by Vivian Arend
He expected her to protest but she ran to the driver's seat, managed to get the door open wide enough to slip inside and started the classic muscle car. The second the engine purred to life, he threw open the door and turned back to see her rolling down the passenger side window. He jumped out of the container, giving her plenty of room to spin out of the box and jumped back when the car hit the ground. Grabbing the roof, he swung his legs through the window and wriggled through it as she punched the gas hard enough to throw him into the dash.
"You should probably put on your seatbelt," she warned, slamming the gas pedal even harder.
"No shit," he grunted while bracing his boot against the dash. Reaching down, he jerked free his backup weapon, cursing his mistake of leaving his favored one locked in his desk, and twisted in his seat to see if they were being followed. He turned just in time to see the lead SUV slam into his motorcycle. The impact tossed the bike into the air and into the closest container. His anger soared, but he didn't have time for plotting his revenge. A young kid, maybe twenty-one, armed with an automatic weapon leaned out a window.
"Keep your head down!" He put his hand on her soft blonde hair and applied pressure. "Keep driving."
The first gunshot missed the car but the second, third and fourth ricocheted off the trunk and roof of the Camaro. Praying that she wouldn't wreck, he fired back at the SUV in the lead. He was careful with his shots and mindful of his short supply of ammunition. Instead of trying for the tires or the engine block, he aimed at the driver, contorting his body into a position that put him at high risk of being hit to get the best shot.
Three rounds fired—and the final hit its mark. The SUV careened into a container and crumpled. The vehicle following it clipped the rear end of the wrecked SUV but didn't stop. He started to fire again to stop the second SUV, but Aston gripped his shirt, her fingernails scratching his stomach. "Hold on!"
He had only a moment to react. He slid back down into his seat just in time to see her take a turn that most stunt drivers couldn’t make. Her pretty little foot, encased in that outrageously expensive high heel, moved expertly between the clutch and the gas and ghosted over the brake while her hand worked the gear shift without hesitation. He wasn't sure whether he should be terrified his life was in her hands or aroused by how damned sexy she was behind the wheel.
She barreled down a side street and made another wicked turn that almost sent him flying out the window. Remembering her earlier comment about the seatbelt, he grabbed the thin strap and hurriedly jammed the latch into place. The lap belt wouldn't be much use in a head-on collision but it was better than nothing.
With her lips pursed and her jaw tight, Aston put more distance between them and the SUV trying to catch up. She hooked another wicked right but he was ready for this one and had his hand on the door panel to stay in place. He wasn't sure how the hell she managed to stay in her seat—or how she managed to look so fucking hot doing it. Something told him Jack McNeil had taught his daughter more than just business tactics.
The SUV chasing them misjudged the turn and lost control. It hit the corner of an abandoned building and would drive no farther tonight. She didn't slow down though. Punching the gas, she tore down the street like a bat out of hell and didn't ease up until she hit the 225.
As if overcome by the adrenaline, she started to giggle. The sound made his lips twitch with amusement. Her childish giggles morphed into throaty belly laughter. She tossed her head back—and he felt himself teetering on the precipice and in real danger of falling.
He didn't think he had ever seen anything so beautiful as Aston McNeil laughing, her cheeks flushed with adrenaline and her eyes sparkling with relief. She held out a trembling hand. "Look at me! I'm shaking."
Unable to help himself, he reached for her hand. The spark of contact made her inhale sharply. He interlaced their fingers and grinned at her. "You crazy, beautiful girl!"
She snorted in the most unladylike way but didn't drop his hand. With fingers entwined, she lowered their joined hands to the gear shift. "We can't go back to your garage."
"No," he agreed. "And we can't go back to your place or mine. They'll have recognized me, and if this was an inside job, they'll know you're with me." Considering their precarious position, he added, "We have to stay off the main highways. This car has probably been reported as stolen so keep it under the speed limit and be careful."
