by B. B. Hamel
“I understand better than you know,” he said and his voice sounded distant, his eyes gazing out at something far behind him.
I touched his cheek.
“What are you remembering?”
“An ice pond out near a cabin with my brother and my father.” He shook his head. “I’ll tell you about it sometime.”
“I’d be happy to listen.”
He kissed my lips and a surge of pleasure rolled down my spine, like stretching in front of a fire on a cold winter night.
“I’ve come to accept that there’s no changing the past. What happened will never come undone, and all we can do is learn to live with it. No matter how much it haunts us, the past will win if we let it consume our present.”
“I’m not sure I’m that strong.”
“You’re strong, believe me. What happened to you would have crippled a lesser person.”
“I feel crippled.”
“But you’re not. You live and laugh and still move forward. You’re not crippled, Cassie. You’re not broken or ruined or damaged. You’re far from it.”
I ran my fingers through his hair. When did I start to feel this way? A strange tenderness for him?
This man tricked me into marrying him and was using me for some massive political game I only partly understood. I was a tool for his revenge—and a pretty pet to amuse him at night.
And yet he looked at me with so much emotion I could barely contain the choked tears that pressed at my throat.
“Leave the past behind. I’ve been trying to do that for a long time.”
“Then do it with me. You’re what’s in front of me now, little doll. And I’ll be what’s in front of you, if you’ll let me.”
“I’ll try.”
He kissed my hands and stood. “Come then. I want to make you feel good before I make you feel very bad again.”
I smiled, not sure what he meant, and let him help me up. “Where are we going?”
“Back to my apartment. I still have business in the city. Dangerous business, but that’s for tomorrow.”
“What’s for tonight?”
“You are.”
24
Cassie
Roman shoved my legs open roughly and licked his tongue around the folds of my pussy.
He teased my lips and rolled his tip along my swollen clit. My back arched, my eyes widened. He pinned my hands to my side and I wrapped one leg around my neck, pushing him down against me harder.
I wanted the rough stubble on his chin and cheeks to mix with the soft delicious pleasure of his tongue. He grunted something animalistic and I rolled my hips, struggling slightly against his grip on my hands, but he was iron and I was soft wool, and there was no escape for me.
Not that I wanted any. He tongued me like lightning, like heaven, like an open blue sky for miles and miles and miles, and I squeezed my eyes shut and said this name, Roman, let it drip off my tongue as he growled in response, my beastly man, my perfect monster, my massive killer. He licked me, he sucked me, he drank me deep and kept me pinned there no matter how hard I pushed back, and he walked me right to the edge of that cliff—
Right to the edge, that blissful cliff, my muscles taut, all of them flexed and tightened, my mouth wide open, his name now nothing more than a meaningless gasp, an oh god oh god—
But before he let me tumble into dark bliss, he wrenched himself back and pressed his cock against me.
I stared and screamed in pleasure as he ripped himself into me.
Deeper, deeper, I sank deeper into him as he fucked me. He held my hands up above my head, kept them there with one massive paw, he licked my nipples and bit them, he bit my lower lip, he bit my neck and throat, he fucked me so hard I thought I might break, and the pleasure and the pain and everting in between mixed in a wild bubbling joy inside of my body, and he kept fucking me, and I writhed my hips against him, feeling the pressure build again, straining for that moment, that just-out-of-reach incredible moment—
“Come for my princess,” he whispered in my ear, railing into me with ruthless disregard. “Come on my thick cock and suck off your juice when you’re done, my filthy fucking girl. Wrap this cunt tight around my thick cock and come for me.”
I exploded along his shaft, the orgasm rolling in waves and waves and waves, sweat pouring between my breasts, my beast pinning me down like his captive, and when I could breathe again he pulled his cock from inside, made me kneel before him like a good girl, and I sucked his shaft and tip and licked him lovingly, licked him clean until he came on my tongue. I looked him in the eye, swallowed every drop, and he kissed me when he finished.
We collapsed onto the couch together, his arms wrapped around my body, and I purred against his chest.
I’d never felt so safe before in my life.
It was like admitting what happened to me unburdened something. I found a kindred spirit in him, finally found someone that understood how one event, one violent, violating, intense series of seconds could burn themselves in a brain and never stop replaying.
I was stuck in my past, in that series of miniscule events, doomed and cursed to relive each agony and degradation—
Except when he fucked me. Except for when I came.
He kissed my neck and cupped my breasts. He liked my body, liked to explore it, and seemed to do so without thinking. He ran his fingers and palms over my ass, my thighs, my belly, and yes, my scar, running a knuckle around it absently. He kissed my ear and nibbled it, nuzzling me like a loving bear.
“You were supposed to cook me dinner,” I said as my stomach growled.
“Instead, I had my way with you. It worked out for everyone, I think.”
“I’m not complaining.”
He laughed and gently ran his teeth along my chin. “Do you want me to cook for you now? I’ll feed you and take care of you, and when you’re feeling ready, I’ll take you into my bedroom and spank you again. This time, I’ll lick your cunt from behind then smack your ass over and over until you come. Would you like that?”
