Bad Medicine (Underworld Kings)

by KD Robichaux

  “It’s hurting my arm. The bite of the metal. Please, I won’t run. But this hurts.”

  “I can’t trust you… yet. That has to be earned.”

  “I thought you said you wouldn’t hurt me. Broken promises already. Now who needs to earn the trust here?” I challenge him. Standing back, he towers over me, watching me—looking for signs of deception, I’m sure.

  As much as I would like to run, and it would be what the average person would do, I know better. Now’s not the time. I have to earn his trust, wait until his guard is down, and then I will make my move. I’m a daughter of the Cosa Nostra. I’m smarter than that.

  “Fine, but don’t mistake this for weakness, Arabella. You attempt to run, I just may have to hurt you in a way that your captor really doesn’t want to.” He takes his thumb and runs it lovingly—yes, lovingly—down my cheek, and I have to resist tilting my head into him.

  “I won’t. I’m not stupid. But I want sleep. I need it. Please.” I know he already forfeited, but I want to sweeten him toward me.

  Without saying anything, he makes quick work of releasing me. When my hand is free, I immediately start rubbing out the aches in my wrist, elbow, and shoulder.

  “Allow me.” Reaching into his nightstand, he removes some oil. Watching him intently, I hold my hand out when he tells me to.

  DeLuca begins to massage the oil into my wrist first, his hands skilled, as if he does this often. My stomach flips a bit, a twinge of jealousy hitting me. Quickly, I bury that thought. Lust is not love.

  Don’t get your head all twisted, Ara, I scold myself.

  My eyes flutter shut as he moves his hands slowly up my tricep, kneading the skin and muscles, releasing the ache there. I can’t help but release a sound of appreciation. This earns me a growl, and I resist rolling my eyes.

  Is everything I do a turn-on to this man?

  He does this for a good amount of time before climbing into bed. I lie on my side, my back facing him. The room goes dark, the click sounding from the lamp he turned off beside his bed. I try to let my mind take a break so I can get some rest, but that’s paused briefly when his thick, strong arms wrap around my waist, and he slides me across the bed until my back is flush against his front.

  “Don’t you dare try me. Don’t run from me. Hell is a place I’m familiar with. Don’t make me have to drag you there to teach you a lesson.” With his threat, I’m left gulping and nodding. A meek “Yes” leaves my lips, and there are no more words spoken between us.

  I wait for what feels like hours—but really, it must be less than thirty minutes—for his breathing to even out, indicating his slumber, but that never happens. Instead, I fall asleep first, my dreams haunted by the beautiful yet dangerous man wrapped around me.

  …

  The morning light is what wakes me. I don’t feel arms around me. Slowly, I sit up and look around the room, seeing no one is there. It’s empty, so I sit still and wait to see if I hear noise coming from the bathroom or closet, but nothing moves. I know for sure I’m alone.

  I stretch out my sore muscles before climbing out of bed. My feet hit the floor, and I unhurriedly stand, not wanting to make too much noise. I tiptoe to the bathroom, and after I relieve myself, I wash my hands, then step back out into the room and look around again, deciding what I should do next. Seeing the closet, I make the choice to do some snooping.

  Anything I find could possibly help me. One never knows.

  Flipping on the light, I’m met with an impressive wardrobe of suits and nice dress shoes. An island is centered in the decent-sized closet. The top is glass with a view of his expensive watches and monochromatic ties. The bottom half is drawers, and opening the first one, I see his socks and boxer briefs. I sift through them, thinking maybe there is a weapon or something I could use later. If I familiarize myself with what I have to work with, it could equal a possibility of an easier escape. My father would be so proud if he knew I was thinking like the men who worship him.

  But there’s nothing here.

  Moving on to the next one, I’m taken aback.

  Scrubs? Hospital scrubs? My brows furrow. Is he into some weird roleplaying? But then I remember him mentioning having appointments at the hospital to Maxwell.

  “I’m a doctor, piccolina, and I see you are a snoop.”

  I jump, placing my hand over my erratic heartbeat.

