by B. B. Hamel
I reached the bouncer first. He looked up and frowned. I caught blue eyes, blond hair, a square jaw and a nose that looked like it’d been broken and reset fifty times over his life. He grunted something and stood, but I slammed the butt of my pistol down against his shoulder. He growled in pain and Ryan shoved him down to the ground. I heard Ryan kick the man in the ribs, but I was already shoving in through the door, Steven and the others hot on my heels.
There was a short, dark hall, maybe five feet at most, that ended with a door on the left. I threw it open and music rolled out, heavy and thumping, more of a vague beat than an actual song. I stepped into the room and scanned it quickly, taking it all in like a sponge. Black lights lit a stage at the far end and a girl was dancing topless, her panties glowing that strange neon green. There was a bar on the right with some men sitting at it, and tables in the center of the room, most of which were empty. Girls lounged around, and one was giving a lap dance in a booth directly across from the door. The floor was sticky as I stepped further in, letting my crew fill up the room behind me, as every eye in the place turned to stare at us.
The bartender was a thin, older man with long graying hair, a plain black shirt, and plain black pants. He staggered backwards as I stalked over toward him, my gun out. “On the fucking floor,” I barked. “On the fucking floor now.”
One of the guys in a dark blue button-down shirt and light jeans stood up and reached behind him for something in his waistband, but I reached him before he could draw. I pounded my fist into his throat, grabbed his wrist, and spun him around. A gun clattered onto the floor and I kicked it away as I raised my weapon at the other men at the bar. One was short with a black t-shirt and khaki cargo pants, and the other had on a camo tank top and jeans. They were reaching for their own guns, but my guys were flooding into the space, kicking over chairs in a clatter.
“Don’t fucking move,” I growled at the guys and they paused as Steven appeared beside them. The camo tank top guy got cracked in the skull with Steven’s pistol, and the other got Biagio’s fist in his jaw hard enough to slam his head into the bar. Biagio kicked the guy as he slumped onto the floor, and Steven threw the camo guy over the bar. His body smashed into bottles and made the bartender stagger away.
I kicked my guy in the back of the knees then shoved his face toward the floor. He hit hard and I knelt down on his back, grabbed his hair, and slammed his face down once, twice. I stopped when I saw blood leaking from his mouth and nose, a groan escaping his lips.
The girl on the stage screamed as she tried to cover her chest. She moved away and ran backstage as my boys threw the rest of the men on the floor. The guy getting a lap dance tried to run, but Ryan caught him and punched him in the ribs.
“Cover them,” I said to Biagio and the others. Steven came with me as he stormed into the back. The bartender was huddled down behind the bar, hands over his head, not trying to move. I ignored him as I stomped down a back hall and kicked open a door. The first one was a bathroom, the second one was a dressing room for the girls. Three chicks were huddled in the corner, clearly terrified. “Don’t fucking move,” I said to them. “You’ll be fine.”
I ducked back out as Steven kicked open a door. He flipped on the light as I swept the room with my gun. “Nothing,” I grunted.
We cleared the rest of the bar. There was a kitchen with two guys that didn’t speak English cooking fried food, a store room, a walk-in refrigerator, and nothing else. No sign of Vlas, no sign of his other men.
“What do you think?” Steven asked me.
I shook my head and opened the back door. Cosimo and Chad twitched, their guns at the ready, but I held up my hand. They were standing in a cramped alleyway, garbage strewn on either side of them. “Stinks back here,” I grunted.
“No kidding. How’s it in there?” Cosimo asked.
“Not bad. Stay here, keep ready. We’re almost done.”
I went back inside and headed into the office. I flipped on the light, walked to the desk intending on ripping it apart, but stopped in my tracks.
I stared down at a knife stabbed through a photograph of Aida. It was stuck right in the middle, nothing else around it, and clearly it was meant to be found.
“Steven,” I barked.
He came running. “Found something?”
I gestured at the picture, the taste of bile in my mouth. He stared at it before pulling the knife, slipping it into his belt, and picking up the picture. “She looks good in this,” he said. “Probably from her Instagram.”
