The Taker (Men Of Malice Book 1), page 4
After I run out of tears to cry, I start to slow my breathing, taking deep breaths in and slow breaths out, and try to focus.
What can I see? A tooth brush, the towel hanging on the door, the shower curtain. What can I hear? The cars outside, my sister’s shit music, and Lulu laughing at the television instead of doing her homework. What can I feel? I wiggle my fingers, roll my lips together, and shift in my seat.
After several minutes, I feel more grounded. The world is still crumbling around me, but I can at least breathe again. My phone pings.
Sammy: Hey, I heard what happened! Enzo is a moron, so messed up. Let’s blow some steam tonight…or some hot guys ;)
Sammy: Cover charge and drinks are on me.
Sammy is an amazing friend. He’s right, I need a night out and a hook up. It’s been such a long time since I was with anyone. I can’t even remember what the last guy looked like. And I can count on one hand how many times I hooked up at all.
Ugh, my life is pathetic.
I get so caught up in raising the girls, my job, and making everything work. Sometimes I forget about myself. All I need is one night to let loose before I start sifting through the ashes of my dumpster fire of a life.
Me: Yeah, where and what time?
Sammy: The Bugsy Club. Around 10?
Me: Sounds good. Meet you there.
Tomorrow, I’ll start figuring everything out. There has to be a way to fix everything, even if it means leaving the city and starting all over again. Tonight, I’m going to have one final hurrah before I face the destruction that used to be my life.
Multicolored strobe lights flash through the club, making all my failures seem way less depressing. I feel free as I move my hips to the thumping bass line of whatever pop song is playing.
Nothing can touch me here.
Not my lack of job or the fact that I’m being thrown out on the streets in three weeks. Or the dismal amount of money in my bank account. Or that my sisters deserve so much better than me as their guardian.
Here, I’m just some random guy at a club, with no worries or shame. Sammy comes back from the bar with our drinks and a couple of shots we throw back.
“Feeling better?” he asks. His black hair is slicked back and for once, he’s out of his chef’s whites and gym clothes.
Not really, but I’m done talking about it. The last thing he needs is my bullshit bringing him down—his life is hard enough as it is. I take his hand and move us further into the sea of warm, dancing bodies. We have fun moving together and sipping our drinks as each song transitions into the next.
A hand curves around my stomach, pulling me into a hard, hot wall of muscle. The forearm attached to it has artful ink—flowers, a vintage car, and a Scorpio zodiac sign. Sammy winks at me, takes my drink, then floats far away enough so I can have some privacy but close enough to intervene if anything goes wrong.
I feel my stranger’s cock digging into my lower back with every grind of his hips. He controls my body, moving and swaying in time with me. His wandering hands slip beneath my shirt, rough fingertips touching every inch of skin from my chest to right above the waistband of my jeans, skimming right above where my painfully hard length aches behind my zipper.
It’s been such a long time since anyone touched me. I need to see him, touch him.
I turn around to see a tall man with shoulder length black hair, olive skin, and smoldering dark eyes. He pulls me closer until there’s no space between us, slotting us together. With each movement we grind together, sending zaps of pleasure through my entire body.
He bends down, bringing his lips so close to my ear that I feel his breath tickling the sensitive skin of my earlobe.
“Want to go to the back?”
My lips skim his neck, moving up over the stubble of his jaw.
“Yes,” I breathe into his ear.
The club has a long, dark hallway on the other side of the dance floor with a supply closet, known as the back. People go there for privacy if they don’t feel like fucking for an audience in the bathroom.
He takes my hand in a firm grip, leading me through the crowd and up the half staircase out of the dance pit. A cold, prickling sensation weaves up my spine, and I slow my steps so I can peer over the crowd. Nothing stands out, but something doesn’t feel right. I push the feeling down.
