Little Dove

by Layla Frost

  Clearly the fun was in playing, but it still seemed tedious. At least roulette had the big wheel. Craps had dice. Slots had blinking lights, loud noises, and bonus games. Those seemed more entertaining than staring at cards.

  Standing to one side of the long room, Maximo talked with Georgie, the woman who ran the tournaments. I tried to see if anything interesting was happening at the tables.

  Surprisingly, they didn’t hurt to look at anymore. Guilt wasn’t drowning me. I didn’t feel anything.

  Except the aforementioned boredom, of course.

  I thought I was doing a good job hiding it, but Maximo wrapped his arm around me and curled me into him, my front pressed to his side. “Just another few minutes then we’ll go eat.”

  “Take your time, I’m good,” I half-fibbed because I’d been ready to leave five minutes after we’d arrived.

  His eyes narrowed and his hand dropped to my ass. As he turned his attention back to Georgie, he tightened his hold on my cheek so hard, I had to choke down a yelp.

  After another ten minutes, Georgie went to do her walkthrough and Maximo turned to me. “Let’s go.”

  “Hold on, it just got exciting,” I said, watching the table where two people had pushed their hefty stacks of chips all-in.

  They flipped over their cards, but I couldn’t see what they had. After the dealer added the turn to the row of cards, it was obvious one of the men lost by his curses and glower. He’d had more chips than his opponent, so he wasn’t out, though his stack was significantly diminished.

  Anticlimactic.

  “I think I preferred when you were locked away at home,” Maximo said, pulling me tighter against him.

  “Why?”

  “I’m greedy. I like having you all to myself. For only me to see.”

  Sure, he was a caveman level of possessive. And, yes, he was over the top. Insane. Straight up dysfunctional.

  But I loved it.

  “If anyone is looking at me,” I put my hand to his chest, “it probably has something to do with you palming my ass like a basketball.”

  “No, they’re looking because seeing you in that damn skirt makes a man wish he could pick you up and slam into that sweet pussy.” As if his own words pissed him off, his eyes grew cold as he scanned the room.

  The antipathy in his dark gaze should’ve scared me.

  And it did, but in a good way. I liked the thrill. The power. The danger.

  The fire.

  So I played with it.

  Stretching my leg out, I inched my skirt up a little. “This isn’t even as short as the one I packed for tomorrow.”

  “Juliet,” he warned.

  “I’m not even sure that one covers the bottom of my ass.”

  “That ass is gonna be burning hot and red if you keep this up.”

  I tilted my head like I was thinking, but it was just to give him a clear view of the love bite he’d left on my neck and to draw attention to my ponytail—two things that drove him wild. “And now that I’m thinking about it, it might be too tight to wear panties.”

  “I hope you’re having fun, Juliet, because now I’m replacing all your clothes with my sweats and tees so no one sees what’s mine.”

  I was having fun. An immense amount of it.

  Leaning into him, I whispered, “You know you’re the only one who’s ever seen me, Daddy.”

  His hold on my ass tightened, and there was no holding back my whimper. “And I’m the only fucking one who’s ever going to see you.” His voice was low and harsh. “That’s my ass. My sweet pussy. My little dove.”

  Danger, danger, danger.

  I couldn’t take it when he said stuff like that.

  Ignoring the way my heart swelled at his words, I gave him an innocent smile. “Anyway, the skirt still covers more than the swimsuit I brought. That thing is basically strings with tiny scraps of fabric.”

  That was the last straw.

  Gripping my hand, Maximo stormed from the room. I had to practically jog to keep up with his long strides. I couldn’t see his expression, but based on his pace and the rigid set of his muscular body, he wasn’t happy.

  Which meant I was about to get punished.

  Yay.

  Not slowing until we reached the elevator, the doors barely closed behind us when he had me up against the wall.

  I love the fire.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Nothing

  Juliet

  I’VE CREATED A monster.

  No, that isn’t true.

  He’s always been a monster.

  But now he’s my monster.

