American Street Kings: The Complete Series

by Bella J

  At the brink of losing control, I yanked her to the side, loving the whimpering sounds that came out of her mouth. I pushed her down into the chair that stood in the corner, her tiny body slamming into the wooden seat.

  “What are you doing?” Her voice was a plea even though she tried to sound fierce.

  I grabbed some of the rope that was left on the floor and tied her wrists to the chair.

  “Please don’t. Don’t do this.”

  “It’s already done.”

  Round and round and round, I tied the rope, tightening it, watching her flinch as the fibers cut into her flesh. It had to be this way. I had to teach her a lesson. She was not allowed to disrespect me or think she had the balls to fight me, or all this would be shot to shit. Plus, her fight was fucking with my resolve by making this all way more fun than it was supposed to be. It would make me lose control, something she wasn’t ready to handle.

  I made quick work of tying her ankles to the chair as well before moving in behind her. “Try not to squirm or scream. The rope will tear through your flesh if you do.” She moaned when I placed the rope between her lips, and the sound made the tip of my cock throb.

  Of course, she squirmed. Of course, she tried to scream. By the time I had moved back in front of her, there was already tiny beads of blood at the corners of her mouth. God, I loved witnessing this newfound fight of hers come to the surface.

  “I’m going to get you something to eat, and even if it means I have to force it down your throat, you will eat whatever I give you.” About to walk out, I turned halfway and winked at her. “Don’t go anywhere.”

  It probably wasn’t necessary to tie her to the chair. But I had to do something in order to regain control. Even though I loved her fight, I had to show her who had the true power here. It was the only way. If there was even a tiny part of her believing she had the strength to fight me, I might as well just give up right here, right now. None of us were fucking saints. Me, the least. To lie, to cheat, to steal and manipulate in order to get what I wanted wasn’t beyond me. I’d do it all in a heartbeat. I’d do it all for her.

  I stormed to the kitchen, flung open the fridge, and grabbed the first two things I could find. A beer and some leftover mac and cheese. I was sick of this shit. This woman needed to eat something. She needed to pack some meat on those goddamn bones of hers. Her dad was a fucking coward for not standing up to her mother, allowing it to get out of hand. The fucker saw how his daughter was starving herself, how her mother was pushing her. Fuck. I didn’t even live there, and I knew. It didn’t take a special kind of stalker to figure it out.

  “Granite, there you are.”

  I closed the fridge and turned to face Onyx. “What?”

  “He’s on the phone.”

  “Who?”

  “The PC, man. It’s the call we’ve been waiting for.”

  I cursed. The whole goddamn morning I waited for that fucking phone call, and the fucker decided to call now. Now, when I really, really wanted to shove some food down Alyx’s throat.

  I glanced from the food in my hand to Onyx. “You take the call.”

  “What?”

  “I got shit I need to deal with now.”

  “What? Like eating lunch? Come on, man, this is the call we’ve been waiting for. The PC specifically asked to talk to you.”

  I gave him a knowing look before rounding the kitchen table. “You can talk to him. Just set up the fucking meeting.”

  “Granite—”

  “Onyx.” I stopped and looked at him. “You’re the fucking VP. Start acting like it. Take the damn call.”

  I stomped off, and Onyx called out, “You’re crazy, man!”

  “Yeah. Don’t I know it.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Alyx

  I refused to cry. Not again. He’d already stolen too many of my tears and didn’t deserve another. No matter how hard I tried to convince myself this couldn’t be it, this couldn’t be the man I’d been watching for years, the more he gave me reason to believe it was. It really was him. And I really was wrong. In my head, I made him out to be something he wasn’t. He was nothing but a man with evil running through his veins. A man who would take and destroy and not give a shit. A man with nothing but a cruel heart that beat inside his chest—that was if he even had one.

  I pulled against the ropes that had me tied to the chair. My skin burned, and after a few violent tugs, I knew it was hopeless. I’d wear myself out trying to get free.