“God, yes.” I shivered and leaned into his chest.
His phone rang. He glared at it, vibrating on the coffee table.
“Go ahead.” I extracted myself from his arms, even if it hurt. “Answer. I know your calls are important.”
I could see the struggle in his eyes. I decided to make it easy on him and walked into the kitchen for water.
He picked up. “Yes?” Long pause. “That’s good. Set it for tomorrow. Yes, and make sure they show. Good work.” He hung up and tossed the phone aside before standing.
Big man. Scary man. He walked over, slapped my ass, and began pulling out pots and pants and rifled through the refrigerator for something to make.
“Who was that? Or should I not ask about your business?”
“That was Erick calling about Manzi. He’s been found and they’re bringing him back tonight.”
I felt a little chill and wrapped my arms around myself. I never stayed naked like this, not for long anyway, but Roman seemed so comfortable walking around with nothing on his body—not that he had any reason to hid. The man had a cock like a nuclear weapon and the muscles to back it up.
“That’s good, right?”
He nodded. “We’ll have a meeting with the Ramos—“ He glanced at me, frowned. “Dia’s people. We’ll have a meeting with Dia’s people and get things straightened out.”
“Will they kill him?”
“Giatno won’t let them.”
“But I don’t think he has the final say.”
Roman paused, staring down at the food he’d gathered. Eggs, spinach, bacon, tomatoes, mushrooms, peppers.
“I want to avoid violence.”
“That doesn’t sound like you.”
A little smile. God, I loved that smile.
When did I start to feel this way?
“Maybe you’re changing me.”
He got to work and I watched. He cooked two omelets with precision and perfection.
25
Roman
New York was full of holes.
Sewer holes, potholes. Crack dens where men and women fell into holes of their own devising.
Empty buildings, holes to hide things. Abandoned warehouses, holes for something worse.
New York was a sprawling mess, and I knew every corner.
Erick followed me into an old parking garage, the entrance blocked off with big stacks of wood, grass reclaiming the ancient concrete. Weeds grew in long vines across the ramps and water pooled in the low places.
Holes for men to get buried.
Ahead, two groups faced each other in a tense silence. The Ramos Cartel showed in force: Chale, their leader, was a man of average height with dark skin, a stocky build, and tattoos up his throat and down along his shaved head. His men lined up behind him, stony silent and casually holding military-grade weapons.
Giatno stood with his own little army fifty paces away. Manzi fidgeted in the midst of their group, eyes darting around until I approached, and he stared at me with lips hanging open.
Little fucking bastard.
“Chale, Giatno,” I called out, forcing myself to smile. “I’m glad you both showed up.”
Erick hung back. I walked into the middle of the two groups. “Please, both of you, join me. There’s no need for this standoff bullshit.”
Chale moved first. He would—he was the braver man. Giatno came a moment later, Manzi glaring at me with a passionate fury.
The three of us stood in a small circle, surrounded by angry, armed men, and I felt alive, so alive.
Sliding my cock down Cassie’s gorgeous throat was the only thing better than dominating the powerful heads of sprawling crime organizations.
“Now, we don’t need to stare at each other like it’s war. Chale, you’re prepared to let this drop?”
Chale grunted. He was smart and ruthless, the kind of man that ripped off fingers and feet and tongues instead questioning. The cartels were vicious and excessively violent.
Giatno was a little baby minnow in comparison.
Except the Italians had more territory in the United States and were much richer. Chale had the brute strength and the cunning, but not the resources to compete.
He hoped to walk away from this meeting with a distinct advantage.
“For what was promised, yes.”
Giatno made a face. “Territory in Chicago and ten million dollars is a lot for the life of one bitch.”
Chale’s hand drifted to the ridiculously enormous gun he had tucked into his waistband. “Say that shit again, pendejo, and I blow your fucking head off here.”
“Enough, both of you. Giatno, you’ll follow through with this deal. Do you understand?”
Giatno nodded. “Money and territory. We’ll pay. We always do.”
“Chale?”
“Fine, yeah, we can avoid war. Real shame though. I like to kill Italians. I like the way their language sounds when they beg for their pathetic life.”
“You little—“
I held a hand up to silence Giatno. “Bring your son over here now. Let’s get this over with. I have business back home.”
Giatno scowled but gestured at Manzi. His son hesitated, glancing around, wringing his hands together—the little fuck was on something. He walked out toward the small circle.
“Manzi, come here.” Giatno was impatient. “Say what I told you to say.”
Manzi stared at the ground like a scolded child, unable to meet Chale’s eye. “I apologize for killing Dia. It was not my place to do something like that. The entire Liberto family will pay for my mistake.”
Chale chuckled and looked at me, his eyebrows raised. “The little bitch knows how to say sorry. Maybe he’ll suck my dick too.”
Manzi’s jaw clenched. He looked up, eyes raging. “You fucking little—“ He came forward, hands balled into fists.
I pulled my gun and pressed it against Manzi’s head.
Everything froze.
