“Yeah.” I nodded. “I haven’t worn slippers in forever.”
“What if I want you pantie-less for my own use?”
“If it were easy access you were thinking of, then you should have bought me skirts, not pants.” I kept my gaze steady as my heart rate picked up in fear. “I would advise you though, I will cut your dick off if you think you can use me. Bite it off, if I have to.”
His smile was slow and deadly. Fuck, have I just challenged him? “You thought of my dick in your mouth, Devon?” His eyebrow rose slightly in enquiry. “That do it for you?”
Anger washed over me. “No, you arrogant prick, I think about you dropping down dead.”
This time, no smile, but I got a flash of teeth. “Go to your room.”
“I’m twenty-six, not six.”
“I’m going to explain this once.” He stayed in the exact same spot. Arms at his sides, one hand in his pocket. His ankles were crossed loosely. The embodiment of relaxed. “I’m the only one who can let you out.” I snorted, and the teeth were flashed at me again. “The door handles on every door, Devon, are fingerprint access. Only one other person has access, and when I say that he’s as likely to walk in here as you are to escape, I mean it.” The other hand reached around and took his gun out of his pants. He laid it on the counter. “If you think you can cut my hand off to get my fingerprint, the door is a heat scanner too. So I need to be alive for you to get out. Do you understand what I have said to you?”
My legs were numb, I felt faint, but I couldn’t let him see how the harsh reality of my situation had thrown me. “I can’t leave,” I said flatly.
“You can’t leave,” he confirmed.
Who the hell were these people? “Why?” I whispered. “I’m not a threat.”
“What did you see?”
My head was reeling. I couldn’t get out. I was in a multimillion-dollar prison cell. Yes, it had fancy bells and whistles, but it was a jail cell all the same.
“Devon!”
My head jerked up to look at him. “Fuck you.”
His eyes gleamed. Almost…with pleasure? He was unhinged. Had to be.
“Go upstairs, I’ll be there in a moment.”
“What? Why?” I demanded.
“I don’t like to repeat myself, go.”
I could challenge him. I could. I was so ready to, but at the same time, my brain still had rational thought process, and it was urging me to do what he said and go upstairs.
“I’ll go, but I’m telling you now, I wasn’t lying. I will make you a eunuch,” I warned softly.
“I don’t fuck vermin.”
“Vermin?”
“You’re a street rat.”
I hated him. I was less sure of myself going up the stupid curvy staircase that had no stair risers. The architect of this building was obviously a dickhead with a small dick. A dickhead with a small dick? Imaginative insult. The door to the bedroom I had been in had been left open, but all the others were closed, and checking over my shoulder for him, I tried one of the closed doors.
The handle didn’t budge. None of them did. On closer inspection, I saw it, the small smooth panel. Who in the hell had fingerprint access doors? Were they Feds? Diplomats? Drug dealers, my mind whispered.
When he came into the room a while later, I was against the mirrored closet. “You’re a drug dealer?” I demanded. “It was a drug deal gone wrong that I saw?”
“You sound surprised.” Cold blue eyes swept over me.
I was surprised. Surprised at how incredibly mundane that was. “It’s so cliché, honestly, I was expecting…more.”
My eyes widened when he closed the door and checked the handle. I eyed the bed and him and looked at the sanctuary of the bathroom, could I make it?
“Stop looking so scandalised. Come here.” He waited at the door. “Devon, are you hard of hearing?”
“How do you know me? How did you find me? What do you want? If you’re going to kill me, just do it, I don’t want this.”
He watched me closely. “Done?”
Closing my eyes briefly to fight the tears, I shook my head once as I straightened up to look him fully in the eyes. “Done.”
“Come here.”
I stalked over to him, anger coursing through my veins. I was almost vibrating with rage as I met him at the door, keeping my distance.
“Open the door,” he instructed.
“You already told me I couldn’t,” I snapped at him.
“And now I’m telling you to open the door.”