  I let my head fall back. Why did he feel the need to tie me up when he could have simply locked the doors? Was he trying to prove a point? Trying to show me who was in control? Of course, he was. He wasn’t about to let a little ballerina girl challenge him. That was why he grabbed me, hurt me…touched me where no one ever had before.

  That was the part that confused the fuck out of me. He was being nothing but a dick to me, evil and heartless, yet my body responded to his violent touch. It seemed I was still attracted to him in some twisted, warped kind of way. How was that even possible? The man scared me. He elicited the darkest kind of fear in me, but the second he grabbed me between my legs, desire sprouted from within that same fear and took me completely by surprise. If it was any other man, I would have been repulsed by the touch. But it wasn’t just any man. It was him, the man I had been infatuated with for years. It seemed my body didn’t care that he was a psychopath. Even my skin erupted into tiny bumps as desire ignited like a fire over thatched rooftops. Just from one touch. One hard and fierce touch, as if he was claiming it. Claiming me.

  I moved my head side to side, my neck stiff and sore. The back of my scalp still burned where he had grabbed a fistful of hair. Funny how it only ached now, but when he did it, it ached somewhere else. Somewhere way more south, right there where his cruel touch cupped me. For those few seconds while starring into his eyes, I wasn’t a captive. I wasn’t leverage to whatever game he was playing. I was a woman—or as Red would say, a masochist.

  Everything was wrong.

  “I see you’re still where I left you.”

  I lolled my head down, annoyed by his sarcasm.

  He pulled the rope out of my mouth and down over my chin.

  I spat out some rope thread. “Yeah. I had so many fucking options but decided to sit right here and not move.”

  “Smart decision.”

  I looked up as Granite placed a bowl and a beer on the bedside table. “You forgot something.”

  He gave me a questioning glance.

  “You forgot the feeding tube.” My finger tapped on the armrest, and even with the unamused look on his face, I refused to break eye contact.

  After a few seconds of an intense stare-off between us, Granite grabbed a sheet off the bed and used it to cover the vomit on the floor. “I’ll get someone to clean that as soon as you’re done eating.”

  “How the hell am I supposed to eat with the stench of chocolate vomit stuck in my nose?”

  “Maybe you’ll think twice before you vomit next time.”

  “Maybe you’ll think twice before you come in here covered in blood.”

  He shot me a wicked grin, as if my being bothered by bloodstained clothing amused him. Psychopath.

  The mattress whined when he sat down. He took off his cut, placing it next to him, and reached for the bowl of food. “Let’s get this over with.”

  “I will not—” He shoved a spoonful of macaroni into my mouth. Immediately, I spat it out, but Granite just forced another spoon in my mouth—which I spluttered all over my lap, only to get my mouth stuffed with more food.

  “We can do this all day, Alyx. There’s a lot more where this came from.” He held up the bowl and grinned. “I got nothing but time, woman.”

  “You know, usually, when psychos kidnap women, they starve them. Not force-feed them.”

  He raised a dark brow. “Usually, when psychos kidnap women, starving them is a way of torture. In your case, it’s forcing you to eat.”

  “So, y
ou admit you’re a psycho?”

  One corner of his mouth curled in a half-grin. “That’s one statement I’ll never argue, ballerina girl.” He held up the spoon. “Open wide.”

  I frowned. “Please tell me you’re not about to make airplane noises.”

  “No, but I’m about to shove this spoon down your throat.”

  With my lips sealed shut, I glared at him, weighing my options. The determined look in his eyes was enough to tell me this was a battle I wouldn’t win.

  Always choose your battles. The one thing my dad taught me—especially when it came to my mother. Choose the battles you know you can win. He knew all too well no battle with my mom was ever something you could win. God, sometimes I hated him for loving her so much that he would turn a blind eye to the kind of relationship she and I had.

  My gaze remained on Granite’s as I reluctantly opened my mouth, feeling like a fucking toddler forced to eat.

  He slipped the spoon of macaroni into my mouth and smiled. “There you go. Not so hard, is it?”