“How?” I asked him.
Steven shook his head. “It’s the same club her father robbed. Maybe he was ready.”
“Or maybe someone talked.”
“I doubt it.”
I let out a growl. “Tear through here. Find me some money.” I walked back into the main room and found my guys covering everyone, their guns out. I walked up to the first guy, the one I’d taken down, and dragged him to his feet. I pushed him against the bar and shoved my gun against his skull.
“Where’s Vlas?” I asked.
“Fuck you,” the guy said, his voice thick with a Russian accent. “Mu’dak.”
I pressed the gun harder against him, letting it dig into the skin of his temple. He winced and glared at me, but I felt him trembling under my hands.
“Where is Vlas?” I asked again.
“I don’t know,” he said.
“Do you know who I am?”
“Da.”
“Then you know your boys tried to kill me already, but two ended up dead in the street. I won’t hesitate to kill another one of you to get what I want. Now, where is your fucking boss?”
He stared at me, his eyes wide. “I don’t know,” he said again. “I swear I don’t. He told us to wait here, been three nights. No Vlas, no show up. We sit, watch girl, drink vodka. That all, I don’t know.”
I clenched my jaw and let him go. I slapped my gun across his face and felt teeth break from his jaw as blood splattered on the bar. He toppled to the floor, moaning, and I wiped the barrel of my weapon clean on my shirt.
“We’re done here,” I barked. “If any of you see Vlas, tell him I’m coming. Tell him his little games aren’t going to stop me.”
I turned and stormed toward the back. I heard my guys kicking and hitting their targets before following. Steven came out of the office, shaking his head. “Empty,” he said.
“Fuck.” I kicked open the back door, and we piled out into the alley. Cosimo led the way through the stinking trash and back onto the sidewalk. We split up then, and I went back to the original SUV with Steven on my tail. We got in the back, waited for Ryan and Biagio, then pulled back into traffic.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I growled, slamming my hand against the dash. “That fucking picture of Aida. He knew I’d show up. That was goddamn bait.”
“But it wasn’t a trap,” Steven said, his voice soft. “Those guys, they were just hung out to dry. Vlas didn’t set a trap. I don’t think he knew when you’d show up, just that you would sooner or later.”
I clenched my jaw as rage flowed through me. The picture of Aida kept flitting through my mind, and I thought about her back home, waiting for me. “Drop these two off then take me to her,” I growled to Steven before staring out the window again. The windshield wipers flashed in a steady rhythm and I glared at the night. My bloodlust was up, and I knew there was only one way to sate it.
Killing a man or fucking a woman.
I hadn’t killed anyone. And I knew only one woman I wanted.
Fucking Aida.
I don’t know what Vlas’s game was, but he managed to escape me. I wanted to hit that club, hurt some of his guys, steal from him, and send him a message. I wanted to do it in the same place her father hit the first time, the place that set all this off.
But Vlas saw that coming. I don’t know how, but he saw it.
Fucking hell. Fucking Aida.
I clenched my jaw and kept silent the rest of the drive back.
12
Aida
I sat out on the front porch with my legs drawn up underneath me. Gino was inside asleep in front of the TV and he didn’t realize I’d stepped out to watch the rain. I knew I probably should stay indoors, but I couldn’t help myself.
I’d been cooped up so long and I couldn’t sleep.
I watched the water drip off the overhang. The neighborhood was quiet, most of the houses dark. It was late, well after one in the morning. The streetlight cast about a weak yellow and shadows drooped across the sidewalk. I stared up at the sky as the rain continued to drip off the eaves and I pictured Dante out there somewhere, getting into trouble, getting himself killed because of me.
Sleep just wouldn’t come. I couldn’t calm my mind down. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Dante at work, fighting because of me, getting hurt because of me. The idea of him breaking skulls or killing in my name made my spine crawl, but even worse was the idea of him or any of his men getting injured. I wanted to scream, but I knew that wouldn’t help.
