by K. V. Rose
“Why?” Evora asks, an edge to her words as she turns to face me.
I arch a brow. “Since when do I have to explain myself to you, Evora?”
She swallows, averting her eyes and crossing her arms over her chest as she takes a small step back. “Are you fucking her?” she snaps, but she doesn’t have the guts to face me when she does.
I step closer to her, grab her chin between my fingers and force her to look up at me. I see the fear in her eyes, and I relish in it.
If Addison thinks what I did to her in her room after she destroyed her stuff is bad, she really has no idea. That was the least of what she deserved for fucking with me.
Evora knows better. She’s seen me at my worst.
“And if I am?” I challenge Evora. “Fucking her?”
She bites the inside of her cheek, her chocolate eyes rounded, more sadness in her expression than grief. “I just want to know,” she whispers.
I smile at her, leaning down close so my mouth is over hers. “I don’t fuck my merchandise,” I tell her honestly, and I hate that Addison has become something just a little more than that, the way she’s gotten into my head, but I let the thought go. Something like relief spreads over Evora’s features, her brows lowering, jaw unclenching. “But I also don’t explain myself to my whores.” Roughly, I push her face away and step back, sliding my hand back into my pocket.
She glares at me, but her eyes are shining with unshed tears. I see her face flush red, and I roll my eyes.
“You knew what this was,” I remind her quietly. “And you knew what it wasn’t. Would you like to go home?” I nod toward the door, where the guard is still looking at the floor. “If so, no one is stopping you.”
Her hands are balled into fists by her sides but wisely, she only says, “No, Max.”
I think about leaving her here anyway. She wasn’t supposed to come. I was going to fuck around with Addison at this party, but now that she’ll be on display for two men who are to report back to their bosses, I don’t feel like playing with her.
“Bruises are fine. Marks from whips. But things like broken bones, permanent disfigurement? Don’t cross any lines, Max.”
With the way Addison saw me as Mamie tried to rip me apart with her words, I would certainly cross the line with Addison tonight. The way I held her after, as if I needed her… I’d undo all of that damage if I put my hands on her tonight. If she thought the first time I took her was bad, she has no idea.
Distracting me from those thoughts, I hear the click of heels on hardwood and I turn to face the hall Addison’s room is on.
Mamie is shadowing her, a few steps back, but I don’t focus on her.
Instead, it’s Addison I’m staring at.
It’s the first time I’ve seen her in a dress.
Her golden blonde hair is wavy down her back, giving me a good view of her slender neck. The plunging neckline of the dress reveals the swell of her breasts, the burns atop them, three on each side, six total. She’s lost some of the tan she had when she came here, but Mamie didn’t put makeup on her save for over the faded bruise on her throat and I can make out the light spray of freckles along her nose as she steps closer. She walks gracefully in her nude heels, strapped around her ankles, and I wonder how often her father showed her off at his own parties.
Her long lashes blink up at me, green eyes wide as she nervously takes me in, wondering if I’m still the same weak man she thinks I am. Her eyes are lined with red, though, and I wonder if she was crying over being forced to come to this party with me. The thought pisses me off.
But her hands are relaxed by her side as she tries not to cower. Even still, I see her taking deep breaths in, long breaths out, trying to calm her nerves.
Her cotton candy scent makes my cock twitch.
But before I can say anything, she glances past me, and I see her expression falter.
Evora.
Her brow furrows, nose wrinkling with her confusion as she stares at the woman I’m fucking.
I step back, looking between the two of them.
Mamie waits behind Addison, saying nothing, her eyes lined with red and a tissue in her hand. It’s been a week.
Dante has been dead a week, and she’s still crying over him.
I let it go, rolling my eyes.
“This is Evora,” I tell Addison calmly. I don’t introduce Addison, because property doesn’t get names.
Addison’s jaw clenches as she takes Evora in, and I see Evora sizing her up too.
It’s almost touching, their animosity.
