UNTAMED: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance

by Zoey Parker

  Steeling myself, I sank down further on the seat, and almost cringed as my hips pressed against the curve of Micah’s ass, and my pussy—barely covered by my skirt and panties—pressed against the warm seat. Even at an idle, the whole thing shook between my legs, and while I wasn’t sure, I thought I was starting to get wet from the stimulation. I gritted my teeth and pushed my legs against Micah’s and my butt down against the seat, and hesitantly wrapped my arms around Micah’s waist.

  The bike roared to life and I almost cried out at the feeling of it between my legs. Micah leaned it to the side and kicked back the stand, and I thought my heart would jump up into my throat as he took off. Micah peeled out of the parking lot and I grabbed at his waist harder, almost shaking as the adrenaline rushed through me. I made myself relax a bit, and leaned into Micah just a little more. The feeling of the motorcycle humming between my legs, right up against my covered pussy, was exhilarating, and in spite of my worries about Adrienne, and Manny, I could feel myself getting turned on. What the hell is wrong with me?

  I tried to focus on the problem at hand, but as Micah navigated the streets toward Adrienne’s place, I could feel my body starting to respond. I’d been on a friend’s scooter before, once or twice, but it was nothing like riding behind Micah—nothing like his bike. I was stressed out about the situation with Manny, but that almost seemed to heighten how sensitive I was, how thrilling the ride felt. My toes tingled, I had hot and cold flashes through my body, it was almost like sex itself.

  I closed my eyes, because the way Micah was veering through the streets was too much for me to take with my stomach already doing flip flops inside of me, but all that did was make images of all the times that Micah and I had had sex flash through my head. I shivered, seeing myself pinned down on his desk taking him from behind, hearing his voice in my mind telling me that I was his own personal slut, feeling phantom versions of his hands on my body. Stop. Stop. You should be thinking about Adrienne: how hurt and scared she is. Or Manny. I gritted my teeth, trying to keep my breathing steady.

  Struggling to think of anything but my now-dead sex life with Micah, I remembered the confrontation in his office. Chris was still back there, hopefully guarded by Brody, waiting to hear one thing or another from Micah, or Rob, or whoever. My brother—who had gotten me into this mess—had somehow managed to become the least important person in the room. I hoped that he was safe, that Manny wasn’t going to have the chance to come at him the way he’d gone after Adrienne. Manny isn’t that stupid; if he was, he wouldn’t have been able to get away with what he was doing for so long. I unconsciously pressed myself closer to Micah, until I was almost cuddling him, and tried to pull back but I couldn’t make myself do it. It felt too good to have my body pressed to his, it made too much sense. A little thrill worked through my spine and I had to remind myself once again to focus, to keep my mind on the problems and not the humming between my legs or the gorgeous, handsome man I was wrapped around.

  I realized as we kept going that my nipples had hardened into little nubs, that they strained at the fabric of my bra, almost aching from how firm they’d become. It was like every single nerve of my body was awake, active, alive; it was so easy to see why so many people loved to ride a bike, why Micah loved to ride. When Micah stopped, the engine’s vibrations slowed down to a low throb, just enough to make my clit tingle. And when he roared through the intersections, it was almost as good as a vibrator set to high, right between my thighs.

  Micah began to slow down and bank into a turn, and I thought we must be getting close to Adrienne’s place. I could still feel the body-wide tingling that the motorcycle revving sent through me, but as we got nearer to Adrienne’s apartment it was easier for me to focus. Manny obviously knew about what was going on, the fact that we’d gone to Micah. He’d tried to take it out on Adrienne—I assumed for going to Rob with what she knew—and he’d probably go after anyone else that he could. At least with Micah, I thought I was reasonably safe. As safe as anyone is in this insane situation. I thought about poor Adrienne herself; she was bleeding, and her voice on the phone had sounded like she’d taken a lot of damage to her face.

  Before she’d put the phone on speaker, Adrienne had said something about Manny telling her she was going back to the street. Obviously he wanted to make sure she was beat up enough to not be able to work with the bankers. I shuddered at the thought of how bad it was going to be. Focus down, Sadie. You have to help her, and you can’t do that if you freak out. I opened my eyes and looked around just as Micah was pulling into a parking lot attached to one of the big apartment complexes, at least four or five different buildings.

  I waited for Micah to not only park the bike but shut it off before I even thought about trying to dismount. My legs felt like jelly—tired and tight and weak all at the same time. I fumbled again with the straps to the helmet, but got the big thing off of my head and handed it to Micah, who was already putting his own away in one of the back compartments.

  “Which unit is she in?” Micah looked at me with one eyebrow raised. “I’ve never visited her at her place.”

  “She’s in building five, unit 213,” Micah said. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Sadie

  It took a long time for Adrienne to answer the door, and for a few moments I wondered if she hadn’t passed out or maybe—horribly—even died while we’d been en route to her. What if Manny came back and decided to finish the job?