The deal was done. Chale would get this money and territory, and the Ramos Cartel could move into the States without much resistance. Meanwhile, Giatno would avoid a war he could not win on his own. And I knew for a fact that Kir wouldn’t drag the Drozdov into this mess.
But I didn’t care about any of that.
None of this mattered. Giatno, Chale, Kir. Their crime syndicates were worthless so long as they couldn’t serve my greater purpose.
Revenge.
Manzi looked at me with genuine fear in his eyes. I almost felt sorry for him. If he hadn’t killed Dia, none of this would have happened this way.
Unfortunately for him, I needed a war.
So I pulled the trigger and blew his brains out.
Giatno stared, his mouth hanging open. Manzi’s corpse fell to the ground, leaking blood, skull fragmets scattered across the concrete.
Chale released a shocked and blood-thirsty laugh as he drew his gun.
Giatno stepped toward his dead son with his hands outstretched, his face pale and horrified, reaching out like he might bring the boy back from the dead, and took two bullets in the chest before he went down. The Liberto men opened fire moments before the Ramos soldiers did the same.
I sprinted away, head down low. Gunshots screamed out in the tight space, their sounds magnified by the echoing concrete. Men shouted in pain, blood splattered the walls, and chunks of stone were ripped from the walls and floor.
I didn’t know if Chale was still alive or not—I found it hard to imagine he’d survive that, considering he stood there shooting like an idiot. I threw myself behind a pillar and waited for Erick to give me the all clear before I sprinted toward him, up the ramp, and down a set of boxes we’d stacked earlier that day.
Erick slapped my shoulder and looked back into the blackness of the parking garage. Gunshots still rang out. Sirens blared in the distance.
“Good work in there,” he said, grinning. “I’ll be honest though. Part of me thought you’d end up with a bullet in the brain.”
“That was always a risk.” I wiped my hands on my pants. I had flecks of Manzi’s blood on my shirt. “I need fresh clothes.”
“Who do you think comes out on top?”
“Doesn’t matter.” I led Erick away from the garage, down a side street, and angled toward the parked SUV. “So long as there’s chaos for the next few weeks. It’ll keep Darren and the others distracted.”
“And after? You get your revenge, but at what price?”
I stopped and faced him. My most trusted friend and most loyal soldier. “After doesn’t mean anything to me, not until Oisin is dead.”
“You know I’m only asking because I care if you live or die.”
“You better. It’s your job.”
He grinned. “You don’t make it easy.”
“No, I really don’t.” I hesitated, then squeezed his arm. “When the dust settles, we’ll deal with the fallout. Darren will be the most aggressive, but I’ll find a way to handle it. The others might back his play, and if they do, then we’ll get knocked down a peg. We’ve survived worse and we’ll survive this.”
“I trust you boss, even if I shouldn’t.”
“Take me home. I have a wife waiting.”
He rolled his eyes but got into the car.
The sirens screamed louder and louder, drowning out the scattered echoes of gunfire.
26
Erick
Roman wiped his hands on a towel and stepped out of the car. His clothes were stained red and he sighed as he headed toward the house.
“Check with Roza and send feelers out to the other Oligarchs,” he said, waving as he walked up the steps. He moved slowly, like a weight pressed down on his shoulders.
The weight of the fucking world.
That was one reason I didn’t envy my employer.
“Will do, boss. I’m sure they’re on the verge of losing their shit.”
“A war should keep th
em busy for a while.” He disappeared into the house and down into his ridiculous bunker.
Any other guy, and I’d think he was overly paranoid.
Nobody needed a bunker. Except for maybe the President, but even he probably wasn’t important enough. There were lots of slimy politicians that could take the President’s place if he got whacked.
There were no other Roman in this world.
And I would bet my fanciest knife that more people wanted my boss dead than the leader of the free world.
Which made my job that much harder, and that much more rewarding.
That was another reason I didn’t envy him.
One of my men, a young guy named Rocco, came running up from the side security shed with his rifle bouncing against his chest. He was sweating, out of shape, and his eyes bugged out ever so slightly.
Which wasn’t a good sign.
“Erick, oh shit,” he said, huffing and puffing. This guy was a fucking former Marine, did several tours of Iraq, and was an all-around bad ass dude, and there he was gasping for air like he couldn’t run a mile.
I was going to have to mandate cardio for these lazy bastards.
“You sound like you smoke a pack a day. You’re out of shape.”
“I know. Fuck, I’m getting fat. It’s this fucking job.”
“Yeah, blame the job. What’s going on?”
“We got an intruder.”
That sent ice down my spine.
See, Roman, he’s very good at what he does.
He’s the face of the business. He’s out there signing deals, paying off mafia families, moving shipments of weapons around the Middle East, bribing Sultans, making nice with blue-blood royalty, that sort of shit.
But I was everything behind the scenes.
I worked hard to keep Roman’s dealings off the radar. The Oligarchs are secretive by nature—they’re a bunch of uber-wealthy, stupidly-powerful men that like to play God and influence geopolitics for the hell of it, so yeah, it’s in their interest to keep their names out of the media—and I’m the one that makes sure it happens for Roman.