He beelines for the door. Instinctually, I follow him, knowing that there is a reason for his sudden change in plans. We are both outside the doors of Russo’s when he pulls me around the corner to the side of the building.
“Yo, what the fuck?!” I snap. No one touches me, not even my fucking brothers.
“Yo? What are you in, third grade?” Jordan hisses, pulling his phone out from his pocket and focusing on the screen. His eyes don’t waver as he continues to speak. “Varca is a fucking snake. The bastard thinks I won’t do my homework? Who does he think we are? Some punks off the side of the street who will do his bidding! We’re the Steeles. The fucking Steeles! And he thinks we’re dumb enough to steal guns from Gabriele DiGiovanni.”
I listen to what my brother tells me, there is no element of shock here. Matteo has always been a sleazy man, it’s why I’ve never once trusted him. We have done business in the past together to maintain our good relationship with Gabriele, but if his relationship with Gabriele has burned to ashes, it means we have no reason to be doing business with Matteo. Good riddance if you ask me. Let’s fry this little fish if it means we catch the big one.
“I’ve been texting with Lorenzo, he told me that Gabriele and Varca have…ended their relationship. Arielle doesn’t have the hit out on Varca.” Before Jordan even finishes, I already know what he’s about to say. “Gabriele does.”
My, my. How the tides have changed.
“Care to elaborate on why Gabriele DiGiovanni put a hit on low life fucking scum like Varca?” This can’t be something small. There’s a reason Varca has the guillotine hanging over his head, and I plan to find out exactly why.
“You know as well as I do that the DiGiovannis do not air their dirty laundry, and I can smell Varca from here. Whatever it is, it isn’t something small. He had to have fucked over Gabriele good to land him an open contract with the Arcane.”
The Arcane.
The Arcane is a group of hitmen and women or assassins. They’re the best in the world, and only the highest paid open contracts are listed with the Arcane. Some would tell you that the Arcane isn’t real, but I can tell you first hand that our dark world is very, very real. If you’ve managed to get yourself a spot on that list, you have done one of two things:
Cross the wrong person.
Done something dirty, and most likely, malicious.
There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that Varca has not only done one but both of those things. I can’t help but wonder exactly what he has done. I suppose it doesn’t matter, though, it’s only a matter of time until I find out what exactly he has done to get his head on the chopping block. After all, I’m a Steele, which means that I’m one persistent mother fucker.
“I’m shocked you haven’t asked me yet,” Jordan says to me clear as day, lifting his eyes from his phone.
“Haven’t asked you what?” I inquire, wondering where Jordan is coming from.
“You haven’t asked me his contract price,” he says with a smile. “I’m surprised that you didn’t ask me. I’m also wondering why you’re letting him be alone with your Cinderella, the girl that you raved on to me for months about. It’s the first time you’ve seen her since the art exhibit opening, and you’re outside talking to me about business, leaving her alone with him, yeah?”
I don’t utter a single word, instead, I turn on my heel and head back towards the door into Russo’s.
“Three billion.”
I turn my head back to look at my brother. Three billion isn’t chump change. The highest hit I’ve seen on that list was for a little over one billion, and that was last year. A hit was put out on Mariana Vasile, the queen of the Romanian Mob. To put a three billion dollar hit out on Varca, well, I am interested, to say the least.
“I’m not a hitman.”
“You and I both know that’s a lie.” I don’t give him a second to finish saying what we both know is true. I pull open the double doors to Russo’s and walk back in. My brothers and I aren’t too close. It’s odd. We’re family, so they know me, as they should. However, Jordan and Logan don’t understand the things that go on inside of my head. The fucked up, demented thoughts that plague my mind every single day. I smile, proud of myself for manipulating the tabloids into thinking I’m simply just a spoiled, bratty, little manwhore of a party boy. My brothers get to peek past the surface of who I really am, but no one else gets that special preview of my life. I have to wonder if anyone ever will see me for who I am, monsters and all.