She shot him a look that said she could charm her way out of even a situation as severe as being pulled over in a stolen car. He would like to think that she wouldn't turn on him, maybe even call him a kidnapper or worse, but his childhood had taught him to be wary.
"Where are we going, Ben?"
He had a place in mind, but she wasn't going to like it.
CHAPTER THREE
A brothel. He brought me to a brothel!
"Quit staring," he hissed. Taking my hand, he tugged me along beside him. "And keep your head down. You might see someone you recognize."
The thought of it mortified me. I tried to follow his instructions but couldn't quell my raging curiosity. I would never set foot in a place like this again so I might as well gawk. He was right, though. I did see someone I noticed. The familiar face of a federal judge who used to play golf with my father stunned me. Ben must have felt my shock because he pulled me tight against him and angled his body to block my view and keep my face hidden from others.
I hurried to match his steps as he led me upstairs and to a room near the end of the right hall. He unlocked the door and pushed me inside before locking the door behind us. A lamp burned in the corner of the lavishly decorated boudoir. Like the rest of the historic home tucked away in one of the old, quiet neighborhoods of the city, the bedroom showcased beautiful antique furnishing and rich colors.
Turning to face Ben, I noted the way he leaned against the door. He seemed tense and ready for a fight. I didn't feel like giving him one. Curious about how he knew about this high-end brothel, I asked the obvious question, "So…um…do you come here a lot?"
He shot me a warning look. "I don't have to pay for pussy."
His crass reply rendered me speechless. He glanced away from me and shoved off the door. His next words shocked me even more than the last ones. "I was born here. My mother was one of the most famous prostitutes this town has ever known."
My lips parted, but I couldn’t think of anything smart to say. Suddenly that chip on his shoulder made sense. How many wealthy men had pawed at his mother? Was his own dad a member of my exclusive social circle? Was he a bastard son that had been shut out of his rich father's life?
Following Ben's slow movement around the room, I decided to keep my mouth shut and let him say whatever he needed to say. If he didn't want to say anything that was okay, too.
"My father was one of her customers." He toyed with a porcelain figurine on a side table. "He was Besian's old boss. Not Afrim Barisha," he clarified, as if I should know who that was, "but the man before him, Baki Beciraj. He let me have his name, but he didn't want me, and I let that rage twist me up. I got into trouble. I did stupid things. Then, one day, Besian saved me."
"Your boss now?"
He nodded, still refusing to make eye contact with me. "He adopted me as his nephew after and made it possible for me to be recognized as part of the family."
I understood that he wasn't talking his father's blood family but the crime family he now served. "And your mother?"
"She died when I was twenty." He finally looked at me. "Ovarian cancer. She didn't even realize she had it until it was too late." He pushed the figurine across the table as a silence settles between us. "So are you disgusted now?"
"No. Why would I be?"
"I'm the son of a whore and a mob boss."
Hating to hear such self-loathing in his voice, I asked the only question that mattered. "Did you love your mother?"
"Yes." He didn't even hesitate.
"Did she love you?"
"Yes."
"Then none of that other s
tuff matters."
He made a scoffing noise. "You wouldn't understand. You've had a perfect life with—"
"My mother was a drug addict," I cut in quickly. "Daddy said that she had always been a little too fond of partying, but he thought she would settle down once they were married. She, uh, she lost her first two babies—boys—because of the cocaine. Daddy forced her into a rehab after the second stillbirth."
His hard glare softened. "Jesus. Did she stay clean?"
"For a while, until I was born," I answered. "I got sick when I was four months old, and Daddy found out that she had been using again and breastfeeding me. He…wasn't happy."
"I can imagine."
"While I was in the hospital going through baby coke withdrawal, he sent her away. He put her in another house in a different state and told her that she couldn't come back unless she got clean and stayed clean for an entire year."
"Did she?"
I nodded. "She came back when I was two. I don't remember, of course, but I've seen pictures of her homecoming. We were happy for a while."
"Until?"
