by Nikki Chase
Yes, Damon’s a bad boy. Obviously. He works for my dad. That’s not why I like him, though.
Damon’s not an idiot. He’s not content being a small-time criminal. He’s got smarts, and he’s got ambitions. He’s got a plan. He’s going somewhere. I can tell.
I admire that about him. That sheer determination and resilience in the face of a brutal world that doesn’t care whether he lives or dies.
My phone beeps and I almost jump from the surprise.
Damon: For you? I’m always ready.
Damon: Where are you, princess?
Damon: I’ll pick you up.
A smile plays on my lips. I didn’t like it when he called me “princess” the first time. It felt like he was mocking me. But it’s growing on me. It makes me feel special when he calls me that.
I look around me at strangers pulling their wheeled luggage past me and lining up at the check-in counters.
Nobody knows me here. Nobody cares who I am or what my last name is. Nobody cares that a twenty-three year old adult is doing things without her dad’s supervision.
This is it. No turning back now. I’m officially pulling a prison break from Dad Penitentiary.
Elena: At the airport.
Elena: Come and get me.
Damon
Come and get me?
I chuckle to myself.
Elena looks like the purest, most innocent angel that exists, but the more I get to know her, the more I suspect there’s something more hiding beneath the placid surface.
I’m enjoying this a little more than I’d like. Normally, I prefer to keep things either strictly business or strictly personal. That’s why I never use my own supplies or indulge in drugs at all.
This whole Elena thing is supposed to be all about business, but the lines are starting to blur together.
Just don’t get the feels, I tell myself. Fun is fine. Hell, Enzo probably had fun himself when he destroyed my parents and killed them.
As that familiar heat burns in my chest, I grab my keys and walk out of my apartment.
Yes. My anger will be my salvation. Remember why I’m doing this. It’ll keep me safe from making deadly mistakes, like falling for the enemy’s daughter.
I get on my bike and turn on the engine.
I’m coming to get you, Elena. And once I do, there’s no escape.
“Hello, princess.” I take Elena’s hand and kiss the back of it. She smells like vanilla and cream.
She smiles and her cheeks fill with color, almost matching the red, flimsy dress she’s wearing underneath her black, studded jacket. “Hi, Damon.”
Precious. She’s adorable.
There’s something morbidly attractive about ruining something beautiful. I’ll enjoy destroying her.
I hand her the helmet. “So, why the airport?”
She hesitates, her fingers fumbling with the chin strap of the helmet. “I, uh, told my parents I was going on a business trip.”
I can’t help but laugh. “You continue to surprise me, princess. So, they bought it?”
“Yeah.” The flash of guilt in her green eyes is unmistakable. She’s telling the truth.
“You’re not as innocent as you look, Elena Guerriero.”
A naughty smile plays on her lips. “That’s right. You should be careful.”
“I won’t make the mistake of underestimating you.” I reach out and pull her close, then smile as I gaze into her eyes. I know girls dig this shit.
When she shyly looks up at me from underneath her thick lashes, I take the chin strap of her helmet and snap it on for her, letting my fingers graze and linger on her skin.
“Thank you,” Elena says softly. She’s fucking cute when she gets embarrassed.
“Ready to go?” I ask, patting the seat behind me, inviting her onto my bike.
“Yeah. Just stop in about an hour so I can quickly text my mom.”
“Why is that?” I ask, keeping my voice light.
Enzo doesn’t know his daughter is with me, right? That’s a pretty essential part of the plan. It’s supposed to buy me some time while I get all my ducks in a row.
“Oh, I told her I’d text her when I board the plane.’” Elena makes air quotes with her fingers. “I also have to tell her when I arrive at the destination.”
“Where is that?”
“Vancouver.” Elena climbs onto my bike, spreading her legs. I can’t help but stare at the smooth, creamy skin above her boots that’s revealed when the hem of her dress rides up.
She’s so light I barely need to do anything to maintain my balance. She’ll be so fun to throw around and manhandle in bed.
“How long is that from here?” I ask, forcing myself to focus on the logistics of my plan.
“Two hours and fifteen minutes exactly. So, after the initial text about having boarded the plane, I have to call her again three hours later.”
“Three hours?”
“Yeah. I need to get through immigration and claim my luggage.”
I let out an impressed whistle. “You’ve got everything under control.”
“Attention to detail is really important in my job.” Elena zips up her jacket.
“As the daughter of a mafia boss?” I tease her.
Elena lightly hits my back. “As a tax consultant. I have a real job, you know.”
“Sorry. When I hear the words ‘tax consultant,’ I think of a middle-aged guy with a balding head and a protruding belly.”
“You’ve just described my boss pretty accurately.” Elena laughs. “So, where are we going?”
“Anywhere you want to go?” I ask.
I know where I want to go. I was planning to take her straight to my apartment where I can tear her clothes off, spread her legs, and bury myself balls-deep inside her. But her little schedule to call her mom is putting a wrench in my plan.
