"He can't hear you anymore, Miss Guerra," I smile widely at her, motioning towards the privacy divider. I'd shut down the microphone and put the divider in place, so the driver can do nothing but take us to our destination. And seeing how the horse farm is upstate, the ride will be long indeed.
"You..." she seethes, barely able to take her hand from her mouth to shout some expletive at me.
"You must be famished too. You barely touched your lunch. Why don't you try some?" I thrust the can towards her, unable to keep the grin off my face as she all but jumps out of her seat, backing away as much as possible to avoid any contact with the smelly fish.
"You're dead," she glares defiantly at me. "My father won't forgive this slight!"
"What? Having lunch?" I snort at her. "Good luck explaining that to him," I smirk.
"You..." she trails off, and I wonder if she's out of insults.
But that thought is quickly forgotten as she rummages through her back for something, her expression turning defiant again as she removes a small container.
Before I realize what she means to do, she jumps on me spraying something in my face. I have a hard time balancing the smelly fish in one hand and her in another as I try to drag her off me.
But she doesn't seem easily dissuaded as she clings to me against all odds, limbs flailing, nails out to scratch me.
It's a cacophony of sounds as she tries to land a hit on me, her little spray aimed for my eyes, her other hand reaching for the fish.
She's such a tiny thing, yet she doesn't seem to realize that all her efforts are in vain. Not when I hold her steady with only one arm. And as she continues to spray me with what I can only assume is some kind of pepper spray, my nostrils already feeling some of the sting, I realize there's only one way to end this.
One moment she's screaming at me, the next she's quiet as her eyes widen, the fish sauce coating her hair as I dump the contents of the can on her head.
She blinks. And blinks.
With one shaky hand she reaches in her hair to remove a slice of fish. No sound comes out of her mouth as she stares in horror at it.
"You," she whispers, still unmoving.
She lifts her eyes at me, those big, gorgeous eyes that beg to be painted by renowned artists and displayed for the public to admire them. For a second I forget all about her abysmal behavior and her shitty personality, the sight of moisture accumulating at the corner of her eyes making me feel a little guilty.
Just a little. She's still a bitch.
There's no warning as her mouth opens and she starts retching in my lap, her meager lunch spilled all over my suit.
"Fuck!" I curse out loud, shaking my head and bringing my hand up to massage my temples.
But one second I'm distracted by the sick girl in my lap and it's all it takes for her to complete her attack, raising her arm and spraying that noxious substance in my eyes.
Double fuck...
To say that our interactions worsen with time would be an understatement. In just one week, we've gone from insults to full on body assaults, most of the time it's her lithe little body that jumps on me, intent on scratching my eyes out.
That I've refrained from taking her over my knee...
"You need to change," she tells me as she comes down in one of her glamorous gowns. She's wearing a full face gilded mask for tonight's ball that makes her look mysterious and one thousand percent more fuckable. If only she could mask her personality too...
"I'm not going to be a laughingstock because I have a..." she continues as she scrunches her nose at me in distaste, "hobo as bodyguard. Put on a decent suit and meet me in the living room," she orders before disappearing towards the room.
Again, visions of exactly what I'd do to the little brat swim before my eyes, but just as I start plotting her next punishment, I realize that I'm never going to get her to lower her guard enough to complete my mission.
"Damn it," I mutter as I go and change my clothes.
Damn Cisco and damn the entire family for giving me this assignment. I don't think there's greater humiliation than having to withstand miss little spoiled's tantrums on a daily basis. And now I also have to accompany her to her rich girl party, where no doubt, more spoiled kids are going to be present.
I may not have been here long, but I've noticed the way Benedicto treats his daughter. He really isn't that interested in her except to ensure she attends society events and has regular outings with people from the upper circles.
Daily I have to accompany her to different activities—horse riding, archery, golf, polo and other snobbish things—sitting in the background and watching how these people covertly insult each other behind a sweet smile.