I step closer to Evora, put my hand on her low back. Evora pushes closer to me and the anger in Addison’s face is nearly humorous.
But then she says, her eyes finding mine, “I see I won’t be needed,” and she makes to turn around. “I’m not really feeling up to going—"
“Oh,” I interrupt her coldly, “you thought you were going as my...what, Addison? My date?” I didn’t explain this party to her, because she doesn’t need an explanation. But if she wants to push this, I’ll push back.
She stops, turning back to me. I don’t like what I see. It isn’t jealousy in her eyes anymore. It’s…grief.
Exhaustion. Hopelessness.
Maybe over me. Maybe fucking Dante.
I don’t like that look in her eyes. Instead, I had enjoyed the way she glared at Evora. The way anger flashed over her beautiful face when she saw my hand on Evora’s back. But with her bleeding heart over the man who took her fucking virginity, well, she has to learn her place.
Beside me, Evora huffs, rolling her eyes as she shifts from one foot to the other.
She has to learn her place too.
Turning toward her, I narrow my eyes. “Go wait in the car.”
She arches a brow, brushing back her curtain of dark hair. “Max, you’re not really going to waste time on a slave’s feelings—”
“Go.” I don’t have time for disobedience. She should know better.
She frowns, cutting her dark eyes to Addison, but then she turns on her heel and I nod toward the guard at the door to lead her to the car. He pulls the door shut behind him before I turn back to Addison.
I cut my eyes to Mamie. “Leave us.”
With one last, lingering look, she does, turning back the way she came.
Closing the space between us, I grab Addison’s chin between my thumb and forefinger, lifting her head. Her golden blonde hair falls down her shoulders, the red dress like a glove around her body, her breasts tempting this close to me.
But with her big doe-eyed pout, despite her dress, and despite what I’ve done to her, she looks so innocent I almost want to send her back to her room. Keep her away from prying eyes and wandering hands.
I can’t do that though. She isn’t worth the hell I’d pay for keeping her home tonight. She isn’t worth what I could lose.
“What’s wrong, love?”
She bites her lip, tries to jerk her face from my grip. I only tighten my hold, wrap one arm around her low back, the smooth silk of the dress soft against my hand.
“Talk to me, Addison.”
Reluctantly, she meets my gaze, hatred burning in her green eyes. “I don’t want to go to a party. I don’t think you should, either. Dante—”
I tighten my grip, digging my fingers into her jaw, cutting off her words. “Talk to me about anything but fucking Dante,” I warn her. “If you mention him again, I promise you won’t like what I do to you.”
Her eyes narrow, but she obeys me, asking instead, “Why am I going with you?” I see her hands fisted at her sides, the tension in her neck, along her collarbone.
“Because I said so.”
“Why?” she presses. She glances past me, toward the door. “Your girlfriend is going and—”
I pull down her bottom lip with my thumb, smiling at her jealousy. “She’s a woman I fuck. Not my girlfriend.”
Addison’s cheeks flush pink and she rolls her eyes.
“Are you jealous?”
I ask her softly, knowing the answer.
She tries once more to pull away from me. My hand goes to her throat as I yank her closer.
“Behave, and answer my question, Addison.”
Fear replaces the anger in her eyes, but she still holds my gaze as she says, “No.”
My fingers tighten around her throat, and her hand twitches, like she’s going to reach up to pull me off. But like a smart girl, she doesn’t. “Don’t lie to me, love.”
“Why do you want me to say it?” she asks, her words low and angry. “Why do you want to make me hate myself?”
My hand slides down her low back, cupping her ass as I pull her even closer. “How you feel about yourself isn’t my concern, Addison.”
Her brow furrows, pain in her eyes.
“But if you are jealous, there are ways I can make you feel better. Or worse, depending on how you behave tonight.”
She swallows, and I feel her throat move beneath my hand. “What am I supposed to do there?” she whispers.
