His first bloodcurdling scream is the sweetest; uninhibited and echoing through the dark room when I bring the hammer down on one kneecap, then the other. The chair shakes beneath his weight as he thrashes and howls, but it’s nailed to the floor and the straps are buckled tight. He isn’t going anywhere.
“Look at me,” I command, holding up the hammer stained with his blood. “I want you to look at me and remember this moment for the rest of your life … the moment you finally realize that you fucked with the wrong bitch.”
His eyes well with tears and he lets out another pitiful scream, which breaks off onto a broken sob when I drop to one knee and bring the hammer down onto his bare foot—the one he used to kick me in the chest. I shatter his shin next, strangely hypnotized at the way the skin and bone make a hollow dent, like a crater.
“I can see why you get off on this,” I say, as if we’re talking about caviar instead of torture. “It’s intoxicating, knowing someone is at your mercy and can’t escape. Is that what gets you hard, you sick fuck?”
Viktor’s only reply is another chorus of screams as I use the hammer to destroy his left hand … the one he slapped and punched me with, the one that left its fingerprints on my breast. Then, I toss the hammer aside and lift the shears. My chest burns and my arms ache from the effort it took to swing that hammer hard enough to break bones. But I’m not finished with him yet. There’s still his other hand … the one that pawed at me when I was at my weakest. The one that violated me in the worst of ways.
I stare down at that hand, strapped to the arm of the chair, his fist clenched as he squirms and moans in pain. I press the sharp tip of the shears between his knuckles until he uncurls his fist. Then, I grip his index finger between the shears and look into his eyes. I want him to know exactly why I’m doing this, to remember how his own actions led to this outcome. I feel nauseous as I remember him groping between my legs, fingering me through my panties and trying to force his way in.
With a sharp cry, I close the sheers and twist, cutting through flesh and grunting as I wrench and crack the bone. Viktor has lost his voice by now, and his screams are now rasping wheezes as I toss the finger aside with bloody hands and move on to the next. By the time I finish, leaving him only with the pitiful stump of his thumb, he’s out cold, his chin slumped against his chest.
Panting and snarling like a deranged animal, I drop the sheers and stand in my moment of triumph. I thought I had freed myself of Viktor, but Diego knew better. He knew that this was what I needed to truly put it all behind me. Now, I’m ready to live my life as a new woman … with the man who is responsible for making me stronger, harder, fiercer.
Diego appears at my side, holding one of the blades over the flame of a lighter. “We don’t want him bleeding to death,” he says, heating the knife until it glows red. Then, he presses the flat side of the metal against the stumps of Viktor’s hand, filling the room with the scent of searing flesh. Viktor doesn’t stir, but when he wakes up, he’ll be in for a world of hurt and a long recovery. I doubt he’ll ever walk again, and he’ll never be able to grip a gun or swing a fist with the same lethal accuracy. He’ll be walking prey, marked with the shame of having crossed the king of the Pérez Family.
Diego turns to face me then, his chest heaving and his eye burning like hot coals. Through his sweatpants his cock is at full-mast, tending the fabric. “Fuck, gatita,” he growls. “I don’t think I’ve ever found you sexier.”
The tension between us has finally reached its breaking point, and I can’t wait another minute. I don’t take the time to be concerned that the dark atmosphere of this room is adding to my arousal, making me feel powerful and closer to Diego than I ever have. There’s nothing left to question. After all, I let myself fall in love with a kidnapping, murdering loan shark with a mean streak. He’s ruthless and cruel and flawed … and he’s all mine.
I pull my shirt off over my head while holding his gaze, leaving streaks of Viktor’s blood along my belly. Diego seems frozen in place, lips parted as he watches me peel off my sports bra, then kick off my shoes.
“Elena,” he says. “Are you sure … right now? Here?”
“Yes,” I reply, shimmying out of my leggings. “I’m ready. I want you so fucking bad. Get over here.”
