Fawn: A Dark Mafia Shifter Romance (Blackfang Barons Book 1)

by Elaina Jadin

  9

  Jemma

  God, my ass hurts.

  It’s all I can think about as I slip off the desk and crumple on the floor once the satiated bliss ebbs and my awareness fully returns. Bryan and Draven are gone, and I’ve been left alone.

  Embarrassment and anger pulse through me with every single heartbeat. But, for the first time in a long while, I also feel at peace. As though every strike against my skin had stripped a part of me away—a part that poisoned me. The fact that it was the strongest climax I’ve ever had doesn’t help my confusion.

  I didn’t lie when I said Bryan never spanks me, but honestly, I never asked him to, either. I doubt I would have trusted him to do it with such expertise.

  I realize now, having tasted a sample of Draven’s masterful touch, that Bryan never knew how to instill pain in me the way I’ve longed for. Sometimes he’d grab my hair a little if I begged him to, or pinch my nipples roughly when he was really angry. The rest of the time it was uncomfortable at best. Not nearly enough to soothe my needs.

  Draven, though, had spanked me with such precision, such contained strength, carefully striking my skin until my entire ass stung, until the pain was exquisite and all-consuming. But even as I rub a hand across my sensitive skin now, I realize no place really hurts worse than another.

  Even as he held me against the desk while I fucked myself on his hand, he was entirely in control. It turned me on so much. I wonder what it’ll feel like when he finally fucks me like he promised.

  It’s like I’m on a damn tilt-a-whirl ride of emotions. One moment I’m lost in a heady rush of desire, slivers of pleasure running through me at the memory of how Draven’s fingers felt inside me. The next I’m ashamed at how much I enjoyed what he did. And the next I’m angry at Bryan for thrusting me into this situation; after that, I’m angry at myself for agreeing to the contract, money or not.

  Even though the rational side of me knows it’s stupid, I’m angry at the whole damn world and the screwed up shit that happens in it. For being fucked up enough to land me here. For making me this way. I’m even angry at Draven, for knowing exactly what I needed, for reading me so easily.

  I’m just so goddamn mad. And embarrassed. And deeply desperate for more, which only flames the fire of my anger and shame, locking me in a vicious cycle.

  I stagger over to my discarded dress, not bothering to find my bra—Draven can keep it for all I care. My underwear nearly trips me when it falls to my ankles and I kick the pair off, trying to ignore how wet and dark the fabric is. How Draven made me come harder than I knew was possible, delivering an irresistible mixture of pain and pleasure.

  I pull on the dress, zip it up, and reach for the emerald pendant, relieved to find it still safely around my neck. The tension in my body eases a little as soon as I touch it, rubbing at the polished gemstone as I have a thousand times before.

  A few minutes pass quietly as I gather my wits about me. My hands aren’t steady but I’m finally breathing normally again. I should get out of here. Just walk out the door and keep going until I’m away from this place, and never look back.

  It doesn’t matter what I agreed to. If I stay here, I know Draven will do that to me again and I just... A shudder runs through me because God help me, I want him to. So badly I’m aching for him to stride back in here and bend me across his lap for round two. But that’s my twisted mind taunting me, reminding me how messed up I am. I shouldn’t crave the exquisite pain he extracted from me with such precision.

  Indecision coils like a sleepy snake around my spine, holding me in place.

  Nothing has ever been able to chase away the chaos of my thoughts like this. Even now, I try to think about my parents, but my mind refuses, as if all my demons have been quelled for the moment, my memories exhausted. There is no room in me for anything but Draven.

  I never feared addiction to the alcohol I used to drown out the bad dreams, or the pills I stole from my aunt to help numb me. But I feel that fear now.

  Already, as the pain on my ass sinks into my skin, warming me, comforting me, I know it’s inevitable. It’s happening even now as I relish the solace Draven brought me tonight. It’s wrapping its tendrils around me, pulling me closer to its dark allure. Tonight is the first time I’ve ever gotten a real high from it.

