Slay Belles & Mayhem: A Medley of Dark Tales

by Dani René

  “How’s business?” he asks. No pleasantries. The guy tolerates me for the same reasons I do him. And also, probably for the auction. He thrives on that side of the business. He loves dealing with all the details I don’t care about.

  “None of your business as always,” I answer with a smirk on my face.

  He rolls his eyes with a chuckle. “Fuck off, you little cunt.”

  My grin grows bigger. I say I tolerate him, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have fun while doing it.

  Leaning back in my chair, I place my feet on the desk. He hates when I do this. Another way to bust his balls.

  “You’re here because…”

  “The acquisitions are on their way to the place they’ll stay until the day of the auction.”

  I nod. The agreement was set for ten years and I only learned about it two years ago. I can’t call it off because my dad is dead. Maybe I could if the agreement was legal, but it’s not, and I can’t risk hurting my dad’s reputation. Whether he’s dead or not, it’s his name on the agreement and I have to follow through.

  “Are the changes I wanted made for where they’ll be staying until the auction is completed?”

  Arthur smirks at me. “You’re a softy at heart, you know that?”

  “This is a business. And they are an investment whether I like them or not.”

  He laughs, and it grates on my nerves. Removing my legs from the table, I sit up straight. “As always, you don’t see the bigger picture. If they think they are safe, they will trust us and all this trafficking will go smoothly.” I reason with him. “If you listen to me, it will be easier to take care of transfers. You should thank me.” I smirk.

  After a few seconds of consideration, he nods. He knows I’m right; he just loves to see their struggle and the way they fight back. “You’re the boss and the changes are made. They will be housed in rooms like a fucking hotel suite.”

  His words are respectful enough, but the way he says them tells me another story. He thinks I’m a pussy. He thinks I’m not the son my father deserves. His words, not mine.

  “Good,” I growl through gritted teeth, and he smirks at me. He knows that I know what he thinks.

  Bastard.

  Just when I think he’ll leave, he grabs the photo sticking out of the folder in front of me. The fucking pink bikini one.

  “Nice piece of ass. Who is this?” My hands form fists at how degrading his voice is. “Did our mama’s boy find himself a girl to play with?”

  Keep your cool. Keep your cool.

  I take a deep breath. He wants me to give in to the desire to hurt him, but I won’t. I won’t let him see me lose control.

  “I wanted to make an addition to the auction. In the old man’s honor.” The lie spills from my tongue easily.

  His eyes widen in surprise, but he easily schools it. That’s enough to make me enjoy myself, though. He thinks I don’t like this shit because I care for women. I don’t. I just don’t like making them the center of attention. I also don’t like the idea of men spending millions or diamonds for some pussy. Like they are important. Like they mean something. These men think the women they buy will worship the ground they walk. But these men are stupid. A woman’s heart is like a chameleon, it will beat for whoever offers them the most. Women will love and choose whoever has more money and nothing else. The women Arthur finds from all over the world beg for their freedom, cry for an escape from the ugly side of human trafficking. Until they are bought and gifted with all the expensive shit they care about in exchange to spread their legs. They care about money more than their own worth, more than their own child even.

  I grit my teeth with the old rage. I don’t want to spare another moment thinking about the two women I trusted. I don’t really blame myself for believing in the woman who gave me life. But I made a mistake trusting another one when my father warned me a thousand times.

  Arthur looks at me with calculating eyes. He still doubts me. He still thinks I’ll damage this business he loves so much. I know he wants to make an agreement for the next decade. I know he hopes I will renew the agreement or at least let him make one for himself. I won’t. I don’t want to deal with stupid, rich bastards or their boughten fucktoys. But he doesn’t need to know it yet. Because as much as I hate to admit it, he knows what he’s doing and I need him this year.

  He grabs the file and waves it at me. “I’ll deal with this. I’ll have her added to the list.”

  I grit my teeth. I don’t want him to add her. But I can’t back down now.

  I nod.

  He looks at that bikini photo once more and places it on my desk. “You may want to keep a memento.”