  Sitting in his office the next day, Maximo arranged me on his lap. He tightened his hold, grinding me against his hard-on. Working me through my shorts, he got me right to the edge before announcing, “I’ve got to go.”

  “But Daddy,” I breathed, already whipped into a frenzy and ready to explode.

  He’d been teasing me all damn day. Calling me to his desk, getting me needy, and then sending me back to the couch.

  And even knowing what was coming—or not coming, in my case—I went to him when he called. I let him touch me.

  I would let him fuck me if he tried, but, damn him, he never did. He just liked to whip me into a frenzy and let me suffer.

  “I’ll only be a couple hours, dove,” Maximo said, his lips and teeth grazing my neck. “You can have Ash take you to check out the shops.”

  Yeah, big no to that one. I’d learned after the weekend at Moonlight that checking out the shops was not window shopping. I’d arrived home to bags and boxes of the items I’d eyed with longing—including the studded heels.

  “We’ll see,” I hedged, guessing Ash was just as observant as Marco.

  Gripping my hips, Maximo ground my ass against his cock one more time before lifting me to stand.

  I sat on the edge of his desk and glanced at the double frame he had next to his monitor, smiling at the pictures of us in New York-New York. I’d wanted them for my own memories, but Maximo had printed enough copies to have a set on each of his desks. The one of us kissing didn’t seem work appropriate, but he was the boss. What was he going to do, fire himself?

  He stood, and I watched as he unrolled his sleeves, buttoning the cuffs before shrugging on his jacket.

  It was like a reverse striptease, yet still managed to be hot.

  “Whatever you do, make sure to be dressed and ready by five,” he ordered in the authoritative way that made me wet. “We’ll stop by the tournament then grab dinner.”

  “Okay,” I said, even though the tournament part sounded less than thrilling.

  There was a knock at the door, and Maximo called, “Yeah?”

  Cole opened it and gave me a small smile before asking, “Ready, boss?”

  Maximo raised his chin, turned off his wall of stalker security monitors, and pocketed his phone. “Do whatever you want but stay with Ash.”

  I stood and mimicked his chin lift. “Got it, boss.”

  He shook his head, but I could see the amusement curving his lip before I got his back as he walked out the door.

  Once he was gone, Ash moved into the doorway. “What’s the plan? Shopping? Swimming?” His dimples appeared even as he held back a smile. “4D theater? Lunch?”

  “What was that?”

  “Lunch? It’s a meal you eat between breakfast and—”

  I rolled my eyes. “The 4D theater part.”

  “It’s like a theater, but in 4D.”

  “Smartass.”

  “Maximo said he didn’t get to show you yesterday but thought you’d enjoy it.”

  I wasn’t sure what a 4D theater was, but it was one more than 3D so it had to be good.

  _______________

  A 4D theater was way better than 3D. The immersive short movie made viewers feel as though they were riding a roller coaster through the solar system. The chairs moved and vibrated. Bursts of cool and hot air whipped around. Bubbles and splashes of water rained down.


  And, best of all, my feet stayed firmly on the ground.

  It was my kind of coaster.

  So much so, I dragged Ash on a few times in a row.

  When we were done, we walked across the gaming floor toward the restaurants. “Moonlight has the laser show and there’s the 4D thing here. What gimmicks are at his other casinos?”

  “Sunrise has a two-hundred-foot drop tower.”

  Two-hundred-feet? In the air?

  Barf.

  No thanks.

  He smirked. “Didn’t figure that’d be high on your list to try.”

  “Nope, definitely not. What about Nebula?”

  “Nebula’s gimmick is that it’s expensive as—”

  “Hey, asshole, watch where you’re going!” someone shouted in front of us.

  “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” another guy shot back.

  Ash didn’t step in or even pause to call security. Putting a hand between my shoulders, he stayed close and increased his pace to get us away from the brewing fight.

  But it happened fast, calm to chaos in less than a second. The two men launched themselves at each other. Grappling, they slammed around before crashing into us. They fell to a heap, their wrestling bodies landing on Ash.