  All the times before, when I asked Bryan to be rough with me, those were tiny tastes compared to the peace that flooded through me under Draven’s touch. Those times with Bryan were temporary relief, just enough to know I needed more. So much more.

  Which is exactly what Draven seems to be offering me. His dark eyes and merciless touch tonight conveyed an unspoken promise. He’ll take me there, to the space where pleasure and pain mix into an explosive cocktail. He’ll feed the darkness inside me. I have yet to meet the other two men he mentioned, but I already know they’ll want the same.

  They’ll spend the next thirty days pushing me to my limits, until they truly do own me—mind, body, and soul.

  Insane laughter shakes my shoulders as I cover my face. Tears streak down my cheeks, chafing my already raw eyes. I’m not sure if I’m relieved or terrified or excited.

  The door opens and I expect to see Draven or hell, even Bryan coming back for a last word, to convince me to stay long enough to pay his debt and pad his pockets, but not a moment longer.

  But it’s neither. It’s another man, nearly the same size as Draven, and my heart aches with anticipation. Am I to be used again so soon?

  This man isn’t in a suit like Draven was. He’s wearing jeans that hug his massive thighs, and a Henley that looks painted on his broad, sculpted chest. He’s got massive ass-kicker boots on, and his sleeves are pushed up to the elbows, displaying tattoos that cover his arms and the back of his hands. It makes me curious to know exactly how much of him is covered in ink.

  “I’d have expected you to be a pile of flesh left on the floor by the way Draven charged out of here.” His voice is both gravel and velvet.

  He’s blocked the entire doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. His brown hair is long on top, the strands sweeping across his forehead, and the sides of his head are shaved neatly.

  The thought occurs to me that this is the look Bryan hoped to emulate. But Bryan’s too much of a lazy slob to pull it off, even if he had the physique to make it work, which he most definitely doesn’t. The man who stands before me, however, is dangerously beautiful.

  But that’s not the only comparison my mind makes as I quickly drink him in. Where Draven oozed control, this man is like a beast about to break from his chain. He exudes a chaotic energy, bristling through his muscles, barely restrained.

  “Is—” I have to swallow hard to wet my throat. “Is there somewhere I can clean up?”

  He snorts, and I’m reminded of the sound I heard outside the door earlier—what I’d told myself was a dog. Fortunately, my aunt’s apartment building doesn’t allow pets, so I’ve been safe from encountering random dogs there. But they walk these halls. And I’ll be living with them for the next thirty days.

  “I’ll show you to your room.” He turns and leaves without waiting for me, and I stagger forward to follow him, my legs like gelatin.

  The hallway is dark compared to the office, but not dark enough to hide the massive beast-like dogs watching me from across the wide corridor. All the air rushes out of me as I stare at them in shock. It can’t be. I must be hallucinating.

  They look exactly like the creatures from my nightmares—rough coats, enormous paws, and eyes that glitter with both intelligence and malice. The same creatures my therapists told me were fictional inventions of a traumatized mind. The creatures that the police swore could not exist.

  Terror punches me in the gut, catapulting me into a maelstrom of shock and nausea. Either I’m having a breakdown from the insane series of events in the last two hours, or the beasts are real. And they’re here. They aren’t haunting my dreams anymore, they’re stalking me in the flesh now.

  Adre
naline floods my body until I’m choking on it, shaking and dizzy, and my brain screams for me to run, shouting at my knees to bend and my feet to move, but I’m utterly frozen.

  My legs give out and I fall against the doorway and a wave of blackness surges over me as though I might pass out. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’m wishing for it, praying for unconsciousness so that I don’t have to face what comes next, to feel their teeth rip into me and tear the life from my body.

  I crouch there, huddled into a ball, waiting for their claws to dig into my skin, to smell the foulness of their breath as they torment me. I lose track of where I am and suddenly, my mom is being dragged from me and the edges of wooden boards are scraping against my shoulders and hips, the fierce wind icing my cheeks and nose as it blows through the tunnel of the playground.

  An anguished, haunting cry echoes off the hallway, sending frigid chills down my spine, and I only vaguely register that it came from me. All that exists is the fear that controls me. Holding my head, I squeeze my eyes tight, completely disconnecting from reality as horror crashes through me like a tidal wave, making my entire body shake.