  His smirk and the glint in his eyes make me want to strangle him, but I don’t let him see me affected. I just shrug.

  When he finally fucking leaves my office, I let out every damn curse known to man.

  Ramona’s picture sits on my desk, mocking me, scowling at me. And my frustration grows along with my desire for the girl.

  She should’ve been a nobody to me. A beautiful, sexy nobody, but she’s not; she’s become a need. She is like a fucking siren, and I can’t ignore her call. I hate this feeling. I hate that my obsession has only grown this past week. I don’t blame Edward for hiding her away from the world. But he can’t hide her from me. She has a way of luring out the monsters within men, which is exactly what she’s done to me.

  As I look at Ramona’s photo, I curse myself for the fascination I feel for this girl. Maybe putting her up for auction is what I need to control this obsession.

  I light a cigarette and inhale deeply as my body stirs with want for the blonde beauty.

  I want her.

  And I will take her.

  Tonight is the night I’ll take my acquisition.

  I will use her innocence against her, then take it away, by selling her to the highest bidder.

  Maybe I should feel awkward and frustrated with myself, standing at the gate of the Reynolds’ house, excited to see that delicious blonde again, but I don’t. I want to be angry at myself for letting a little girl control my actions, but I can still smell her flowery scent, still feel her sinful body against mine.

  What I feel isn’t an ounce of frustration. It is hunger. Desire. Lust.

  I walk through the path flanked with lights, until I reach the clearing where people have already gathered. Every person here comes from money. It doesn’t take long for me to realize Edward has thrown this party for business reasons. I look around at the crowd; they already appear tipsy. I don't think anyone cares about his birthday. Everyone seems to be enjoying a limitless amount of drinks. I notice the glances women throw my way. I see the way they lick their lips, bat their eyelashes at me, even as they stand next to their partners. Normally, it would be fun to take them away right under their husbands’ or partners’ noses, to be a slut for me for a few hours, but tonight, none of them get my attention. I look around for one girl only, the forbidden fruit. But I can’t see Ramona anywhere. I wonder if I’m late to the party. Grabbing a glass of whiskey from the waiter, I walk slowly to catch a glimpse of her.

  Then I see her on her father’s arm. She looks bored, but still beautiful. Even more beautiful in her peach-colored dress than she looked the last time I saw her. The hem rests on her mid-thigh and wraps around her body like it was made only for her. She looks like every man's wet dream, and I wonder if Edward hopes his beautiful daughter will help him get some business. I wonder if he isn't as noble as I once thought.

  Irritated at the thought, I'm reminded of the fact that he stole from me. And, right now, that angers me more than it did the day it happened. I stroll toward them and see the moment Ramona notices me. Her whole face lights up, her body stands taller, and a magnificent smile dominates her face. Edward spots me a little later than his daughter, but it gives Ramona and me enough time to share a private moment, away from her dad’s need to protect her. Being this close, I can look at her more freely. I let my eyes wander over her
shapely legs until I reach her sexy cleavage. Her hair is in some kind of tight bun, bringing all attention to her slender neck and the swell of her tits. When I meet her gaze, I lick my lips slowly, giving her a glimpse of what is on my mind before smiling at her. Heat colors her cheeks, and she bites her bottom lip before giving me a quick once-over.

  When Edward sees me, his body tenses immediately. I suppress the urge to laugh at his reaction. Does he really think he can protect his daughter if I set my mind to take her?

  "Hello, Edward. Happy birthday," I say charmingly. For Ramona's favor, not his.

  Grabbing the small box from my jacket pocket, I hand it to him.

  He looks at me puzzled. "Thanks," he murmurs.

  "Why don't you open it, Daddy?"

  I grin. "Yeah, Edward. Why don't you open it?"

  Edward's eyes move between his daughter and me before he attempts to open the small velvet box. I notice the shake in his hands, but he manages to open it. When he sees what's inside, he almost drops the box.

