Captive Beauty Page 6

  “Make me.”

  I look at the scratches down his face. Look at the deeper one, the permanent one. Did someone else try to make him before?

  “Make me let you go, Cilla.”

  I squeeze my hand around his cock, but it only makes him moan with pleasure, makes him swell in my palm. And when I try to pull away again, he twists my wrist, drawing me even nearer, our bodies pressing against each other.

  “Fight. You want to,” he says, his voice also low and deep, barely a whisper.

  “It’s what you want. I told you I’ll never give you what you want.”

  Even as I say it, I know I’m a hypocrite because I am fighting, trying to free myself, I know it’s useless. I know the only way I’ll be free is when he frees me. And some part of me, it wants this. Some sick, destructive part of me wants exactly this.

  Kill slides his free hand along my thigh, bunches up the silk as he hikes it up, all the while our eyes locked. But when he cups my sex, I go completely still.

  “Why did you do it?” he asks.

  “What?” I can’t breathe. Not when he’s holding me like this.

  “Why did you come here? Why did you agree?”

  Why did I offer myself in exchange for my brother? That’s what he’s asking?

  I slide my gaze away. I can’t answer that. I won’t.

  I shake my head once, he moves his fingers. I bite my lip.

  “You’re wet, Cilla.”

  “No.”

  He grins. “Again,” he says. “Kiss me again.”

  I begin my struggle anew, knowing I have to get away. To free myself. Because this man, he does something to me. Something wicked. A thing that will break me because he was right last night. I am a whore. I’m exactly his whore.

  “No. Never.”

  I break free and, before I can think, I raise my arm to slap him. I know he can stop me. I know because I hesitate, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t stop me and the sound my hand makes when it collides with his face is deafening. He flinches, but barely. When I prepare to do it again, though, he catches my wrist.

  “Let me go!”

  He’s watching me with that grin, the one that says ‘I know I’ll win’. The one that says, ‘I already have’.

  Any momentary tenderness is replaced by dominance. By ownership. I lock eyes with him again, but this time, it’s like predator and prey. And I am firmly cornered. Caught.

  “You want this, Cilla. You want this exactly like this.”

  “I don’t.”

  He walks me backward until my back hits the wall. That’s when he releases my sex, grabbing my hips instead, raising me up, fingers digging into me. I know he’s right. That I’m wet. He keeps me there with one hand while with the other, he undoes his belt, his pants, pushes them down. I look at his cock. It’s thick and big. Too fucking big, the bulbous head glistening with pre-cum.

  “Wait,” I gasp, but he grips my legs, widening them, setting them around his hips. I feel him at my entrance and I’m sucking in air as I cling to his shoulders, his neck. “I—”

  “Shh. It’s okay to want, Cilla.”

  He’s taunting me and I hate him for it. For his control over me.

  He closes his mouth on mine, biting my lip. I taste the metallic taste of blood.

  He’s wrong. I don’t want this. I swear I don’t. I can’t want it.

  My eyes are closed, and when I open them, I find him watching me.

  “Cilla,” he says, his voice a hoarse whisper as he drives into me, his full length plunging too deep too fast. I’m not ready, even aroused—because I am aroused—I’m not ready, and I cry out.

  He moans at the sound and slides out, then thrusts again. One hand is wrapped around my hip, with the other, he tears the dress apart and takes my breast between his fingers, kneading it, then gripping the nipple between thumb and forefinger, drawing it out as he thrusts again.

  I gasp but the pain and pleasure, they’re confused. My clit is rubbing against him, his cock is splitting me in two and with his fingers punishing my nipple, I’m going to come. I don’t want to, don’t want to give him the satisfaction, but I’m slick and he’s fucking me harder, faster, and his eyes are watching me. Seeing me.

  Fuck.

  He closes his mouth over mine again and when he groans and stills and I again taste blood, I suck in a desperate breath and I come. I come as he empties inside me, filling me as he throbs against my contracting walls, his eyes shining, bright, his voice low and deep when he says my name, and I finally close my eyes, unable to hold his, hating myself for coming, for giving over to this pleasure, a pleasure that belongs to him.

  Like me.

  Like I belong to him.

  He pulls out and a gush of liquid slides down my thighs. I look at the mixture of blood and cum. I’m not a virgin, but he was too big, too violent. My knees buckle when my feet hit the floor but he catches me. I slump into him, the top of my head in his chest. I am ashamed. I am…vanquished.

  Kill wraps a hand around my throat and forces me to look at him, holding me up against the wall. His grip isn’t choking, but it can be. At any moment, he can snap my neck.

  He looks at my mouth and I touch my lip with my tongue. I taste blood. He leans in and licks it, takes my lip between his, sucks hard while watching me. When he pulls back, I look down at my ripped dress, hear my own panting breath.

  “Look at me,” he commands.

