by Ella Miles
“So you don’t want my cock?”
She looks at me with defiance in her eyes. “No.”
“Oh, really? Then you aren’t soaking wet at the thought? Sucking my fingers, imagining they were my cock didn’t make you hot with desire?”
She shakes her head.
“Prove it.”
She undoes her pants and then slips her fingers inside her panties. Her face turns from defiant to shock as she realizes the truth. She doesn’t know what to do.
I grab her arm and gently pull her hand up until I can smell her scent on her fingers.
“Liar.”
She jerks her hand out of my grasp, redoes her pants, and quickly scrambles to her feet.
“I didn’t—”
I put my fingers up to her lips. “You did. You lied. I don’t trust you. We have a deal because I enjoy torturing you, and maybe someday you’ll prove useful, but it’s not because I’m your hero. It’s not because I care about you. And I sure as hell won’t be fucking you.”
I look to the guys. “Let’s go.”
They all turn, and we start walking through the woods. Ri walks behind us. It takes us twenty minutes to make it back to the cars we came in. Caius, Hayes, and Gage climb into one. Lennox into the driver’s seat of the other. I head to the passenger’s seat, and Ri heads to the backseat when she says, “You’re a liar too.”
“I haven’t lied.”
“You lied when you said you won’t be fucking me and when you said you don’t care. You’re not ready yet to move on; I get that. Your grief is going to take a long time to get over. But someday, you’ll move on—with me or someone else. We both know it’ll be me. Whether to win me and punish Vincent or because you just want me. You’re going to fuck me in every sense of the word. Whether it’s out of love or hate is yet to be decided. But don’t lie and say you don’t care about me. You wouldn’t have followed me; you wouldn’t have saved me, if you didn’t care, Hero.”
And then she climbs in the back of the car.
I want to argue with her. I want to tell her how fucking wrong she is. But the strain against the zipper of my jeans tells me she’s right. I’ll only hold off fucking her for so long. I may be mourning, but I’m also in desperate need of a release.
You do care, Odette’s voice haunts me.
I don’t.
You do.
I climb into the passenger seat, trying to ignore Odette’s voice. The voice that has kept me on the path of good for so long. Now that she’s gone, there is nothing to be good for, not anymore.
I don’t care about Ri. I just want to make sure I dole out the correct punishment for her. If she was naive and stupid, then embarrassing her and playing with her is enough. If she was involved in Odette’s death, though, she’s going to wish that her father marries her off to a dangerous man who will protect her before I get my hands on her. Because there is no man more dangerous than me now.
6
Ri
Beckett ignores me as Lennox drives, I assume driving me back to Vincent. I always knew I would have to go back; I just wanted to know who my allies were. Beckett can pretend he’s not on my side all he wants, but it’s not the truth. He’s on my side. He cares.
He can pretend he’s a monster all he wants, but it’s just his grief talking. I’ve seen his heart. I know who he is.
I need his help to survive the games, to not end up married to one of the bad guys. In return, I’ll do more than just help him get retribution. I want to show him that he can live again, if not love again. There is life after his grief, no matter how hard it is.
I stare out the window as we drive, thinking about what just happened. My mind is flooded with how degrading it felt to kneel in front of him, sucking his fingers like they were his cock, and showing him how much I liked it, how much I want him.
I know my infatuation with him is ridiculous. I shouldn’t want him, not like I do, but I can’t help my feelings. I want a choice in my destiny, even if I don’t have a choice in my husband. I want to be able to choose him if only for a night, but I’m not sure he’ll ever choose me back.
Lennox looks at me through the rearview mirror, his eyes judging me.
I close mine to block him out. I don’t know why I felt so embarrassed, but somehow Beckett knew I would be. He knew that would be one of my weaknesses, and yet I enjoyed it—every debasing second of it. Beckett enjoyed it, too, although he will never admit it. I saw the proof in his crotch.
The car stops, and I open my eyes. We are parked outside Vincent’s building.
“Ready to back out of our deal yet?” Beckett asks.
I open the door as I smirk at him. “No, our deal is still on. You save me, and I owe you anything you want. And don’t think I didn’t notice how bad you wanted me earlier.”
Then I slam the door shut and walk inside Vincent’s building.
I calm my breathing as I head up the elevator that automatically moves as I step on. No doubt that Vincent’s team is monitoring the elevators.
When the doors open into Vincent’s apartment, there are two new guards standing there. They flank me as I step inside, ensuring I don’t run.
Vincent is standing at the entrance of the living room, waiting for my return.
“It seems I owe the Retribution Kings double now for returning you safely to me.”
“It seems you do.”
“Adrian and Georgio are your guards now. We’ll see if they are up to the challenge of watching you.”
“What happened to Dario and Leone?”
“They’ve been punished for losing you.”
“Punished how?” I ask cautiously.
“Bullet to the head. They fucked up; they knew the consequences.”
I swallow down vile. Two men died because of me.
“And how are you going to punish me?”
“I don’t punish you, Rialta. We make deals. We have agreements. I protect you no matter how hard you fight me. I let you live your life as long as you are safe.”