It’s only pre-fuck jitters because I haven’t done this in such a long time. I’m desperate to forget how messed up my life is. I need this man to throw me against the wall and take what he needs. Use me until I’m so thoroughly ruined I can’t even think, let alone walk straight.
The only beam of light in the hallway comes from the dance floor, casting my stranger’s face in shadows. All I see are black outlines of bodies in the dark, yet I hear moans and grunts of pleasure while we walk toward the supply closet. He pushes me against the wall, crowding me in with his massive body before taking my mouth in a dominant kiss.
“You taste so sweet,” he whispers as he unbuttons my pants and shoves them to my knees. “What do you want?”
“Fuck me, please,” I rasp. “Use me.”
Another shiver flashes down my spine, right through my fingers and toes. The same foreboding feeling from earlier. Maybe it’s because I’m hooking up with a random man in a hallway, but I don’t care anymore.
He unzips his own pants enough to pull himself free and put a condom on. His hand slips under my briefs, palming me and running his finger over my head through the precum leaking from my slit. I’m panting, waiting for him to give me what I need.
“Turn around.”
I turn, letting him bend me and bring my hips out enough that I need to steady myself with my hand on the wall. Looking over my shoulder, I see him pop two fingers into his mouth and move them in and out, hear the wetness as he gathers his spit. He rubs it onto my rim before gently pushing one finger inside.
The slight stretch is enough to relax me into opening up. He takes me in hand, pumping my cock and working me into a needy mess as he works me up to a second finger.
“Christ, you’re tight,” he grunts.
“I bet he is. Thanks for getting him started for me,” a familiar voice rings out through the darkness.
My stomach drops in fear yet my cock kicks up, the opposite reactions giving me whiplash. If not for the wall supporting me, my knees would give out.
Please, universe. No.
But it seems the universe isn’t on my side tonight. She’s probably laughing her ass off at me.
A shadowed figure stands next to my nameless stranger, his hand gripping his shoulder. A strobe light shines through the hallway, illuminating Rocco Vettore’s face and the gun he has pressed to my stranger’s neck. His jaw is tense and a murderous gleam shines in his eyes as they narrow on where my stranger’s fingers are knuckle deep inside me.
“Get your fingers out of my toy’s asshole, or I’ll put a hole in your carotid artery,” he growls in a deep, ominous voice that makes the need coiling inside me practically snap. I shake as I take in his menacing expression.
The stranger complies, and the emptiness I feel is nothing compared to the unbidden lust and staggering fear coursing through my veins right now. I’m not sure if I want to run or drop to my knees.
“Hey, I didn’t know he was yours. He told me to fuck him,” the stranger begs.
Rocco doesn’t even dignify him with a response, turning his glare to me. “Put your pants back on. Follow me outside, or I shoot this piece of shit in the hallway.”
My hands shake so badly, I struggle to pull my pants up and adjust myself so I can zipper them closed. Rocco pulls me next to him, then turns on the flashlight on his phone. Everyone scrambles out of the hallway.
“Hold this, shine it in front of us,” he orders, not even looking at me as he thrusts his phone into my hand. I hold it steady enough that we’re able to move further down the hallway, to an unmarked door at the end.
One of Rocco’s hands grips the stranger’s throat as the other holds the gun to the back of his head. The stranger’s crying is the only thing I hear aside from the blood rushing through my ears.
“Open the door,” Rocco grits out. His voice is deceptively calm given the furious expression on his face.
Cold air smacks me in the face as we file out into an alleyway. Old brickwork and the cloying smell of the city—a mix of trash, exhaust fumes, and fried food—surrounds us.
A street lamp and the cars at the far end of the alley provide enough light for me to see a sly, deranged grin spread across Rocco’s face, distorting his handsome features into something demonic. Something so frightening I can barely breathe.
His gun is sleek, black metal with a silencer on the end, much like the one my dad hid in his bedside drawer. I’m not sure if the cold is making me shiver, or the unshakable feeling that something bad is about to happen.
