by Stacia Stone
I try to sit up, but he shoves me back down on the couch. The rough, caveman routine shouldn’t be doing it for me. But the bloom of heat that starts low in my body makes it clear just how into it I am.
Leo kisses me again and it’s all teeth and burning heat. His hands wrap around my wrists and pull them up over my head, pinning them there. When I tentatively test the limits of his hold, his fingers tighten on me and still the slight movement.
I’m not sure what comes over me. Maybe it’s all of the pent-up emotion that’s been waiting to find an outlet. Maybe it’s that I’ve irrationally begun to blame him for this forced captivity because he’s the one physically keeping me here.
Whatever the reason, I start to fight him. My hips buck wildly in an effort to throw him off, but it’s like trying to move a boulder. With a lucky twist of my wrist, I manage to free one hand. Before he can grab it again, I pull back and send my open palm flying through the air.
It catches him full across the face with a loud slap.
Oh, shit. I slapped him. I can’t believe I fucking slapped him.
His face stays to the side for a moment before he slowly turns back with murder in his eyes. There’s nothing playful or sweet in his gaze. This is a man who hurts and threatens and kills as a profession. This is a man formed of darkness who doesn’t have a sympathetic bone in his entire body.
Leo grabs me with cruel intent. One of his hands captures both of mine and pins them above my head in a bruising grip that I can’t possibly hope to break. His other hand ruthlessly tears at my clothes. I hear the pop of buttons flying off my shirt, just before a blast of cool air blows over my chest.
He pulls down one side of my bra and his mouth descends on a peaked nipple. I twist underneath him and let out a little shriek as he roughly sucks the tender flesh into his mouth. I scream when his teeth close over the metal bar through my nipple and pulls hard on it. For one terrifying moment, I think that he’s going to rip it out.
But he stops before it really hurts me and moves to the other side. He gives that breast similar treatment until my entire chest is bright with red bites and wet with saliva. His free hand moves down to the waist of my jeans. He undoes the button with one strong twist of his hand, slides down the zipper and pushes the denim down my legs. His fingernails scrape slightly on the skin.
I try to twist away when he roughly turns me onto my stomach, but he moves me as easily as a rag-doll. My face is pressed down into the leather hard enough that I’ll probably be left with an imprint of the stitching on my cheek.
I struggle as hard as I can against him. He easily holds me down with one hand as the other works at the fly of his pants. His body moves over mine, resting enough of his weight on me that it steals the breath from my lungs. One knee works in between my thighs until he spreads them wide enough.
And then he completely sheathes himself in one thrust.
“Oh, fuck.”
Even I’m surprised by how wet I am. He slides in and out of me with little resistance. The movement makes a wet, slapping sound that would be humiliating if I had enough brain cells still firing to think about it.
His hips slam into mine. Sparks shoot from the edges of my vision. There’s something about doing it like this — it’s so dirty and animalistic. I feel taken and used as if he’s just using me as a cipher for his pleasure.
In that moment, he doesn’t care if it hurts. He doesn’t care if I like it. I’m just here to serve him.
Why does that thought make me so hot?
I’ve stopped fighting him. My arms hang limply at my sides as my body drapes over the couch. Leo worms one of his hands between us and touches my clit, stroking it lightly until my breathing comes in quick, desperate gasps. Two of his fingers press hard into the liquid heat before withdrawing.
Leo presses his fingers against my lips.
“Open,” he commands.
I hesitate too long and his hand rips down hard on one ass cheek. Pain blooms and then melts into warmth. My teeth have barely parted when he shoves his fingers between my lips. I suck his fingers clean as he thrusts them in and out of my mouth. The rhythm matches the rough movement of his hips.
His mouth licks, sucks and bites a trail up the back to my neck.
“You like it like this, don’t you?”
I grip the leather as he pistons forward into me. His momentum nearly drives me off the couch before his arms catch me. “Yeah, I like it.”
“I knew you were a dirty slut from the first time I saw you. It’s always the girls who are all buttoned up on the outside that are really wild on the inside.”
I want to deny it. I want to ignore the effect that his filthy words are having on me. It’s like I’ve been transported to another world where the only thing that exists is sweat, skin and pounding bodies. I want to stay just like this forever.
“You wanted me too, didn’t you? Admit it.”
“Yes,” I gasp. It doesn’t matter if it was true then because it’s the truth now. “I wanted you.”
“Well, you got me, baby.”
The furious pace of his hips somehow increases and I’m flying through the universe. The strength of the orgasm crashes over me. Waves of pleasure drown out everything except the muffled sound of him groaning my name.
We’re sharing more than sweat, skin and bodily fluids. Something more visceral and less tangible has passed between us. All of the superficial shit that separates people has been shoved aside. Everything is bared to the surface, like an open wound.
We collapse to the sofa. He shifts to the side so his full weight isn’t crushed against my back. He kisses me softly on the cheek with a murmured, “You’re amazing.”
I lay there, too wrung out to move. I’m trying to make sense of a world that’s tilted on its axis. I barely recognize myself anymore.
Leo recovers before I do. He rolls off of the couch and then bends down to pick me up in his arms. He carries me to the bedroom.
