Dirty (Raw Family #2)

by Belle Aurora

  I yawned, and catching it, Dino called the limo driver to meet us out front shortly. When we made our way out and slid into the back, Dino pulled me onto his lap, nibbling at my neck. Being tipsy and overly happy at Dino’s demeanor during this trip, I leaned into his mouth.

  Dino called out to the driver, “Privacy,” and without a word, the partition window went up.

  Dino kissed his way down my neck, onto my chest, and then swiped his tongue in the valley between my breasts. “Have fun tonight, baby?”

  I clutched at his head and moaned, “Oh yes, honey.”

  With a swift tug at the neckline of my simple black dress, my breasts were bared, and Dino took a stiff peak into his mouth, sucking with enthusiasm.

  My back bowed with the intense pleasure flowing through my body.

  “Who is he?” Dino asked quietly, before switching to the other nipple, laving it with his tongue.

  Panting, in a haze, I responded, “Who?”

  Lifting his head, he muttered, “The bartender. Who is he?”

  Blinking slowly, I pulled back to look at my husband. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen him before.”

  He smiled before lowering his mouth back to where I needed it. I sighed in appreciation.

  A sudden, burning pain radiated through my breast, and I yelped, trying to pull back. But Dino’s arms tightened around me. A second yelp was pulled from me as the pain returned with a vengeance. Frightened, I pushed at my husband’s shoulders. “Dino, stop.”

  But he bit me again. Harder.

  Gritting my teeth, I swallowed a wail of agony, as I whispered a broken, “But it’s my birthday!”

  With a firm hand, he pushed me off his lap and onto the floor of the limo. I landed on my stomach and, with a harsh wheeze, the breath was knocked out of me. I heard the jingling of his belt. The bottom of my dress was harshly lifted over my hips, and my panties pulled down to my knees.

  I wasn’t ready for him when he entered me from behind, muttering, “You lying little bitch.”

  The pain was unbearable.

  With every jolting, dry thrust, hurt plagued me, my stomach rolling, white spots dancing in front of my eyes.

  I was going to faint.

  Deeper and deeper he went, grunting and mumbling abuse into my ear, until finally—thankfully—darkness embraced me.

  The only realization that Dino isn’t tearing my body apart comes in the form of a choked scream escaping me, as I clamber back into the corner of the sofa like a wounded animal. My shaking hands rise up to cover my open mouth, and I pant softly into them, a light sheen of sweat on my forehead. I blink through stinging tears.

  I try to swallow through the thickness in my throat. My frightened statement sounds into the silent room, “I hate you.”

  Ling and Julius exchange a curious but frowning glance. Ling shrugs discreetly, but I catch it, and suddenly, I’m mortified.

  As my cheeks heat, my subconscious laughs.

  You’re losing your mind.

  My attempt to clear my throat weak, I lift my gaze to meet Julius’s. “If you don’t plan on killing me tonight, is there somewhere I can get some rest?”

  It takes him a moment, but he speaks gently. “Upstairs. Second room on the right.”

  Upstairs.

  My foot hurts like a bitch, and he gives me a room upstairs. Of course he does.

  Punishment.

  I’m being punished. I understand the message being sent, and I’ll take it on the chin.

  Slowly making my way past them both, standing tall, although every second is pure torture on my wounded foot, I carefully take the stairs one at a time, my tender heel aching with every step, but I don’t let them see my pain.

  I don’t dare.

  I’m good at hiding pain. Living with Dino made sure of that.

  They can take everything from me, but I won’t let them have my pride. They can pry it from my cold, dead fingers.

  My eyes follow Alejandra as she steels her will and passes me with her head held high. The delicate scent of her shampoo trails behind.

  Orange and vanilla.

  I try not to breathe it in, but I can’t help myself, and when I do, I breathe it all the way into my lungs, closing my eyes in silent prayer. I don’t know what to do with her. She’s turned my world on its head.

  The little woman is defiant, strong-willed, and mouthy. None of those traits should be sexy, but I’d be lying if I said the angry pout of her lips didn’t stir me in ways I wish it didn’t, in ways I’d have to ignore.

