“I don’t like secrets, Tesoro,” he murmurs. His delicate touch along my neck is so it adds with the fire brewing in his eyes.
“I know,” I whisper. “Which is why I think I know who sent the man from the basement, or more accurately, why.”
His eyes flash and he quirks a brow, playing it cool. “Do tell.”
“My father. I remember overhearing a conversation years ago, between him and our driver, Banks. He talked about a key. He said, ‘she’s the key to everything.’ I think he was talking about me. For whatever reason, my father wants me back because he thinks I’m the key to something, I just don’t know what.”
He searches my gaze with earnest. “What else do you remember?”
“That’s it. He mentioned the name Monroe a few times, but…that’s all I remember. I’ve been trying to figure it out, find out what he could possibly have up his sleeve.”
Confusion flashes across Saint’s face for only a brief second but I still catch it. “Why tell me at all? Why not lie?”
My heart jumps into my throat. “Because I don’t want to lie to you.”
His eyes heat, and he gently rubs the pad of his thumb across my lower lip. “You certainly make things interesting, Tesoro.”
For the first time in weeks, I smile.
CHAPTER NINE
Saint
ONE MONTH LATER…
Watching her sleep is my favorite part of the day. When the sun’s barely creeping its way into the bedroom, chasing away all the dark, nefarious deeds I did the night before to the angel who now sleeps peacefully beside me. I love when the sunlight finally reaches her, bathing her in its warmth. Her pouty lips always curve slightly into an almost smile that makes me wonder what she’s dreaming about.
Me.
It’s always me.
I make sure I’m the first thing she wakes up to and the last thing she sees before falling asleep.
Makes me sound like a lovesick teenager.
But lovesick teenagers don’t fuck their willing captives in the ass while holding their delicate necks in a punishing grip, just to watch fat tears roll down their red, splotchy cheeks.
My dick thickens at the reminder of last night. How she squealed and begged for relief. To give her a second to catch her breath and adjust to the invasion inside her asshole.
It was cute she thought she had a say in the matter.
I stroke my fingers through her silky blond hair and marvel over her beauty. For such a small, seemingly fragile woman, she’s demonstrated each day just how strong she is. It makes me enjoy seeing how far I can push her. Though she seems at the end of her rope each time, she always makes it through to the end. I’m fucking obsessed with the way her green eyes light up with pride. That she danced with the monster and lived long enough to sleep in his arms after.
It makes me wonder if my father felt this way about my mother. Like he could pause all his ruthless deeds just to take a few moments to admire her beauty. I find that I allow myself many of these moments throughout the day. Sure, I destroy men who’ve wronged me, threaten those who might, and end anyone I have no use for anymore, but in between those intense, violent times, I find myself seeking out Melody.
For release.
For a kiss.
For companionship.
When she’s not bent over, screaming and tears dripping from her jaw, she’s following me around my home like a dutiful puppy, eager for my attention and praise. Every time she feels as though she has information that might help me in some capacity, she presents it like a birthday cake she made all by herself. Proud as fuck. And I reward the girl every goddamn time.
“No,” she whimpers, her serene face suddenly screwing up into a terrified one.
At first, I’m curious if I’m the villain in her nightmares. But then she mutters something about “Daddy.” My blood boils. Every awful situation she’s encountered—including me—over the past month and a half is a direct result of his schemes. If I could plow my way into her brain and hurt him, I would.
I may not be able to save her from him inside her nightmare, but I can remind her she has a very real villain who craves her undivided attention in reality. Leaning forward, I press a kiss to her supple lips. My touch drags her from the darkness of sleep and into the light where the monster in her world waits for her. She’s fucking crazy because she grins upon seeing me.
“Morning, Tesoro.”
Her fingers run through my messy hair as she skims her electric-green gaze over my features. “Morning, Saint.” The raspy sound in her voice is a mixture of sleepiness and hoarseness from screaming.
God, I love to hear her scream.
“We have lots to do today,” I remind her. “Are you going to be a good girl for me?”
“Always.”
I reward her obedience with another kiss. Soft and sweet, how I know she likes in the early hours of the morning. Later, I’ll give her the cruel, violent ones she also loves.
She slides her leg over me, never interrupting our kiss, and rubs her pussy along my throbbing shaft. I groan in pleasure knowing in seconds I’ll be inside her. My naughty girl teases me, rubbing her slick cunt over me. I let her have her fun for a moment but then the overwhelming desire to have her wins out. With my fingers digging into her hip and my other hand wrapped around my dick, I position my tip at her opening before dragging her down fully over my length. We both hiss in pleasure.
“Ride it like you think you have claim over it. Like no other woman will ever sit on this dick again,” I taunt, loving the way her green eyes flash with jealousy.
She should know by now that I’m not interested in anyone else. Not when I have the perfect body and most compliant female in my possession. It’s as though she was created and trained specifically for my pleasure.
“Mine,” she murmurs, her fingernails digging into my pecs as she rocks her hips in an erotic way.
“Damn straight.”