Maybe I've spent too much time in the gutter, but I simply can't comprehend how she derives any pleasure from hanging out with such an entourage.
While our family has money, we've never mingled with the elite of New York. Instead, we've been involved in the underground world, where things are rarely glamorous. There, the rich are rich because they've gotten their hands dirty, not because daddy left them a trust fund to last them a lifetime.
Sometimes it feels like I'm in a completely different world as I watch these kids that will likely become someone, but never be someone.
It's one of the things that makes this job even more annoying. Having to witness good for nothings do worthless things while criticizing the rest of the world for actually working.
The more I think about it, the worse my mood gets. And that's not a good thing considering I'm going to be surrounded with all those vapid people tonight.
A party at a mansion upstate, the party is supposed to be an end-of-year masquerade for everyone graduating. Of course, Gianna could not miss such an event, not with her being in the center of every single gathering.
Just thinking of the times I'd seen people fawn over her, no shame at literally kissing her feet.
"If I don't kill someone tonight..." I mutter to myself, feeling an insane urge to do harm. It's going to be a lucky day indeed if I don't kill some lanky ass kid for getting too close to her.
Getting too close to her?
Where did that come from?
A scowl appears on my face as I realize the direction of my thoughts. It's not like I care about who gets close to her, but I still need to finish my mission, and that means I have to make sure she has no outstanding attachments.
Yes, that's it.
With a last aggressive tug at my tie, I mumble some curses as I go out, intent on being Gianna's shadow for the night without getting too mad—at anything.
For once the car ride is peaceful as she barely even glances at me, her entire attention on her phone as she keeps on texting someone. Interestingly enough though, there are no more insults either.
It takes us almost an hour to reach the mansion, and although a masquerade, I realize that everyone is wearing the same gilded mask as Gianna.
Built in a Georgian style, the mansion houses a huge ball room where everyone is already dancing, drinking and carousing.
Just like Dario had mentioned, drugs seem to be everywhere. People are snorting coke off every surface available, a guy bending over so that his friend could sniff the powder off his back.
As soon as we step inside, though, all the eyes are on Gianna. Two girls hurry towards her and she does a quick twirl to show off her dress.
But as people stare at her, their eyes also find me, the only unmasked person at the party.
"I'll be by the door," I mumble, not liking being the object of their attention.
"No, silly!" Gianna turns around, grabbing my hand and all but dragging me towards the dance floor. "You have to dance with me," she giggles.
I lean in to smell her, noting the presence of alcohol on her breath.
Of course.
"Find some other boy toy," I grumble, trying to extricate myself from her.
"Come on, you're no fun," she accuses in a breathy tone that goes straight to my cock.
> Damn, but no matter how bratty, or how much of a bitch she is, my cock doesn't seem to get the memo that she's just a means to an end.
Her hands are on my arms, as she feels for my biceps, her fingers testing the strength of the muscle. This is the first time she's touched me with anything other than aggression, and I find myself stunned on the spot.
"My, but you're strong, aren't you?" she purrs, leaning closer to me—too close.
If there's anything I've learned about Gianna during this time, is that she hates getting close to people. She doesn't let anyone in her personal space, and is often biting in her replies when people dare to touch her uninvited.
That she's doing this... I'm immediately suspicious.
My hands against her shoulders, I push her back.
"What are you doing?" I ask, trying to control my tone.
"Dancing with you," she fires back, but she's not completely focused on me. No, one eye is on her wrist watch.
I immediately catch her hand, bringing it towards me.
"What are you planning, Gianna?" my voice comes rougher than intended. But I know her by now, and she's always up to something nefarious, almost always resulting in some unsuspecting fool getting hurt.
And I seem to be the unsuspecting fool.
The hands of her watch move in alignment just as a loud noise permeates the air. Everyone removes their masks, all at once, throwing them in the air.
I frown, not comprehending what's happening at first. But as I zone in on one person after person—their faces specifically—I realize what her game was.
