by K. M. Raya
I don’t stop.
I’m so close . . .
A few more hard pumps and I’m a goner. I come harder than I’ve ever come before. I bend my body over her back and bury my head in the crook of her neck as my thrusts begin to slow. Our heavy panting fills the silence as I feel my cock soften before pulling out and zipping myself back up.
She straightens without a word, pulling on her skirt and smoothing it back down around her hips, but she has yet to turn around and face me.
She just stands there, shoulders rising and falling with every heavy breath she takes. I watch her, willing her to just look at me. I don’t know why the fuck I’m still standing here. Any other time and I’d be halfway down the hallway by now . . . but I’m still here.
There's something between us that makes me nervous. For some reason I fucking care what she has to say. I need to know what happens next. I'm not normally like this and my own vulnerability makes me want to scream.
This damn girl has been plaguing my dreams for weeks now and I can’t seem to stop it. Something inside of her calls out to me, making me crave her despite the fact that I can’t let myself trust her.
I’ve trusted before.
I’ve been betrayed before.
Slowly, she turns to face me. I expect to find a look of smug satisfaction on that pixie-like face of hers, but what I see instead chills me to the bone.
I see an incredible sadness there.
Her shields are down and I have a feeling I’m the first to see past it.
It’s as if the light has drained right on out of her and been replaced with a shadow.
Moving closer, I place a finger below her chin and raise her face up until her dark eyes bore into me. They flit between mine, searching for something.
All I want to do is dive into her brain and figure out what put that hollowness there.
Chapter Sixteen
Ellis
I know something happened between Angel and Carter.
I just fucking know it.
Over the past few days something’s changed between the two of them and I’m not an idiot. The way he watches her when she’s not looking is actually pretty entertaining. Carter hates Angel. All he does is talk shit on her and glare at her whenever she shows her face. He doesn’t notice the rest of us watching him watch her.
A part of me still feels off about what happened the other night out by the lake. For some reason, I can still hear her pleas in my ear as we doused her in water and tried to torture information out of her. I'll even be the first to admit that I feel a little guilty, especially after finding out from my father that she’s to be protected at all costs. I still don’t know what the deal is with that though. It all seems suspicious.
I’m not an idiot. I know our fathers have connections and contacts that we aren't aware of, but the Mafia? I didn’t think their reach extended as far as New York City.
I’m still suspicious though, because of the familiar way Angel was able to talk with Finley. Just looking at them together was almost enough to make me physically ill. Watching him sit so close to the only girl to capture my attention in a long time makes me want to hit something. That family takes and takes until there’s nothing left to take.
We’d had reason to question her, even if she doesn’t know it, but I also don’t believe she’s doing anything malicious. I don't know what it is about her, but I just can’t see her double crossing us. Honestly, I think she just landed in Seaside as her father's unfortunate pawn. I have a strong feeling that her coming here has something to do with Brotherhood business, and I intend to find out why.
She’d covered her bruising well enough that my father hadn’t said a word about it. My stomach twists painfully, remembering the bafflement in her eyes when we ripped that bag off of her head. For a second she almost looked . . . betrayed.
I’m sitting outside Angel’s house with my car parked beneath a large tree, just out of the light of a street lamp. I should feel like a creep, staring up at her window in the dark. Her bedroom light is on and a few times I've seen her shadow pass in front of the sheer curtains.
I feel restless. The car feels stifling and too warm and I can’t shake the overwhelming urge to get out. I know I shouldn’t be here, but knowing what waits for me back at home is what keeps me in this seat.
My dad has a man in the pool house again. He’s been there for two days, sweating it out while hanging from the ceiling just like all the others before him. Dad wants me to be the one to take care of the problem again, and while in the past I’d come to terms with my new role here, for some reason the thought of what I have to do turns my stomach. I know for a fact that the man is nothing more than an informant. His hands aren’t soaked in the blood of my family. No, he’s nothing more than a pawn for our fathers to play with and I want no part in it.
Still though, I know I’ll do what is asked of me when the time comes.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I’m knocking on Angel’s door. I can see movement from the shadows of her property, and knowing who she is now, I don't have any doubt that Sal posted guards out here for her protection.
They don’t show themselves though. It’s not their place unless she’s in some sort of danger. Idly I wonder just how much they know about me, because I still haven't fully decided whether or not she’s in danger of me.
The door swings open and my mouth goes dry.
Fuck me, she looks good.
He black hair is wavy and tossed up in a sloppy ponytail with small wispy strands hanging loose. She has absolutely no makeup on her face—not that she even needs any. She looks like some sort of dark faerie with those freckles dotting her nose and beautiful doe eyes against all that milky white skin. I realize I’m standing there staring at her in silence when she snaps her fingers in front of my face.
“How do you know where I live?” she asks, straight to the point. Her unimpressed scowl makes me smirk.
“Baby, we’ve known since the day you rolled into this town, now are you gonna invite me in or what?”
I push my way inside without invitation, but surprisingly she just moves aside and shuts the front door behind us.