A satisfied smirk passes over her features as she works her hips in a way that maddens me in the best possible way. I smack her thigh and pinch her clit, eager to drive her just as wild. Her movements pick up, whimpers of need echoing from her, and her tits bounce. I admire the bruises made from my mouth, teeth, and fingers. Her skin marked up by me is something she wears better than any garment.
“Saint,” she whimpers. “Oh, God.”
When she tilts her head back, giving in to the impending orgasm, I latch on to her clit with my finger and thumb, rolling it in between them. Her body shakes as she explodes. As her climax wrecks her, I grab her throat in a punishing grip, drawing her to my mouth. My teeth nip at her plump lips as I thrust upwards into her. It’s not long before my nuts tighten, and I empty myself into her fertile body. She relaxes in my hold, burying her face against my neck. The grip I had on her neck has gentled into a lover’s caress.
My dick eventually stops throbbing, but I allow her to remain clinging to me. I’ve learned these soft moments with her make her compliant when I want to be rough and violent with her. Her body craves each end of the spectrum equally. Truth is, I think these moments are growing on me too.
“Your period still late?” I ask, running my fingers along her spine. I know the answer because she wasn’t bleeding all over my dick when we fucked, but I want to hear her answer anyway.
She nods against me. “I should take a test.”
“We’ll get one while we’re out.” I smack her ass. “Hop in the shower.”
Melody sits up and eases off my softened cock. Cum runs out of her body, dripping all over me. I love the way her pussy turns red from the abuse it takes at my hand. My gaze settles on her trim stomach, wondering how she’ll look swollen with my child.
I’d never wanted children before, but the idea of her having my baby sets my mind ablaze with a fulfilling pleasure I’ve never known. If she’s not pregnant, I’m going to make damn well sure I get her there eventually.
“That smile promises trouble,” she says, as she climbs off th
e bed, her brow arched in a playful way.
Fuck, she’s gorgeous.
“Good thing you’re always horny for trouble. What does that make you? A bad girl?”
She smirks. “I think it just means I’m a perfect match for you.”
As she walks away, her bruised, heart-shaped ass jiggling with movement, I bite back a stupid grin. She’s right. Perfect for me in every way. After today, I’ll bring closure to my plans, ensuring I keep her forever.
It’s almost time.
A week later…
It takes everything in me not to knock the head off the guy helping us. Seeing the way he admires the beautiful woman beside me pisses me right the fuck off. If only he knew the seven different ways I’ve envisioned torturing him, and that’s only for his eyes, he’d look elsewhere besides the cleavage showing in her dress.
“That’s it. All of your assets have been transferred to your husband’s accounts, Mrs. Vitale,” the man—Jason—says before pushing a folder across the table. “You’ll find the receipts in there.”
She reaches for the folder, her wedding ring glinting in the bright overhead light. Fierce male pride washes over me. Jason may think my wife is hot, but there’s not shit he can do about it.
Melody Vitale is mine.
It’s ironic the angel made a vow before God to love the devil, but it’s binding and true nonetheless.
“Thank you,” Melody says to him and then skims her green eyes my way. “Are we all done?”
“A celebratory dinner is in order, but then we’ll be done.”
Her body trembles with nerves, but my palm squeezing her thigh calms her. “I’m ready.”
We rise to our feet, and I guide her out of the financial institution with my hand on her ass. She leans in, appreciative of my touch.
My father probably would have had words to say about my plan to marry Melody, but it was all part of a bigger scheme. When she realized her father referred to her as a key, it didn’t take long to change my hunt from Silas to Melody’s assets to realize just how much Silas had hidden away. Sure, I could have just made her transfer her assets and the girl would have done it, but it was much more gratifying, not only taking all of Silas’s hidden money, but officially taking his daughter too. I explained my plan to Melody, and she agreed wholeheartedly that it makes the most sense for us to marry.
But I didn’t miss the relief in her eyes.
That I’d claimed her permanently.
I don’t need a stupid marriage certificate or a glittery ring on a woman’s finger to tell me what I know and feel, though. I’d already decided I wasn’t letting her go. This just makes it official. And the three positive pregnancy tests in a row only solidified the fact Melody Vitale is never leaving. Ever.
As we walk out of the financial institution, I feign for a relaxed gait and disposition. If I’m seemingly aware of the black SUV speeding up the road, our plans could be quickly foiled. Instead, I ignore the way the tires screech to a stop and pause to kiss Melody’s supple lips.
“Remember what I said,” I murmur. “You’re mine, and no one can take you from me.”
“I remember,” she whispers, seconds before a black gloved hand covers her mouth and a man drags her away.
I stare at her retreating form until someone pistol whips me and everything goes black.
I wake strapped to a chair inside Silas Westwood’s home office. Beside him stands a man near my age, handsome and wearing an expensive suit. Both men are practically gleaming with excitement.
They bested the great Saint Vitale.
Fucking fools.
I drag my gaze over the office, looking for her. My woman. She’s not in the room, which has me fisting my hands and testing the strength of my bindings.
“Where is she?” I growl, my eyes burning a hole into Westwood.
He ignores me to look at Monroe. “Told you she would help us take down this bastard.”
“Indeed,” Monroe agrees. “With his reputation, I figured it’d be a lot more difficult.”