  "Oh my God! It's so beautiful, so shiny," Ramona gushes, while Edward looks at me with worry.

  I stare at him pointedly. I don't have to say anything. One diamond in the box delivers the message clearly. He knows that I know. And he's scared of what I'll do to him. He tries to conceal his daughter by pulling her behind him. The unknown of what’s to come after his sin against me makes him even more terrified of me. And I love seeing that fear in his eyes.

  "It's not as beautiful as you are, Ramona," I tell her, ignoring Edward altogether. "Why don't you dance with me?"

  Heat paints her cheeks even more as she looks at me with wonder and surprise.

  "I would love to." Her voice is breathy. Before Edward shakes off his fear, Ramona is already next to me, placing her hand on my waiting palm.

  Then I take her away from her father.

  And she comes so willingly.

  Little Ramona… a princess in the arms of the villain of the story.

  Chapter Seven

  Ramona

  He’s here. Dancing with me. With me. Not all the other beautiful women looking at him with desire. I see the daggers they’re throwing at me, but when I look back at him, I realize his focus is zeroed in on only me. I feel how close we are. Every line of his body touches mine. I can feel the fabric of his slacks against my legs, his mint and smoke-scented breath fans over my face. It’s a strange and heady scent, especially mixed with the whiskey on his lips. It feels sinful, dangerous, maybe even wrong. And I want to feel it over and over again.

  Before I can stop myself, I press my body against his. His arms tighten around me, and he slowly moves his nose against my cheek, as if smelling me. A purr-like sound escapes from me, and he chuckles. Feeling like I made a fool of myself, I try to pull back a little, but his arms don't allow me.

  “Don’t.” His voice is a sharp whisper.

  I lean back to look into his eyes.

  “I like having you close. Don’t move away,” he says in a gruff, husky voice. It sends a shiver down my spine.

  As we sway in each other’s arms, nothing else exists. All I can see is him. All I can feel is him. And it’s almost too much. Too overwhelming. Too addicting.

  “You look so beautiful tonight,” he adds in that same heady voice.

  “Thank you.”

  “How old are you, Ramona?” he asks, and I’m nervous to answer that question.

  “Why do you ask?”

  He chuckles. “Don’t you want me to know?”

  I shrug. “How old are you?” I ask, even though I know the answer from my research of him a week ago. I just want to hear it from him.

  “Thirty-eight.”

  I feel myself deflate, and my face shows how I feel. I wish he lied, so I could pretend I have a chance with him.

  “Am I too old for you?” he questions. He doesn’t sound offended, maybe slightly amused, but it’s hard to figure out what he really thinks. He never gives too much away.

  “No, but I’m afraid I’m too young for you,” I blurt out. I look at him quickly, hoping he didn’t hear me, but the smirk on his face makes me think that he did. “I didn’t mean to say it out loud,” I murmur.

  “Maybe,” he begins slowly. “But that’s what you think, isn’t it?”

  Why deny what I already confessed? I slowly nod.

  “How old are you, beautiful Ramona?” he asks once more.

  I close my eyes, so I don’t see the disappointment in his. “Eighteen.”

  With that one word, I thought he’d turn me away and find another woman older than me, but instead of him retreating, I feel his breath fan my face again. “Why are your eyes closed?”

  Damn, his voice. So warm, so seductive.

  I lick my lips. “I don’t want to see the look on your face when you decide to let me go.”

  He chuckles, but his arms bring me even closer to his body. Close enough for me to feel his… damn!

  He’s hard. For me?

  I open my eyes, searching his dark orbs. The browns of his eyes are even darker as he looks at me.

  I shouldn’t do this. I really shouldn’t, but I can’t stop swaying my hips against his, just a little. Just enough to feel that hardness pressing against my belly.

  A hiss of breath leaves his lips. “Ramona,” he grits out, and I grin at him.

  This gorgeous, mature, sexy man is hard for me.

  My grin gets even wider, so much so that I can feel my cheeks begin to hurt.

  He chuckles softly. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

  “Very much.” I nod.