"She started having an affair with her trainer. He took her to a party, and she started using again. Pills this time," I added. "I was too young to understand why she was sleeping during the day and so wired at night. She started drinking too much. Sometimes even when we she picked me up from school…"
The ugly memories twisted my gut and left me sick inside. I rubbed the back of my neck with cold, clammy hands. "She was bringing me home from a ballet recital. Daddy had been kept away on business. He was stuck in an airport somewhere, and Mom…she had been popping pills and drinking before the recital."
"What happened?" He asked the question as if he already knew the answer.
"She was too drunk and stoned to follow the signs in a construction zone. She got onto the interstate driving the wrong way, and she was weaving all over the place before she finally passed out. I was screaming. I was so scared—and then she slammed into a concrete barrier. I don't…I don't remember anything after that."
"She died?"
I nodded.
"And you lived."
I nodded again and met his hard gaze. "So, you see, Ben, we're not so different. We both had parents who were less than ideal, but we've turned out okay."
He crossed the distance between us in two long strides and placed his hand against my cheek. My eyelids drifted together as his callused fingers glided over my skin. "Not so different," he agreed, "but not so much alike either."
"That makes things interesting." Finding some courage, I rose on tiptoes and pressed my lips to his. His hands flew to my shoulders, and for a moment, I thought he was going to shove me away from him. Instead, he pulled me even closer. His powerful arms engulfed me as he groaned against my mouth, the sound so very hungry and needful. He picked me up, and I wrapped my legs around his waist.
We were playing with fire. We'd known each other for an hour and already we were locking lips. Of course, we had just survived being chased and shot at by criminals.
And now you're being kissed by a criminal.
The truth was painful and raw—but it was real. Ben wasn't a lawyer or a doctor. He wasn't a professional athlete or a banker. He was a mechanic, a mob enforcer and a car thief.
And he could kiss.
My God, could he kiss!
Lightheaded and trembling, I clutched at his shoulders as he stabbed his tongue between my lips. He bit my lower lip with enough pressure to make me gasp. I had a feeling he had done it to remind me that he wasn't a nice man and that he could hurt me—that he would hurt me.
Refusing to be cowed, I cupped the back of his head and deepened our kiss, wresting control from him and proving I could give as well he gave. Ben turned around and put a knee on the bed, taking me down to the mattress. He broke away from my mouth just long enough to hitch me up a little higher on the bed and throw his legs on the outside of mine. Then he was attacking my mouth again and driving me crazy with his wicked tongue.
"Aston?"
"Yes?"
"You're out of college, right?"
"I'm in grad school." I pulled back and peered up at him. "Why?"
He brushed his knuckles across my cheek. "You look young. I wanted to be sure."
I rolled my eyes. "I'm not a card-carrying member of the V Club, either, if that's on your list. You aren't taking advantage of me."
"I am." His gaze turned dark. "I made you trade your body for your car."
"Nobody makes me do anything. Not you, not my father, not my evil stepbrother. I make my own choices. Always."
At the mention of Calvin, he jerked back his hand. "Aston, earlier, you said that he drugged you and gave you to his friend. Did that friend—did he hurt you?" He swallowed. "I don't want to scare you. I don't want to hurt you more."
His concern touched me. Considering that he had probably spent his formative years running the halls of this very brothel, I could only imagine the awful things he might have seen. To know that he wanted to spare me any trauma endeared him to me.
Running my fingers through his hair, I told him what he wanted to know. "Russ didn't hurt me. He had the biggest crush on me, and I guess Calvin had been sending him these fake love letters and emails. It was really sick how far he was willing to go to set it up, but he failed. When Russ realized I had been roofied, he got me dressed and drove me straight to the nearest hotel to sober up. Later, he called my father and told him everything."
"How old were you?"
"Sixteen," I said, remembering how humiliating and devastating the experience had been. "Marley wanted to tell Spider. She swore he would gut Calvin for doing something so cruel."
"He would have done worse. What about your father? What did he do?"