  There’s a low whining sound coming from my mouth, but it’s as if a ping-pong ball is stuck in my throat, my lungs burning inside my ribs as I gasp for air. I’m hyperventilating, but I can’t stop the grip of nausea clawing up my throat as my brain spews out chaotic signals—run, fight, freeze, curl up, throw up, claw at the windows.

  Too hot, too cold.

  Sick, dizzy. Can’t breathe.

  Frère Jacques, Frère Jacques, dormez-vous? Dormez-vous? Sonnez les matines, sonnez les matines, ding dang dong.

  I focus on the song my mother sang to me, repeating it over and over in my mind. I fight the anxiety and try to calm my body enough to take a full breath, readying myself for the fate I’ve awaited ever since that night ten years ago.

  Then it happens—the creatures make their move, latching onto my back and legs, and I thrash against them, fighting wildly, fighting for my life. My arms swing violently, striking and clawing at everything I come into contact with, but still, I’m lifted from the ground as though I’m a wisp of cotton.

  I twist and kick, trying to break free, but strong arms restrain me, holding me against something solid, but warm, and I wait for the pain to register, for the first bite to cut through my skin like daggers, but it doesn’t come.

  After a moment I realize everything in my reach feels… normal. There are no growling snarls ringing in my ears. No gusts of wind whipping across my face. No boards digging into my back.

  Reality cracks back into place like a thunderbolt, and I blink, trying to clear my vision. The man who came to get me from the office is holding me tight against his broad chest, my weak kicks and punches bouncing off him like I’m pounding against a stone wall.

  Undeterred by my violent outburst, he carries me down the hallway, away from the shadowy beasts, and I hide my face against him, relenting.

  I finally draw in a lungful of air, and the scent of sandalwood and leather hits my nose. There’s even a hint of smoke clinging to the soft fabric of his shirt, and I latch onto it, trying to stay focused, even as sobs of relief and despair wrack my body, the emotions whirling together indiscriminately until they’re one and the same.

  He holds me as if I weigh nothing, and I let myself sag against him as I cry, the gentle sway of his rhythm lulling me, reminding me of the way my mom would carry me in from the car if I’d fallen asleep on the way home. My heart slows inexplicably, a calmness easing through my veins as I nestle against his chest.

  I know, somehow, that he will never drop me.

  I don’t know where he’s carrying me, but I settle into his arms as we go down a flight of stairs and through another long hallway. Then he carefully maneuvers us through an open door and a bite of fear pricks at my heart. I cling to him, my eyes closed tight, afraid to see what’s in store for me, even as I feel stupid for thinking holding onto him might offer me some semblance of safety.

  But when he sets me down, the cold marble of a bathroom counter seeps through the thin material of my dress and immediately soothes the ache on my ass.

  Silently I watch him, breath held tight in my chest, anxiety dancing along every nerve, as he moves away from me and turns on the shower. He leans in, patiently adjusting the water, and the bathroom quickly fills with steam. Then he’s back in front of me, tugging me to my feet.

  When he reaches behind me for my zipper, I instinctively try to push him away, my nails digging in when he doesn’t budge. Once again, I’m trapped against a massive wall of muscle, just as I was when Draven cornered me at the bookshelves.

  “Hey,” he warns, his voice somehow both softer and sharper than before, and he captures my wrists in his hands, forcing me to stop.

  From the intense power I feel in his grip, it seems like he’s even wound tighter than me, ready to explode at any moment. I get the sense from both his tone and the wild look in his eyes that I better not toy with the barely-controlled restraint he’s showing.

  “Breathe,” he commands.

  But my body does the opposite—my chest freezes as he holds me in place. I study him warily, the two of us still as statues as we look at each other. There’s something in his eyes that soothes me. It’s not kindness, or tenderness. It’s the awareness… the understanding I see there. As though he knows the demons that haunt me.

  “In through your nose, out through your mouth,” he says. “Do it.”