The stranger is sobbing now, his face pale as his tears fall to the pavement. Rocco throws him to his knees.
“P-please don’t kill him!” I manage to say, despite the fear that’s threatening to cave in my chest.
His body is close enough that I can feel his rage fill the alley, wave after wave hitting me. He takes my jaw with his thumb and finger, tilting it up so I’m forced to look at his smug, deceitfully perfect face. He digs his fingertips into my skin, and the pain doesn’t make me feel the way it should. It feels good.
The street lamp creates a preternatural glow behind him, like he’s some kind of dark, merciless being. A demon in the flesh instead of a mortal man.
“Oh, not so brave now, huh? You don’t want to take a bullet for him?” he mocks as he rubs his thumb over my cheek, lighting my entire body up with his touch. “My little lion cub is only brave when it’s my life on the line… I’m touched.”
Grabbing my jaw in his hand, he directs my attention to the stranger on the ground. My whole body vibrates, because I don’t know what to do, or how to stop this.
Or if I want to stop it…
The thought reverberates through my mind as Rocco pulls the trigger, shooting the man in the stomach. Blood rapidly blooms across his shirt. He tips over, coughing and groaning in pain as his life is snuffed out.
“I feel like playing roulette with his life tonight. Let’s see if someone finds him before he dies.” Rocco laughs, as if this man’s survival is truly a game to him. “Leo, you’re going to provide me with so much entertainment.”
I can’t move. I can’t breathe. My eyes are glued to the dying man on the floor.
He shot him for touching me…
His warm hand squeezes the back of my neck, steering me through the alleyway and into a black car parked on the street. I space out, staring at the window, losing myself in the cars, buildings, and people we pass. I know we’re moving, but I’m not sure where we’re going. All I can focus on are the chorus of thoughts in my mind.
It’s your fault he’s dying.
You’re a murderer.
You’re weak, you stood there and let it happen. All because you wanted a hookup.
Whore.
Rocco’s hand grabbing my thigh snaps me out of the darkness of my own mind. His grin is gone, replaced by a disappointed, cold expression.
Why is my immediate reaction to apologize? This whole thing makes no sense. I need to wake the fuck up and get out of this car, before I’m shot next.
“Please have your driver pull over, I want to get out.”
Rocco says nothing, only holds my gaze.
The car speeds up and I start to panic. Where is he taking me?
“Let me out of the car, now.” I try to sound confident, but my voice shakes.
The partition is up, but I still scream. “Pull over! Let me out!” to whoever is driving.
I try to open my door, as if I’d actually have the guts to tuck and roll out, but it’s locked. Rocco snickers, and the sound is akin to keys locking shackles around me.
I’m trapped.
He lunges across the seat, his hand snatching mine off the car door handle. He uses it to pull me into his lap, right on top of his hard dick. I thrash around, trying to break free of his hold, but he collars my throat with enough pressure to the sides to slow my breathing, pinning me still.
“Stop fighting me, because it’s only going to turn me on more,” he warns. His other hand rubs my cock over my pants, and the simple touch makes me lightheaded. “Seems like I’m not the only hard one…”
He tightens his grip around my throat, and a whine slips free from my lips. My face heats in embarrassment.
“Oh you’re a sick little fuck, aren’t you?” His insult makes me even harder, and I start to panic.
Why is this turning me on so much?
The car slows as we pull into an underground parking garage for a huge building.
Rocco runs his nose up my neck and bites me right below my jaw, sinking his teeth deep into my skin until I cry out in pain.
“My toy is so responsive,” he whispers in my ear.
He walks me through the garage to an elevator with a firm hand on the back of my neck. After using a card and punching in a code on a keypad, he presses a button with a P. His fingers dig into my skin and remind me that I’m being led to a random location by a man who just murdered someone in cold blood. He laughed about it like it was a game and left the body there.
