled her to the core. Ciara watched in horror as he kneeled beside her.

  "Ciara Renee Simmons," Theo said, voice booming against the sudden silence of the restaurant. Ciara couldn't lift her gaze. She was certain every diner had stopped what they were doing to watch the scene unfold.

  "You're beautiful, smart, funny, and you've made me happier than I've ever been. I know I don't have all that much to offer you, but what I do have, I want to share it all with you. Don't go to New York; sta
y here and be my wife. I swear I'll work my hardest so you never go without, so long as you'll make me the luckiest man in the world."

  All of the air left the room — no matter how much Ciara inhaled, her lungs were starved for another breath. Her throat closed up, and speaking was impossible. Instead of replying, one of her hands rose to cover her mouth, slender eyebrows raised high in shock. The guilt that loudly played its tune with her heart dropped down to infect her stomach.

  "What a beautiful bride she will be!" His mother's exclamation didn't help.

  The silence became awkward, Ciara's hand still in front of her mouth. Sweat beaded on Theo's brow, and she watched as a drop of it gathered at his temple and slid down the side of his face. He was nervous, and he had every right to be.

  "Ciara," he insisted from his position before her, "please, say something..."

  At the back doors leading into the kitchen, the staff clustered around to watch. Every occupied table in the place was watching for her, waiting for her acceptance. Theo's mother and father sat across from her and to her left, witnessing everything. And then there was Theo, the simple, beautiful butcher kneeling before her, pleading for the heart that belonged to no man.

  The hand dropped delicately from before Ciara's mouth, there was no smile for Theo behind it.

  "No," she whispered, hoping that the sound would not carry to the other patrons. Even though it was a rejection, she hoped to spare Theo the embarrassment of her denial. In truth, Ciara's heart bled for him; the guilt she felt wouldn't hurt as much as it did otherwise. "Theo, I can't... I'm sorry."

  Silence stretched between them and the others in the establishment. After a long moment, hushed murmurs babbled like white noise from other tables. People started to talk. At the very least, she heard no snickers. The noise broke the paralysis that froze Ciara and Theo in this painfully eternal moment, and as Theo's lips opened to protest, Ciara pushed her own chair back to rise abruptly. The action cut off his unspoken words.

  "I'm sorry," she repeated, and genuinely meant it. The tone of her voice was sharper and colder than she would've liked, and Ciara regretted it instantly. Theo deserved better. Theo deserved a woman who loved him. A woman who could please his demanding mother. A woman who'd be content with staying home and taking care of the house and the beautiful babies he would give her.

  A future like that wasn't one Ciara wanted. Not with him, maybe not with any man. She refused to trade her passion and her budding career for a stale future with a man she felt little for.

  "Ciara..."

  Ciara grabbed her purse from the floor by her chair, avoided the gazes of every man and woman who now thought she was a callous bitch, and left.

  New York had her heart. It called out to her, and she wouldn't choose anything over her true love. No man would stand in the way of her brilliant future.

  * * *

  Luka

  Luka Belmonte pulled a crisp Benjamin from his wallet and shook it with a whip of his wrist. The snap of his hand through the air drowned beneath the throbbing bass that thudded in the air. With a broad grin, he rolled the bill and leaned over the polished table before him.

  In the sparse lights of his private room at Mad Hatter's, the two even lines of coke cut before him looked pink. Hell, just about everything had a reddish tint to it. The back lights along the walls were to blame. Luka didn't mind the color — chicks preferred the pink room. He requested it every time he visited. Very rarely was a Belmonte refused anything. Tonight was more of the same.

  The bill tucked against his nostril, a finger plugged the opposite side. Luka ran the makeshift straw down the first line, snorting deep. The burn was immediate, and as he drew back, he shook his head and laughed aloud.

  This, this was what he'd needed.

  Another tight laugh burst from his throat, and he switched the bill to his other nostril. The second line disappeared, Luka dropped the bill on top of the crumbs that remained and settled back against the bench. Tucking his hands behind his head, he snorted one last time. The coke in his nasal passage wedged itself deep, where it would absorb nice and easy. The hit would be his to enjoy. The grin persisted.

  "Bro," Gino insisted from beside him, "you gotta snort some water after you do a line. You want your nose to crust up and get blocked before the end of the night? That's how fuckers get hooked on crack, ya know? You can't do coke when all the fucking baking soda it gets cut with turns to dry, crumbly snot and fucks you up. If you want to keep having a good time tonight, keep your nose wet."

  Luka set his gaze on the man to his left. Gino was a big guy — not fat, but built — with a sweet round baby face chicks went gaga for. He'd never seen the appeal, but then again, Luka had never been into dudes.

