by J. L. Beck
I don’t kiss. I don’t cuddle. I don’t do dates. I don’t do shit that could possibly lead to anyone thinking I like a girl for anything other than the hole between her legs.
But this girl…she has me intrigued. She’s different from the girls I usually have at my mercy.
She also still hasn’t told me who her fucking brother is, and that's pissing me the hell off. I ask a question, I get a fucking answer.
“I’m not used to asking twice so you better give me a fucking answer now before I blow your brains all over my office.”
“Le...Le...Leo is…w-w-was my brother. He…he’s dead.”
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
Leo told me about his little sister a while back. I don’t know much about her, but I do know she knows nothing about the shit her brother was caught up in. He asked me watch out for her incase something bad happened. And promising to watch out for her was the only way I could get him to do some of the more risky drops. I didn't think that promise would actually show up in my office one day.
What the fuck am I supposed to do with her? She is not my responsibility. So what if I told him I'd look after her. It's not like her brother is going to come back to life to see if I kept my promise.
I move toward my desk. Sinking into the leather chair, I prop my feet up on the edge, and order, “Pull your pants back up.” I can't have a half-naked girl in my office and not fuck her. I’m already going to have blue balls as it is. Maybe I’ll take that new stripper for a test ride…what's her name? Amanda? Anna?
My attention shifts back to the present. Kiera…or Kilie, I think is her name. She sits very still for a long moment, and I worry maybe she didn't hear me. She's not gonna last one fucking day here if she doesn't learn to do as she's told when she’s told.
I bite my tongue, stopping myself from saying anything else. It's not something I do often, and I'm not really sure why I do it for her. The girl finally scurries to get her pants back on, then grabs her backpack off the chair and heads for the door.
I almost snap. God, she’s a pain in the ass.
“I don’t remember saying you could leave.” She stops dead in her tracks, and I smirk. It’s fun to know I have some type of control over her.
“Sit your ass back down. We’re done when I say we’re done.” I can see her legs shake from across the room, and wouldn't be surprised if they gave out, sending her plump ass to the floor.
She wears her emotions on her face. She’s weak. Filled to the brim with fear—and over what? I’ve watched many of my men die, have killed people who didn’t really deserve it, and I never felt a single drop of remorse.
So why the fuck am I feeling sorry for her?
“How do you know he’s dead?” My gaze turns to slits.
“I found him,” she says, her voice shaky. Her brown eyes refuse to meet mine, and that’s infuriating. A person’s eyes are the portal to their soul. How can I be sure she is telling me the truth if she refuses to look me in the eye?
“I found him in my apartment,” she finishes, visibly swallowing.
“Did you call the cops?” I ask, and this time when she looks at me, her brown eyes go wide and she shakes her head. At least she wasn’t dumb enough to phone them. “Write your address down.” I throw her a pen and piece of paper and watch her scribble something down. When she’s done, she gets up to hand me the items, but her hands are so damn shaky, she drops the pen.
She gets down on her hands and knees beside my desk, searching for it. As if my cock wasn’t pressing uncomfortably against my zipper already.
Fuck this girl.
A second later, her head pops up and she places both the items in front of me, before pushing up from the floor. I’d love to see the look on her face when I tell her how much blood has been spilt on this floor.
“Why…why do you need my address?”
“Well, I need to send a cleanup crew out for one, and two I’ve got to figure out what the hell kind of shit your brother was into to get him killed.” She winces at the mention of her brother, but I don’t have the time or patience to tiptoe around her feelings. “Do you have a phone?”
“Y-yes.”
“Give it to me.”
She digs in her girly backpack and hands me the phone. I smash it on the floor, then step on it for good measure. I can’t have her calling people or taking pictures from inside my office. She stares up at me, but doesn’t say anything. Thank. Fucking. God.
“Stay here, don’t move, and don’t fucking touch anything.”
Getting up, my chair scoots back on the hardwood floor. Even that simple noise makes her flinch. Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with her? Was she abused? Attacked?
I think back to the way I treated her a few minutes ago. Guilt pricks my conscience. Fuck me. At least she’s not like all the other women who only want to throw themselves at me.
Shaking my head, I make my way out of the room, closing the door behind me. I pull my key out of my pocket and lock the door.
Now that she’s here, she’s a liability. A loose end. And I can’t risk having her fuck up my entire life because she doesn’t understand how dark and dangerous world this is.
I find Toni in one of the back rooms and give him the address on the paper.
“Send a cleanup crew out there right now. If anyone gives you trouble, contact Shane.”
“Sure thing, boss.” He takes the paper and gets up from the leather couch. There we go—how it’s supposed to be. I make an order and shit gets done. No questions asked, no comments, or whimpering. Now, I need to figure out how I get the chick in my office to do the same.
I rub my jaw. It has been a while since Leo did work for me. I’d have to wait for the cleanup crew to get back to see who’s possibly responsible for this shit. Every gang has their own way of killing people. Some carry it out over hours, torturing, cutting, and destroying. Others simply place a gun to someone's head and pull the trigger. From the look on Kiera’s face, I’m assuming it wasn’t a bullet wound her brother died from.