  He leans into me, his lips touching my earlobe as his breath warms my neck. Goosebumps erupt over my skin before I even hear his words.

  “So, is it enough to convince you that you’re not too young for me? At least I don’t think so anyway.”

  My insides clench with his words. My breathing gets faster as I grasp the meaning behind them. I’m not too young for him. He is hard for me. He wants me. Me!

  “But your dad may think I am too old for his baby girl,” he murmurs. I can feel him smiling against my skin. And the amusement in his voice is hard to miss.

  “I don’t care,” I start, with a bit too much force and hatred, which shocks me. “I’m sick of my parents telling me what to do. I’m sick of them keeping me locked up and away from the world, with little freedom. I should be allowed to have fun. I should be allowed to experience the world.”

  Luca leans back to look into my eyes. There is a smile on his handsome face, but his eyes are serious and intense.

  “You should,” he finally whispers.

  “I feel like a girl in a fairy tale locked in a castle by some big, bad villain,” I say. I know I sound like a bratty kid, but I hate feeling like this.

  My words make Luca laugh, and I’m wholly captivated by the way his throat bobs and the way wrinkles show up around his eyes. Him laughing is the most fascinating, dazzling thing I’ve ever seen, and I can’t help but stare at him.

  When he leans in closer to me, his lips almost touching mine, I swallow my excitement and try to focus on the words that come out of that beautiful mouth of his.

  “Ramona, you got it all wrong,” he starts, “your parents aren’t the villain in this story,” he brings his knuckles to my cheek and caresses my cheekbone. “I am.”

  Even though his voice is soft, his words are dangerous, but somehow, I’m only excited, not afraid.

  I look at him as he studies my face. I wonder if he’s searching for fear. When his lips turn up with another panty-melting smile, I know he finds none.

  His hand that caressed my cheek a moment ago now rests at the side of my neck. I remember my dream. How that hand was wrapped around my throat and how delicious the feeling was. My chest, my neck, and my face feel like I have a fever, but the throbbing between my legs tells me I’m burning with need. I press my thighs together, while leaning against his body even more.

  “Let your hair loose,” he whispers in my ear.
>
  What a strange request, I think to myself, but with his hardness pressing against my belly, with his breath teasing my flesh, and with his hand resting almost on my behind, he can ask me anything and I’d do it.

  I reach up to untie my hair. If my mom sees what I’m doing, she’ll have a coronary. Everything should be perfect in Melinda Reynolds’ book. Yet, doing this one simple act makes me feel so adventurous and wild.

  I wonder if this is what falling in love feels like—a burning need that occurs when you’re close to someone. A freedom and wildness that walk hand in hand with every action and every touch.

  If it is…

  I shake my head to clear my thoughts from that dangerous idea as well as to let my hair down like he asked.

  His eyes blaze the moment my hair falls down in soft curls over my shoulders, down to my breasts. And I realize he likes my hair.

  His fingers grab a few strands of it, just like he did that day when I first saw him.

  My thoughts jumble together when he, again, brings my hair to his nose. This time, he also places it against his mouth. And even though I don’t really feel his lips against my locks, I find this gesture so sweet and touching, but also arousing.

  When he lets go of the pieces of my hair, his arm wraps around my back once more. I wait for him to rest his hand next to the other, at the swell of my butt, but instead, he plays with the end of my hair falling to my back. It feels relaxing and oddly tempting. I can feel every swirl and pull of his fingers, and it makes my heart flutter in my chest. Every inch of our skin touches as we move in a slow rhythm to the music. I’m lost in his eyes, but I still notice the distance he puts between us and the crowd.

  How can I feel this content with a man I met just a week ago?

  I feel him wrap my hair around his fist and my breath hitches when he pulls it enough to hurt. But it’s a delicious pain that reverberates through my body until it feels like a pinch against my clit, fueling my desire. My back hits a solid surface, and I look around. He’s found the perfect spot for us. Secluded and away from prying eyes. With the trees around us, we’re hidden from the party and the attendees.