That’s all it takes to close the distance between us. Before I can push my panties down, Diego is on me, lifting me off my feet and carrying me to the surgeon’s table. The cool metal kisses my back, and his lips crash into mine with unleashed passion. I moan and arch under him, submitting when he takes my arms and stretches them over my head. His fingers clench around both my wrists, while his other hand runs down my body, squeezing each of my breasts and working my nipples into stiff peaks.
“I missed you, gatita,” he rasps, kissing his way down my neck and licking at one of my aching nipples. “I missed you so fucking much.”
“Yes,” I moan, each lap of his tongue at my nipple sending jolts of intense pleasure between my legs. My clit throbs, and I know it won’t take long for him to get me off. I’m so wound up, wanting him so badly it hurts. “I missed you, too.”
We’re both beyond taking things slow, the reunion of our bodies too important, too urgent for romance and sensuality. We’ll have that later tonight, when the end of the day and the privacy of our bedroom brings us into a cocoon of happiness and love. This isn’t about feeling cherished or being reassured. This is a new contract between us, forged in fire and flesh and blood … the start of our new lives, for real this time.
Diego releases my hands, and I tear his shirt off over his head as he curls his fingers in the sides of my panties and yanks, tearing the fabric. Then he spreads my legs wide and pushes my knees up toward my chest, lowering his head between them. He flattens his tongue against my pussy and drags it up my slit, swirling over my clit and lapping up my wetness. I grip his shoulders and grind against his mouth, leaving streaks of crimson over his bared skin. Diego moans with his face buried in my cunt, as if I’m the best thing he’s ever tasted. He licks and sucks and makes me wetter and wetter, tonguing my opening and the tight pucker of my ass.
In a dizzying move, he snatches my legs back down, jerks me up and spins me around. He grips the back of my neck and pushes me so my torso is flat against the cold steel. Using one foot to push my legs as wide as they’ll go, he fumbles with his clothes for a few seconds before the blunt, wide head of his cock press between my ass cheeks.
I grab hold of two leather straps, the buckles biting into my palms as I push back against him, welcoming him into my body—whatever part of it he wants to fill. All of me belongs to him, and allowing myself to acknowledge that feels like freedom to me. It feels like coming home.
“Beg me,” he commands, gripping his cock and using it to tease me. His head slides along my slick folds as he coats himself in my juices.
“Fuck me,” I moan, arching my back and wiggling my hips to rub myself against him. He’s so close to being inside me, and I can’t wait another second. “Please, Diego … I need you. Fuck me hard and fast.”
Diego grips my hips and slams into me with one forceful stroke, pushing me against the table. The hard edge of it digs into my groin and puts pressure on my pulsing clit. Tangling one hand in my hair, he yanks until I see stars, and drives in and out of me in a dizzying rhythm. Harsh grunts emit from him with each stroke, his pelvis smacking against my ass as he takes and takes and takes. Each battering thrust ripples through my entire body, filling every space and leaving room for nothing but him.
I come within seconds, my body having starved for his touch for weeks. Pushing my hips back into him, I scream my ecstasy, my pussy contracting so hard I can hardly breathe through the spasms of pure pleasure. Diego waits until I’ve gone limp beneath him to pull out, then he fills me with two fingers and starts working me toward another climax. My insides twist into knots, and I can’t decide if what I’m feeling now is pleasure or pain. I’m too sensitive after the first orgasm, but Diego teases my G-
spot with relentless precision, coaxing more wetness from me, pushing me back over that steep edge.
The second climax is more powerful than the first, and Diego has to pin me down with his other arm to keep me from falling to my knees. His fingers curl and twist inside me, making it last, making me scream for him in mindless euphoria. Then, he’s circling my anus with his slick fingers, using my own juices as lubricant. The stretch and burn of a finger invading me comes next, his cock slipping back into my core, where I’m still sopping wet and throbbing. He’s impatient, but so am I, pushing back onto that finger, then accepting a second, letting him take what he wants. His palm smacks one ass cheek, then another, adding more unbearable heat to the fire tearing through me. I feel like I’ve been drugged, all the tension leeched from my body and making it easier for him to prepare me to take his cock.