The thing about Jordan is that he thinks he knows everything about everyone, including me. Ever since I was a wee tyke he’s always been that way. When I think hard about it, Logan is too. Deep down, Jordan thinks that he knows me, but his ideas about his baby brother are figments of his imagination. He knows that I’m dark, but I can guarantee you that he is only seeing the tip of the iceberg. I learned a lot from my father, we may not have had the best relationship, but he taught me the important lessons in life. “Never reveal your cards, Christian. It’s the first way that your success will come tumbling down. You hold your hand close to your heart, and you don’t make rash decisions. You think, and you calculate. You make everyone believe what you want them to, and that my boy, is how you stay above everyone else.” I can hear my father’s words, a lesson he gave me when I couldn’t have been older than eight years old. To this day, I will always remember that lesson, as powerful as it has been – I still follow his advice.
I walk further into the club, squinting as my eyes adjust to the numerous flashing neon lights. There’s a new girl on stage, blonde with big tits. All of the men around her are tossing dollars in every direction. She smiles seductively down at each one of them, blowing kisses. I smirk, admiring the manipulation that the girls throw around here. They’re like me in a sense, calculating, knowing exactly what to do to get more money thrown their way. I admire each and every one of them for that.
I turn my attention to the right where I was seated with Varca and Jordan, and, scoping the room I don’t see him, nor my Cinderella.
A short, red headed woman walks by. I reach out and touch her arm lightly. “Where are the lap dances held?”
“If you wanted a dance big boy all you had to do was ask,” she purrs, giving me a wink for good measure.
“Sorry, sweetheart, I’m looking for Star.” I almost laugh at the way the little red’s face scrunches up as if I’ve just insulted her. I knew nothing about strippers besides the obvious. They take off their clothes, they get paid. It did strike me as odd, however, that when my Cinderella had her time on stage she was getting nasty looks from her peers. I’ll have to talk to her about that later after she begins to warm up to me the way she needs to.
A muffled cry tears my attention from the red head before me to the back of the club. I don’t think as I move past the tables, pushing my way through patrons and employees. I direct my eyes to my surroundings, noticing that some of the girls look to the back. Whatever that was, they heard it too.
Before I know it, I’m back in a room with small cubby-like dividers, each one with black walls to each side and a long purple curtain hanging down in the front. Quickly, I glance through them, until I come closer and closer to the broken-down sobs. I see her on the floor, leaning against the wall, her back to me. Those long raven locks are a tangled mess. It doesn’t take me more than a nanosecond to realize that’s Cinderella. My Cinderella, on the floor, making sounds that would have been coming out from a wounded animal.
I glance around quickly, looking for anyone nearby. I don’t see a damn thing, it’s just her and I in this part of the club.
My blood boils as I want to know exactly why she’s sobbing uncontrollably like this, it’s then when I glance over her body slowly that I notice her panties are gone. I take a moment, sucking in a long deep breath and exhaling slowly before I approach her, knowing that I could easily frighten her right now. I won’t know exactly what happened until she verbally tells me, but it doesn’t take a genius, you ju
st have to simply put two and two together.
I slip off my suit jacket slowly and kneel down in the entryway to the small cubby like room. It can’t be bigger than eight feet by eight feet. “Cinderella,” I whisper softly, keeping my voice as soft and unwavering as humanly possible. The last thing I want to do is frighten her.
“D-don’t call me t-that,” she hisses out, her voice hiccupping through the sobs.
“Fine, then tell me your real name, not that bullshit stage name that you go by.” I don’t mean to sound irritated, honestly, I’m trying to keep my calm. I won’t lie, it’s hard to do that when the girl you’ve been searching months for is crying uncontrollably in front of you, and you’re pretty damn sure it’s because she’s been raped in her place of work. Something that should have never happened, ever. Fuck. If I had just stayed in the damn club when Jordan left… Fuck me!