Two dangerous men. Two dangerous games. And I’m not sure I’m strong enough to win both of them.
“So I’m free to go?”
“If you want. But the guards go with you.”
I frown. I don’t want the guards anywhere near Lucy. And I’m not ready to have more blood on my hands if I slip away on their watch.
“Get some sleep, Rialta. Tomorrow the first round of games begins.”
A gown is laid out for me the next evening, along with another fucking tiara. I stuck to my room for most of the day. I should have been searching Vincent’s house for anything that might help Beckett find out who killed Odette, but I didn’t. Beckett doesn’t trust me yet, even if I did find something.
The gown is beautiful, but Vincent made it clear that he isn’t going to punish me. It may only be a small act of defiance, but I don’t put on the sleek shiny silver gown that Adrian brought in. Instead, I head into the closet.
I don’t know why tonight is another black-tie affair if it’s supposed to be a competition to the death for me. Or if Vincent just expects me to be dressed up to watch a brawl. I’m the prize, after all.
I won’t let him forget that I entered the game too. I’m competing for myself as much as anyone else. I want to be able to choose if or when I marry.
I already know my closet is filled with beautiful dresses; any one would do for tonight. I let my hand trace over the silk, satin, and lace fabrics—dresses I’ve worn to countless different events. I like wearing dresses; they make me feel radiant and powerful. Who knew that the right dress and killer heels could wield as much power as a sword.
But that won’t be what I wear tonight. I have no idea what to expect, but I’m going to be as prepared as any of the guys. Even if they are in tuxes, if I were to wear a tight dress, they’d be at an advantage for anything physical.
Who am I kidding? They will always be at an advantage if the competition is purely physical.
I walk to the back of th
e large walk-in closet, which is bigger than my bedroom at the apartment I share with Lucy. I find a pair of black slacks, a sparkly tank top, and a black jacket—perfect. Still formal, but something I can actually move in.
In the bathroom, I get dressed quickly, put on minimal makeup, and fix my hair in a high bun. I head back into the closet to find shoes. I scan the floor—heels, heels, 6-inch heels, tiny spiked heels no one can walk in.
There has to be something that’s not a heel. While I could use my heels as a weapon, they aren’t great for running or much else. But I find nothing but spiky heels. I slip on the shortest pair I can find that still has me towering, and then I walk out.
Adrian and Georgio are looking at me. Georgio has the audacity to raise his eyebrows.
“I wouldn’t judge if I were you. The last guy that did I had killed,” I say, strutting out of my bedroom and down the stairs.
I don’t get any more looks or attitude from either of them, as we all head down the elevator to the waiting limo in silence.
Georgio holds the back door open for me.
I duck my head in and find the backseat empty. “Where’s Vincent?”
“He’s meeting us there. He had business he had to attend to first.”
“Who did he have to kill this time?” I ask, under my breath.
“Stephan,” Georgio says.
I cock my head, staring at Georgio until I realize he’s serious.
I sigh and climb into the backseat. I’m never going to escape the killings. My heart doesn’t race, though; I don’t get anxiety or fear thinking about it. Maybe I’m more used to it than I want to admit.
We don’t head to the same ballroom as before. This time, we head to a skyscraper and up to the top floor. When you’re the head of the mafia, you can never be too careful. Never go to the same place twice. Always demand respect. Strike fear into your enemies and allies equally. And be generous when you pay someone off. Guessing by the extravagant bar and security measures in the place that Vincent rented out, he paid off the owner very well.
I don’t get any time to take in my surroundings though, I have thirty-plus pairs of eyeballs on me, staring at me like they own me. I have to make them realize they don’t. Even if they win and Vincent forces me to marry them, I’ll never be theirs. I’ll never obey, never be property. They should give up now before they risk their death for nothing.
It’s hard to convey that with a single look or walk, but I put every ounce of confidence and self-ownership into my strut. I hold my head up high, and for a moment, I’m thankful for my heels that elevate me eye to eye with most of the men.
Apparently, my walk isn’t good enough because one of the guys catcalls me, which causes the rest to follow suit.
I spot Caius out of the corner of my eye. He looks like he’s about to murder a dozen men with one punch. Beckett is standing next to him in a sharp tux, just like every other man here, but Beckett looks stronger than them all. It’s not just because he’s rolled the right sleeve up to accommodate his missing limb, but because, unlike every other man here, he doesn’t react.
He doesn’t show his emotions on the surface. He doesn’t act like a horny bastard whistling my name, nor is he boiling like Caius. He’s just staring at me, waiting for me to decide what to do. He raises one eyebrow, and I know with one nod he’d step in and save me.
I almost nod just to see what he would do, but I don’t. Not because I’d owe him, but because I don’t want anyone defending me right now. I need to show these guys I’m capable of defending myself. Only when I can’t do I want Beckett stepping in.
He seems to get the message because he just sips his drink, looking bored. I wish I could say the same about Caius. If I don’t do something soon, he’s going to get himself killed. I have enough blood on my hands. His death is not something I want on my conscience. He’s too good. Too kind. Too worthy.