I think of the men who will be watching tonight. The alliance I’ve made with Sinaloa and the position I’ve put myself in with her buyer. The fact that if she fucks this up tonight, my brother might end up dead.
She cannot fuck it up.
“You’re supposed to be seen,” I tell her honestly. “Assurances for your father that you’re alive—”
“Will he be there?” she asks quickly, and it’s not hope in her voice as she stares up at me, her eyes wide. “Is he going to—”
“No.” I trail my hand down her throat, over her collarbone. “He won’t be there, but the message will be sent.”
She says nothing but nods slowly, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. I wonder again at all the ways her father has fucked her.
“Look at me,” I tell her as her gaze starts to wander, thoughts I can’t imagine churning in her head.
She does, still chewing her lip.
“You don’t leave my sight while we’re there. You don’t drink anything I don’t give you. You can look anyone in the eye, so long as you can stomach it. And if anyone touches you...” I trail my hand lower, slip my fingers beneath the silk of her dress, enjoy the way she shivers as I brush my thumb over her nipple. “If anyone touches you, well, I’ll take care of that particular problem for you.”
Her nipple pebbles beneath my finger and her face flushes pink as her body responds to me. “And you?” she presses, trying to ignore what I’m doing to her. “Will you...touch people?”
I lean down close to her, angling my head so my mouth is over hers. I wonder if she actually cares if I do. “We’ll see.”
The Maserati jostles over each cobblestone of his driveway as he pulls toward the tall, iron gates that surround his home. I glance at the stone, two-story affair behind us. There’s a fountain out front, abstract rectangular shapes spouting water as the sun sets behind us.
In the rearview mirror, I see a black SUV trailing us. Evora is in there, Max told me. I have no idea why I’m in the car with him instead, but I don’t question it. And I don’t think about him…fucking her.
“Nervous?” Max asks me, and I shift my gaze from the house to him.
The gun to his head flashes in my mind, the scared look on his face as I approached him, as if he thought I might pull the trigger. For a moment, I feel something like sympathy.
Then I think of Dante. I think of Max cornering me in my room. The moment passes.
I force my gaze from him, look straight ahead as he pulls onto the road, the black SUV behind us.
“Yes,” I finally answer him, smoothing down my red dress, trying to tug it to my knees. Even though I’ve worn less in front of men before and despite what we did together, in the car with him, I feel uncomfortable. I’m even sweating, and he’s got the A/C blasting.
Despite my discomfort, I enjoy being in a car, in the front seat. When I was allowed to leave my father’s compound, I was always chauffeured. In the back seat.
I try to focus on that, what I enjoy, like I used to do when I focused on the documentaries that played in my father’s room. I force my mind to something I can stomach, instead of thinking of everything I fucking hate about this.
“Why are you nervous?” Max asks me, bringing me back to the present.
I glance at my nails, painted a matte red. I did that myself, after Mamie brought in some polish before I changed into my dress.
The red reminds me of the playing card Dante picked. Just like that, I hear the gunshot from the woods. Hear Max climbing the fence behind me, when I thought I might get away. I swallow down the lump in my throat, forcing the memories into the box with Danik. Cade. My father.
“Why do you think I’m nervous?” I counter, gritting my teeth.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see his rosy lips pull into a slight smile, but his eyes are still on the road, hands on the wheel. There’s no music playing, and I don’t know if I’ve ever heard music in the house. In the car ride here when I was blindfolded, nothing played.
“Are you shy?” he taunts me. “Did you never go to any of your father’s parties?”
I flex my fingers against my dress, clench my jaw. One of my father’s parties is where I was burned. Another is where he hit me so hard, my neck cracked as my head spun around. In front of people. An entire room full of monsters and their whores.
“Yes,” I finally answer Max through clenched teeth. “I went to them.”
He glances over at me, but I keep my eyes on the winding road. “Do you like parties?”