I glimpsed the frustration in the tightness of his jaw, the brief flash of anger in his eyes. “Fine.” Reaching forward, I yanked on the handle. Nothing happened. “Happy?”
“You’re making it difficult to remember why I haven’t put a bullet in you yet,” he warned me quietly as he stepped forward and grabbed my hand. Spreading my hand out, he placed it, with surprising gentleness on the door handle. Wrapping my hand around the handle, he put slight pressure on my thumb and forefinger. I heard a faint beep and glanced up at him in alarm. “Wait,” he said softly.
A second beep followed, and he released me.
“What was that?”
“You can now open this door only. It will give you access to the kitchen and the living space.” He waited. “Open the door.”
My hand was still wrapped around the handle, and I pushed it down almost fearfully. The door opened, and he caught the side of it, pulling it wide more. He stepped outside and waited expectantly.
I entertained the notion of closing the door in his face, but knowing he could walk back in and I had absolutely nowhere to go, I didn’t. I stepped out into the hallway. He turned and pointed at the double doors at the end of the hall.
“Master,” he explained.
“Where you sleep?” I guessed.
“No.” He pointed to the door beside it, opposite from mine and one up. “I sleep there.”
“Why not in the master bedroom?” I asked.
“Because I know who’s fucked on the bed and everywhere else in the room.”
“Ooookay then.” I had nothing else to say. I mean, there wasn’t a comeback to that, was there?
“The rooms are soundproof. You need me and I’m in the bedroom? I won’t know, no matter how much you bang the door. Understood?”
“Why would I need you?”
“Exactly.” He started walking down the hall to the stairs. “There’s a smaller den. You can’t access it and other rooms within the penthouse that you don’t have access to. Don’t try.” He glanced back at me. “Do you keep active?”
“Active?” I wrapped my arms around me, trying to keep myself together. “Yeah, I’m a regular at the gym,” I snarked.
“You’re homeless, not stupid,” he answered me as he took the stairs. “You don’t run the speed and distance you did by being a bum all the time.”
Weirdly, it was his dig at my physical health that tipped me over the edge. I ran down the hall, and as I caught up to him halfway down the stairs, I pushed the fucker, hoping to send him tumbling down the remaining steps.
In slow motion, I watched him stumble. I watched him lose his balance, and my hands flew to my mouth to cover my gleeful laugh, which turned to a choked sob as I watched him quickly regain his balance, even as he turned to glare at me and head back up the stairs…towards me.
With my newly rediscovered speed, I was running up the stairs and heading straight to the bedroom. Slamming the door behind me before sprinting to the bathroom and pulling the bathroom door shut, I realised that this simple lock wasn’t going to save me from his wrath.
With a wrench of force, the door rolled back, and then he was standing over me, his eyes hard with anger. I backed up once, and he stepped into my space.
“I didn’t mean—”
“Quiet.”
I was pressed against the sink as he stood close enough to touch me, but even in my fear, I was very aware he was careful not to touch me. I was average height, five seven, he had five or si
x inches on me, I would guess. He held himself straight, and I cringed under his baleful stare.
“What did you think you were going to accomplish?” he asked me, his voice low. I gulped but said nothing, my eyes focused on the button at his neck. He didn’t care that I was being stubborn. He wasn’t in a hurry, he was already intimidating me with his presence alone. His hand snapped out and clasped my jaw, tilting my head backwards to meet his. “The quicker you speak, the quicker I let you go.”
“Fucker,” I spat at him.
“Yes?”
My confusion must have shown on my face until I remembered he had told me I could call him that if I couldn’t remember his name. His actual name. Raphe. My mind rejected calling him by his actual name. Humanising him.
“I wanted to watch you break your neck,” I told him viciously.
He tilted my head back slightly before he moved my head to the left and right marginally. His eyes never left mine. “Still fighting,” he murmured.
“I’ll fight you ’til you kill me,” I hissed at him. My fists came up, and I started hitting him. My fists, my feet, my arms flailing at any part they would hit, he stood solid throughout it all, my strikes useless against his relentless hold. His hand never left my jaw. He didn’t even blink.