He drops me on the bed and then climbs in after me. We lay together in the dark silence with him pressed up against my back.
I don’t know what’s happening to me. How did he become the only stable thing in my life? I remember the look on his face in Papa’s kitchen when he realized those bikers were coming for us. There had been fear there, but also a deep determination to keep me safe. Even if it meant he’d get hurt instead.
The cynical part of me is convinced that it’s just about the sex. Or maybe he’s hoping to get a piece of my inheritance. Except he could fuck pretty much any woman that he wants to, with little more than a crook of his finger. And I already offered him money that he refused to take.
So what is it?
Why does he look at me like he’s worried if I’m happy or sad? Why is he so concerned about what happens to me?
And why am I terrified at the thought that I’m going to get him killed?
I roll over on my back. When I risk a look at his face, he’s staring down at me. The expression on his face is tender, which just confuses me more.
“You okay?” he asks. His hand coasts low over my stomach. I feel an answering clench at his touch.
“Uh-huh.” I roll toward him until I curl up against his chest. My head fits perfectly under his chin. I just want to touch him, but looking him in the eyes is suddenly too overwhelming.
My head gently rises and falls with his deep breathing. I only know he’s still awake because every so often he twirls a strand of hair between my fingers.
The realization doesn’t come with some lightning strike of awareness. Instead, it settles over me slowly like being wrapped in a warm blanket.
I love him.
And I have no idea if he feels even a fraction of the same way. Even if he does, it doesn’t matter. There’s no universe where people like us could make a relationship work. We belong to different worlds.
God help us both.
Chapter Thirteen
Leo
This sit-down is fucking doomed.
> We’re meeting in a connected slaughterhouse on the edge of town in the meat-packing district. I know it’s a cliché, but slaughterhouses are the best place to chop up a body. All blood — pig, cow or human — looks the same when it hits the floor. Even totally legitimate slaughterhouses look like the scene of a crime.
It’s supposed to make us seem more intimidating, Adrian “Ares” Hancock doesn’t look like he intimidates easily. Ares is the leader of the Apocalypse MC out of Philadelphia. From what I understand, he’s a truly evil motherfucker. The last guy who insulted him got dragged face down behind a motorcycle for three miles. There wasn’t enough skin left on the dude’s face for the family to identify him. The coroner had to use dental records.
The Apocalypse MC makes the Devil’s Rejects look like a boy scout troop. I don’t regret kicking the shit out of those assholes. But if I’d known they hooked up with Apocalypse, I probably would have been subtler about it.
Now I’m sitting at a card table surrounded by hanging pieces of meat. And I’m wondering how the hell I’m getting out of this situation without somebody bleeding or dying, especially me.
The bikers enter through the plastic flaps. They look like fucking savages with all the tattoos and patched jackets. Ares has to be the one in the middle with WAR tattooed in bold letters across his chest.
Ares takes a seat at the table, flanked by two of his guys.
“Carmine,” he says, voice deep. He glances over at me and then looks away, dismissing me. I want to leap across the table and punch him in the throat, but I resist the urge. The whole point of this bullshit is to avoid a war, not start one.
Carmine also notices the slight. “This is Leo, one of my captains.”
“I know. I’m just surprised he’s here.”
I frown at him. “Why’s that?”
“I thought this meet was to discuss what we’re doing about you.”
“You threatening me?”
“Promising, maybe.”
My back stiffens and my hands ball into fists. Disrespectful fucks. “Remember you’re not in fucking Philly.”
Ares shrugs, like moving in on territory that’s already been claimed isn’t something to worry about. “I got to say I like it here. Maybe we’ll stick around for a while.”
“Maybe you’ll end up floating in the Hudson.”
Ares just smiles at the threat.
“Leo.” Carmine’s voice is a warning. It says, shut the fuck up, we’re supposed to be playing nice here. “Let’s just get down to business.”
Ares expression turns surly. “I’ve got three guys in the hospital because of this fucker here. What are you going to do about that?”
“For one, we had no idea that you were affiliated with the Devil’s Rejects. If we’d known, we would have come to you about the dispute.” Carmine’s tone is so smooth and conciliatory that it makes my teeth hurt. I have to remind myself that this is the time for diplomacy. Threats and guns can come out later. “Second, they were slinging in our territory. This is what happens when you try to corner turf that doesn’t belong to you.”
“Who says they were slinging?” Ares asks with a snarl. He points at me. “This fucking guy? They weren’t working your side of town.”
“What were they doing then?” I ask the question even though I already know the answer.
“A snatch and grab. They were working a job they got from one of your fucking women.”
Fucking Cecile. If she wasn’t Mara’s mother, I’d have blown that bitch away a long time ago.
“Cecile Matarazzo was the daughter of the old boss, but he disowned her before he died,” Carmine says. “She’s not one of us.”
Ares crosses burly arms over his chest, stone-faced. “That doesn’t matter.”
“Like you said, snatch and grab is a job,” Carmine argues smoothly. “They were still working the wrong side of town. It’s not my fault that Cecile misrepresented herself.”