I start to shake. Am I next? The image of him shooting the stranger in the alleyway plays in my mind again, and I can only imagine what fate awaits me when the elevator stops. Tears roll down my face, but I try to be as silent as possible. I refuse to show him any more weakness.
When the door opens, I sigh in relief.
It’s an apartment. P must mean penthouse.
He walks me through a tastefully decorated foyer and living space, down a hallway. I can’t concentrate, but I do notice how masculine the space is, with hues of blue, gold, and cream interwoven throughout. The room he takes me into is a bedroom with cream walls, oak furniture, and a bed with a navy spread. The bedframe is a mix of the same wood and wrought iron.
Rocco sets me on a plush chaise lounge in the corner. “There are towels and toiletries in the ensuite. Throw the clothing you’re wearing away in the trash. I’ll leave you something to wear on the bed.”
“Take me home. I’m not showering here,” I ask again, my voice smaller than I’d like. An errant curl falls into my face, and he flicks it back, his knuckle brushing my forehead.
Even though this man is a murderer—someone who carves his victims and leaves them to die—I don’t flinch. The feeling of his skin on mine is pure heat. A warm feeling pools in my stomach and makes me squirm. I take a few steps back to put some distance between us, because I don’t want to feel this way around him.
I can’t.
He stalks toward me and rips my cheap button up open, smiling when the buttons ping as they hit the floor beneath us. I gasp as he pulls my shirt off and rips it in half, then throws the pieces at my feet. He’s breathing heavily, his face twisted in frustration.
“You will shower and throw your clothes away. I don’t want the remnants of someone else’s touch on your skin.” A heat flashes through his eyes as something dark and depraved settles there. It’s so malicious, I can feel it like a physical touch. “You’ll wash every inch of yourself, or I’ll do it for you. You have twenty minutes to meet me in the study down the hall, second door on the left.”
His words make my face heat as shame courses through me. I shouldn’t want him to follow me in. Or to feel his strong, tattooed hands on my body as he washes another man’s touch off me. I should be scared shitless of him, fighting tooth and nail to escape his penthouse.
But the molten heat I feel deep inside me isn’t fear…it’s arousal. I have no clue what’s wrong with me, or how I could be attracted to someone who’s a literal walking red flag.
My resolve is slipping away, and I don’t know how to rein it in again.
But I do know that if I want to make it out of here in one piece, I can’t let him have me. I have to stay strong, no matter what. I can’t afford to get wrapped up with a man like him. My sisters depend on me, and I’m the only person keeping them from living on the streets.
I can’t get caught in his trap, because Rocco Vettore is a monster. And nothing good comes from giving in to a man like him.
6
ROCCO
His eyes go wide at that threat, but instead of fighting me he shuffles toward the ensuite, his head hanging low. I know he won’t be this compliant forever. He’s only behaving because he’s in shock from watching his hook up bleed out in a dingy alleyway.
Good.
That fucker shouldn’t have touched what was mine in the first place.
Hopefully the warm water can wash away some of Leo’s shock and bring him back to baseline.
I need him to have the same fight he had when he walked out of the restaurant and never looked back. The same confidence as when he was moving on the dance floor with his little friend from work.
It’s no fun playing with a toy whose spirit is already broken.
While he cleans up, I go to my study to make a call.
“Giuseppe, do you have any updates?”
“None, sir. No one has left his apartment via the front doors or bedroom windows since he left. The men I have stationed outside Leo’s apartment and building are on watch rotation until he returns.”
“Good. Let me know of any major changes.”
I’ve been keeping an eye on Leo’s apartment ever since he threw himself into my path. Mostly to keep track of his habits, routines, and his sisters. Leverage is truly just another word for knowledge—the more you know, the more control you have.
I want complete control over my toy. To own him, ruin him. Hold his life in my hands.
I sit at my desk and answer emails for a while. With two minutes to spare, Leo walks into the office and stands in front of my desk, eyes downcast as he waits for me to speak. He may have an inner strength, but his natural submissiveness is impressive.