  The words “fuck” and “you” came to mind, but again—choose your battles wisely.

  After another bite of food, I looked at the tag on his cut which was still on the bed. The Blood Brothers tag caught my attention.

  “What does that mean?”

  Granite turned to where I was staring then looked back at me. “Shut up and eat.”

  I studied him while chewing. There was a burning curiosity, a need to find out more about him. Even though he had been nothing but cruel to me, I couldn’t help but feel like there was something more. Something I’d need to dig for if I wanted to find it.

  I swallowed the chewed mush of pasta and had to really concentrate on getting it down. The spoon was in front of my mouth as soon as I swallowed, but I turned my face away. “I’ll make you a deal.”

  Granite frowned. “You’re hardly in a position to make a deal here.”

  “True. You’ll probably sit there and force-feed me until I’ve eaten every last morsel of food. But since you know me so well, you’ll know I don’t need to shove a finger down my throat to make myself sick. All I need is a few gag reflexes, and all this food will end up next to the chocolate vomit on the floor.”

  Those forest green eyes narrowed, lacking any sign of amusement. “Don’t bargain with me, Alyx.”

  “Why not?”

  “Nothing good can come from making a bargain with the devil.”

  “Is that what you are? The devil?”

  “Look at those ropes tied around your arms, then you tell me.”

  Silence filled the void between us, our gazes locked. Through the fear and alarm I so desperately tried to control, there was a crackle of electricity in the air. It caressed my skin, sending waves of energy through my body. Maybe I was the Stockholm Syndrome type, after all.

  “For every mouthful of food I swallow, I get to ask a question.”

  He snorted. “This isn’t a show and tell.”

  My mouth remained closed when he held the spoon.

  “Open your mouth, Alyx.”

  I pressed my lips together in a clear show of defiance.

  An inscrutable expression appeared on his face, and it rattled me, making me lose the hold on my fear for a moment. But then he placed the spoon in back in the bowl. “Fine. But no personal questions.”

  I frowned. “That’s not fair.”

  He shot me a warning glare, which silenced me.

  “Ask me personal questions, and you’ll eat even if I don’t answer. That’s the deal.”

  “How about you get to ask me a question if I ask something you don’t want to answer?”

  He smirked. “Trust me. There’s nothing about you I don’t already know.”

  The look in his eyes—all hooded and dark—and the way his tongue lapped his lips made me shift in my seat. The crackle of electricity went up a thousand volts, and my body started to hum, clearly affected by him in a way that wasn’t suited for this situation. The stare he gave me was almost primal, feral, as if he was a hunter with his eyes on the prey he’d been waiting to devour. Me.

  I cleared my throat, painfully aware I had pushed this bargain as far as he would allow. “What does Blood Brothers stand for?”

  He glanced at his cut then back at me. “It’s a tag members get when they’ve killed for the club.”

  A shiver swept through me, my skin cold. From the blood on his clothes, I knew he was a killer, but seeing it proudly displayed on his cut kind of drove that fact home. The food that had already settled heavily in my stomach threatened to come back up, but I swallowed, closing my eyes as I willed it to stay down.

  “What’s the matter, ballerina girl? Didn’t expect that answer?”

  I couldn’t respond since I was struggling to not throw up.

  “I answered. So now you eat.”

  The spoon was in my face when I opened my eyes, and all I could do was pray to God that I could get through this. Granite was a little less cruel by only giving me a small bite of macaroni. But it still didn’t go down easily—not when I remembered Onyx had the same tag on his cut. Blood Brothers. Good God, was I surrounded by killers?

  Granite held out the spoon again. “Open your mouth.”

  I shook my head. “No. I get to ask a question first.”

  “Fine.” The spoon clattered against the bowl as he placed it back.

  “How many people have you killed?” My voice shook, and I regretted the question the second it left my mouth.

  “I lost count.” He answered it like it was the easiest question in the world. As if I had just asked him the answer to one plus one. No remorse. No regret. He showed nothing that gave me the impression he hated the fact that he was a killer.