Elena pauses to think. “Take me anywhere. I’d never been on a bike before you took me to the diner, so even just a ride around the city sounds exciting.”
“Hold on tight.”
Elena squeals as I take her speeding along the highways, swerving between the cars.
At least she’s easy to please. Seeing as she’s a spoiled mafia princess, I thought she’d want to be taken to some fancy brunch place with a name I can’t pronounce.
She wraps her arms tightly around my waist. At a traffic light, I jerk the bike to a stop so she’s thrown forward and her tits squish against my back. They feel great. I’d bet they’ll feel even better when I grab them with my hands.
“Are you hungry?” I ask.
“No. I’ve had breakfast.”
I check the time on my watch. “Better make a stop soon anyway. It’s almost one hour since I picked you up.”
“Okay,” Elena says as the light turns green.
I drive down unfamiliar roads until I find a quiet restaurant.
I could really go for a greasy plate of breakfast from the place near my apartment, but I can’t risk going to any of my usual places because I might run into someone I know there—someone who also works for Enzo, if I get real unlucky.
Someone might recognize me too when I’m on my bike because there aren’t too many bikers in the city. But at least Elena is wearing a helmet, and it’s unlikely someone will think she’s anything other than just some random girl.
“That was a rush!” Elena exclaims as she hops off my bike and takes off her helmet.
She shakes her head to loosen up her curls, and I swear it feels like one of those slow-motion moments in cheesy movies.
Her eyes still twinkle with exhilaration as she hands the helmet back to me. She reminds me of my first rides. I could taste the freedom in the air and get high off that sensation for hours.
We enter the restaurant and take our seats at a table with an old, cracking laminate top. There are dust particles suspended in the rays of sunlight streaming in through the windows—the way they float in the air makes it feel like time has stopped.
A plum
p, middle-aged woman, wearing a faded floral apron, throws two laminated binders on the table and leaves without a word. It doesn’t seem like they care much about service here.
I wonder if they used to, back when that woman was younger, the print on her apron was fresh, and she had just opened the restaurant of her dreams.
After I make my order, I tell Elena, “You should call your mom now.”
She checks her phone. “I still have time.”
“This place won’t sound enough like the inside of a plane. Call her early and tell her you’re at one of the coffee shops inside the terminal, about to make your way to the gate.”
Elena stares at me. “Wow. I didn’t even think of that. You’re good.”
“Attention to detail is really important in my job,” I say, repeating her own line back to her. “You know, as a guy who works for the mafia.”
Elena laughs, and adorable dimples appear in her cheeks as she takes off her jacket and leaves it on the chair next to her.
“It’s true, though. The smallest mistake can get a guy killed,” I say.
I know the things a good girl likes, and they don’t often include good guys. There’s something self-destructive in most good girls I know—a biased sample, for sure, because not many of them associate with guys like me.
I can tell even Elena isn’t immune to that destructive force because every time I say something dangerous, her eyes flash with excitement like she can’t wait to immerse herself in my world and become a different person.
As Elena makes her phone call, she walks toward the bright window where she becomes a dark silhouette with a glowing outline. The thin fabric of her dress moves fluidly with her and lets me see her shape clearly.
That’s not the kind of outfit a girl would wear to an office, or even a business trip. Did she change before she met me at the airport? Did she think I’d like those clothes on her?
Because if she’s that good at guessing what I’m into, I might be in trouble. For fuck’s sake, just watching her stand by a bright window is making my cock twitch in my jeans.
Elena may have walked straight into my trap. Still, I can’t help but wonder if she’s laying a trap of her own.
Elena
Where are you taking me?” I giggle.
I’m not on Damon’s bike anymore. But judging by the wind blowing in my hair, I might as well be. If it weren’t for Damon standing right behind me, I’d be worried about being blown away, literally.
As Damon holds his hands over my eyes, I notice the skin on his palms is thick and coarse. No doubt this is a man who has put his hands to good use. I wonder if Damon has scars on his body.
I’ve seen bullet wounds and knife wounds on my dad’s men—healed, of course. Still, I can’t help but wince every time I see them by accident.
“Shh . . . Just keep walking,” Damon says.” Walk straight ahead, okay?”
“There’s no more stairs?” I feel like we’ve been climbing up forever. My calves are going to be sore tomorrow. Depending on what we’ll be doing the rest of the day, maybe my other body parts will be sore too.
“Nope,” Damon says. “We’re almost there. For this last stretch, though, you should keep your eyes open.”
I squint as sunlight hits me right in the eyes.
Damon has taken me downtown, to the beaches, and to the hills. I’ve been to all those places, of course, but they felt different when I was on his bike. More exciting.
My heart races as I let my eyes adjust to the brightness around me. Obviously, we’re outdoors. But where?
I see the tops of familiar skyscrapers. But they’re too close for us to be on one of the hills just outside the city.
“Wow.” All the breath in my lungs leaves my body. “This is . . .”
“Nice. Yeah. I know,” Damon says from behind me.
“Damon, this is more than nice. This is better than the view from the best hotel in the city.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Well, now you do.” I look over my shoulder and give him a smile.