What can I see? A tooth brush, the towel hanging on the door, the shower curtain. What can I hear? The cars outside, my sister’s shit music, and Lulu laughing at the television instead of doing her homework. What can I feel? I wiggle my fingers, roll my lips together, and shift in my seat.
After several minutes, I feel more grounded. The world is still crumbling around me, but I can at least breathe again. My phone pings.
Sammy: Hey, I heard what happened! Enzo is a moron, so messed up. Let’s blow some steam tonight…or some hot guys ;)
Sammy: Cover charge and drinks are on me.
Sammy is an amazing friend. He’s right, I need a night out and a hook up. It’s been such a long time since I was with anyone. I can’t even remember what the last guy looked like. And I can count on one hand how many times I hooked up at all.
Ugh, my life is pathetic.
I get so caught up in raising the girls, my job, and making everything work. Sometimes I forget about myself. All I need is one night to let loose before I start sifting through the ashes of my dumpster fire of a life.
Me: Yeah, where and what time?
Sammy: The Bugsy Club. Around 10?
Me: Sounds good. Meet you there.
Tomorrow, I’ll start figuring everything out. There has to be a way to fix everything, even if it means leaving the city and starting all over again. Tonight, I’m going to have one final hurrah before I face the destruction that used to be my life.
Multicolored strobe lights flash through the club, making all my failures seem way less depressing. I feel free as I move my hips to the thumping bass line of whatever pop song is playing.
Nothing can touch me here.
Not my lack of job or the fact that I’m being thrown out on the streets in three weeks. Or the dismal amount of money in my bank account. Or that my sisters deserve so much better than me as their guardian.
Here, I’m just some random guy at a club, with no worries or shame. Sammy comes back from the bar with our drinks and a couple of shots we throw back.
“Feeling better?” he asks. His black hair is slicked back and for once, he’s out of his chef’s whites and gym clothes.
Not really, but I’m done talking about it. The last thing he needs is my bullshit bringing him down—his life is hard enough as it is. I take his hand and move us further into the sea of warm, dancing bodies. We have fun moving together and sipping our drinks as each song transitions into the next.
A hand curves around my stomach, pulling me into a hard, hot wall of muscle. The forearm attached to it has artful ink—flowers, a vintage car, and a Scorpio zodiac sign. Sammy winks at me, takes my drink, then floats far away enough so I can have some privacy but close enough to intervene if anything goes wrong.
I feel my stranger’s cock digging into my lower back with every grind of his hips. He controls my body, moving and swaying in time with me. His wandering hands slip beneath my shirt, rough fingertips touching every inch of skin from my chest to right above the waistband of my jeans, skimming right above where my painfully hard length aches behind my zipper.
It’s been such a long time since anyone touched me. I need to see him, touch him.
I turn around to see a tall man with shoulder length black hair, olive skin, and smoldering dark eyes. He pulls me closer until there’s no space between us, slotting us together. With each movement we grind together, sending zaps of pleasure through my entire body.
He bends down, bringing his lips so close to my ear that I feel his breath tickling the sensitive skin of my earlobe.
“Want to go to the back?”
My lips skim his neck, moving up over the stubble of his jaw.
“Yes,” I breathe into his ear.
The club has a long, dark hallway on the other side of the dance floor with a supply closet, known as the back. People go there for privacy if they don’t feel like fucking for an audience in the bathroom.
He takes my hand in a firm grip, leading me through the crowd and up the half staircase out of the dance pit. A cold, prickling sensation weaves up my spine, and I slow my steps so I can peer over the crowd. Nothing stands out, but something doesn’t feel right. I push the feeling down.
It’s only pre-fuck jitters because I haven’t done this in such a long time. I’m desperate to forget how messed up my life is. I need this man to throw me against the wall and take what he needs. Use me until I’m so thoroughly ruined I can’t even think, let alone walk straight.