As I stared at the street, I saw a car turn onto the block. I frowned a little and watched it, surprised to see a car out so late on this quiet little street. It slowly crept toward the house, and my pulse spiked as it pulled up out front. I stood up, panic racing through me, and I wanted to run inside and wake up Gino. If it was the Russians, if it was Vlas here to take me away, I couldn’t do a thing about it.
Instead, the passenger side door opened and Dante stepped out into the rain. He said something into the car then shut the door. It pulled away, leaving him down on the sidewalk.
He was wearing a black shirt tucked into his usual dress pants. There was a dark brown smear on his side, and his hair was dripping wet, like he’d already been outside. He stared up at me, and I could almost feel his body’s tension from twenty feet away.
Slowly he came up the steps. I backed away as he reached the porch and moved toward me, his eyes on my body. I was suddenly aware of my low-cut tank top and my short shorts, just enough to cover my ass, but barely. I was dressed for bed, not for visitors. He stopped and didn’t speak for a long moment and I felt my heart racing.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“I didn’t think you’d be up,” he said.
“Dante.” I bit my lip. “Is that blood?”
He looked down at himself. He seemed surprised for a moment. “Not mine,” he said then met my eyes again. “You shouldn’t be out here.”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
He nodded.
I crossed my arms under my chest. I couldn’t meet his gaze, couldn’t look at him. He was sucking in the light all around him, like a black hole. He was too beautiful, too deadly, and too terrifying. I didn’t want to know where he’d been or what he’d been doing. I knew it was bad, knew it was deadly, and that was more than enough already.
“Come here,” he said, his voice low and commanding.
I turned back toward him despite myself. “I shouldn’t,” I whispered. “I should still hate you.”
“You’re right.” He didn’t smile, but he did tilt his head. “I killed your father. You should despise me. I’m a sick man, aren’t I?”
“Dante,” I said, a choked whisper.
“You should fucking hate me.” He stepped closer. “You should want me dead. And yet you don’t. And yet you stay here, stare at my body, wonder when I’ll finally take you. Isn’t that right?”
“No,” I whispered, but I knew he was right.
“You like being my captive. You like being my little bride. I think you secretly want to stay here. I think you’d stay even if your life wasn’t in danger.”
“I wouldn’t. You don’t know me.”
“I know you enough.” He stepped closer and I stepped back until I ran up against the closed door. He pinned me there, moving fast. He grabbed my wrist tight in his hand and pressed it up above my head. I gasped as he grabbed my other wrist and made it join the first. He was big, so big and strong, and his body could easily dominate mine.
The thought sent a chill of excitement down my spine.
“What are you doing?” I whispered.
“I’m doing what you’ve been too afraid to do,” he growled in the night. “You’ve been in my home watching me, lusting for me, begging me to take your body, even though you keep pretending like you hate me. I’m a monster, a killer, and you know it. But what does that say about you, little Aida? When all you want from his monster is a thick cock between your legs and a tongue in your mouth?”
I gasped and let out a little moan, despite myself. He hadn’t kissed me yet, hadn’t touched me beyond pinning me to the door.
“I don’t know what I want,” I admitted, hating myself for the words.
His smile set my body on fire. Water dripped from the ends of his wet hair as he tilted his head. His shirt was plastered to his muscular chest, damp and see-through. “I do,” he said. “And I’ll take it from you.”
He pressed his lips against mine and I took a sharp breath in through my nose, kissing him back, basking in the taste of him.
Some voice deep in the back of my mine wanted me to pull away, wanted me to fight back and stop what was happening. Some stupid, stupid voice wanted me to walk away and remember what this man did to my father.
I ignored that voice.
He kept me pinned to the door, his body pushing against mine. I breathed hard through my nose and moaned into his kiss. His lips pulled away and he released my wrists with one hand but kept them pinned with the other, pressing my body hard against the wooden door. He moved his free hand down to my hair and pushed it from my neck, kissing me there, and pulling my hair tight. I gasped, moaned his name, whispered it like a prayer.
“That’s right,” he growled in my ear. “Go ahead, say my name. I know you’ve been yearning to say it in the night, whisper it like there’s nothing better in the world.”