Gritting my teeth, I bite back a slew of insults. I want to lash out and tell them I’ve always been steps ahead of them. Instead, I say nothing.
“I’m sure he raped her and traumatized her based on the bruising we discovered, but with some therapy, she should be good as new. Melody is docile and will make a perfect wife. She was able to domesticate this dog,” Westwood says to Monroe, before sneering at me. “You’ll pay for hurting her.”
I suck in a deep, calming breath. He’s the one who willingly handed her off to a fucking villain. If anyone hurt her, it was him. The hurt I give her makes her pussy wet. The hurt I give makes her feel so fucking good. The hurt I give feels like love.
A twinge squeezes inside my chest. Our vows last week promised love, though I’ve always wondered if I had it in me. Even after seeing the way her green eyes were soft with adoration and love for a motherfucker like me on our wedding day, I had doubt. I thought, at best, I could enjoy her, but never love her. Never love anyone for that matter.
But being separated from her for even half an hour, knowing she’s carrying my goddamn baby, I feel it. It’s fierce and feral and fucking maddening.
Love.
Who knew our hearts would be collateral damage in this war?
“Before I end you, you miserable piece of shit,” Westwood snarls, “you’ll sign the divorce decree my attorney has drawn up.” His eyes narrow. “I’ll give you credit for figuring out where I hid the money. Your father taught you a thing or two after all.”
I sneer at him. “Just think of everything I taught your daughter…”
His face turns purple with rage. Monroe clasps his shoulder to keep him from coming at me. Even tied to a chair, I’m fairly certain I could beat the fuck out of Westwood. All it’d take would be a headbutt if he got close enough.
“At first, I had to hold her down,” I spit out in a cold tone, my eyes locking with Monroe. “Strip her, starve her, force her to rely on me for everything even as basic as a blanket or to use the bathroom. Her tears were so beautiful.”
Monroe’s jaw clenches. “Bastard.”
“Take notes,” I say to him, “since you’re dead set on marrying her once the ink dries on the divorce papers. She really likes it when you choke her pretty neck while deep inside her ass.”
Westwood surges forward, swinging a puny fist at my face. It glances off me with minimal pain, but he makes a great show of cursing and shaking out his hand.
“You’re going to wire transfer all of your money, including what you took from my daughter, into an account that belongs to Monroe and me. The quicker you make it happen, the quicker I will end your life. If you want to drag your feet and cause trouble, I will torture you for each day you make me wait,” Westwood threatens.
I nearly roll my eyes. He couldn’t dream up half of what I could do to him.
“You’re pathetic.” I glower at Westwood. “Fucking pathetic.”
“Spare me your insults,” he snaps back. “They won’t hurt me or make me change my mind.”
“Where’s my wife?” I demand. “She’s carrying my child and sometimes gets sick when she doesn’t eat.”
A thrill courses through me to see the shock on Westwood’s and Monroe’s faces.
“She’s not pregnant,” Westwood growls.
“Oh, but she is, Grandpa.” I smirk at him. “And she’s very loyal to her husband.”
Pop. Pop. Pop.
The sounds echoing in the house are like music. It means Melody has done her job in making sure my men are able to access the home. Good girl. I’ll reward her later with my tongue between her thighs.
“Go see what that is,” Westwood barks to Monroe.
Monroe shakes his head. “Fuck that. I’m calling my security detail—”
The door to the office swings open, cutting off his words. My girl, covered in blood, rushes into the room, tears streaking down her cheeks.
“T-They’re dead. They’re all d-dead.�
�
“His men are here?” Westwood asks his daughter.
She nods. “They’re coming for us.”
Monroe reaches for her like he might comfort her, and she shrinks away.
“Don’t touch me,” she hisses, before turning to her father. “Daddy, what are you going to do?”
Westwood texts someone, but I know it’ll never make it to the intended person. By now, my men will have made sure of that. “Not to worry,” Westwood says. “My guards will eliminate his.”
Oh, but he and Monroe look all kinds of worried.
Not my wife, though.
Her green eyes flitter my way briefly, a small smile tugging at her lips. She’s a good actress. And, based on the blood covering her, she’s good at other things too. Like surprise attacks. She wore a pair of bulky boots for a reason. Easier to hide a knife.
Monroe watches our exchange, understanding washing over him. He opens his mouth to say something to Westwood, but Roscoe chooses that moment to enter the room.
“Monroe,” I say to Roscoe, knowing he’ll understand my command without further explanation.
Pop.
Blood sprays the wall behind Monroe as he falls to a heap on the floor, a bullet wound in his head. Melody starts for me, but Westwood, obviously realizing he’s screwed, snags his daughter, pulling her to his chest like a shield.
“Everybody just calm the fuck down,” Westwood says, his voice shrill and filled with terror. “We’re going to talk this out and strike a deal.”
The time for deals is over.
Roscoe unties me and I stand, shaking my hands out.
“We already struck a deal, Westwood. You fucked up. All that’s left is retribution.” I crack my neck. “Give me my wife and I’ll end you quickly.”
Lies.
I’ll make it fucking hurt.
Tales of Darkness & Sin: An Anthology Page 21