I turn to stare at him. “How can you talk about this?” I ask him, the box bursting again. “How can you talk about things like fucking parties after you…” My chest heaves and I close my eyes. I see it all again: Ben’s head. Max’s shoe as he made me lick it clean. The whip marks on the woman’s breasts. Max holding a gun to his head. The floor beneath my hands as he fucked me.
Dante.
“After I what, love?” he asks, his voice deceptively sweet. I remember his threat, about what would happen if I mentioned his dead guard again.
He wants me to say it. He wants me to say it so he can hurt me. So he can drown out his own pain with mine.
“How could you do that, Max?” I ask him anyway, because he’s driving, his hands preoccupied, his gun on his hip. He could shoot me, I suppose, but I’m not sure I’d really care at this point. “How could you kill him?” My voice breaks on the last two words and I have to fight to hold back the tears stinging behind my eyes.
It was my fault.
I remember him crying in Max’s arms. I remember how Max had crossed his own arms, bowed his head as he stood behind his guard.
I remember Dante’s last words. “Tell him it gets better.”
I haven’t asked. I don’t know if I want to know.
But I do know that Max didn’t want to do it.
I know he didn’t, but…he did.
And it was my fucking fault.
“I think I told you not to—”
The illusion of safety in the car makes me braver, and I cut him off. “I don’t fucking care what you said!” The words leave my mouth in a scream as I turn to face him, slamming my hands down against the center console, the seatbelt digging into my chest. “I don’t care what you said, and I don’t care what you do to me anymore, Max!” My pulse is pounding, heat coursing through my body. “You’re sick.” I lower my voice, my fingers digging into the leather console as I stare at his side profile, his jaw clenched. “You’re sick, and if you would do that to him, when he did nothing to you—”
He jerks the car over to the side of the road, slamming on the brakes so hard the seatbelt locks up against me and my hands shoot out instinctively to the dash, steadying me.
He throws the car in park, unbuckles his own seatbelt and turns to glare at me.
My mouth goes dry, heart slamming against my ribcage, my limbs frozen, hands still on the dash.
“Scared, yet?” he asks me softly, his eyes gleaming from
the light on the console, night having fallen around us. I vaguely register the headlights behind us, the SUV pulled over to the curb of the rural road, too. “Are you done running your fucking mouth?” Even in the low light, I can see the dark circles beneath his eyes, contrasted against his pale skin.
I don’t speak, clenching my thighs together to keep myself from shaking against his seat.
“Oh, don’t stop now.” He leans toward me, reaching a hand out and brushing a lock of hair behind my ear. His touch causes goosebumps to break out along my arm, and I realize both of my hands are trembling against the dashboard.
I drop them quickly, leaning back as I fist them in my lap and try to get away from his touch.
But he shifts his hand, tangles his fingers in my hair and jerks me toward him as his other hand comes to my bare thigh.
“Keep going, brave girl. What do you really think about me? Get it all out, love.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. My thighs tremble beneath his fingers, and my chin is quivering. I grit my teeth, holding my breath, trying to stop my body from betraying me.
His hand trails further up my thigh and I try to squirm away, but his grip in my hair tightens.
“I think I told you not to talk about Dante again,” he reminds me coldly, pressing his brow to mine as his fingers reach the apex of my thighs, his thumb brushing against my panties.
I whimper, and he smiles.
“I think I told you that you wouldn’t like what happened if you did.”
I bite my lip, release the breath I was holding, out through my nose, trying to steady myself.
He slips his finger beneath the silk fabric of my underwear and I tense, my limbs locking up. As he runs his hand over me, I suppress a shiver.
“Max, please,” I plead with him, my lips nearly brushing his as close as he is to me, in my face. “Please don’t—”
“I want you to do something for me, baby girl.” Surprising me, he slides his hand out from under my underwear, drags it down my thigh, then holds it up between us as he leans back, keeping a grip on my hair.
“I want you to taste yourself.” He presses his index finger to my mouth.
I close my eyes, wanting to get away. Wanting to get out of this car. To fucking run. But his hold is painful against my scalp, and I can’t move.