“What, you didn't get enough jollies from tormenting me at school, you have to follow me home now?” she asks as we make our way to the apparently rarely used kitchen, I do detect a teasing note and a smile in her voice though.
Pulling open the door to her refrigerator, I help myself to a bottle of chilled white wine even though it’s not exactly my drink of choice, while she takes a seat on one of the barstools near the small island.
It all seems so natural, like we’ve done this a million times before and for some reason it makes me feel strange.
“Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I just want to be your friend?”
She snorts. The sound makes me grin behind my glass.
I know she’s not buying it.
If I’m being honest, I’m just making things up as I go along. I’m stalling, I need her to let me stay as long as possible—anything to avoid going home and she’s the only one I can tolerate right now.
“I can’t believe I’m the first one to tell you this, but I’m pretty sure friends don’t torture other friends for information. Unless you know something I don't.”
‘Damn, and here I was hoping she’d let that one go.’
“It wasn't anything personal, but even you have to admit it looked pretty suspicious . . . ” I tell her only for her to huff and turn her head away. “I’m am sorry though, we though—”
She holds up a hand for me to stop talking and I do.
“Spare me. I really don’t want to talk about Finley or your little group, or whatever the hell you guys do in your spare time. I think we’ve beat that horse to death already. Why don’t you tell me what you're doing here.”
I blink at her, admiring her bluntness.
That's something I’ve come to admire about her, but this time I really don't know how to answer.
; “Well?” she prompts, reaching forward, grabbing the glass of wine from my hands and taking a sip.
Watching her lips curve around the glass makes my skin feel hot.
“Why don’t we go somewhere more comfortable. I’m fucking tired,” I mutter, the wine and the stress catching up with me.
“Then why don’t you go home?” she asks, making me grin.
“Because home is what’s making me so tired . . .”
Angel stares at me, a perplexed frown on her pretty face. I don't bother elaborating because frankly, I don’t ever want her to know about that part of my life.
She watches me for a beat longer before she sighs and hops off of the stool, snatching the whole bottle of wine from the countertop.
“You can come up to my room, but no funny business.” she points at me. “I fucking mean it, Ellis, hands off.”
I raise my hands in surrender before following her though the house.
✽✽✽
“They took her when I was nine and I never saw her again,” Angel tells me as she takes a long pull from the bottle in her hands.
“That bastardo sold her to the Russians like a fucking dog as soon as she turned nineteen.”
Her italian accent is very slight—only slipping out from time to time when her emotions are heightened making my chest buzz with something unfamiliar.
She frowns, staring at her right hand that grips her crimson colored comforter like a lifeline. I reach out almost absently, stroking the top of her smooth hand. She doesn’t pull away and it tells me that she might need my comfort more than I thought.
I’m not normally a touchy guy. My life is filled with so much death and darkness and comforting someone else feels as unnatural as breathing under water, but for some reason I feel like I need to.
This girl must be pretty lonely living in this huge house all by herself. Even I have my stepmother . . . though things are still awkward between Aria and I with her being so young and my father still mourning my mother.
But Angel was just sort of dumped here, all alone in a strange town.
“Is that normal?” I ask, squeezing her fingers in mine. “Your dad sounds like a dick.”
She smirks, but it's not a happy one.
“Unfortunately. Being a part of the Famiglia means everyone has a role. Sofia was groomed to be the perfect little wife, always wearing dresses, taking etiquette lessons and organizing functions with mama. I never got to see much of it, but Sof would come see me sometimes before bed and complain. Sometimes I think I’m the only reason she never ran away and never looked back.”
I want to put her mind at ease with something wise, but I know anything I could say would be a hypocritical lie. How can I tell her the things she needs to hear, all the while knowing I’ll bear witness to many more women being forced into marriage contracts by my own father?
How can I look her in the eyes while doing the same thing that was forced on her sister?
I feel dirty.
I don’t say anything, but she saves me from it when she continues.
“After Sofia left . . . Papa changed. He sent me off to boarding school every winter. I think he couldn't handle looking at me every day since I look just like her. I think the guilt ate at him, but maybe I’m just being naive.” She sighs heavily.
“I’d come home for the summer and expect to take Sofia’s place by Mama’s side, but instead he had me learning how to fight and shoot guns. I don’t remember Sofia ever telling me about that. Something tells me he was grooming me as if I were a son and not a new principessa.”
I don’t know much about the mob, nor have I ever bothered to watch any of the TV shows or movies featuring those organizations, but something about her story holds suspicious with me too. If Salvatore wanted to sell her off, why not train her to be a lady like he had done her sister? Why ship her off to the West Coast instead of using her to make deals? She’s a beautiful girl and men all over the world would probably happily give their left arm for the chance to have her to themselves . . . so why send her away?
“It doesn’t matter though, once I graduate I’m getting the fuck out of here. I'll probably move to Canada or something, I don't even care. Just as long as Papa’s mess doesn’t touch me.”