Jesus, I need a drink...and a blowjob.
Fuck babysitting.
I’m not keeping that girl.
No. Fucking. way.
3
Kiera
Did he lock me in here?
I can’t get my stupid hands to stop shaking, or the rest of my body, for that matter. I don’t want to be here—in this room…or anywhere near Damon Rossi. I should’ve known coming here was a bad idea. Why the fuck would Leo send me to this guy? Better yet, what the hell had my brother been doing to get himself killed?
I ponder the thought for a long time, standing there, not wanting to sit. My eyes move to the wooden door holding me inside this room.
Even though I know he locked the door when he left, I still walk over to it and check. My fingers close around the cool brass knob. When I try to turn it, it’s no surprise that it’s locked.
I walk back to where I was standing before, my gaze moving to the couch. The couch where he pinned me down...
Shivers rack my body. I felt violated, terrified, but even so, the feeling of his hands on me was intoxicating—something I never want again.
I have no idea how long I’ve been in this room, but it feels like forever. Judging by the loud music and chatter outside the office door, the club must be open now. I consider banging on the door and yelling for help, but something tells me the people who come here and work for Damon wouldn’t do a damn thing to help me. If anything, they’d help him.
The longer I sit inside this room all alone, the more terrified of the unknown I become. When is he going to come back? What’s going to happen to me? Will he kill me? I remember the look in his brown eyes as he pressed the gun to my ribcage. There was no remorse…no kindness. My thoughts continue to run rampant, upping my anxiety. A key rattling and the sound of the door being unlocked drags me out of the abyss, and I stand.
The door opens slowly, and the same lady from this morning sticks her head into the room. “Hey, sunshine, you hungry?�
�
Starving, actually. I haven't eaten all day. “I could eat something.”
I watch her wearily. The door opens farther, and she walks in holding a plate with a variety of food on it.
“Thank you,” I tell her when she hands it to me, as well as a bottle of Coke she has under her arm. She nods and turns on her heels to leave.
“Hey, can I ask you something?” I keep my voice calm. I have no reason to be afraid of her, right?
Looking back over her shoulder, her eyebrows raise. “Depends on what kind of question you’re asking.”
I nibble on my bottom lip for a moment. “What kind of work do people do around here for Damon?”
I don’t think Damon would tell me what my brother did for him even if I could muster up the courage to actually ask him. This might be the only shot I have at finding an answer.
“Most of the girls just strip, but some do more for extra cash.”
“Oh…What about the guys he has working for him?” Her eyebrows suddenly draw together, like my question angers her.
“Don’t ask shit like that around here. That will only get you in trouble. If you want to know about working here as a stripper or hooker, I’ll fill you in with all the info you’ll ever need before taking the job. Other than that, don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.”
Her words chill me to the bone.
Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.
“Sorry,” I mutter. Clearly, I’m barking up the wrong tree with some of my questions, but I am curious to know more about the women who work here.
“Why do girls work here?” I don’t understand how anyone would work in a place like this…for a man like Damon.
She shrugs. “The money is good, and Damon lets the girls keep a fair amount of what they make. He also doesn’t pimp them out unless they want to be pimped out.”
There is a moment of silence that settles between us, and then she continues. “He doesn’t force any of them into prostitution. That’s better treatment than you’ll get from any of the other clubs around here.”
I nod like I understand, but I don’t. I don’t understand any of it. How could a woman sell herself to a man—to be used…for pleasure?
If the way Damon treated me earlier on the couch is an example of the way his men treat women, then I want to get the hell out of here as soon as possible.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to work here if you don’t want to. Damon won’t force you into something you don’t want.”
Uneasiness filters into my veins. Obviously she doesn’t know the Damon who showed himself to me a few hours ago. If she did, she’d probably think differently…or maybe she wouldn’t because she’s so used to this behavior.
“No offense, but I don’t want to work here. I don’t want to be touched, or even looked at. This place and these people terrify me.”
She nods and smiles. Her expression makes me feel warm inside.
“No offense taken, honey. Eat your food, relax, and I’ll be back later to see if you need anything, okay?”
I nod, my eyes going to the plate in my hands. The woman turns around and walks out of the room, closing the door softly behind her.
I listen for the lock to be turned back into place. When I don’t hear anything, I scurry across the floor, my heart beating loudly in my ears.
Can I really escape? I’m not sure where I’ll go, or even what I’ll do. With my brother gone, I have nowhere to live, and no way to pay my bills. That’s not even mentioning the men who are searching for me—the ones who left that scary ass note on my fridge. I forgot to tell Damon about the note and the men I saw in the stairwell at my apartment.
Would it really matter if I told him?
A part of me says no. He’s heartless, dangerous, and oozes arrogance. I’m naive…I know this. My brother reminded me often, but even I’m not dumb enough to get mixed up with Damon.
I want to run—no, I’m pretty sure I need to run. The fear of what may happen to me if I stay controls my movements. In Damon’s presence, I am weak and afraid. All of this—these people and this place—leaves me scared.
I can’t stay.