Swiftly, I was turned and bent over the vanity. One hand, held both of mine in his grip, and he kicked my legs further apart as he stepped right up and into me. He folded his body over mine, still not actually making contact, but I could feel the heat radiating from him.
“Keep fighting,” he told me quietly. I struggled, and he pulled my arms tighter as his other hand pressed my face to the marble of the vanity. “Still so fearless.”
I was lifted forward, and my head dangled in the sink as I struggled. The strength he had was unreal, and the more I kicked back, the more he pushed me forward. Suddenly, cold water splashed over me as he ran the tap. I shrieked in shock and surprise. A large hand pushed my face under the water until I was coughing and choking.
As suddenly as he grabbed me, I was released. Stumbling backwards, I slumped onto the ground, coughing uncontrollably as he stood over me. On my hands and knees, I coughed until I rolled over and was on my back, gasping. The whole time, he stood impassively above me.
Pushing my half-wet hair out of my face, I glared up at him as I caught my breath. I registered his gaze flick over me quickly and then again before he met my glare.
“You live another day, Devon.” He simply walked away from me. I heard the bedroom door close softly behind him, and then I was alone.
Fat tears ran down my face as I cried soundlessly on the bathroom floor. Eventually, I got to my feet and saw my bedraggled state in the mirror. I had a red mark on my face, but that was probably more from me rubbing at my tears than any physical harm from him. My hair resembled a nest, and then my eyes dropped to my white T-shirt.
I would officially win a wet T-shirt competition. I snorted in contempt as I looked at my breasts heaving under my now translucent shirt.
He told me that I got to live another day? I cursed at him in the bathroom as I peeled off my T-shirt, promising myself that I would make the fucker bleed before I was done with this life.
Changing my shirt, I threw the other one in the hamper. I would need to find a housemaid, one that wouldn’t care about Devon being in the penthouse. I contemplated doing the laundry myself, but I rejected the idea quickly. I was more than capable of working a washer, I just didn’t want to.
It was so hard to get good help these days. Before Aiden decided to cut his ties with the Viallis, their housekeeper did both penthouses. He didn’t care that she reported back to Kat and told Kat when he didn’t come home, or worse, when he did come home and who he brought. It suited Aiden because he was a dick and he cared not one iota for Kat. It wasn’t like she didn’t know they married for an agreement and that their marriage was one on paper only.
Now that Aiden was living with his fiancé in Cherry Creek, he told the housekeeper he didn’t need her. It suited me. I did not need my movements traced by the Viallis. Kat paid too much attention to me as it was, I didn’t need her old man looking too.
With my shirt changed, I walked out of my bedroom and down the hall. I hesitated at her bedroom door, my hand hovering over the door handle. The fury of her light brown eyes flashed in my memory as I hesitated. With a small smile, I carried on down the stairs. She thought she could push me down the stairs, completely ignorant of the fact that I could see her coming up behind me in the reflection of the glass. Stupid, reckless and desperate.
Desperate people acted in two ways. They either fucked up so monumentally that you wondered how they had survived in general, or they found their strength and they utilised it.
She’d been desperate before. It took a lot of courage to give up everything and walk away. Even if you started off running, to keep running took guts and determination. Her fight was still strong, and as long as she was fighting, she held my interest.
I also appreciated the fact that she hadn’t tried to fuck me. Cleaned up and presentable, she was a good-looking woman. Women were good at using the natural skills they were born with. The fact she had instantly shot that down? She wasn’t out to try and seduce me, and even when she was fighting me, she wasn’t trying anything. She had been on her back on the bathroom floor, her tits on display, and hadn’t been aware. It wasn’t to play coy. It wasn’t to get me to go soft on her. It was because she was so fucking exhausted from fighting that she couldn’t catch her breath.