  “I wasn’t snooping. I was looking for… um…” I pause, trying to think of something, anything. “Clothes. I was hoping I could find something to wear that is better fitting. Surely, you’ve had a fair share of women in and out of here. They must have left something behind,” I say matter-of-factly. Crossing my arms to really make my story believable, I wait for his response. When I get it, I want to slap his smug face.

  “Silly woman. You’re the only woman who has ever been here, and you will be the last one. Don’t be jealous now. Come on. Your new clothes are downstairs.” With that, he leaves. Just walks out. And I’m left speechless.

  It takes me a minute, but I finally propel myself into movement and stomp downstairs. I listen for noise and find voices coming from the left of the hall. I follow them, recognizing both voices. Maxwell and DeLuca.

  At the bottom of the stairs, I go left and enter the great room. It’s just off the dining room, and it reminds me of something from medieval times, yet it still has a dash of modern to it, still all white and gray with touches of gold and black. DeLuca sits on the sofa, his arms placed lazily along the back of the leather, one ankle propped on his opposite knee. He’s wearing dark denim jeans and a fitted white tee. His thick dark hair looks effortlessly styled, and it just further annoys me. Why did he have to be so handsome? Couldn’t I have been taken by someone who resembles… I don’t know… Shrek?

  My annoyance annoys me. Why is he irking me so badly today?

  Because he got you all hot and bothered, then turned you down when you gave in and asked him to make you come.

  Ah, yes.

  “Arabella, Maxwell went shopping with a personal stylist for you. I want you to go through the clothes and try them on for me. You can pick the ones you like, and we can order more if you see fit.”

  I scoff. “You want me to put on a show for you? I’m not a dog or pony, DeLuca.”

  He leans forward, placing both feet on the ground, his elbows resting on his knees. “Principessa, I want you to try on the clothes without giving me attitude. Maxwell, I’ll call you back when I need you. You can leave us.”

  I look to Maxwell, and he gives DeLuca a curt nod, then gives me the same but with a soft smile. That gives me an idea. Get close with him, and he might help me escape.

  When he clears the room, I turn, and with a bit of aggression, I sift through the clothes. I won’t lie—they’re beautiful. High end and almost all of them are in my size. Grabbing some of the shirts and jeans, I turn to him. “Is there a bathroom down here?”

  He sits back when I ask this, giving me a sinister laugh. “Yes, but none you may use. Too many ways for you to get creative. I have… Arabella-proofed every room.”

  Is he leading to what I think he is?

  “You want me to change in front of you? I’m not doing this, DeLuca.”

  “You’re mine, and that means your body is too. Now change.”

  I hate that this is happening, hate the burn I feel coming on, and I wish I could suppress it, but I can’t. Acting tough isn’t as easy as I wanted it to be. Tears well, then slowly fall. I try to wipe them away and pull my shoulders back, but he stops me.

  “Piccolina?”

  “I’m a human being, DeLuca, and you know nothing about me. You saw a vulnerable woman alone, and you took your chance. But my life has been ruled by men like you. They control me, tell me what to wear and say and where to go. You say you want me to want you and to fall for you. But you’re just treating me like all the men I knew before you.” I drop the clothes and run back toward the bedroom.

  I hate that he saw me weak, but my emotions a
re shot. I can’t handle much more. He calls after me, but I don’t stop. Instead, I keep going, finding his room and slamming the door before crawling back into the bed. I curl into a ball and just let the past fifteen hours consume me. I sob. In a way I never have before.

  The door opens slowly, and I feel him behind me, towering over the bed, but I don’t pay him any mind. I just want to be left alone, because this will be my new life, and I was stupid to think I would ever be able to escape this man.

  He doesn’t say a word for a long time. Instead, he lets me bury my pride and dignity. Finally, his voice cuts through my crying.

  “Maxwell, bring the clothes to my bedroom. She’ll be trying them on in here.” The sound of his phone locking is like a gunshot through the quiet. It makes me hypersensitive, and I don’t know why.