  Not that he was jealous.

  Gino's toned body might have the ladies flocking, but he had something the brute didn't: charisma. A charming pretty boy could get just as much tail as a muscle man, if he asserted himself. And Luka was the kind of guy who always asserted himself. Besides, Gino was behind bars long enough that Luka already picked the litter clean of all the best pussy. A little friendly rivalry after all this time was refreshing. Good for the soul, even.

  "What are you talking about, snorting water?" Luka asked in a half sneer. The arms behind his head folded just a little as he turned to look straight at him. "You want me to suck water up from a glass with my cash? No fuckin' way. I don't want soggy money."

  "Dipshit," Gino said affectionately with a shake of his head. His meaty hand grabbed one of the water glasses and slid it across the table so it sat between them. "You dip your pinky in, stick it in your nose, and snort. Just a little bit's all it's gonna take. You'll thank me come three AM when you're raging and everyone else is crusted and ruined."

  "They teach you that in prison?" Luka dipped his pinky into the water, collected a generous droplet of water on the pad of his finger, then snorted. The burn inside the bridge of his nose and in the back of his throat lessened. The gesture was repeated, and the burn was near extinguished. All that remained was the swelling energy of his approaching high. It was going to be a good one.

  "No. It's just common sense, moron."

  Luka slammed his fist into Gino's arm, and in retaliation, the convict caught his neck in a headlock and wrestled him down until his head was flush with the last few crumbs of cocaine. If they hadn't been best friends, Luka would've been terrified. As it was, he knew Gino would never hurt him. If there was a guy he had to trust with his life, Gino would be it.

  "Uncle!" Luka shouted in good humor, making sure he was heard over the electronic pulses. "Ugh, fucking uncle! I give! You got me!"

  "Always were a little shit," Gino said affectionately as he released his friend. "Remember when we were five, and you shoved the bayonet from one of your army men into my ass cheek while I was watching television? Twenty-three years later, and I never forgot that. Should have dropped you then, but here we are."

  It was only half of the story. Gino had smashed his brand new marble maze fifteen minutes before that, and when Luka found it in pieces on his bedroom floor, he'd been pissed. A bayonet in the ass was a small price to pay for being a prick. Luka had wanted that marble maze for months, and Gino fucking knew it, too.

  "Yeah yeah, all talk, you. Always the same. You're like a cat, you know that? In and out of my life, and as soon as you get back in, you want out."

  The first soaring highs of the coke began to set in. Luka felt on top of the world, like he had the strength and energy to do anything. As he spoke, his eyes darted across the small dance floor to watch the chicks he'd brought in from the main section of the club grind against one another.

  Vodka flowed like water, but all they seemed to want to do was put on a show for him. Luka wasn't going to complain. "But let me tell you something, Gino. I know what you did the last time you walked outta my life. I know whose house you went mewling around at, demanding to be fed. You're a good guy — a great guy — but you fucked up bad this time. I'm turning
over a new leaf, and I can't have connections to the seedier side of life haunting me, understand?"

  Short skirts that barely concealed round asses rode up over sleek thighs. The pink lights painted them in an infernal light and glittered like hell fire. The display was fitting of Luka's last night of liberty. Tonight, he was still the Devil of his own domain. Come tomorrow, he'd be a changed man.

  "You're breaking my heart, Luka," Gino exclaimed dramatically. He took a credit card from his pocket and doled out a few more lines of coke on the pristine table of their booth. Apart from the gaggle of ladies and the bartender, they were the only souls in the room.

  Luka wasn't worried about tonight's activities leaking out to any media moles. The nightlife knew him well, and it wasn't newsworthy that he was spending a night on the town. What would perk the ears of every shark reporter in New York City would be when they discovered the infamous Belmonte boy had stopped partying.

  "Where I'm going, I can't be hanging around men who've taken falls for the mob," Luka insisted. "If you were still covert, sure, but your name is ruined now. And if your name is ruined, then me hangin' around you isn't going to be any good for my image. It's all about image, now. You gotta understand that."

  "Yeah yeah, I gotcha, I gotcha. I knew this party boy act couldn't last forever. I'm just glad I got one more night out of you before we have to go our separate ways."

  "A last hurrah for a friendship over two decades in the making," Luka said. To toast the announcement, Gino snatched his discarded C-note, snorting lines without hesitation. When he was done, he sat up dead straight on the bench, and hooked an arm over Luka's shoulders. The open suit coat he wore spread to reveal the crisp shirt beneath, the top two buttons undone. Gino was a hairy guy, and there was no shortage of coarse, dark chest hair to be seen.