“Maybe I’m making it your problem. I got three guys out of commission ‘cuz of this shit and I want some kind of retribution.”
Deep lines appear in Carmine’s face as he frowns. “What do you want?”
“The job was to put the squeeze on some chick.” Ares smile is evil enough that I feel cold. “Deal was for enough cash that I felt like I needed to come up here myself.”
My teeth are clenched so hard together that I’ll probably have a headache later. “So the fuck what?”
“So give us the girl and we’ll call it even.”
“Fuck you!” I yell.
“Leo,” Carmine snaps. “Don’t make me regret inviting you to this sit-down.”
I’m so livid that I’m literally seeing red. Everything around me is fading into a murderous haze. All I want to do is close the small distance separating us and wrap my bare hands around Ares’s throat. I don’t just want to kill him. I want to feel his body take its last breath and see the life drain from his eyes.
Carmine watches me for a minute, probably making sure I’m not about to do something crazy. Then he turns back to Ares. “That girl is the granddaughter of our old boss. Out of respect, I can’t just let you have her.”
Ares rises slowly from the chair, obviously intending the move to be menacing. “Tell you what. Me and my boys are coming for this girl. You can give her up easy or we can take her the hard way. I’m in a decent mood so I’ll give you twenty-four hours to decide.”
So it’s gonna be a war.
Carmine still sits at the table, looking pensive as Ares strides toward the exit. The other two bikers fall in behind like good little automatons.
“Leo.”
I don’t like the way he says my name, all slow and resigned. He doesn’t say it like let’s go get these motherfuckers. It’s a lot more I know you’re not gonna like this, but…
“Don’t you fucking say it.”
Carmine rubs his fingers over his temples like he’s trying to relieve a bad headache. “I can’t go to war with Apocalypse because of one girl.”
My heart cracks and fractures in my chest. “She’s Vito’s daughter, Carmine.”
“I get that. And if there was a way to help her that didn’t involve going up against the Devil’s Rejects and the fucking Apocalypse MC then I’d be all over it. But my hands are tied.”
A sound like roaring water rages through my head. I can barely understand the words he’s saying, though I completely understand the meaning. “You’re saying we’re on our own.”
“She’s on her own,” Carmine corrects me. “Why are you sticking your neck out so far on this? Loyalty to the old boss doesn’t mean you have to face down a fucking army by yourself.”
Why are you doing this?
I don’t have an easy answer to the question, not even inside my own fucking head. All I know is that handing Mara over to Ares and the fucking Apocalypse MC is not going to happen. They’ll have to kill me first.
The realization that I’m willing to die for her sits like a heavy pressure on my chest. A few weeks ago, I couldn’t have picked her out of a lineup. Now, I’m about to leap in front of a speeding train to keep her safe.
What the fuck is happening to me?
Carmine watches me. The expression on his face is sympathetic but resolute. He’s not going to help us. Mara and I are truly on our own.
“I’m gonna be out of town for a few days.” I fight to keep my voice even. I’m so full of rage and a deep hopelessness that I can barely think around it. “Give me some time, but I’ll try to get in touch.”
He nods in understanding. “Probably best that I don’t know where you’re headed.”
“Probably.”
“Take care of yourself.” Regret briefly flashes over his face before Carmine schools his face to a detached mask. “And take care of her, too.”
Taking care of Mara isn’t a choice anymore. There’s no moment of indecision. I’ll protect her because I don’t want to live in a world without her in it.
Mara is still awake wh
en I get back.
I’d left Dino, one of the guys in my crew, to post up by the elevators outside the door of the apartment. Not just to stand watch and keep anybody who isn’t me out, but also to keep Mara in. I wave him away with a nod of thanks before opening the door. I don’t want her to figure out that I’ve had somebody outside the door this entire time.
Better she thinks I trust her to take care of herself.
When I open the door, she’s standing next to the large bay window in the living room. She stares out at the city below. Her face is half cast in shadow. I almost think I see tracks of dried tears on her cheeks, but it’s too dark to be sure.
“It’s late,” I say softly, somehow hesitant to break the silence. “Why are you still up?”
She turns around. I see now that she has been crying. I know she must have heard of me come in. But as soon as she lays eyes on me, a broken sob works its way out of her throat.
“Oh, baby.”
“I wasn’t sure if you were coming back,” she says and her voice breaks.
I stride quickly across the room and wrap her up in my arms. She collapses against me like a broken doll. I finally get a glimpse at the deep well of loneliness and fear that’s she’s probably been hiding for most of her life.
In that moment, I resolve to always come back for her. Even if I have to crawl out of my own grave to do it.
“I’m right here,” I say, rubbing gentle circles on her back. I murmur other words, whatever platitudes I can muster on short notice. There’s nothing I can say that will take away her pain or change the reality of our situation. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”
Mara turns her face up to look at me with tears still shining in her eyes.
“I love you.”
Her confession hits me like a shot to the gut. I couldn’t have heard that right. Or she must mean something else. Love like the way you love your family, or a pet.
But that’s not the way she stares up at me — with every emotion she’s got laid bare and burning in her eyes. I know she means it exactly the way it sounds.