The only beam of light in the hallway comes from the dance floor, casting my stranger’s face in shadows. All I see are black outlines of bodies in the dark, yet I hear moans and grunts of pleasure while we walk toward the supply closet. He pushes me against the wall, crowding me in with his massive body before taking my mouth in a dominant kiss.
“You taste so sweet,” he whispers as he unbuttons my pants and shoves them to my knees. “What do you want?”
“Fuck me, please,” I rasp. “Use me.”
Another shiver flashes down my spine, right through my fingers and toes. The same foreboding feeling from earlier. Maybe it’s because I’m hooking up with a random man in a hallway, but I don’t care anymore.
He unzips his own pants enough to pull himself free and put a condom on. His hand slips under my briefs, palming me and running his finger over my head through the precum leaking from my slit. I’m panting, waiting for him to give me what I need.
“Turn around.”
I turn, letting him bend me and bring my hips out enough that I need to steady myself with my hand on the wall. Looking over my shoulder, I see him pop two fingers into his mouth and move them in and out, hear the wetness as he gathers his spit. He rubs it onto my rim before gently pushing one finger inside.
The slight stretch is enough to relax me into opening up. He takes me in hand, pumping my cock and working me into a needy mess as he works me up to a second finger.
“Christ, you’re tight,” he grunts.
“I bet he is. Thanks for getting him started for me,” a familiar voice rings out through the darkness.
My stomach drops in fear yet my cock kicks up, the opposite reactions giving me whiplash. If not for the wall supporting me, my knees would give out.
Please, universe. No.
But it seems the universe isn’t on my side tonight. She’s probably laughing her ass off at me.
A shadowed figure stands next to my nameless stranger, his hand gripping his shoulder. A strobe light shines through the hallway, illuminating Rocco Vettore’s face and the gun he has pressed to my stranger’s neck. His jaw is tense and a murderous gleam shines in his eyes as they narrow on where my stranger’s fingers are knuckle deep inside me.
“Get your fingers out of my toy’s asshole, or I’ll put a hole in your carotid artery,” he growls in a deep, ominous voice that makes the need coiling inside me practically snap. I shake as I take in his menacing expression.
The stranger complies, and the emptiness I feel is nothing compared to the unbidden lust and staggering fear coursing through my veins right now. I’m not sure if I want to run or drop to my knees.
“Hey, I didn’t know he was yours. He told me to fuck him,” the stranger begs.
Rocco doesn’t even dignify him with a response, turning his glare to me. “Put your pants back on. Follow me outside, or I shoot this piece of shit in the hallway.”
My hands shake so badly, I struggle to pull my pants up and adjust myself so I can zipper them closed. Rocco pulls me next to him, then turns on the flashlight on his phone. Everyone scrambles out of the hallway.
“Hold this, shine it in front of us,” he orders, not even looking at me as he thrusts his phone into my hand. I hold it steady enough that we’re able to move further down the hallway, to an unmarked door at the end.
One of Rocco’s hands grips the stranger’s throat as the other holds the gun to the back of his head. The stranger’s crying is the only thing I hear aside from the blood rushing through my ears.
“Open the door,” Rocco grits out. His voice is deceptively calm given the furious expression on his face.
Cold air smacks me in the face as we file out into an alleyway. Old brickwork and the cloying smell of the city—a mix of trash, exhaust fumes, and fried food—surrounds us.
A street lamp and the cars at the far end of the alley provide enough light for me to see a sly, deranged grin spread across Rocco’s face, distorting his handsome features into something demonic. Something so frightening I can barely breathe.
His gun is sleek, black metal with a silencer on the end, much like the one my dad hid in his bedside drawer. I’m not sure if the cold is making me shiver, or the unshakable feeling that something bad is about to happen.
The stranger is sobbing now, his face pale as his tears fall to the pavement. Rocco throws him to his knees.