  I don’t make a sound. I shake my head, the slightest shake.

  “Cilla,” it’s a groan, a sound with an edge. A threat. And the squeezing of his hand is another warning.

  I force my gaze to his, feel myself burn. I don’t know what I expect. Gloating? Some rude, demeaning comment? More humiliation? But all he does is look at me like he’s memorizing me, my face, my eyes, like he knows what I’m feeling. What I’m thinking. Like he sees right through me.

  “You’re mine, Cilla. See it when you clean my cum off your thighs. Remember it when your cunt throbs as you try to sleep tonight. Know it. And know that you loved it. That you came so hard you couldn’t fucking stand when it was finished. And most importantly,” he leans in even closer so his mouth is touching my ear, “know that I know.”

  He releases me and steps back and I can’t stand so I slide down along the wall and he watches me. There’s no pity in his eyes. No violence. Only a contentment, a victory. Because tonight, Killian Black won.

  8

  Kill

  I’m driving back into the city. I still smell her on me. Feel her cum on my dick. She was so tight, I thought for a minute she was a fucking virgin. And she was aroused from minute one.

  I meant what I said to her too. That I like taking. Thing is, she likes it too. She wants it. Wants me to take. She just can’t bring herself to admit it. But her pussy, it doesn’t lie. Her lips may lie, but her body can’t.

  My cellphone vibrates on the seat beside me. It’s Hugo. I hit a button on the steering wheel and I can hear the club in the background.

  “Kill.”

  His standard greeting. I met Hugo during my time behind bars. By the time I got there, he’d already served six years for killing some white supremacist prick. Back then, I wasn’t sure of my release only four years into my sentence. But when Dominic Benedetti came through, when he pulled the strings that got me my early release, I hired Hugo as soon as he was out. Favors from the local boss of the Italian mafia don’t come cheap and I needed him as much as he needed the work. I still don’t know the details why Benedetti did it. I know he had some beef with my uncle, and I guess my killing him solved that, but he didn’t owe me shit.

  The gentlemen’s club, Mea Culpa, it’s mine. Not my big fucking dream, but it works. Makes me the money I need. Gives me a gateway to funnel through shit that, even though the local authorities know is getting funneled, needs to be done discreetly. They know their greedy little fingers are greased by the mob and they take it, all behind their hypocritical faces.

  “We have a problem,�
�� Hugo continues.

  I can guess what the problem is. His name is Benjamin Black III. My fucking dickhead cousin who, having no foot to stand on, still thinks he’s owed something. And of all things, owed it by me. The only reason I don’t kill the son of a bitch is because he’s family.

  Although I guess my uncle was family too, but that sick bastard deserved to die for what he did. He’s the reason Ginny’s in the ground. He’s the reason I spent four years behind bars.

  And I guess I do feel like I owe him my protection. The shit with his father—my uncle—happened when he was fourteen. He doesn’t know the extent of what that prick did and, being the good guy I am, I wanted to spare him. But what’s the expression? No good deed goes unpunished. That’s about where I’m at with Ben, known to Hugo and me as Benji. But this stunt with Jones, it’s going to need to be punished.

  “What is it?”

  “I want to bury my fist in your cousin’s face, that’s what.”

  “You and me both. I’m on my way in. Put him in a room to cool down. I need to talk to him anyway.”

  “It’s different this time. He’s brought friends to play.”

  “What are you talking about?” My cousin doesn’t have friends.

  “Antonino’s men. Four of them. Benji’s fucking walking around like he’s the fucking king.”

  “You have got to be kidding me.”

  “Wish I were.”

  Arturo Antonino is the ousted boss of the Antonino family. In my humble opinion, Dominic Benedetti made a mistake letting him live after the incident with the Rossi family. He’d disappeared for a while, kept a very low profile, which was smart. But he’s basically split the Antonino family in two, half of whom are loyal to his cousin, and in turn, loyal to the Benedetti family, the other half merged with the Rossi family. If Antonino thinks he can somehow beat Dominic Benedetti in his own territory, he’s a fucking idiot with a death wish. Which makes my cousin, who I know for a fact is an idiot, another idiot with a death wish.

  “I can ask them to leave but it’s exactly what they want me to do. There’s a van parked outside that I have a feeling is full of Rossi soldiers.”

  “I’m about twenty minutes away. Just keep an eye on Benji. The fucking imbecile.”

  “You got it.”

  I’m parked in my reserved spot at the club fifteen minutes later. The lot is full, but it’s always full, and I see the van Hugo mentioned he thinks contains Rossi soldiers. It’s sitting at the farthest corner of the lot with the back doors open. I don’t know how many men there are but it’s more than the two standing outside smoking, watching me. They’ve also busted the overhead streetlamp. Fuckers.

  The club itself is located inside a large warehouse where the main floor is the club, the basement is, well, where some of the uglier business gets handled. My office is on the floor above and Hugo lives on the top level.