“You’re such a filthy girl, gatita,” he rasps, withdrawing his fingers and pulling his cock out of me. Then, the massive tip of him is pressing against my sore and stretched back hole, demanding to be let inside. “Such a naughty girl, letting me use you however I want.”
“Yes,” I groan, my voice hoarse and ragged, my bones like jelly. “Whatever you want, Diego. You can have me however you want.”
“That’s right,” he says, spreading my cheeks wide and nudging his way into me. “Because you’re mine.”
“Yes!” I cry out, absorbing the slow, deep thrusts of his dick and the stinging slaps of his hands. “Yes, Diego, I’m yours!”
That seems to drive him wild and before long, he’s taking my ass without holding back, reaching places inside me he’s never touched and claiming them as his own. His grip on my cheeks is hard enough to leave bruises, and my skin throbs with the ache of his possession.
I come one last time, nearly blacking out from the intensity of it, but managing to slip a hand between my legs to stroke myself and make it last. Diego follows close behind me, pulling out with a pained groan. I can hear him pumping himself, his thighs trembling against mine as he finishes, leaving hot, sticky streams across my ass. I’m marked, claimed, dirtied and sullied, and so fucking happy I could cry.
Diego wraps his arms around me, not caring about the mess he’s made between us. He yanks me into his body and holds me tight, placing sweet, possessive kisses along my neck and shoulder, whispering slurred words of devotion into my ear.
I clutch at the arms pressed into my chest and hold on to him—my brutal, savage monster. My tormentor and my liberator. My saving grace.
Epilogue
Diego
Three months later
Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
There are many things I never thought I’d experience in my lifetime. A honeymoon is definitely one of them—but what else is a man supposed to do after getting married? It seems I’m breaking a lot of my own rules lately, and it began the day I slipped that ring onto Elena’s finger. The beginning of our marriage was marked with danger, uncertainties, and lies. The balance of power between myself and Oleg teetered on a razor’s edge, and avoiding an all-out war was of the utmost importance.
Now, none of that matters anymore. The Yezhov and Pérez families are now one—two factions bonded by kinship and the need to crush a mutual enemy. Viktor has been cast out of our world in shame, his face marked for all the world to know that he’s a coward and a traitor, his body too twisted and broken to pose a threat to anyone.
Elena has become so much more to me than a lover or a beautiful possession. She’s even become more than a wife, or someone to take solace in. She’s my partner, my equal … my queen. She serves as a reminder of my humanity, and she appeals to the weakest, softest parts of me, while somehow making me stronger than ever.
Letting her in on the mechanics of my businesses turned out to be one of the smartest decisions I’ve ever made, and her input is already shaping new and future operations into lucrative successes. It’s an outcome I never would have imagined when deciding to marry her. Instead of becoming a pressure point or a liability, Elena has become my best asset.
In a world where women are prized only for their beauty and the safe haven they can offer their men, Elena is showing me—and everyone around us—that she’s worth far more than that. If something were to ever happen to me, I would rest easy knowing that La Familia is in good hands. Elena isn’t just a mafia queen … she’s become a fucking boss, just as she wanted.
Leaning back in my beach chair, I bury my toes in the warm sand and watch the silhouette of my wife outlined by the late afternoon sun. A getaway to Rio de Janeiro was just what we needed—a time to rest and truly enjoy being newlyweds before getting on with the rest of our lives. Elena is in peak form, her body tight and sinewy with the muscle she’s built in her sparring sessions with Jaime. She’s turned into a dead-eye shot now that the right guns have been placed in her hands, and Jovan’s patience has resulted in proficiency. My wife never goes anywhere these days without the custom Springfield 911 I bought her as a gift—its silver casing engraved with her name and the face of a roaring tiger.