Gianna's mask, too, falls to the ground, and she's sporting the same prosthetic on her face as everyone else. Blended seamlessly with her skin, a long scar starts from her chin to her nose before appearing again from her brow and ending in her hairline. The wound is red and raw, resulting in a monstrosity fit for Halloween, not for this.
But it was all calculated. It was all a game.
She flutters her lashes at me, a satisfied smile on her face as she comes closer.
"See, Mr. Bailey? I'm nothing if not thoughtful," she drawls as she smiles, her white teeth gleaming in the light. "Now you're not the ugliest person at the party," she says sweetly, barely able to contain her laughter.
And as I turn my head around, I realize that everyone is staring at me with a hidden smile on their faces, probably secretly laughing at me.
My fists clench, and I don't think as I grab her by the arm, dragging her with me towards an area with less people.
"Let go!" she kicks at my hand, now trying to get free.
A sick grin pulls at my lips as I effortlessly tug her along, all her attempts to free herself in vain.
As soon as I see an empty corner, I push her in front of me, her back hitting the wall. Her smile is gone as she looks at me wide-eyed.
"So this is all for my benefit?" I drawl, enjoying the way the amusement leaves her features, giving way to fear.
And she should fear me. Because fuck if I don't want to teach her a lesson right this moment.
Backing her even further into the wall, I cage her with my arms. She looks so small next to me, even in her high heels. And as I cover her with my body, a whimper escapes her lips.
"Not so brave now, are you, sunshine?"
"You're a beast!" she hisses at me in that wild cat voice of hers that only manages to make me harder, my cock straining against my zipper. I continue to smile at her, enjoying the way she doesn't seem as powerful now that she's alone, without her friends or anyone to save her from me.
"Take your filthy hands off me," she commands me in a last show of strength, her small hands on my wrist as she tries to push me aside.
"You should have realized that before, Gianna," I tsk at her, lowering my head to nuzzle her hair as I inhale her lovely scent. "Before poking the beast," I whisper when my mouth reaches her ear. Fuck, but why is all this perfection wasted on her?
I note the sudden stiffening of her body against mine. The way her skin is suddenly covered in goosebumps, a slight quiver going down her spine. She's not indifferent. Oh, she's definitely not indifferent, no matter how much she might protest to the contrary.
And just to prove my point, I let my mouth trail over her jaw, blowing softly over her skin, but not touching it.
A gasp escapes her, her hands slack on my arm.
To test something, I pull back, just looking at her.
Her eyes are wide, her lips slightly parted as she looks at me. Shock—or something similar to shock—is painted on her features. There's also a look of wonder as she seems rooted to the spot, barely even realizing I'm giving her an out.
But as soon as she shows that hint of vulnerability, it's gone. She shakes herself, quickly making to dash past me.
"No, no, no," I say, amused, grabbing her wrist and pushing her back.
I remove a switchblade from the back of my pants, the knife gleaming even in the dark corner.
"You seem rather fond of your new look," I start, noting the quickening of her pulse under my hand. "Why don't I make it permanent?" Just as the words are out of my mouth, the tip of the blade touches her fake skin, right where the prosthetic scar covers her cheek.
Cutting in the middle, I slowly drag the knife up.
She's almost shaking with fear—almost. Yet she still looks at me with that defiant gaze of hers.
"Go ahead," she pushes her chin up, thrusting her face further into my blade.
The corner of my mouth curls up, but I don't let her see how impressed I am with her resilience, or the fact that she's not attacking me as it's become the norm. I simply continue to cut through the fake skin until it's all but detached from her face.
Flinging the flap of silicone to the floor, I resume the position of the blade, but this time over her real skin.
"What would people say if this perfect skin was no longer... perfect?" I murmur against her cheek, my hot breath mingling with the cold of the steel and making her tremble. Her tongue peeks out to wet her lips as she regards me unblinking.