  What happened down here a minute ago… I don’t know what the hell just that was, but it would be really great if it didn’t happen again.

  Her blank stare, her bleak gaze, will haunt my memories. The moment she came crashing back down to earth, she reentered the atmosphere with a bang. Whatever the fuck it was she saw scared her half to death.

  In a normal situation, I’d say she earned the terror and to shake it off, but something about her… something is off. The entire situation is off. For once, I don’t understand the motive. And it eats away at me. My mind runs a mile a minute.

  What am I not getting here?

  If I had any sense at all, I’d pick up my pistol, follow her into that room, aim for her forehead and shoot, sending her body back to her father.

  But a mild sense of injustice flares through me as I think about this puzzle. Having always been one to trust my gut, I am set on finding the missing pieces. I find myself becoming invested and wanting to know all of what Alejandra Gambino knows.

  I need to figure out where I fucked up.

  Why did she frame her husband?

  “What are you doing, Julius?”

  Lifting my head, I catch Ling staring at me, her perfect brows raised. She shakes her head lightly and asks quietly, “What are you doing?”

  My back straightens and I move to walk out of the room.

  Ling’s next words halt me in my tracks. “I can sneak in while she’s sleeping. Boom. She won’t know what hit her.” She adds, “She’ll go quickly. Quietly.”

  She’ll go quickly. Quietly.

  The statement is too much. “You aren’t curious?” I turn and watch her carefully. “You don’t want to know why she did what she did?”

  Ling remains quiet a moment before speaking through a tired sigh. “She’s a convincing liar. You don’t get to be that good without practice. Trust me, I know.” She pauses a second. “Makes you wonder.” After a long moment of mutual silence, Ling shrugs. “She could be a selfish bitch who wanted Dino’s money to herself. Maybe she planned this from the beginning. Maybe she’s not right in the head.”

  I pause, arresting her with my solemn gaze. “You don’t believe that, do you?”

  My partner slides down to sit on the sofa, her expression cautious. “No. I don’t.”

  Her face is almost unreadable. My brows narrow at her. “What do you think?”

  Ling looks mildly uncomfortable as she shifts in her place and clears her throat. “The thing that just happened, when she spaced out…” She bites her lip before speaking softly. “It used to happen to me, Jay. It used to happen a lot.” As my gaze turns questioning, Ling mutters, “Post traumatic stress.”

  My gut coils and I tiredly run a hand down my face. Fuck. The last thing I need is to sympathize with Alejandra Gambino. I’d rather have not known this.

  Ling, once again putting on her game face, rolls her eyes. “So what? It doesn’t matter. Shit happens. You pull up your panties and move on.”

  It doesn’t matter.

  I remain silent, but my lingering solemnity has Ling worried. When I feel her hand on my arm, I look down to see her pretty almond-shaped eyes blinking up at me in question. “I can make it quick. She’ll just go to sleep and never wake up. Some people would give their left nut to die like that.”

  No. It shouldn’t matter.

  But I can’t help but feel there’s more to learn from this little woman. I would need to get inside her head, need to
get close to her, take her apart piece by piece and open her up.

  My decision made, I shake my head, and Ling dips her chin in defeat. With a huff, she moves to walk away from me, but I catch her wrist before she can escape. “Four days. I’ll give her four days. If I don’t get anything worthwhile out of her by then, she’s gone.”

  Ling’s anxious expression softens. She raises her hand and gently cups my jaw, running her thumb over it. “Julius, you’re one of the only friends I have, and I would do almost anything for you.” Her emphasis on “almost” is more than apparent. Dropping her hand from my cheek, she takes a step back, away from me. Her eyes turn frigid, and her mouth sets in a grim line as she adds menacingly, “But I will not die for you.”

  Her heels click away, and left to my own devices, I lower myself to the sofa, digging the heels of my hands into my eyes.

  She’ll go quickly. Quietly… It doesn’t matter

  Yet, it matters to me.