I won’t.
After waiting a few more minutes to make sure she has walked away, I open the door enough to stick my head out. When I don’t see or hear anyone, I swing it open all the way and make a run for it.
I force air in and out of my lungs as my pulse pounds in my ears, and I don’t even consider what may happen to me if I get caught.
I speed walk down the hall and around the corner. I’m so close...so close…and that’s exactly how far I get before running into a hard wall of muscle.
My hands fly up upon instinct, my palms landing against his chest. I jump back and retract my hands, as if touching Damon burns my skin.
“Didn’t I fucking tell you to stay in my office?” He is furious. The look in his eyes is deadly, and I’m so scared, I think I might throw up. Everything about Damon sets off my fight or flight instincts.
“If you don’t start listening to what I say, you’re going to end up like your stupid brother.”
All my fear transforms into fury, and in that moment of insanity, I slap Damon right across the face.
Pain sears through my hand, burning deep into my skin.
People down the hall stop their conversation and gawk, their eyes moving to where we stand. I take a chance and look up into Damon's dark gaze. Surprise flickers in his stare, but it quickly evaporates, leaving nothing but fury.
His hand comes up as if he’s going to hit me, and I instantly try to get away. My legs stumble backward, and like the klutz I am, I manage to trip over my own two feet, landing on the unforgiving ground. Pain radiates up my spine as soon as my ass hits the floor. I groan, and just when I think the worst of my fall is over, an ache develops at the back of my head.
Pain lances through my body. I knew coming here was a bad idea.
“You’re a pain in the fucking ass. A pain in the ass I have zero time or patience for. And now you’ve made a mockery out of me in front of my own people. You slapped me. You actually fucking slapped me.” Damon’s eyes are wild, and my vision blurs as I try to backpedal, but there’s nowhere to go.
With the wall directly behind me, I’m at his mercy.
Without another word, he grabs me by the upper arm. His grip is harsh, and I know there will be bruises, but he doesn’t seem to care. He doesn’t give me a chance to get to my feet either. He starts walking, dragging me back toward his office. My head throbs, and a pounding begins behind my eyes.
“Apparently, you have a hard time following directions. I suppose I’ll have to show you exactly what happens to those who don’t follow my orders.”
His tone is clipped, and when we enter the office again, he releases me, and my body sags against the floor. I try to stand back up, but I’m too dizzy and weak in the knees. I look up at him as he towers over me like an overlord.
“Don’t fucking look at me like that,” he snarls. His eyes are as dark as the midnight sky, and I’m frozen into place with fear. “When I tell you to do something, you do it.”
I slither back across the floor, trying to put some distance between us, but he doesn’t want distance—no, he wants to prove he’s in control.
He reaches for his belt, and my insides twist.
“I own you now, and you’ll do whatever I say when I say it. You’ll do whatever the fuck I tell you simply because I fucking told you to do it. Your protection is not guaranteed, and right now, I’m considering killing you myself.”
What the hell is he talking about? He owns me now? I’m too scared to ask…hell, I’m too scared to do anything right now. Just when I think this situation can’t get any worse, he slides his belt from its loops, sending me into a full-blown panic attack.
I close my eyes, trying my very best to get my breathing under control, but the air won’t enter my lungs. Fear is paralyzing me. I don’t know why I’m so scared.
Damon.
My head is already spinning from the fall, and before I know it, I’ve been holding my breath too long. My lungs burn, and darkness closes in around me, dragging me deeper and deeper into an abyss.
4
Damon
What the fuck is wrong with this chick? I kneel in front of her crumbled body and examine her. Using my hands, I lift her head and feel for a wound. My fingers comb through her hair. The locks are smooth—so smooth, I envision tugging on them as I fuck her from behind. I blink, shaking the thought away.
No, you do not want to fuck her. You. Do. Not.
I make note of the large knot on the back of her head, then I inspect her face. Now I can see how pretty she is without the fearful expression on her face. Why the hell is she so scared of me?
I can’t leave her on the floor. I slide one arm underneath her shoulders, and the other beneath her knees, then I pull her into my body, tucking her into my chest.
She feels perfect in my arms, her weight resting against me. Her head rolls toward me, and her face presses against my shoulder. Through the fabric of my shirt, I can feel her breath on my skin. It sends a shudder down my spine.
I’m about to lay her on the couch, but then stop. I enjoy holding her in my arms, and I decide to do so for a few more minutes.
Why? I don’t fucking know.
She looks so peaceful. No scowl, no fear, no terror. Women look a lot of different ways when I have my hands on them, but peaceful has never been on that list.
My chest tightens and part of me, deep down, likes this—it likes it a lot.
Her eyelids flutter open, and two big brown orbs stare up at me. There is a split second before she recognizes who’s holding her. A moment where that peacefulness and trust she had for me in her sleep is still apparent.
It passes, though, and fear returns to her beautiful chocolate-colored eyes. I wish the time between us wouldn’t end, but when her body instinctively pulls away from mine instead of leaning into me for comfort, I place her ass back down on the couch beside me, noticing the slight tremble of her body.