  “I will leave the clothes in here. You can try them on, then come and find me.” And then he leaves the room.

  No fight? No telling me he owns me and to do what he says?

  Ferro would’ve insulted me, made his snide comments, tried to guilt me and punish me with his incessant bitching, but DeLuca just forfeited.

  I hear Maxwell wheeling in the clothes, and I rush to sit up and wipe away my errant tears.

  “Miss, here are your clothes.”

  I barely look over my shoulder and give him a soft nod. “Thank you.” He goes to leave, and I stand. Turning, I move to the clothes, when he stops.

  “Miss, I know it’s not my place, and my boss would have my head if he found out I was talking to his woman in this manner, but I ask that you trust him. I know that how you came here wasn’t ideal, but he is going to protect you. Trust him.” He doesn’t even let me respond before he’s out the door.

  I’m left stunned, completely shocked by his comment.

  What is DeLuca protecting me from? What am I missing here?

  10

  DeLuca

  I’m a prick.

  Do I care if anyone besides Arabella thinks this of me? No. However, with her, I want her to worship me, not despise me. I want her to trust me and need me. But seeing her break like that and hearing just how unhappy she is and how poorly she was treated by Ferro… that made me weak. I want her to feel the opposite here with me. Fuck me and this goddamn mess. I want to say I regret taking the job, but if I hadn’t taken it, I wouldn’t have her, and someone else would have done the job. To know she would have been killed makes me blind with rage.

  “DeLuca?” I stand when she speaks.

  “Yes, principessa,” I respond, turning to find her standing in the doorway of my office. I left it open so she could find me, and I posted Maxwell outside my bedroom to make sure she came here and not to snoop around again. If what happened last night wasn’t enough to make her want to leave, then what happened a little bit ago was.

  She’s standing in some blue jeans with slits in the knees and a black tight tank top with thin straps. Her hair is falling around her shoulders and collarbone, and my fuck, she looks beautiful.

  “I’m sorry I reacted that way. And I do want to say thank you for the nice gesture and the clothes.”

  I want to claw at my heart that is beating insanely in my chest for her, but I resist the action, knowing it’s pointless. She has control of me. Nothing will be able to stop or cure that.

  “Of course, I wouldn’t deny you simple things. You will have makeup, skin care, and all the other things delivered this afternoon. We can always change what you don’t like. Were the clothes to your liking?”

  “Oh, um… yes, they were great. Thank you.” She adjusts the hem of her tank, looking around my office and trying to avoid eye contact. I take a seat in my chair and get back to emails. I don’t say anything, wanting her to feel comfortable enough to enter the room. I keep my eyes focused on the computer but track her movement in my peripherals. She slowly walks in, skimming over my bookcases that take up the entire wall shared with the door. She fits here, makes my office seem homier. After she spends time perusing my books, she comes to stand next to me, lifting herself onto the desk beside me as she sits atop it. Her legs dangle over the side as she looks around.

  I like this setting. Her sitting next to me like she’s lived here all along and owns the place.

  “So, you said you’re a doctor. What kind?”

  Smirking, I close the laptop and turn my chair toward her, doing my best not to reach out and touch her.

  “I’m an oncologist.”

  Her brows lift. “Hmm, a lifesaving doctor by day, who preys on women by night. Interesting. Sounds like the start of some twisted mystery novel.”

  That makes me smile. This is definitely a surprise—her demeanor. She’s suddenly playful and comfortable, making me wonder if Maxwell said something to her for her to have such a change in attitude. I take advantage of it, because God knows when she will put her walls back up.

  “No, just you.”

  “Just me what?” she asks, picking at the rip in the knee of her jeans.

  “I’ve only ever taken you, piccolina. Not a bevy of women. Contrary to what you may think, I haven’t had any desire to be with a woman.”

  “So, you prefer men?” she teases, and I laugh, a deep chuckle.

  “No, baby. I prefer you.”

  “Uh huh. Interesting. Why didn’t you just find a way to approach me like a normal man and ask me on a date?”