I closed my eyes as the violent memories returned. "I had never seen him that angry. I thought he really was going to kill Calvin. He beat him to a bloody pulp in the foyer of the house. Just beat the shit out of him until our housekeeper and her husband finally intervened and dragged him off. Calvin laughed. He had blood running down his face, and he couldn't stop laughing."
"What about Calvin's mother? Did she say anything?"
"Marjorie? I think she knew he was…broken. She was afraid of him just like me. When she died from an allergic reaction a few years later, we found a letter with her will that warned Daddy to be careful because Calvin wasn't stable. She said that she had always feared he was going to kill her or me."
Ben clasped my chin and stared at me. "I won't let him hurt you."
Running my hands along Ben's strong arms, I said, "You might actually be the only person in the whole world who can keep that promise."
Something in Ben's demeanor changed. Instead of the rough, quick fuck I had been expecting, he treated me gently. I sensed he was trying to make a point. Shivering with excitement, I reveled in the way his powerful hands moved over my body. He stripped me easily, shifting me this way and that to tug free my clothing until I was naked underneath him.
Wanting to feel his skin on mine, I grasped the bottom of his shirt. He sat up and finished taking it off himself, kicking off his boots and peeling away his socks while he was at it. His jeans and boxers followed and then he was on top of me.
He kissed me with such tenderness and took his time making love to my mouth. Our tongues dueled, his winning the fight and leaving me breathless. I clenched my thighs together as a pulsing heat throbbed there. My nipples were tight, pulsing peaks by now.
Ben soothed the ache in my breasts with his hands and mouth. He massaged my supple flesh and suckled me with long, hard tugs. Each sucking pull on my nipple traveled right down to my clitoris. The swollen little nub wanted to be played with, but Ben was busy with my breasts. I squeezed my thighs together again and drew his attention.
With a wolfish grin that made my insides wobble, Ben kissed his way down my body. He took his time on the downward trek, meandering around my belly and along my hips before ending up at my thighs. He slid
to his knees next to the bed, and I realized he was going to do that.
"Do you like having your cunt licked?"
I made a choking sound that teetered on the verge of indignant but was really more shocked than anything.
"Oh, right. I guess that better class of men you prefer doesn't use words like cunt."
"Ben," I said warningly, my face on fire now. "Don't be so crude."
"I'll be whatever the hell I like." He parted my thighs with his strong hands and kneaded my sensitive flesh. He nibbled and nipped at my inner legs. I gasped and squirmed, but he didn't stop. "You never answered me. Do you like having your pussy eaten?"
"I…" Gulping nervously, I admitted, "It's not something I've experienced much. I think I like it."
"You think?" He made a humph sound. "Sounds like the men you've let into your bed don't know what they're doing. A sweet, pink pussy like this one?" He parted me with his thumbs and made a hungry noise that caused me to blush. "I know what to do with it."
Without warning, he swiped his tongue along my slit. I exhaled roughly and gripped the duvet beneath me. He repeated the motion twice before probing between my labia and finding my clit. As if savoring his favorite dessert, Ben took his sweet time between my thighs.
He slipped a finger inside my pussy, working it in and out of me at a leisurely pace. His tongue was the real star of the show. He did such sinful things with it, things that made me squeal and things that made me groan. He lapped at my clit and sucked on the little bud before fluttering his tongue over it.
"Ben!" He chuckled against my clit, and the low, rumbling vibrations felt so wickedly good. Finding the perfect rhythm, he licked and suckled until my hips shot off the bed. Rocked with spasms, I surfed the blissful waves gripping my lower belly. "Ben!"
Growling like a damned bear, he grabbed my bottom with his free hand and held me fast to his mouth, refusing to allow my escape as he drew out my climax. Only when I was limp and whimpering did he let go of me. By then, I was too boneless to move. His tongue continued to roam my pussy, sliding through my folds and even replacing his finger. I found it hard to breathe as he explored and tormented me, but I didn't want him to stop.