  I was knocked on my ass, my head smacking the wall. Closing my eyes against the burst of pain, they shot open when someone gripped my arm and tugged. I expected a security guard or Ash, but it was Mugsy Carmichael’s flushed and sweaty face staring down at me.

  “Come on, Juliet,” he said, his frantic eyes darting around as he yanked me up.

  With warning bells sounding in my head, I tried to free my arm, but his hold tightened. “Ash!”

  Covering my mouth with a palm that was moist and smelled like stale cigars, Mugsy shuffled us forward and used me to push open a darkened emergency exit. I braced for the alarm, but nothing sounded.

  Nothing except the warning bells in my head growing to disaster sirens.

  I tried to clutch the doorframe, but he shoved me outside so hard, I tumbled to the ground. Ignoring the burn of fresh scrapes on my knees and palms, I scrambled up to run. Before I could take a single step, he was in my space.

  Gripping my upper arms, he gave me a smarmy smile, but frustration tightened Mugsy’s features. “I’m here to rescue you. After they saw Maximo dragging you around yesterday, marked up and handled like a piece of property, I knew I had to get you out of here before it was too late. I’ll take care of you.”

  They?

  The way he spoke and the manic look in his eyes made terror coat my insides.

  “Let me go!” I shouted.

  Surprisingly, he listened and released one of my arms. I spun away, but his hold on my other arm remained firm, squeezing until I was sure I’d bruise.

  Acrid bile rose in my throat when his hand dropped to touch my ass, but he only pulled my phone from my back pocket and threw it against the building.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  Now Cole can’t track me.

  Even as I fought it, Mugsy began shuffling us along the walkway before turning onto a narrow path that ran between two sections of the building. I lost sight of the door. I couldn’t see any doors. But what I could see was a car parked at the end.

  Oh hell no.

  Fear tightened my chest and my breaths came in rough pants.

  Be smart. Calm. This isn’t the first time someone has come after me.

  Frantically scanning the area, there was no one else around.

  I doubted anyone inside would be able to hear me scream—a bone-chilling thought.

  Since it was unlikely a rescue was coming, that meant one thing.

  It was up to me to save myself.

  I wasn’t strong enough to take Mugsy in a fight, but I could effortlessly outrun him if he’d loosen his grasp. Outrunning a bullet wouldn’t be so easy, but that was a risk I was willing to take.

  Since tugging my arm free hadn’t worked, I went for sympathy. “You’re hurting me.”

  I should’ve known he wasn’t capable of feeling concern toward anyone but himself. He squeezed harder, his tone earnest. “Maximo Black killed your father, Juliet. You need to come with me before he does the same to you.”

  And that was when, despite my best intentions to play it smart, I fucked up.

  Because I forgot.

  I forgot to act surprised. Distraught. Angry. Vengeful. It hadn’t even occurred to me to pretend I gave one iota of a single fuck at learning of my father’s murder.

  Shamus would’ve been proud, I was finally acting like him.

  Mugsy noticed my lack of reaction and his beady eyes narrowed. Any hint of faux concern was gone in a blink. “We thought Black was forcing you. Lying to you. But you knew he killed Shamus, didn’t you? And you still slutted yourself out to him. You betrayed your father so you could live in that big mansion and feel like a somebody on the Strip.”

  Those eyes I felt on me at the Strip.

  They weren’t just Marco’s and Ash’s.

  Mugsy sneered in disgust. “What kind of daughter would do that to her father? Thank God Shamus died before finding out his Jule-bug is a whore and a rat.”

  His words hit like a cannonball to the gut, taking my breath as they demolished the wall I’d built around my guilt. It flooded me, threatening to rip me apart and take me down.

  I held it together because if he got me to the end of the walkway, shit would go from bad to worse. I knew that down to my bones.

  “Come with me, we’ll make this right.” His voice was patient and firm, like a father who was dealing with his misbehaving child. “You’re lost. Confused. You wouldn’t betray your own father like this.”