  With the next bite, I didn’t show as much hesitance and didn’t chew as long either.

  “Who else has the tag?” The masochist in me wanted to know exactly how many fucking killers lived under this roof.

  “Ink, Dutch, and Onyx.”

  “Who are Ink and Dutch?”

  “Ink is the club’s sergeant-at-arms. Crazy son of a bitch. He makes sure laws are upheld, and no one carries a firearm without him knowing about it. Dutch is the enforcer.”

  “Enforcer?”

  “You’re not playing by the rules, ballerina girl.” He held up the spoon, and I gagged a little thinking of swallowing more food. But I was desperate. They said knowledge was power, and I needed to make use of every opportunity I got in order to empower myself. It was the only way for me to fight back. So, I ate, my stomach complaining more and more after every mouthful I swallowed. My body wasn’t used to eating this much.

  I cringed as the last of the food slipped down my throat.

  There was an amused grin on his face as he watched me struggle. “Good girl. Now, to answer your question. In our case, the enforcer is lead security when it comes to protecting the president. He also helps the sergeant-at-arms to make sure members uphold our laws.”

  “And if they don’t?”

  He shot me a sly grin while reaching for the beer. “How do you think he ended up with the Blood Brothers tag?”

  I shuddered. Made total sense how those two got the killer badge in the club.

  “Ever drink beer before?”

  “You’re the one claiming to know me, so why don’t you tell me?”

  He leaned forward, and I could smell the overripe scent of the beer he held out to me. I’d only ever tasted beer once while at a party with Red. It was vile. The thought of drinking it made me feel lightheaded and sick. But the thought of ending up as nothing more than a number on his hit list had me opening my mouth as he brought the bottle to my lips.

  Beer spilled down the side of my face even though Granite poured slowly. When he pulled the bottle away, I was relieved since I was sure I had only been one mouthful away from hurling beer and macaroni in his face.

  The wetness of the beer remained on my mouth and chin, and he glanced at my lips before looking me in the eye. The m
oment lingered for a while, and with each passing second, his eyes darkened. There was a hunger, a desire in the depths of his irises—the golden specks masked with greed. Suddenly, I was hyperaware of how close he was, his warm breath skidding across my wet lips, causing me to shiver. My body prickled with more anticipation than fear.

  “Ask me, Alyx.”

  He didn’t back down. In fact, I was sure he was leaning closer, little by little, his earthy scent mixing with the overripe fruit flavor of the beer.

  His gaze dropped down to my mouth, and I sucked in a breath, closing my eyes when he touched his thumb against the corner of my lips. Softly, gently, as if I were glass, he wiped his fingers down my chin, his caress igniting a fire deep within me. My lips parted, and in that moment, I didn’t want him to stop touching me. Gone was the fear, replaced by desire, and it felt right in so many wrong ways. How could I desire his touch while fearing him?

  Lightly, his fingers traced along my jaw. “Ask me the one question you’re burning to ask me,” he whispered, and I imagined his low voice was what seduction sounded like. Dark. Tempting. Captivating. And utterly disarming.

  His thumb was on my lips again, and I opened my eyes to look straight into his. Deep down, I knew exactly which question he was referring to. It was a question I was too afraid to ask, but while I slowly lost myself in his gaze, something told me his answer might change everything.

  My lips parted while his thumb remained. “Why did you take me?”

  His finger dipped inside my mouth, and I exhaled sharply, air rushing past my lips in a huff.

  “Because you asked me to.” His palm flattened against my jaw, fingers softly caressing my skin, pushing my body toward an edge it had never even been close to. My eyes closed, and I relished the way his skin felt against mine. So many conflicting emotions, but only one dominant one. Desire.

  A whimper left me when his lips brushed my chin, his beard gently grazing against my flesh. “Every time you stared at me from your bedroom window, you asked me to take you.” With his hand against my cheek, he forced me to lean my head to the side. “You practically begged me to.”