“P-please don’t kill him!” I manage to say, despite the fear that’s threatening to cave in my chest.
His body is close enough that I can feel his rage fill the alley, wave after wave hitting me. He takes my jaw with his thumb and finger, tilting it up so I’m forced to look at his smug, deceitfully perfect face. He digs his fingertips into my skin, and the pain doesn’t make me feel the way it should. It feels good.
The street lamp creates a preternatural glow behind him, like he’s some kind of dark, merciless being. A demon in the flesh instead of a mortal man.
“Oh, not so brave now, huh? You don’t want to take a bullet for him?” he mocks as he rubs his thumb over my cheek, lighting my entire body up with his touch. “My little lion cub is only brave when it’s my life on the line… I’m touched.”
Grabbing my jaw in his hand, he directs my attention to the stranger on the ground. My whole body vibrates, because I don’t know what to do, or how to stop this.
Or if I want to stop it…
The thought reverberates through my mind as Rocco pulls the trigger, shooting the man in the stomach. Blood rapidly blooms across his shirt. He tips over, coughing and groaning in pain as his life is snuffed out.
“I feel like playing roulette with his life tonight. Let’s see if someone finds him before he dies.” Rocco laughs, as if this man’s survival is truly a game to him. “Leo, you’re going to provide me with so much entertainment.”
I can’t move. I can’t breathe. My eyes are glued to the dying man on the floor.
He shot him for touching me…
His warm hand squeezes the back of my neck, steering me through the alleyway and into a black car parked on the street. I space out, staring at the window, losing myself in the cars, buildings, and people we pass. I know we’re moving, but I’m not sure where we’re going. All I can focus on are the chorus of thoughts in my mind.
It’s your fault he’s dying.
You’re a murderer.
You’re weak, you stood there and let it happen. All because you wanted a hookup.
Whore.
Rocco’s hand grabbing my thigh snaps me out of the darkness of my own mind. His grin is gone, replaced by a disappointed, cold expression.
Why is my immediate reaction to apologize? This whole thing makes no sense. I need to wake the fuck up and get out of this car, before I’m shot next.
“Please have your driver pull over, I want to get out.”
Rocco says nothing, only holds my gaze.
The car speeds up and I start to panic. Where is he taking me?
“Let me out of the car, now.” I try to sound confident, but my voice shakes.
The partition is up, but I still scream. “Pull over! Let me out!” to whoever is driving.
I try to open my door, as if I’d actually have the guts to tuck and roll out, but it’s locked. Rocco snickers, and the sound is akin to keys locking shackles around me.
I’m trapped.
He lunges across the seat, his hand snatching mine off the car door handle. He uses it to pull me into his lap, right on top of his hard dick. I thrash around, trying to break free of his hold, but he collars my throat with enough pressure to the sides to slow my breathing, pinning me still.
“Stop fighting me, because it’s only going to turn me on more,” he warns. His other hand rubs my cock over my pants, and the simple touch makes me lightheaded. “Seems like I’m not the only hard one…”
He tightens his grip around my throat, and a whine slips free from my lips. My face heats in embarrassment.
“Oh you’re a sick little fuck, aren’t you?” His insult makes me even harder, and I start to panic.
Why is this turning me on so much?
The car slows as we pull into an underground parking garage for a huge building.
Rocco runs his nose up my neck and bites me right below my jaw, sinking his teeth deep into my skin until I cry out in pain.
“My toy is so responsive,” he whispers in my ear.
He walks me through the garage to an elevator with a firm hand on the back of my neck. After using a card and punching in a code on a keypad, he presses a button with a P. His fingers dig into my skin and remind me that I’m being led to a random location by a man who just murdered someone in cold blood. He laughed about it like it was a game and left the body there.
I start to shake. Am I next? The image of him shooting the stranger in the alleyway plays in my mind again, and I can only imagine what fate awaits me when the elevator stops. Tears roll down my face, but I try to be as silent as possible. I refuse to show him any more weakness.