  “Fair question. I like a challenge. I’m also not sane, Arabella, and I wanted you so badly that I didn’t even think to give you a chance to say no to me,” I explain, leaving out that I would never approach a woman I know is married, because then I’d have to tell her how I knew she was already taken.

  She places her hand over her heart. “Ah, a romantic. Capture me to ensure I fall in love with you. How could a woman resist?”

  Goddamn, I love her humor, but it just makes me want to fuck her over this desk.

  “You’ll see. I will make all the romantic gestures, if that’s what you want.”

  Arabella snorts. “It’s a little late for that.”

  “No, because you see, you think you’re afraid of me. You think I’m dangerous to you and that you could never love a man who took you in the night and locked you in a tower, but I have known you less than a day, and I can already tell you that you’re wrong.”

  Quirking a brow, she challenges me to continue.

  “You told me you had a life before me, in which the men made you feel horrible. Like you weren’t a human. I, piccolina mia, plan to do the opposite. With me, you will feel human. With me, you will feel more alive than you ever have. You hold all the cards here; I’m just waiting for your next draw.”

  She takes in a deep breath, looking me in the eye as we fall silent. Then she moves, leaving my desk and crawling into my lap, straddling me.

  “Then do it. You talk a big game, but you haven’t shown me.” The challenge in her tone is unmistakable.

  I grip her hair at the back of her nape and slam my lips to hers, unable to resist. My other hand grabs her ass and pulls her in closer. The second our mouths touch, I become branded with her taste. Fuck, it’s good. Sweet, like cherries. Our tongues touch and fight for more. I can’t get enough, and I bet if I were able to read her mind, she would be thinking the same thing.

  “Mmm, DeLuca. Please,” she moans into my mouth, her hips grinding.

  “What do you want, baby? I’ll give it to you. I want to fucking give you everything,” I tell her, pulling us apart and bringing her forehead to mine. “Huh? What do you want, Arabella?”

  Her eyes well with tears, her fists gripping my shirt.

  “I just want to know what it’s like to feel this. All of it.”

  “Anything. Goddamn, I’d give you anything.” I bring her lips back to mine and help her grind against my hard cock. She begins to dry fuck my erection, begging in between kisses not to stop.

  Is this all a dream?

  Is she really telling me she wants me to give her what I keep promising?

  Is
she telling me she will give me all of her, not just her body?

  I ask myself that over and over until she pulls back and looks me deep in the eyes.

  And then it happens. Right when I think she just might tell me she’s all in, her jaw falls open, and her brows drop as she comes against my jean-clad cock, her moans like a goddamn symphony.

  Holy fucking shit. The little minx used me to get off on her own.

  And I can’t even be pissed.

  11

  Arabella

  How sad is it that the best orgasm of my life was one I stole from my captor, and he hadn’t even been inside me?

  Something snapped inside my mind while I descended the staircase after trying on all the clothes and letting Maxwell’s words play on repeat.

  No longer would I try to escape my new gilded cage. I’m here for an unknown reason, and something tells me I should trust not only Maxwell but his boss as well. So I decided to trust DeLuca with a single part of me—my body—while the pieces of this puzzle fall where they may. He said he wouldn’t give me relief until I’m ready to give him all of me, but that just wouldn’t do. I can’t think straight enough to figure out the rest when all I can think about is my sexual attraction to the man now panting beneath me with fire raging in his eyes.

  But even with his realization burning bright in his orbs that I just got off on him when he wanted to deny me release, a sexy smile tugs at one corner of his full lips. Apparently he likes this side of me, the side not vulnerable and weak but sly and able to outfox him at his own game. And for the first time in my life, I feel like I could possibly be myself for a change—not the mask I put on for everyone else but the me I keep hidden so I don’t get punished.

  My pussy throbs with need, even after the orgasm I just had. It might’ve given me a moment of instant gratification, but now I feel extra empty, craving something deep inside me for my muscles to clamp down on. I rock against him once more, but DeLuca is onto me this time. He grasps my hips and lifts me with ease, setting my ass on his desk as he scoots his chair back so he can stand.