“Bastard,” I groaned and bit his lower lip.
He growled and pulled my hair. “Good. I like it when you don’t give in all the way. Go ahead and pretend like you don’t want this.”
I stared fire at him, my knees trembling, my body weak. I was dripping wet and I couldn’t keep denying what my body was telling me.
I jerked forward and kissed him. He pushed me back, crushing me, kissing me hard before releasing my wrists. I gasped as they fell down and wrapped around his neck. He opened the door and pushed me inside.
I stumbled over the threshold. He came at me, the rain dripping out on the street. He slammed the door shut. I heard something in the other room, a movement, and I looked over my shoulder.
Gino stood in the kitchen doorway.
“Go home,” Dante barked. I turned back to him, and he didn’t take his eyes from me. “Go the fuck home, Gino.”
Dante stepped forward and grabbed me by the hips. He lifted me like I was nothing and threw me over his shoulder. I caught a glimpse of Gino grinning as he left the house, closing the door behind him.
I hit Dante on the back. “Put me down,” I hissed. “You asshole.”
“No,” he said and took me to the top of the house. He walked to the last bedroom, the master bedroom at the very back, and opened the door. I hit him on the back again, again, before he threw me down onto the bed.
I hit the sheets with gasp and stared up at him as he stood at the foot of the bed. I tried to scramble back but he caught my ankle, his grip steel-hard. My eyes skimmed the dark room and caught sight of a dresser, two nightstands. His blanket was gray and his sheets were dark blue. The headboard was large and padded and covered with light gray cloth. There was a painting of a bridge across a wide body of water hanging above the bed.
I couldn’t see more as he dragged me down the sheets toward him. I kicked out, not sure what I was doing, but he just caught my other ankle. He smirked and jerked me down to the edge of the bed. I gasped as he pinned my knees down with his right hand and grabbed my hair with his left, lifting me up to meet his lips.
> I kissed him, fell into that kiss like heaven, and tasted him for a long moment. He pulled back and kissed my neck. “If I let your knees go, are you going to hit me?” he whispered.
“I don’t think so,” I said.
“Good.” He released me and I considered it, but decided that would probably be a bad idea. It would kill the moment, but more than that, it might piss him off too much. He grabbed my hair tighter and kissed me before grabbing the hem of my tank top. He pulled it up and off, throwing it across the room. I had on an old black bra, frayed and going gray from age. He unhooked it and I let it slide off as he cupped my breasts and kissed my chest. He shoved me back down onto the bed and pinned me there, holding my wrists again, as he sucked my nipples and bit them.
I moaned his name and he kissed me hard. I felt him release one wrist as the other hand moved down my body, lingering on a nipple before it slid down the front of my little cotton shorts, down underneath my panties, and found my dripping wet pussy.
I moaned and rolled my hips as he slid his fingers up and down my slit. He smirked and bit my lip hard as he pressed his fingers deep inside my pussy. I gasped from pleasure and pain, and he slid them back out to rub circles along my clit.
“Tell me you want my cock,” he whispered in my ear. “Tell me you want it deep between your legs.”
“Oh, god,” I moaned.
“You know what I am. You know what I do. And yet here you are, giving yourself to me. You’re a dirty girl, little Aida. You’re my filthy, dirty girl, every inch of you is mine, and I’m going to claim my prize. Now tell me you want it.”
I stared into his eyes and knew he wasn’t lying. I was his, every inch of me, and I wanted to be his prize.
“I want it,” I whispered, my voice soft and low.
“Good girl.” He bit my lip and ran his tongue against mine before moving back off me and releasing my other wrist. His hand came out from my panties as he stood up at the end of the bed and took off his shirt.
I watched him undress, one hand on my breasts, unable to help myself. I could feel my pulse between my legs, and his sheets were soft underneath me. I glanced away and saw a bathroom, a closet, a wardrobe. I looked back as he removed the shirt and threw it on the floor. He tilted his head to one side and took off his belt slowly, sliding it off and holding it in his hand. He reached down and grabbed my hair and turned me onto my stomach. I gasped as I looked over my shoulder.