From up here, we have a three-hundred-and-sixty degree view of the city. I can see the areas where urban concrete gives way to vegetation.
We’re on the rooftop of a building . . . but where? I didn’t feel myself walk into an indoor space.
“This was meant to be the tallest building in the city,” Damon explains—again, as if he can read my mind.
“‘Meant to be’?”
“Yeah. During the financial crisis, they ran out of funds, and the project was never completed,” he says.
“Oh. That’s . . . too bad.”
Damon shrugs. “Yeah, well, if the project weren’t abandoned, we probably wouldn’t have this place to ourselves right now.”
I nod but remain silent.
It’s funny how differently Damon and I see the world.
As a tax consultant and the daughter of a wealthy man, I see a big loss for the investors who put their money in this sad, deserted building.
I think about all the corporate employees who will never work here, about all the weddings that will never take place in these halls, and about all the hotel guests who will never spend the night here. I think about all the families who have lost their savings—possibly meant to fund their retirements and college degrees.
But Damon obviously sees opportunity where I see loss and defeat. Someone else’s loss is his gain.
“Want to keep going?” he asks.
“Sure.”
This time, Damon takes my hands and leads me to the edge where a few wide, wooden planks have been arranged side by side, bridging this side of the building to the other side.
“Are you serious?” I ask when I realize Damon wants me to walk on the planks. “That looks dangerous.”
Damon chuckles. “We can stay here if you want. But the view’s better over there, and I’ve crossed this thing more times than I can count.”
He’s not trying to kill me, is he?
I mean, I’m sure he’s not. My dad will kill whoever kills me.
But that . . . thing . . .
“It’s wider than it looks,” Damon says. “Sturdier too. Look at all those big bolts keeping it in place. The construction workers must’ve put it there to move building materials back and forth. It can withstand a pretty heavy load.”
I gingerly take two steps closer and feel my knees go weak. Damon’s right—there is something more sturdy under the planks. But it’s still, like, dozens of floors above the ground, probably, and there are no handrails.
“Okay, my knees are shaking, and I don’t know if it’s because we climbed so many steps or because we’re so high up,” I say.
Damon chuckles. “It’ll be fine. If you want to leave, that’s okay too. But you wanted me to show you someplace you’ve never been to before, and this is it.”
I eye the bridge. It’s not that narrow. Probably about five feet across? If I don’t get blown away by the wind, I’ll be fine. Maybe, if I . . .
I drop down to my hands and knees, aware that Damon’s watching me, and he’s probably laughing at me again with that amused look on his handsome face.
But I do want to cross over to the other side; I don’t know when I’ll get another chance to get away from my dad like this. I’ll regret it later if I don’t do this.
“It’s perfectly safe,” Damon says, making me wonder if we have the same definition of the word. He casually saunters toward the bridge and stands in the middle, the wind blowing in his dark hair, messing it up. “Look. It’s fine. I’ll be here, watching you.”
I gulp down my nerves. Okay. I can do this.
Small, sharp particles stab my palms as I move forward. The wooden planks don’t feel better under my skin either. I’m glad at least the leather of my thigh-high boots is shielding my knees from the hard concrete.
My heart hammers with fear but I focus on Damon’s black boots and before I know it, they’re only inches away.
When I look up, I resi
st the urge to raise my hand and shield my eyes from the sun. I need all my limbs on the floor.
My gaze meets Damon’s. He doesn’t say anything, but his dark eyes say everything I need to know.
He towers over me with the sun behind him, staring down at me with arrogance written all over his face. Arrogance and desire.
I realize what this looks like. I’m crawling at his feet with my dress flying all over the place, the hem pulling up my thighs, exposing my skin. Maybe this isn’t the best dress to wear to a place like this—but then again, maybe it’s the perfect dress.
Damon’s looking at me like he’s an alpha predator, and I’m a feeble deer he wants to devour. And I like it.
Damon clears his throat, breaking the tension building up between us. “We’re halfway there,” he says.
As Damon walks backward, I inch forward, keeping my gaze on his shoes. Something about this feels wrong. But again . . . I like it.
Something within me wants to shed the burden of power that has been placed on my shoulders since my birth. Give that up to someone powerful—someone like Damon—and let him control me, have his way with me, do whatever he wants me with. Even if it hurts.
Oh, God. What is wrong with me?
It feels like a second and an eternity at the same time, but finally we reach the other side.
Damon crouches down and gallantly holds out his hand.
“Stand up, princess,” he says in a hoarse voice.
Is that a hard bulge in the front of his pants, or am I imagining it? Is he just as sick as I am?
I put my hand in Damon’s and get up to my feet. There are bits of gravel sticking to my palms and boots, but I don’t care. All that matters is Damon.
He leads me to a big, rectangular chunk of concrete a few feet away from the edge of the building. The wind is so strong that normally I would’ve worried about it somehow blowing the concrete off the building and us along with it.
But Damon looks calm and in control, and his attitude is contagious.