"Do it!" she challenges, bringing her hand up, her fingers wrapping around mine as she forces me to push the blade into her face. "Make me as ugly as you," she whispers, and I note the hint of determination in her gaze.
She's... serious—a sobering realization.
Suddenly, I find myself unable to go through with my threat. I don't know if it's the way she's glaring at me, a mix of misplaced courage and resolve, or the way she's slightly trembling in my arms, her body betraying her and belying her expression.
Instead of digging the blade into her cheek, I bring it lower, down her neck and towards the swell of her tits.
She's wearing a low-cut gown, perfectly molded to her body as it pushes those bountiful tits up, making them look too fucking perfect.
But that's what she is. Too fucking perfect. On the outside, at least.
I'd seen the way everyone was eating her up, no doubt already visions of her enticing curves dancing through their minds. All those puny boys are probably already thinking how to woo her better, how to reserve a spot between the sweet thighs that hide under her gown.
I grind my teeth in frustration as I realize how much the thought of her offering herself up to anyone bothers me. She's too perfect for mere mortals to touch. Too perfect for someone like me to touch. Yet touch I am as I let the blade rest between the valley of her breasts.
"You need someone to teach you a lesson, Gianna. You need a firm hand to show you how to behave like a human being. For once." I give her a lopsided smile.
Her chest expands with every inhale, the knife brushing against her skin and making her shiver. Her eyes are still on me, wild, her expression almost feral as she shoots that disdainful gaze at me.
I can't help the way my mind conjures up images of her on my lap, my palm resting against the curve of her ass as I spank the brat out of her. But those thoughts are dangerous, because my hand on her ass means my fingers would be close to her pussy, and damn if I hav
e no doubt I'd find her dripping wet and ready to soak my digits. Not with this fire that seems to be hidden within her, this arrogance that makes me want to orgasm her into submission.
Fuck!
This is dangerous. Too dangerous. I know her track record and I know her personality, and yet I can't help my own fucking reaction to her. I've never been this turned on by a woman before, especially a nasty one like Gianna. But God if I don't want to fuck the arrogance out of her and make her scream my name so that all those posh boys can hear who she belongs to.
"And you think you're the man to do it?" She asks snidely. "You're not fit to lick the dirt off my shoes, Mr. Bailey." Her hand on my knife, she keeps it to her breasts as she leans in, her mouth close to my ear. "You disgust me," she whispers, and I feel the satisfaction dripping from her voice. "I know you want me. I see the way your eyes follow me around. Even now, you're hard just being in my presence, aren't you?" she states with certainty, her eyes dropping to my crotch.
"Ah, sunshine, you're a touch too confident, aren't you?" I drawl, my other hand on her back as I bring my fingers down her spine in a soft caress. "My cock may think you'd do for a quick fuck, but I wouldn't touch you if my life depended on it," I reply, pushing the knife down her bodice and feeling the material give way with a snap, her tits bouncing ever so slightly at being freed from their confines.
She tenses, but she doesn't move.
"Good, because there will be a cold day in hell before you'll ever lay a finger on me," she does her best to keep her voice steady, even as I feel her body tremble under my fingertips.
"Not as cold as your touch, sunshine. There's only ice in this body of yours, and I'd rather not have my cock freeze off," I smirk down at her, keeping her against me.
If there's such a thing as a truthful lie, then this is mine. Because I don't want to touch her, yet I do.
Fuck but I do.
She raises her head slightly, her eyes meeting mine, a small battle of wills ensuing as we stare at each other.
"And yet," I continue, a smirk on my face, "I like you at my mercy." I tell her and her features pale.
"You're sick," she spits out, pushing against me so suddenly the knife grazes the creamy skin of her tits, drawing blood. A quick intake of breath and her eyes widen when she sees the gash that seems to grow larger.
Frivolous: A DARK MAFIA AGE-GAP ROMANCE Page 7