Her eyes look far away and wistful. She truly believes she can be free someday. In a way I sort of envy her. My whole life has been nothing but a series of training programs, initiations and Brotherhood business.
The one bright spot I ever had in my life had been my mom. Back before she was killed, she’d been the only light in my life and the only person besides the guys who ever genuinely cared for me. She was the only one who took away the monster in my father’s eyes—the only one who could tame him. Without her we’re lost, sinking into the dark abyss that is this life. My childhood disappeared the day she was taken from us.
“What would you do in Canada?” I ask her. I have no idea what a girl like Angel likes to do in her spare time.
A sparkle returns to her eyes and she leans back on her throw pillows and sets the bottle on her nightstand. Her casual pose puts me at ease and something warm flares in my chest. She’s wearing a tiny pair of spandex shorts that don’t leave much to the imagination and a silky black camisole with nothing underneath. Her smooth skin teases me, and just below the hem of her shirt I can easily see the clean lines of that raven tattoo that I’ve seen snaking up the side of her slender torso.
My pants feel uncomfortably tight as I try not to move too much.
“I think I might open a gym—somewhere in a busy city like Vancouver. It’d be cool to teach some self defence classes or kickboxing for young women. I think I could be happy doing that,” she muses with a private smile.
Her aspirations are noble and I can totally picture her teaching other women how to properly kick some ass. Every now and again my mind can't help but go back to that day at Cap’s house when Angel held that blade to that guy’s neck.
I think I've jacked off to the memory of it more than enough times to admit it turned me on like nothing else has in a long ass time. Her form had been perfect. She’d attacked that motherfucker like some sort of trained assassin.
“I can see that. But do you think Sal’s gonna let you leave? How does one even leave the mob in the first place? I thought that was kind of a lifer thing.”
She laughs bitterly, eyes darkening.
“Papa might not be happy about it, but he can’t stop me. I’ll change my name if I have to, but he can’t force me to stay. I need to get the fuck out of the US before I turn nineteen and he changes his mind and decides to marry me off.”
White hot rage courses though my whole body at the thought. It surprises me just how fierce my reaction is to the thought of her marrying someone she doesn’t love. What also surprises me is the jealousy I feel. Sure, she doesn’t love me—and she never will, but imagining her looking at another man with love in those molten eyes of hers makes me want to scream. A possessiveness flares within me and suddenly I need to touch her.
Leaning up, I make my way over to her prone form. I see the way her muscles tense as I glide my body over hers. We aren't touching yet, I’m simply hovering with my hands now braced on either side of her head. Our eyes lock and I know I’m not imagining the heat there.
“What are you doing?” she asks breathlessly. Still though, she makes no attempt to move.
“Something I’ve imagined doing since the moment I first saw you,” I tell her honestly.
When my eyes landed on her that first day, she’d glided into the classroom like some sort of royal. I can still recall the way my eyes had traced every curve of her body in that short skirt. Those ruby colored lips of hers were so enticing and all that shiny midnight colored hair made my mouth water.
And then Carter texted me, telling me about this bitch who crossed him. I knew right away it was the new girl and despite my obvious attraction to her, she needed to be put in her place just like all the rest.
“Could of fooled
me.” She smirks.
Her plump lips entice me, calling out to be licked.
I lower my face until I can feel the tickle of her breath on my lip ring. Her sudden intake of breath nearly undoes me. I mold my lips to hers. It's a soft kiss—testing the waters. She tastes like fresh mint, as if she’d just brushed her teeth before bed.
I run my tongue lightly over the seam of her lips and feel her whole body shudder beneath me. Her mouth opens for mine, allowing me to snake my tongue inside, tasting her for the first time. Her kiss is like heaven and hell rolled into one. Heaven because I don’t think I've ever kissed someone who makes me feel like this, and hell because I know this is the last place I should be.
I know for a fact that she fucked Carter.
I know it.
I also saw her and Cap in the school bathroom.
But for some reason I just don't care. She’s with me right now and that's all that matters. Everything that’s happened between the lot of us exists somewhere else, some other place and time that has no relevance to her lips on mine. I breathe her in like she’s oxygen and I'm a drowning man.
“This is wrong . . .” she murmurs, trying to pull her face away from mine.
I kiss her rapidly. Over and over again my lips seek out hers until her protests are muffled.
“I don’t care,” I whisper, grabbing the sides of her face and letting my body fall on top of hers.
We meld together seamlessly, legs tangling, her soft sighs filling the room. I grind myself into her, my dick throbbing against her core. I could come right now, but I don’t. I just bask in the lightning strikes of pleasure racing down my spine.
Pulling the hair tie out of her hair, I run my fingers through the silky strands, marveling at the feel of it. She moans at the contact, jerking her hips up to meet mine. She kisses me harder, this time biting down gently on my lip ring. It makes me wild in a way I can’t even begin to explain. I’ve never wanted someone so much. I shouldn’t want this girl. Wanting her is dangerous for the both of us, but my body clearly doesn’t give a shit.