  When the door finally opened, the sight of Adrienne was enough to turn my stomach. Manny had managed to blacken both of her eyes, and blood was still oozing from a cut on her cheek—one that I thought was probably bad enough to need stitches, and even if it didn’t, I was sure it would scar. It looked like Manny had managed to get at other parts of her body too, though there was so much blood and bruising everywhere that it was hard to say what had happened exactly. “Oh, shit, sweetie,” I said, as soon as I can talk.

  Next to me, Micah started cursing steadily, even as Adrienne opened the door wider to let us in, looking cowed and dazed. Her face was swollen where it wasn’t bruised or bloody, and when she spoke it looked as if it hurt her, and sounded like she was trying to talk through a mouth full of mashed potatoes. “I didn’know whadda do,” she said.

  “Let’s get you cleaned up,” I told her. I took a deep breath and tried to assess what was in front of me, tried to remain calm. It wouldn’t do any good for Adrienne for me to freak out; she needed care and help and she needed me to be soothing and steady at the same time. “Then we can see if you need to go to the hospital.”

  “Can’,” Adrienne said, shaking her head.

  “If it’s a money issue, we’ll figure it out later,” I told her firmly. “But if you need stitches you’re going to the hospital.”

  “If you need the hospital, I’ll pay for it,” Micah said, stopping for a moment from his string of expletives. I raised an eyebrow at him in doubt at that, but on second thought it made sense that he’d have that attitude: it made good business sense to take care of the health needs of his people.

  “Let’s clean you up first and then we’ll see what’s needed, okay?” Adrienne nodded hesitantly, glancing over at Micah with unmistakable trepidation. I took her hand gently and led her toward the bathroom—after I spotted it—just off the living room of her apartment. She was one of Micah’s more successful girls, which was why she’d ended up working with the bank’s clients; so it wasn’t a surprise that she had a well-decorated, comfortable-looking apartment. Some of the furniture was IKEA, but she’d started buying a few things that looked studier and older, things that she might have found at a higher-end thrift store or something similar.

  Micah didn’t follow us into the bathroom, instead staying in the dining room area as Adrienne and I stepped through the door. I turned all the lights on and took stock as best as I could. It would be easier if I could ask Adrienne what Manny had done, but she looked too shocked to be able to give me a clear a
nswer; and the way she’d been talking before made me think he might have injured her jaw or knocked out a few teeth—in which case talking was the last thing she could do. “Okay, I’m going to start with your face,” I said, as calmly as I could—in fact, as if I was talking to an injured animal. I looked around the bathroom and spotted a pile of washcloths folded and stacked in a glass-front cabinet over the toilet.

  I grabbed three and started the water in the sink while I looked at my options for soap. Adrienne handed me a bottle of face soap and I shook my head gently. “We need to really clean you up,” I told her gently. I settled for a bottle of unscented hand soap instead. She’d probably need to get a shower, but the first thing I needed to do was find out—if I could—if any bones in her face were broken.

  I kept the water cool and lathered up a washcloth with the soap. “This is probably going to sting a bit when it comes to this cut,” I said, touching the injury in question as lightly as I possibly could. Adrienne nodded her acceptance of that, and I started to carefully, carefully scrub the blood off of her face.

  As I got her cleaned up, the cut on her cheek started oozing again, which wasn’t great—but looking at her without the blood to obscure things, I thought she was only badly bruised, a little swollen, but without any broken bones; and the cut wasn’t so deep that it needed stitches; at least I didn’t think so. The black eyes would take a long time to heal, and the cut was certainly going to scar—it was jagged and long, even if it wasn’t terribly deep—but she’d managed to avoid needing surgery on her face. “Let me just double check before I take care of this cut,” I told Adrienne; I gently—gently—pressed on different parts of her face, asking her if she felt any of the telltale signs of broken bones, feeling for them myself. I’d taken a first aid course back when I’d been in college, and the instructor had taught me a few extra tricks since he’d noticed I was bored with the regular material.

  “Open your mouth for me, okay Adrienne?” Her jaw was swollen, which made it difficult, but she opened her mouth. None of her teeth had come out that I could see. “Do any of your teeth feel loose? Wiggly?” She shook her head. “Okay. If they do, you might be able to get help at the hospital—and remember: Micah will pay for it.” Adrienne hesitated before nodding.

  I found butterfly bandages and taped up the cut on Adrienne’s cheek after giving it some Neosporin, and hoped that the scar wouldn’t be that noticeable. Then it was time to get to the rest of her. Pitching my voice low, I met Adrienne’s gaze and asked, “Manny didn’t rape you, did he?”

  “No,” Adrienne said, probably louder than she meant to.

  “If he did, you can tell me,” I told her, gently but firmly.

  “He didn’,” Adrienne said. She was able to speak a little clearer, but still slurred a bit, like her tongue was thick.

  “Micah, can you do me a favor?” Any fear I harbored for the big mafia boss was totally gone in the face of Adrienne’s needs. I’d heard him talking in the next room, but I hadn’t paid attention to what he was saying, who he might be talking to.

  “What do you need?” as Micah spoke, I looked at Adrienne’s face. She was incredibly swollen.