“Selena,” she whispers to me.
“Selena,” I repeat back, a beautiful name.
I slide the jacket on her back. “Put the jacket on, baby,” I urge her, watching as she slowly slips into it. Her back is still facing me, she starts shaking violently as the jacket slips further over her small body. It’s oversized, fit to my measure, and her small frame barely fills it.
“You don’t just g-get to come in h-here and white k-knight me,” she snaps, fire laced through every word she just said. She turns her face around and immediately I see every tear spilling from her eyes. After everything that’s just happened, I don’t know how to filter my reaction. I don’t know how to be the better man when I’m not even a good man, to begin with.
“Watch me,” I hiss back at her. Something dark is creeping out of me at this very moment. It’s as if something has changed. “No one fucks with my Cinderella, you got that? And I’m Prince Fucking Charming, baby.”
Before she can fire anything back, I’m standing up and pulling her into my arms. A mewed groan slips past her lips, and the second it does, her and my eyes are meeting, burning holes through each other. I can’t imagine what she’s going through, but I will promise one thing; I will make it better. “W-why are you h-helping me?”
It doesn’t take me long to think about my answer, as cocky and arrogant as it may be, it’s the truth. “Because, Selena, the second our eyes locked in that art exhibition, you were mine. You may have run away and evaded me for this long, but none of that matters. I’m a Steele, and Steeles always get what we want. We’re relentless as fuck, baby.” I give her a devilish smirk as I lean my lips down softly to her forehead and press a soft kiss to her flesh.
“I d-didn’t run,” she argues, my lips curve against her skin. I may not know much about my Selena, but I can tell she is a woman who isn’t easily broken. I secure her in my grip, instruct her to turn her head towards my chest and walk quickly through the club. We pass by the other customers, and the other strippers, all have suddenly peaked interest in me and the girl I have in my arms. The woman named Frankie comes running up in my direction, but with one glare, I’ve shut her down. She stops dead in her tracks. I plow through the doors of Russo’s and walk up to my car, unlock it, and slide Selena in on the passenger side. I shut the door quickly and get in on the opposite side, locking the doors. Now, for the tough part.
I look at her, mascara running down her face, lipstick smeared. I take in every aspect of the woman in my suit jacket and sigh, knowing this will not be easy. After all, nothing has been with her this far.
“I want to know the name of the man who touched what is mine.”
CHAPTER 7
Selena
“I want to know the name of the man that touched what is mine.” I cannot fucking believe that he just uttered those words to me, claiming me like I’m a fucking dog! This is my problem with him; he takes. Christian Steele is an overbearing ass who doesn’t consider the feelings of others whatsoever. Why does he think I ran from him that night?! Newsflash, Idiot!
I may have gone through something unbearable tonight, but I will not allow him to treat me like some shiny possession that he bought at Neiman Marcus. I will never allow him to treat me in such a way. In a way, maybe my fueled annoyance towards Christian is protecting me from fully processing what happened tonight.
“I’m not yours,” I seethe, clenching my teeth together so tightly that I feel as though my jaw may snap in half. I thought this night couldn’t get any worse, yet it is, with Christian and his I-am-alpha-male caveman attitude.
What in God’s name? Why am I even sitting in his car right now? I should be heading to my car, getting in it, and going straight home. Shit, but I can’t go home looking like this. A million different scenarios run through my mind, and the next thing I know, the car is moving, and Christian is driving us into downtown Atlanta.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask anxiety flooding through my entire body. The last thing I want to do is go to the police station, and knowing what I do, I’d swear that Christian is taking me there.
“Home,” Christian mutters, slapping me with blind shock as he weaves in and out of lanes so quickly that I fear he’s going to get us into a car accident. The last thing I expected from Christian Steele was for him to be a reckless driver. I can’t help but wonder if he’s driving this recklessly because it’s something he always does, or if it’s because of the situation that unfolded tonight. He made it apparent from the first moment that I met him that he wanted me. I avoided it like the plague and tonight, under the oddest circumstances, he found me. He laid claim like he did that first night we met, and here we are.