When the door opens, I sigh in relief.
It’s an apartment. P must mean penthouse.
He walks me through a tastefully decorated foyer and living space, down a hallway. I can’t concentrate, but I do notice how masculine the space is, with hues of blue, gold, and cream interwoven throughout. The room he takes me into is a bedroom with cream walls, oak furniture, and a bed with a navy spread. The bedframe is a mix of the same wood and wrought iron.
Rocco sets me on a plush chaise lounge in the corner. “There are towels and toiletries in the ensuite. Throw the clothing you’re wearing away in the trash. I’ll leave you something to wear on the bed.”
“Take me home. I’m not showering here,” I ask again, my voice smaller than I’d like. An errant curl falls into my face, and he flicks it back, his knuckle brushing my forehead.
Even though this man is a murderer—someone who carves his victims and leaves them to die—I don’t flinch. The feeling of his skin on mine is pure heat. A warm feeling pools in my stomach and makes me squirm. I take a few steps back to put some distance between us, because I don’t want to feel this way around him.
I can’t.
He stalks toward me and rips my cheap button up open, smiling when the buttons ping as they hit the floor beneath us. I gasp as he pulls my shirt off and rips it in half, then throws the pieces at my feet. He’s breathing heavily, his face twisted in frustration.
“You will shower and throw your clothes away. I don’t want the remnants of someone else’s touch on your skin.” A heat flashes through his eyes as something dark and depraved settles there. It’s so malicious, I can feel it like a physical touch. “You’ll wash every inch of yourself, or I’ll do it for you. You have twenty minutes to meet me in the study down the hall, second door on the left.”
His words make my face heat as shame courses through me. I shouldn’t want him to follow me in. Or to feel his strong, tattooed hands on my body as he washes another man’s touch off me. I should be scared shitless of him, fighting tooth and nail to escape his penthouse.
But the molten heat I feel deep inside me isn’t fear…it’s arousal. I have no clue what’s wrong with me, or how I could be attracted to someone who’s a literal walking red flag.
My resolve is slipping away, and I don’t know how to rein it in again.
But I do know that if I want to make it out of here in one piece, I can’t let him have me. I have to stay strong, no matter what. I can’t afford to get wrapped up with a man like him. My sisters depend on me, and I’m the only person keeping them from living on the streets.
I can’t get caught in his trap, because Rocco Vettore is a monster. And nothing good comes from giving in to a man like him.
6
ROCCO
His eyes go wide at that threat, but instead of fighting me he shuffles toward the ensuite, his head hanging low. I know he won’t be this compliant forever. He’s only behaving because he’s in shock from watching his hook up bleed out in a dingy alleyway.
Good.
That fucker shouldn’t have touched what was mine in the first place.
Hopefully the warm water can wash away some of Leo’s shock and bring him back to baseline.
I need him to have the same fight he had when he walked out of the restaurant and never looked back. The same confidence as when he was moving on the dance floor with his little friend from work.
It’s no fun playing with a toy whose spirit is already broken.
While he cleans up, I go to my study to make a call.
“Giuseppe, do you have any updates?”
“None, sir. No one has left his apartment via the front doors or bedroom windows since he left. The men I have stationed outside Leo’s apartment and building are on watch rotation until he returns.”
“Good. Let me know of any major changes.”
I’ve been keeping an eye on Leo’s apartment ever since he threw himself into my path. Mostly to keep track of his habits, routines, and his sisters. Leverage is truly just another word for knowledge—the more you know, the more control you have.
I want complete control over my toy. To own him, ruin him. Hold his life in my hands.
I sit at my desk and answer emails for a while. With two minutes to spare, Leo walks into the office and stands in front of my desk, eyes downcast as he waits for me to speak. He may have an inner strength, but his natural submissiveness is impressive.