  Why does it fucking matter to me?

  My grave expression quickly turning to one of hostility, my eyes hood as my jaw sets.

  Alejandra Gambino will tell me everything I need to know. She will talk.

  I will do whatever I need to make that happen.

  Ling is right.

  I am not going to die for a frail, useless slip of a woman.

  The young woman lying asleep on the bed never even hears me enter. With the stealth of a snake and gracefulness of a feline, I work my way soundlessly into the center of the room.

  Amongst our circle, I have earned quite a few titles in my years with Julius.

  Black widow. Last look. Chinese Cinderella.

  I have earned these names by being the ruthless bitch I am. I might be small and sexy, but I am not delicate. I may arguably be the most dangerous woman in the world.

  Why?

  Because I’m unassuming.

  Don’t ever mistake my femininity as weakness. I will slit your motherfucking throat while reapplying lipstick.

  A word to the wise… Don’t always trust what you see. After all, even salt looks like sugar.

  Chinese Cinderella, I silently scoff. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve almost skinned a dick over some asshole calling me Chinese.

  Stupid American redneck fucks take one look at me and say, “Oh, she’s Asian. She must be Chinese.”

  I’m goddamn Vietnamese, motherfuckers. Take note or lose a limb.

  In this minute of relaxed reprieve, I take Alejandra in, my expression turning semi-sympathetic at the thought of what she could have possibly experienced to make her have terrors almost as bad as mine.

  With her back to me, my eyes travel down the length of her. Petite, too slim, with long, black matted hair. Dirty, ripped clothing and a frayed bandage on her heel.

  I mentally snicker.

  She’s pathetic.

  I don’t know why that makes me happy, but it does. I never could make friends with pretty girls. But then I think about how terrified she was…

  My face hardens and my lip curls. It takes all my will to silence the vicious growl threatening to escape my burning throat.

  It’s hardly my problem. What does she know about pain? It can’t be worse than what my family did to me.

  After all, no one cared when my father and brothers…

  Don’t you do it, girl. Don’t you dare go there.

  My emotions on high, I close my eyes and inhale deeply, exhaling slowly, begging for the return of my calm.

  It takes a second to realize I’ve let my guard down. Then, without turning, she speaks quietly. “Are you going to kill me?”

  Her meek voice startles me. The .22-caliber pistol in my hand suddenly feels heavier than it should. I grip it tighter, and it takes me a while, but I finally respond a hardhearted, “Yes.”

  Her body stiffens a moment before she relaxes, snuggling into the pillow. Her voice carries an edge of relief as she whispers, “Good. Thanks.”

  The fight I had anticipated—that I craved—has been taken from me by those two softly spoken words.

  What the hell is wrong with this picture?

  Her words surprise me, and although she unknowingly made this very easy for me, I love when people beg for their lives. The kneeling, the groveling, I especially like it when they kiss my designer pumps before I boot them so hard in their mouths that they see stars.

  Killing someone who wants to die… where’s the fun in that?

  I raise the gun and take aim, but as my finger rests on the trigger, I huff out a sigh, loosen my grip, lose focus and lower the pistol with precise slowness. Never being one to respect a person’s space, I move to sit on the bed, right next to Alejandra.

  She half turns to look at me, blinking back tears, silently mourning her short life, and I ask, “Do you want to die?”

  Rather than answer me, she looks at my swollen face and mutters, “I really am sorry about your nose,” promptly turning her back to me once again.

  Ugh. I hate a suckass.

  “I asked you a question.” I do not like being ignored.

  When the length of her pause is too long and I open my mouth to tear her apart with a string of insults, she sighs long and low. “Vito wants me dead. His sons, Gio and Luc, want me dead. My father will do whatever Vito asks, including presenting his daughter’s head on a silver platter. There is no one who can help me now. I am well and truly fucked.”

  Perceptive. She is very much well and truly fucked. Proper fucked.

  I remember what Julius said earlier. “Your brother—”

  A small amount of fire burns in Alejandra’s eyes when she turns to face me and cuts me off with, “My brother would walk through the fires of hell if I told him it would help me.” She shakes her head lightly. “He’s a good man. I won’t do that to him. I won’t cost him his life.”