  “Can you bring me a big bowl, or pitcher—or something—full of ice?” Micah didn’t respond, but I heard movement in the apartment. I turned my attention back onto Adrienne. “Are you okay with me helping you shower?” She let out a weak chuckle.

  “I’th done loth of lethbian gigs,” Adrienne told me. “Uthed to be a sthripper.” That stood to reason; I nodded.

  “Okay, let’s get these bloody clothes off and get you cleaned up then,” I suggested. Adrienne nodded, looking more confident.

  Micah came into the bathroom with a pitcher full of ice when she was finishing up; I almost stopped him, but Adrienne kept stripping off her clothes without even a moment’s hesitation—obviously she didn’t care if Micah saw her naked, either. “How’s she doing?”

  “So far I don’t think Manny broke anything,” I told him. “Her cheek doesn’t need stitches that I can tell, but it’s going to leave a scar.” Micah cursed under his breath and I shrugged. “She might have some damaged teeth, her tongue is swollen, and so is most of her face.” I pointed to the pitcher. “Hopefully that will help.” Micah nodded curtly.

  “I’m calling some folks for backup,” he said. “We’re going to get that son of a bitch and if there’s a god he’ll give me the chance to roast Manny’s ass over a low flame.”

  “Sounds like a solid plan,” I said. “Go do your thing, I’ve got the situation in here under control.” Micah gave me a look at that but turned away and left the bathroom. I looked at Adrienne; even bloodied and banged up by Manny’s rage-fueled attack, it was easy to see why she was so popular with the Johns: she had perfect boobs—I was pretty sure she was a DD, maybe even an E cup—and the kind of body that should have been plastered on a billboard as a testament to the excellence of whatever plastic surgeon had done her liposuction. She was covered in blood and bruises, and there were spots that bulged in was that made me think she was more seriously hurt than I’d first suspected, but she was still gorgeous. “I know you probably want a hot shower,” I said, grimacing at what I had to explain, “but that’ll just make the swelling worse everywhere.” I turned on the shower and adjusted the temperature until it was roughly the same as the room we were in—not cold, exactly, but just above tepid.

  “Ith okay,” Adrienne told me.

  “Try not to talk too much,” I said. “Okay; I’m going to check you over for any breaks or major injuries, all right? If something really—really—hurts, let me know.” Adrienne nodded, and I started examining her. In the back of my mind, I wondered just how many of her Johns would have paid good money for the excuse to run their hands over her body like I was doing without having to pay for the access; I felt a chill at thinking of something so profit-driven at a moment like that, but I couldn’t help it. If they were trying to take care of it, it would be okay, I thought, imagining the course of events if a particularly kind, attached client of Adrienne’s had found her, instead of Micah and I coming to her aid. I carefully poked, prodded, squeezed, and moved her arms and legs and torso around, trying to find evidence of any broken bones, or internal bleeding.

  When I was pretty sure that Manny had failed to injure her beyond the bruises and a few cuts that I could see, I helped Adrienne into the shower. I took one of the washcloths I’d pulled out and helped her scrub, getting to the places she was too sore to reach herself, making sure I got the dried blood off, and—I knew—soothing her at least a little bit in the process, making her feel taken care of. That was almost as important as making sure she didn’t need to go to the ER; in spite of the fact that she was holding together really well, I was pretty sure Adrienne was in shock, and shock could make a person do stupid, sometimes really bad things.

  I washed her hair for her, and then we were done. Adrienne stepped out of the shower and into a towel I held open, and I led her into the living room to dry her off and examine the cuts in more detail, her first aid kit in hand.

  Micah was back on the phone, and I half-eavesdropped as I took care of what I could treat on Adrienne’s body. “Yeah, Manny’s gone postal...I want him caught...You need to set up checkpoints throughout the city…” Micah practically ran his organization—at least his enforcers—like the military, or at least like cops with advanced training. I wondered if he’d gotten advice from someone in one of those areas, if that was how he’d modeled his tactics, or if he’d just come up with it himself.

  While I was busy with Adrienne’s wounds—bandaging them, daubing them with antiseptic or ointment, putting arnica gel on the bruises—Micah was busy rallying his people, and I had to admit the organization, the sheer level of command he held, only made me respect him more. In another age, he’d have been practically a king, or at least some kind of warlord, respected and paid homage to. He issued orders, and even without knowing his codes I could figure out that he was telling his people
that if they needed to kill Manny, they were allowed—but he’d rather kill the bastard himself. “BD,” I thought, meant ‘better dead,’ which was what Micah had told Brody to tell the out-of-town contacts; I heard him repeat it to a couple of the people he spoke to on the phone while I tended to Adrienne.

  I gave Adrienne some ice to suck on, and a washcloth full of the stuff to hold against her face, and settled her on her couch, looking her over for a moment before I made up more ice packs and placed them where they’d do the most good. Micah came over and inspected my handiwork. “I’m going to give you a bonus, Adrienne,” Micah told the girl, crouching down to hold her gaze at eye level to the couch. “And you take as much time as you need to get better, got me?” Adrienne nodded weakly. “You need any pain meds?”