I stop suddenly, my bodyguards almost bumping into me from behind. As much as they will physically protect me, they aren’t doing much to stop the verbal harassment.
I don’t really have a plan, but old strategies come to me nonetheless. I let my instincts take over.
Find an easy target.
I scan the crowd of men quickly. I find a young guy; he can’t be older than eighteen, with a big mouth.
I walk toward him.
Draw him in.
I lick my bottom lip, watching him whistle louder than all the rest. I need him a little closer. I don’t know why. I don’t know what I’m going to do. But I give him the tiniest wink in encouragement as he steps forward and puts his hands on my waist, slipping it around to my ass as he jerks me toward him.
Bingo.
“We don’t need to finish the games, guys; it seems like she’s already chosen me,” he says.
I don’t give him any warning. I don’t even process what I’m going to do until I’m doing it. But one second, his hand is on my ass; the next second, he’s laid out on the floor.
The heckling stops.
Everyone is staring at me for different reasons. “I suggest you keep your hands and comments to yourself from now on.” Then I walk to the other side of the room and take a seat at an empty table, while Adrian and Georgio stand behind me.
“Thanks for the help, guys,” I say sarcastically.
“I don’t know why the last guys got fired. You can defend yourself. All we have to do is stand here and look pretty,” Adrian says.
“Killed, not fired. And it was just a lucky move. That guy was weak.”
“It was skilled and practiced. You don’t lay someone out like that, being as small as you are, without a lot of practice.”
Hmm. I flick through my memories, trying to remember a time where I learned anything about how to defend myself. I remember getting Lucy into self-defense classes, but I don’t remember taking them myself.
Vincent steps into the room, grabbing everyone’s attention. Figuring out what skills I have will have to wait until later.
“It seems that everyone has finally arrived,” Vincent says, staring at me intensely. I guess I might have been a little bit late. Oops.
I just smile like I’m not phased at all.
Vincent continues, “Thank you for meeting here on such short notice. Part of joining my family is putting loyalty and family above all others. The safety of those I love matters a great deal to me. So the time and place of each game will not be named until the last moment. If you can’t arrive on time for any reason, I will assume you no longer value my family, my daughter, or my time, and you will forfeit your spot in the game.”
He looks around the room, assessing everyone like he’s trying to take in their attire and if it’s good enough or not. He doesn’t look two seconds at me, so Georgio and Adrian must have already let him know that I didn’t wear the approved dress, or he doesn’t care.
I spend the moment looking out the window at the darkening sky as lights begin to twinkle from the city below us. The river cuts through the buildings next to us. It would be a beautiful bar to sit at if this wasn’t just another twisted day in my life where evil men compete for me like I’m a trophy.
“Rialta, if you will come here, please,” Vincent says.
The room spins toward me. For a second, I consider saying no, just to see what he’ll do. Will he punish me in front of them? Will he laugh off my disobedience?
But then I look at his eyes. He’ll hurt someone I love. He’ll hurt Lucy if I don’t. It doesn’t seem like something worth Lucy getting hurt over, so I stand and walk to Vincent’s side.
One of Vincent’s men hands me the same bowl from before.
“As I told you before, I don’t have the time to come up with dozens of games each time; that’s your job. Coming up with an appropriate game that tests the skills needed to be part of my family is part of the game. Come up with a shitty game and you’re done. I’ll add my own rules, spin, and twists as necessary.”
Everyone stares at Vincent as he speaks. “Now, Rialta
, draw a name. That man will be responsible for choosing the first game.”
“Or woman,” I mumble under my breath. My name is in here too. I study Vincent’s face. Unless he removed it?
He doesn’t speak to my comment, so I have no clue. Mafia men are usually a man of their word. It’s one of the reasons they are so respected. I’ve never seen Vincent go back on his word before. He’s careful with his words. You have to be careful when you make a deal with him to get what you want from him, but you don’t have to worry about him going back on a deal—my name is in the bowl.
I take a deep breath, hoping I can draw my own name and somehow come up with a game that will end this nightmare. I pull a name out and read the smudged ink smeared with blood.
“Jameson Lory.”
The man steps forward with excitement in his blue eyes. He runs his hand through his blonde hair with a goofy grin as several men pat his back in congratulations.
I resist the urge to look at Beckett or Caius. I need to feel Vincent out this first game. I don’t want him to think I favor them. He’d probably disqualify them just for that reason alone.
“You have ten minutes to come up with a game,” Vincent says.
“I don’t need ten minutes,” the foolish boy says.
“Well, what will it be then?” Vincent says, his jaw ticking just slightly. I doubt anyone else notices, but it’s already a strike against the boy.
“If we are to be her husband, we should be able to please her.”
Oh, no. Is he going to suggest touching me, fucking me, raping me already?
Vincent looks pleased by this turn of events.
“Whoever is the best kisser, according to Rialta, wins.”
I grin on the outside. Yes, kissing thirty devils seems like a horrible way to spend my evening, but it’s better than being touched. And he gave me power. I get to decide who wins. But it won’t be a game that Vincent likes.