I reached for an orange and noticed I was running low. I really needed a housekeeper. My eyes drifted to the stairs, and I had an insane thought. Could I? No. That was foolishness. I didn’t entertain foolishness from others and definitely not from myself.
Still, as I unpeeled the orange and bit into the first segment, I couldn’t deny that I liked the idea. My phone ringing caught my attention, and I wiped my hands on a dishcloth.
“What.”
“Got a job for you, overnighter, San Diego. Again.”
“I’ll be there in the next hour.” I hung up and discarded my peel. Checking my gun, I put on my holster and placed the gun inside. Picking up my suit jacket, I headed out.
I didn’t tell her I was going. If she came out of the room? Well, then she came out of the room to an empty but restricted penthouse. She could use the bedroom, the kitchen and the main living space. There was a TV. There was food in the fridge and the freezer. If she took one of the knives to use on me, let’s say that it wouldn’t be a good move on her part.
The elevator down to the parking lot was uneventful. I was driving to Malcolm’s new office, the early afternoon bright.
Malcolm Litton, a renowned businessman in the Denver business world and beyond, dealing mostly with mergers and takeovers. He dealt with companies on the brink of collapse, bought their shares, took control, brought them back to some form of viability and then sold off his interest at twice, three times what he paid for them, making a tidy profit.
I had no interest in what he did in his office during business hours. He had a son he needed to encourage to come into the fold and learn the business.
It’s what Malcolm did outside the office that I was here for. He had more money than he knew what to do with. More than he could ever spend in his lifetime, and yet he still wanted more. It wasn’t even about the money anymore, I suspected.
It was the game.
Boardrooms and stock exchanges were impersonal. The movement of money from one balance sheet to another? Dull. I had watched him once during a particularly aggressive takeover where the family resisted, and Malcolm and the police feared that desperate people took desperate measures. So he upped his usual security and brought me in to oversee his safety.
He was every inch the impersonal businessman. Almost too disinterested. If it had been my family’s heritage he was swooping in to dissect and rebuild, I would also have been pissed at his indifference.
But put Malcolm in the m
iddle of a turf war, a drug dispute, a takeover for territory; it was like flicking a switch. He became almost…animated. He thrived on that shit. He’d recently gained two serious advantages due to other circumstances, and he was close to almost owning more of the market than the local organised crime families and biker clubs.
Which is where he was clever. He knew if he had too much, he ran the risk of being too much of a threat, but if he had just enough, they left him alone. Left him alone to spread out with his interests elsewhere.
Now due to the recent misfortune of his competitors, Malcolm owned most of the trade in the neighbouring cities and bigger towns. Hell, he had even moved out of state. Which is where I came in. His enforcer. I was enough to keep the others in line. The other “heads” of his operation answered to me whether they wanted to or not.
Trouble in the ranks? I quelled it. Disgruntlement in the foot soldiers? I silenced them. Ensure a competitor upheld their end of a deal? I oversaw it. If Malcolm didn’t need me for anything and if I felt like it, if another “family friend” needed help to enforce their own discipline in their own ranks, I sometimes chose to freelance, especially if Malcolm would benefit from my services being utilised elsewhere. I was sought after because I was dependable, reliable, and I didn’t get personally involved. Those who asked for my assistance had the potential to form a closer alliance with Malcolm. I was like his own personal networking tool.
Which is what I had been doing the night a street rat saw too much. I had been asked to oversee the initiation of the youngest nephew into his family’s business by removing an obstacle.
The obstacle had been a rat. A confidential informant to the police. Not only stupid but careless. Informants ratted to the police for a quick pay day, the police informed the rat owners for a bigger pay day, resulting in a never-ending pointless circle that had no natural break.
Louis Neroni had asked me to accompany them, make sure Emilio didn’t fuck up. Malcolm and Louis had a tentative relationship, I agreed because Malcolm’s eyes had gleamed when I got the call. I knew that look. He was already planning to get closer to Louis, not realising fully, the relationship I already had with the head of the Neroni family.
Beautifully Broken (The Denver Series Book 2) Page 8