There are so many thoughts running rampant through my mind. How did he find me? Why did he stay? Why is he helping me right now?
We pass the buzzing city lights of Atlanta. I look out the window to see groups of people out on late night walks through the city. If I didn’t have the night I had, I’m sure that I’d love to be walking around downtown, going in and out of the bars, meeting people. That is something I would do if I didn’t have the mountain of responsibility on my shoulders that I do at home. Pretty much all of my social life has been incinerated in front of my eyes. I try to think hard about my friends, but then I remember I don’t really have many anymore, besides Brenna, that is. She’s the only friend that stuck by me through the good and the bad, from the day my mom abandoned my family to the day we put my father to rest. She’s been there with me through every shitty thing that has ever happened. She’s my ride or die, the only person that I know no matter what, I can count on.
Christian pulls into the parking garage of a building, going up a few floors until we settle into a spot that he’s happy with. My head is telling me not to get out of this car with him and go into his house, but my body is shutting down and I know the man won’t hurt me. Wow. Doesn’t that sound ridiculous? I know the man won’t hurt me. How can I be saying that when I barely know him? This has to be the shock, it can’t be anything else. Still, blindly, I will follow his lead.
He opens the car door, and I begin to step out. Instead, he pulls me close to his chest, and I grunt, still feeling the imprint that Matteo Varca left on me. My insides are on fire, a burning, and aching, a sensation that I don’t want to ever feel again. I hurt, and I know I shouldn’t.
Christian walks towards the elevator. It opens almost instantaneously, and he steps inside. Lightly tapping the “PH” button on the top. PH. Penthouse.
Inside, I’m shaking my head. Of course, Christian would have a penthouse.
He holds me close to him as if I’m a precious thing. I’m surprised that I didn’t even argue with him, demanding that he put me down so I could walk, but I wasn’t stupid. I know that I’m still in shock, my mind and my body are still trying to process every single god-awful thing that has happened tonight.
I wasn’t just raped.
I’m pretty certain I was betrayed by the only person I could trust at work. I’m even more certain that she willingly led me into the lion’s den, and that, fucking rips me apart.
Before I know it, he’s
pressed his thumb to a digital pad in the elevator. The doors open, and we’re walking into his penthouse, his modern, lush, and overly exquisite penthouse. The hallway opens up into a modern floor plan. I see what looks to be a bedroom off to the left, an expansive kitchen riddled with white marble which flows into a living room combination and then there are more doors leading to goodness knows where. I’m not shocked with the lack of color; blacks, whites, and grays line the area. It almost feels sterile, as this isn’t just a home, and it’s more of a place that he sleeps in.
“Why am I here, Christian?” I ask him softly, my voice almost breaking a whisper. Everything is finally catching up with me. Frankie asking me to give them a dance, insisting on how the tip will be good, and then I remember. Oh my god. I fumble with the suit jacket and tear it open, digging my hand into my bra and tossing the money that Matteo gave me. I watch as it hits the ground, like every dollar that hits Christian’s expensive wood floors will wash away the filth and disgust all over my body.
“Because I didn’t know anyplace else to take you that was safe.” He stares me straight in the eyes as the words spill past his lips. “I’m assuming you wouldn’t want to go back home looking like this, and even if I knew where you lived, I would have brought you here first, so you could relax. Truthfully, I’m not sure what I’m doing. I just know that you needed a safe, quiet place.”
I am rendered speechless within two seconds. No, I didn’t get a cocky, arrogant response from the billionaire party boy who is holding me in his arms. I felt something pure, something so genuine coming out of his lips. Never did I think I’d see that.
Christian walks me over and sets me down on a big, plush, black couch. It’s riddled with oversized pillows and a gray fur blanket.
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