  I pull in a shaky breath under his watch, drawing it in through my nostrils as he tells me, then letting it flow out between my lips.

  He nods once with approval, still gripping my wrists. He squeezes his hands, not hurting me, but enough to let me know he’s in control. “Again.”

  I repeat the gesture, filling my lungs and slowly letting the breath out. Over and over, until my pulse calms and my heartbeat slows.

  “Take a shower,” he orders, and the gravel in his voice is back. “Everything you need is in here.”

  He slowly lets go of me, and I feel the hesitation as his touch eases, like he has to make himself release his grip. He steps back, eyeing me as though he doesn’t trust me, which is insane because it’s clear he could overpower me in a flash if he wanted to.

  There are large white dots on my skin where his fingers pressed into me, and I’m hypnotized by the change as I watch the blood rushing back into my flesh.

  “Don’t leave this bedroom,” he tells me as he walks away. “Not without permission. You’ll find the rest of the men here…” he trails off as he turns back, staring at me as he debates his choice of words. There’s a look in his eye, a mixture of excitement and danger, and it makes me go cold. “They aren’t as controlled as our esteemed leader. If you don’t want to find yourself pushed up against a wall, you’ll stay in this room.”

  Wetting my lips, I nod at him, and he leaves my sight, and a moment later I hear a heavy door close.

  I slip off the counter and peek out of the doorway. It leads into a small bedroom, and I see that I’m alone. I close the bathroom door, and to my profound relief, there’s a lock on it. I doubt that it’d stop either of the men I’ve met this evening, not if they really wanted in, but as I lock the door, I regain a sense of control, and the panic inside me lessens another notch.

  For the moment, I’m safe. There are no beast-like dogs in my sight. No Bryan to contend with. No customers trying to cop a feel in a seedy backroom. In fact, the bathroom feels like a sanctuary from the nightmares lurking in the hallway—the small space is well lit and elegant, even if it’s sparse in décor.

  I remove my dress quickly but leave my necklace on—unable to part with it, even for a moment, and step into the massive shower. It dwarfs the one in my apartment. There’s no aged, yellowing tub, the shower head isn’t so low I have to duck to wash my hair. No ring of grime that, no matter how hard I try, won’t go away.

  Behind me on the wall is a deep shelf, fully stocked like he’d said,
and the brands of the shampoo and conditioner confirm that, wherever I am now, I’m surrounded by money.

  I begin to wash myself with the body wash and loofah, trying to convince myself I want to scrub myself until I’m raw, until the memory of Draven’s touch no longer lingers on my skin… but I can’t do it. The way he touched me, it set something off in me in a way that Bryan never had—not even when we were first discovering each other.

  Of course, I’ve read books and watched a few racier movies that had women who liked to be tied up and whipped. But I’ve never known anyone who actually does it in real life. Handcuffs and light, playful smack, sure. But not much beyond that.

  Not actual pain. Not letting someone take complete control of them, at least not that they’ve talked about. Not even the other girls I work with—and some of them seem to be into some pretty weird shit.

  I’ve fantasized about it a few times, but knew it was just that—fantasy. It’d never happen, realistically.

  But now, it’s all I can think about.

  If they plan to tie me up and whip me. If they’ll punish me if I misbehave. If they’ll find new ways to wrest pain—and pleasure—from my body. And I can’t decide if I’m more afraid or turned on by the idea. I wonder if they have one of those red rooms here. Like a special torture chamber, full of toys and devices they plan to use on me. I shudder at the thought, heat growing between my legs even as my stomach clenches.

  The water is still scorching but I’m freezing. I rinse off quickly and fumble with the complicated assortment of knobs and levers until the water is off, then find a towel folded on a shelf outside the shower door. It’s massive and fluffy, and soft against my sensitive skin.

  Holding the towel around me, I step into the bedroom and take it all in cautiously. My eyes fly to the ceiling first thing, looking for cameras. None in sight, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t watching. There’s a big bed, a king size that dominates most of the room—but there are also nightstands on either side, as well as a vanity table, a chair, and a large dresser against one wall.