  Maybe Julius wasn’t completely addled to suggest Alejandra might be valuable. She knows the life. No doubt, in her position from her throne, she saw things, heard things that may be of significance to us. I try my luck with an important statement, but offset its importance by telling it in complete boredom. “You’re right. You’re totally fucked.” I shrug limply. “That is, unless of course, you can prove yourself useful.”

  Her body turns rigid next to mine. She blinks up at me with her soft brown eyes, wide with a false innocence, long lashes fluttering in an attempt to feign confusion. But those doe eyes of hers… they’re calculating as fuck. “Useful? Useful how?”

  I smirk on the inside.

  Oh my, Alejandra. What secrets do you carry in the pretty little mind o’ yours?

  I slide off the covers to stand by the bed. “It doesn’t matter. Like you said—” I turn to the door, walking toward it, smiling cruelly. “—you’re already dead.”

  As I reach the doorway, I hear the covers shift, and she asks a panicked, “Wait! You’re still going to kill me, right?”

  “Nah.” Over my shoulder, I throw her a sadistic smirk. “I’ve decided to throw you to the wolves.”

  A look of intense fury crosses her face. Her face flashes, chest heaving, nostrils flaring, and those pretty doe eyes blaze furiously as she grits her teeth, reaches to the side of the bed, picking up the Swarovski crystal vase of white budding roses, rearing back and throwing it at me as hard as she can while letting out a string of Hispanic curses.

  I don’t blink as the vase connects with the doorframe by the left side of my head, smashing into tiny pieces. The curses continue and my eyes hood as my heart beats faster. Inappropriate timing, I know. Feelings of heat and lust coil up inside of me, and I bite my lip to quell my sudden arousal.

  Alejandra must see the change in me, because the lips on her lovely, flushed face stop moving and she watches me closely in puzzlement.

  Making a show of eyeing her tight, petite body, images of this wounded bird pressing her lush, soft lips against mine replay over and over inside of my head, and I warn her quietly, “Don’t ever fight me.” Her brows furrow, and to m
ake things clear, I add, “Not unless you want to fuck me. Is that clear enough for you, Mrs. Gambino?”

  “Castillo,” she corrects, the fury in the gaze ebbing away.

  I take in what she said, tilt my head and question, “I beg your pardon?”

  She lays down on the bed once more, her back to me and utters a hard, “Don’t ever call me a Gambino.” Softer then, she adds, “I’ll be a Castillo till the day I die.”

  Well, now we’re getting somewhere.

  That did not sound like a statement from a devoted wife, let alone one who loved her husband. I knew there was something fucky about Dino and Alejandra from the moment I saw them together, but I seemed to be the only person who did—apart from Miguel Castillo, that is. They seemed too perfect, too put together. It was disgusting, really. To anyone else, they came across the doting couple, but to me, the air about them was unnatural. Forced. They were nothing but show.

  I repeat her words. “Till the day you die.” My eyes dance. “Won’t be long now.”

  Her tone resigned, she allows, “No. It won’t.”

  And something about the way she says this makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand.

  When I realize I’ve been standing at the doorway, watching Alejandra lie on the bed in complete silence for over a minute, I spin and stride up the hall and down the stairs, my heels clicking underneath me.

  Julius stands from his seated position on the sofa, and I twirl in front of him, turning my back on him, moving my hair out of the way. Without skipping a beat, he gently unzips my dress down to the small of my back and asks, “Well?”

  Here I am, a man-eater, with the silky skin of my bare back exposed to this beautiful man, and all he asks is, ‘Well?’

  I have to remind myself this is Julius, and Julius never lets me play. He has never led me on or made promises. He’s kind of boring. I don’t even know why I want his meat in my mouth. I’ll just have to find my own source of amusement when all of this is over, preferably in the form of a man whose dick is so big it hurts. Until then, I have my fingers and my precious showerhead. Adjustable spray.