We arrived in Rio a few days ago with Marcella and Jovan in tow—just in time for Carnival. Elena and I aren’t interested in the crowded festivities, but Marcella has been begging me for months to be allowed to spend her twenty-first birthday here. While Elena and I relax on the private stretch of beach beyond one of several compounds I own across South America, Jovan’s job will be to shadow my sister and make sure she’s safe while having the time of her life. From there, we’ll jet to Colombia so I can introduce Elena to my birthplace and extended family. We won’t return to Miami for a few months at least, but things back home will be in good hands with Oleg overseeing and Jaime working as his right hand in the interim.
I peer through my aviator shades at Elena, who’s leaving the water and making her way toward me over the sand. She’s fucking gorgeous in this environment, framed by the bluest waters and the lushest, greenest mountains, with a clear blue sky overhead. She’s wearing a custom bikini from her new line of swimwear—set to be debuted at her first summer fashion show in a few months. I financed the event myself, wanting this new venture to be her most successful. The suit is a pure white with a shimmery finish, tiny straps crossing her belly and giving tantalizing glimpses of skin baked to a bronzed finish by the sun. I’ve memorized the look of it from behind—backless and nearly nonexistent, the thong cut giving me full access to her perfect ass.
She grins when she gets close, drops of water rolling down her body and making her soaked hair cling to her neck. “You sure you don’t want to come in the water with me? It’s the perfect temperature.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” I reply, pulling her down between my legs on the chair.
She spends most days swimming and riding the waves on her brand-new surfboard. She’s shit at surfing, but seems to enjoy being thrown around by the waves, battered by the elements of nature. I’ve never been much of a swimmer, but I’m content to sit here with my cooler full of beer, my jeans rolled up to my knees, and my chest bared to the sun. We’re both sun-kissed, and Elena’s hair is starting to take on natural golden highlights.
Elena lays against me, one hand braced on my chest as she stares at me. “Is this how you’re going to spend our entire honeymoon—laying around and getting drunk? If you aren’t careful, those beers will make you pudgy.”
I grunt when she pokes at my stomach, then capture her hand and suck her index finger into my mouth. “I’m up for my morning run at six sharp without exception. A few beers aren’t going to have that much of an effect. Besides, I can think of a way to work off some calories.”
Elena gasps when I haul her up my body, spreading her legs so she’s straddling me. Her lips part and her breaths come harder and faster as I start unbuttoning my jeans. I’m as hard as a rock just from watching her cross the distance from the shore to where I’m sitting, and don’t even care how pitiful that makes me. I’m addicted to this fiery woman, which isn’t a problem when she’s always close
enough for me to get my fix.
“Let’s make a baby,” I murmur, moving the scrap of her bikini aside and pushing into her. The tight clench of her around me is perfect, and the slight undulation of her hips driving me wild.
“Dr. Molena said it may not happen as fast as we want,” she says, bracing her hands on my chest and moving with the upward pulses of my hips. “I’ve only been off the implant for a month.”
“All it takes is once,” I remind her, letting my head fall back and closing my eyes. Our movements are leisurely and slow, our bodies well attuned to one another. “In the meantime, let’s just call this practice.”
The decision to end Elena’s birth control and open ourselves to the possibilities of expanding our family wasn’t an easy one. So much of my stance against having children was shaped by my past, but Elena proves to me every day that I don’t have to be ruled by my past. My life doesn’t have to be like my parents’, something that’s plainly obvious right now, as I make love to my wife on the beach during our honeymoon. I can’t imagine being privileged to hold a tiny human that’s part Elena and part me, and want to do anything other than protect them and love them with everything I have. With a mother like Elena and a father like me, none of the evils of our world will touch them, and none of the horrors of my childhood will have any place in our family. My kid can be whoever and whatever they want to be … even something as imaginative as a pro baseball player.
Elena moans, taking my hands and holding them over her breasts. “Hmm … I like practice.”
Marrying the Mobster: American Gangsters 1 (Leave Me Breathless) Page 27