by Renee Rose
Without dance she didn’t even know who she was. She supposed it wasn’t all John’s fault she’d lowered herself to strip at The Candy Shop, although she still refused to see it as something awful, the way Carlo did. She might have been filling a bigger void, though—the need to be on stage, to have her skills admired. Stripping was a far cry from making serious art, but the sexual electricity made up for that part. She was still moving to music, still improvising, creating. The energy she received from the men had given the same thrill she got from performing for an audience.
She peeled off her jammies and twisted to peer at her ass in the mirror. She still had a few red lines. Reaching back, she ran her hands over her butt. She’d lost some muscle since her injury, but she would still hold her own in an ass competition. She’d always thought of it as her best asset. Heh.
She pinched some of the red areas, but the soreness had disappeared. Just a few twinges on the surface.
Her tummy still fluttered every time she thought about last night. She wanted more of that side of Carlo. But had that been it? Was the key drop-off the end of their bizarre encounter, never to be mentioned again? Because she didn’t think she could forget it so easily. In fact, she suspected she’d be thinking of nothing but Carlo for a long time in the future.
It almost made her want to be bad again...
Chapter Three
Carlo double-checked the security cameras trained on the table and outside the door. Two soldiers waited outside the warehouse to keep an eye on the parking lot. Five more played security inside. No one would be cheating at high-stakes cards on his watch, or knocking off the participants. Running the weekly high-roller game was one of his more pleasurable duties. He enjoyed the exchange of big money, the tension brought by high stakes. He liked the character study his customers offered.
He had regulars. Ordinary guys with extraordinary gambling problems—lawyers, investment bankers, real estate agents. He had criminals who came in a rare meeting of the underworld. There was a guy from the Russian mafiya, a Cuban gangster, a scary white guy who was somehow involved with the Russian. Sometimes a few of their own dropped in, sometimes some from the other Italian mob.
The special knock setup for today’s game sounded—two long, three short. He opened the door to peer out. The Russian mobster, Alexei Kaloshov, stood there, looking lethal and high on uppers of some kind.
Carlo stepped back to allow him entry. Alexei wasn’t the hand-shaking sort. He was more the type who would pull a knife and stab you if you accidentally jostled him. He wore a designer button-down shirt, opened two buttons at the collar to reveal a tattoo of a dagger going through his neck.
From what Carlo understood, the Russian mafiya were decorated with prison tattoos, and every one of them had a symbolic meaning. The dagger through the throat meant the wearer had committed murder, or would kill for hire, and the drops of blood were for each victim. Alexei’s drops extended beyond where they were visible, but Carlo suspected there were a lot. Too many, even for a mobster. The guy had a murderous vibe and he used drugs, so Carlo always kept a close eye on him.
Sonny stood behind the table, ready to take his money and give him chips.
Carlo let in several more guests, all clients he expected, or at least knew. Nine men showed up and took seats around the large wooden table in the warehouse chosen for this week’s game. In a matter of five hours, they had transformed one section of the industrial space. A fine Persian rug lay on the floor and the solid carved oak table sat in the middle. A stained glass chandelier dangled mid-air over the table, suspended from the rafters by two 20-foot chains. The chairs were cushioned red leather. Drinks were provided in crystal glasses with ice. Small speakers had been strategically set around the room and they played Sinatra on low volume.
The knock sounded again. He opened the door and blinked. Gio, one of the younger soldiers, stood there with a white guy. Make that—stood there with a cop. Carlo had nothing to go on other than the guy’s short hair and steady gaze, but his instincts said it loud and clear.
He didn’t open the door any wider. “What’s up?” he asked, ignoring the stranger and focusing on Gio. The only question in his mind now was whether Gio knew he’d brought a cop.
“Hey Carlo, how’s it going?”
He didn’t answer, just stared the guy down.
Gio shifted. “I brought a friend.” He jerked his thumb at the cop. “Is there a game?”
“Nope. No game tonight. Maybe next week.” His eyes slid to the cop, whose gaze remained steady.
Gio looked confused. “Oh, I guess I had it wrong?”
“Yeah. You had it wrong.”
Gio rubbed his face as he turned and scanned the parking lot, taking in all the signs that the game, was, indeed, happening. He wasn’t the brightest guy on the street, but fortunately he wasn’t completely stupid. “Okay, cool. I guess I’ll see you later.”
“Yeah. I need to see you tomorrow, actually. Meet me at Rubino’s at ten.” The Italian deli served as one of their meeting places for business.
A trace of fear showed in Gio’s face, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was guilty. He just understood something had gone wrong. “Sure thing, Carlo. See you in the morning.”
Carlo ignored the other guy until he’d turned around, then he watched him until they both got into Gio’s car and drove off.
After the game, he would get the feed from the camera and run the guy’s photo. He needed to know what he was dealing with.
* * *
Summer wove through the crowd of drunken college students at the nightclub. She was getting too old for this. Some of the other grad students had talked her into coming out. It had sounded good at the time, since she had nothing to do with herself at night now that she’d quit The Candy Store. Maggie lived with her boyfriend, Pete, so they didn’t go out much. When they did, it was with the group of friends that John belonged to, which meant the atmosphere would be beyond awkward if she went along.