  “You need to let me go or Maximo will kill you,” I lied.

  Because it didn’t matter what he did, Maximo was going to kill him.

  “I’m trying to save you,” he lied right back. “He’s training you so he can sell you to the highest bidder or put you to work as one of his whores at the fights. It’s his MO. He gets off breaking in naïve girls before shipping them off to make him money.”

  Maximo wouldn’t do that.

  Right?

  I didn’t respond beyond trying to twist away.

  Clutching my face, Mugsy squeezed my cheeks until they ground painfully against my teeth. “Did you think you were special, Juliet? You mean nothing to him beyond sex and money.” He shook his head with pity. “He’s a billionaire who’s dated actresses. Models. Socialites. Why would he want a white-trash-nothing when he could have anyone in the world?”

  Again, his words aimed for a spot of weakness, and they hit their target.

  They hit hard.

  Why would he choose me? Having sex with me, sure, I understood that. But beyond the physical, why would Maximo—with all his good looks, power, and money—want to be with gutter trash? That question had lurked at the edges of my mind, invading randomly again and again. My insecurities were a loose thread and that question tugged at them, leaving me frayed. Like I could unravel.

  Like I was temporary.

  Was I just the latest in a long line of barely-legal girls and popped cherries?

  Was he going to toss me aside when the next one came along? Or would he want me to be one of the girls at the fights, with politicians snorting coke off my breasts and big shots groping me?

  I wanted to swear he wouldn’t, but a lifetime of betrayal and heartache had taught me to never trust anyone.

  And that definitely included slimy, shady, wannabe gangsters like Mugsy.

  I tried once more to free my arm from his hold, but his grip was ironclad. So I screamed as loud as I could. “Help! Someone help!”

  “Shut the fuck up, bitch.” He shook me so hard, I thought my neck would snap.

  I got away from Marco that first night. I dodged Cole and locked him in a room.

  I will not be taken down by Mugsy Carmichael.

  Thrashing, I screamed bloody murder.

  Smack!
r />   Burning pain radiated across my cheek where he’d hit me.

  His face was red as a tomato when he did it again. Violently yanking me closer with one hand, he used the other to hit me a third time. His stupid, gaudy ring caught my lip, tearing it open.

  I wasn’t sure what came over me, but at the metallic taste and the hot drops of blood sliding down my chin, I smiled.

  No, I grinned.

  “He’s going to hunt you down,” I said matter-of-factly. “He’ll never stop. And when he catches you, he’ll make sure your death is slow and painful.”

  All color drained from Mugsy’s face, but he puffed out his chest and blustered, “He won’t be able to get to me. But while he’s trying, they’ll pass you around like the whore you are. He won’t even want you when they’re done.” His immense sweating turned into a waterfall down his jowled face as he pulled a gun. “Out of respect for your father, I said I’d get you to come on your own, but you’re as greedy and money hungry as the rest. I should’ve let them have you.”

  When Maximo is done with him, he’ll wish he had.

  Jabbing the gun into my side, Mugsy smirked triumphantly. He began down the path, clearly expecting me to follow.

  I didn’t.

  For whatever reason, someone wanted me. Whoever they were, they likely wanted me alive.

  Which meant Mugsy wasn’t going to shoot me. And if he did? Well, death was better than being passed around.

  Calling his bluff, I screamed. I kicked. I swung my arms windmill style, hoping to connect.

  I made so much damn noise, someone had to hear me.

  Mugsy caught my ponytail in his sweaty palm, yanking hard enough to make my eyes water, but I kept going.

  Even when he smacked me.

  Even when he hit me in the eye with the butt of his gun.

  Even when he made revolting threats that caused bile to rise from my churning stomach to lodge in my throat.

  I was not going to be a victim. I’d die before that happened.

  And I’d take that asshole with me.

  Summoning every bit of will and energy and fury I had, I stopped fighting. I froze. Through blurry, already swelling eyes, I watched Mugsy’s body relax with exhaustion and victory. Thinking he’d won, he let his guard down.