It was stupid, she knew, but she liked to get dolled up and dress skimpy and feed off all the leers of the men around her. She supposed she had an exhibitionist streak. Or maybe it just made up for all the times John had lifted a critical eyebrow and told her what was unflattering about her outfit, or which body part looked fat.
She might’ve seen the light and left him before she became two inches tall if she hadn’t also had her dance career destroyed by the broken foot. She’d jumped down from the stage into the orchestra pit after performing one night. The pit was lower than she expected and the impact broke five bones in her foot. Now she had a little metal plate holding together the pivotal cuboid bone and, even after months of physical therapy, hadn’t recovered the flexibility or strength.
She’d had to retire from performing with River East and face the fact that she may never return to performing professionally again. At her mother’s coaxing, she’d applied and started grad school—for an MBA, of all things. Her mom said that way when she recovered she’d have the know-how to run her own dance company or studio. But she hated it. Truly hated it. She had zero interest in business management. But it probably didn’t matter, because at the rate she was going this first semester, she’d fail out, anyway. Which would kill her mom.
She wondered what her dad would think. He’d said very little about the whole thing. Sometimes she speculated whether he’d back her up if she set herself against her mother. But they’d always been such a unified front—it was hard to say. And yeah, she was a little old to let her parents run her life, but when they were paying for everything, they sort of retained that right.
“Come on, Summer, we’re getting shots,” one of her friends said, tugging her toward the bar.
She followed, taking her turn with one shot of tequila, then another. It slid down her belly like fire and hit her fast, reminding her that she hadn’t had much to eat that day. The gaggle of grad students headed back to the dance floor and she joined them.
A good-looking guy sidl
ed up, giving her an appreciative sweep of his eyes. He had worked his way into the circle her friends had made and they allowed him. After a couple of dances, he offered to buy her another drink.
Okay, she definitely didn’t need one, but what the hell? He was buying. She trailed him to the bar and ordered a cosmo. Only then did she get the creepo vibe.
* * *
Sonny and Vince counted the take for the night—20 large. Not bad for a night’s work. Carlo paid them both their shares and laid out stacks of bills for the soldiers who’d worked security.
His phone vibrated and he tilted the screen to see who was calling. Frowning, he swiped the screen. “Hey doll.” He purposely didn’t call her by her name so the guys wouldn’t pay attention. Why was Summer calling at 1:00 a.m.?
“Hey Carlo, I need a favor.” Her words sounded slightly slurred.
Fear spiked in his chest. Cops showing up and Russians with happy trigger fingers never ruffled him, but thinking about Summer in danger turned him cold.
“Pay the guys out,” he said to Vince, pushing the piles of cash in his direction and standing up. To the phone, he said, “Anything, babe. Where are you?”
“I’m at a club. I-I don’t think I can drive and this creepy guy is stalking me. I’m in the bathroom.”
He grabbed his jacket and slid it on. In a low voice, he said to Sonny, “I need you to get the feed from the front door over to Joey to ID the guy with Gio.”
“You bet, boss.”
“Which club?” he asked Summer, stepping out the door.
“Five-oh-four.”
“I’ll be right there. You just stay put, do you hear me?” He strode to his Mercedes and got in, slamming the door.
“Okay.”
“I’m serious, do not leave the bathroom.” He jammed the key in the ignition and started the car.
“I said, okay.”
“Don’t get mouthy with me, either.”
She let out a drunken giggle. “Yes, sir.”
Gesù Cristo. If he weren’t so nerved up about her well being, those two words would make him rock hard. Summer La Torre playing submissive to him. Was that why she’d called him? He shook his head to push away the thoughts crowding his brain.
“Summer, I’m going to hang up now. Do not come out of there until I call you back. When I do, I’ll be standing right outside the door, capisce?”
“Capito.”
He hung up and screeched through the streets to reach Summer, ready to kill the asshole who had her hiding in the bathroom.
An agonizing 20 minutes later, he arrived, handed his keys to valet parking and paid a ridiculous cover charge to get into a club that would be closing in 30 minutes.
He pushed his way toward the back, looking for the bathrooms, eyeing every male who came between him and that door. No one appeared to be loitering around.
Too impatient to call her, he tapped on the door and pushed it open. His heart stopped when he saw Summer—his girl—sitting slumped against a wall, her head leaning back, her eyes closed.
“Hey,” a girl shrieked.
Summer’s eyes fluttered open and her face broke into the delayed grin of inebriation.
“Get out of here,” the offended customer squealed. “I’m getting a bouncer.”
“Summer.” It came out like an exhale. He took two steps into the room and held out his hand, hauling her to her feet. She wore a body-hugging dress so short it barely covered her ass and showed every curve. And she definitely wasn’t wearing a bra or panties underneath. He scowled. “Let’s go.”
A bouncer headed toward them as they emerged but Carlo narrowed his eyes, giving him a deadly look. The guy stopped his advance. Smart man.
“Where is the guy?” he demanded.
Summer twisted around, scanning the club with an unfocused sweep. “I don’t know.”
It didn’t matter—he was being stupid. He wasn’t going to knock out a guy’s teeth in front of his girl, no matter how much he might want to. That lacked class. Getting Summer out of there was priority number one.
“Nevermind.” He grit his teeth and tugged her out of the club, where he handed his number to the valet guy.
Summer shivered as they waited for the car and he shucked his jacket, draping it around her shoulders. The valet driver pulled up and got out. Carlo beat him to opening the passenger side car door, and helped Summer inside. Reaching across her, he buckled her seat belt.
“You’re sweet,” she said, rolling her head to the side and smiling up at him.
“You might not think so when I’m through with you.”
She made a show of sitting up taller and folding her fingers in her lap. “Uh oh. I think I’m in trou-ble.” She sang the last word.
He slammed her door and walked around to his side.
When he climbed in she leaned her face close to him. “Are you going to spank me again?”
“I’m not sure you’d even register it right now,” he said drily.
She sat back in her seat and folded her hands in her lap again. “Thanks for coming to get me.” She sounded meek.
He’d expected more drunken sass. His chest tightened to hear the raw vulnerability in her voice. He reached out and brushed his knuckles along her jaw. “I’m glad you called me, bambina.”
She looked over, her eyes still not focusing. “But you’re still going to whip me?”
“We’ll discuss it when we get home.”
“Which home? Can we go to your place this time?”
He furrowed his brows. “Why?”
“I don’t like living alone.” It came as no more than a whisper and it wrenched his heart. His baby doll was lonely.
He didn’t want to be the random guy she stuffed into her life to fill a hole, but he didn’t trust anyone else to be that guy, either. “Yeah, we can go to my place.”
It was wrong, but how could he refuse her? He wasn’t made of stone. His place was closer, anyway. They drove in silence and she’d sobered by the time they arrived.
He unbuckled her belt and reached across her to push open her door. She climbed out. At first he thought she was stumbling on her heels because she was drunk, until he realized she had a limp.
“Is your foot bothering you?”
She tossed him a rueful look and reached down to take off her high-heeled sandals. “Yes.”
“Why do you wear those things?” He swung her up into his arms where she seemed to fit. She smelled like cranberries and liquor and her own tantalizing scent, sweet and intoxicating.
She giggled and tucked her head into his shoulder as he carried her up the stairs and into his apartment. Her weight bothered him—she was too light in his arms. She’d never been anything but slender, but she couldn’t weigh much more than 100 pounds now.
He reached the living room and deposited her on her feet. She looked around his apartment with a curious glint in her eye. Sitting on his leather sofa, he patted his lap.
She gave it a doubtful look. “Am I sitting or lying down?”
The corners of his mouth kicked up and he pulled her over his lap. “Definitely lying down.”
This was how he’d wanted her the first time—stretched out over his legs, her punishment intimate. He slid her miniscule dress up and discovered he’d been right—she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. “Where in the fuck are your panties?” he growled. Had she been trolling at the club and just caught a bad one? The thought made him grit his teeth.
He brought his hand down on one of her cheeks with a loud slap.
“Ow! I didn’t like the way the lines showed.”
“That’s because this dress is too damn tight.” He slapped the other side, then repeated the action. “The answer is not to go without panties, it’s to pick a new outfit.”
Apparently the alcohol hadn’t numbed her ass, because she reacted as if he’d branded her with fire, gasping and jerking.
He found a rhythm, his hand crashing down on her gorgeous ass without mercy.
&nb
sp; “Carlo, no,” she squealed. “Carlo, stop.” Genuine alarm sounded in her voice.
He did stop, pulling her up to stand between his knees.
“Baby, you have a spanking coming.”
She cupped her ass and shook her head, looking like an adorable, sulky child.
“Summer, you called me to pick you up. You must have known how I would react to the decisions you made tonight. Am I right?”
She shrugged sullenly.
“You didn’t call Maggie or your dad to come and get you. You didn’t call a cab. You called me. I think you wanted me to take you in hand.”
Her expression turned wary, as if his logic rang true but he must be tricking her.
“Listen, piccolina. If you tell me no, I won’t touch you and I won’t say another word about it. But I think you need this spanking. So I’m asking you to be a good girl and lie across my lap. When I’m finished punishing you, we’ll have a talk.”
Her lower lip stuck out. He wanted to bite it. Or suck it into his mouth. Instead, he patted his knees and raised an eyebrow, expectantly.
With a huff, she folded herself back over him. He rubbed her ass, which was barely pink from the spanks he’d already delivered. “Good girl.”
* * *
Summer wasn’t sure she agreed with Carlo that she needed a spanking, but she found it impossible to tell him no. So that must mean he was right. She supposed she’d called him because she wanted him to be her knight in shining armor. And yeah, some part of her must have known he’d punish her. Still, his hand seemed to be made of solid wood when it crashed down on her bare ass over and over again. She squirmed and wriggled over his lap, futilely attempting to dodge his steady slaps and not failing to notice his growing erection prodding her hip.