  Two men stand sentry at the large doors of the front entrance. They’re the first checkpoint. I nod to their greeting and they pull the doors open where inside is the second checkpoint.

  “Hey boss,” Chrissy’s thick voice greets me. Chrissy is actually Chris, a transgender who may look like a sweet piece from behind the glass wall, but if you fuck with her, you’ll be on your back with the spiked heel of a $500 pump impaled in your throat. Met her in prison too. She was Chris then and got the shit beat out of her regularly. At least until I showed up she did. It only made her stronger, she says. Cup half full person, I guess.

  “Evening, Chrissy. I hear we have some unwanted guests.” I strip off my coat and hand it to the girl working coat check tonight.

  The smile she reserves for the usual clients vanishes. “Rossi bastards. I know for a fact at least one is armed. I let Hugo know right away.”

  “You did the right thing. I’ll take care of it.”

  Two more men stand at the second set of doors that lead into the club itself. They open both when I approach and I survey the space, spotting Benji immediately. He and his new friends are at the far stage where two girls are putting on a show. Bills carpet the floor of the stage, which I can understand is a huge motivator. I pay my girls well, but it’s the tips that take them into the six-figure earning category.

  Benji doesn’t see my approach, but two of the men around him do. I notice their shiny revolvers when they pull their jackets back. Hugo flanks me as I give them the once over. They should know better than to come into my club armed. Benji should know better.

  I walk between the men like I don’t give a fuck, because I don’t, and wrap an arm around Benji’s shoulders just as he realizes I’m there.

  “Ben, Ben, Ben,” I say, looking down at him. He stumbles to his feet. All 5’8” of him. At 6’4”, I’ve got eight inches on him. And about fifty pounds of solid muscle.

  “Kill,” he says, his bloodshot eyes always betraying that little momentary panic he feels in my presence. He shrugs free of my hold and clears his throat, straightening his spine. He looks an inch taller tonight. I look down at his feet and I chuckle. I have to. The douche is wearing what must be a specially made pair of men’s shoes with a fucking platform. “You need to teach your dog there some manners,” he says, pointing to Hugo. He picks up his drink, some mixed shit, and takes a long sip from the straw. A fucking straw.

  I feel Hugo’s eyes narrow beside me and see how Ben shrinks back. Jesus. What a fucking pussy. How the hell do we share blood?

  “You know you’re welcome here anytime you like, but that invitation doesn’t extend to members of either the Antonino or the Rossi families. Don’t tell me you didn’t know that.”

  “They’re my friends.”

  “Don’t be an idiot.” I’m not fucking around. I don’t want trouble, not inside. “You also know my rule about weapons.”

  “We’re just having some fun. Spending money in your establishment. Putting money in your pocket.”

  “I don’t need their money. Time for your friends to go home. You and me though? We need to have a talk.”

  He rubs his eye, his nose, as he looks around nervously. I wonder if he’s not high on top of being drunk.

  I look at Hugo. “Have Chrissy call my cousin a cab. Boys,” I say, turning to the men surrounding Ben. My men circle them. “Time to go home. And you tell whoever it is who ordered armed soldiers on my property I better never learn his fucking name. Understand?”

  The idiots stand there looking at Ben for direction and he’s still rubbing his nose, one eye on the girls still making out on the stage.

  “Get them out of here,” I say.

  My men surround them, disarm them in a matter of moments, and have them out the exit before the rest of the patrons even notice what’s what. Ben sits back down and returns his attention to the girls. I take a seat beside him.

  “What was that stunt with Jones?” I ask.

  “What stunt?” But he knows what I’m talking about.

  I take a deep breath in, then out. I turn to him. “Look at me, Benji.”

  “Don’t fucking call me that.” He’s struggling to drag his gaze from the women.

  “Then grow the fuck up and I won’t have to.”

  He faces me.

  “Why would you have an idiot like Jones steal from me? You knew he’d get caught.”

  Ben’s eyes harden. “It’s fucked up when people you trust fuck you, isn’t it?”

  He’s trying to make a point but he’s doing it badly. “I don’t trust him. I never did.”

  Ben gives me a nervous giggle. “Just keeping you on your toes, Cous. Come on, just messin’ with you. You know I’m loyal to you.”

  “You’re not messing with me. You’re messing with the fucking mob if you steal their coke. Do you have any idea what they’ll do to a guy like you?”

  He clearly hasn’t thought about that part.

  “Let me put it in simple terms. If they leave you alive, and that’s a big if, you’ll wish they hadn’t. You don’t fuck with men like Dominic Benedetti.”

&nb
sp; “There’s a war brewing. New players in town. You don’t know everything, Cous.”

  “I know your new friends will only get you in trouble. I thought you were smarter than that.”

  Ben turns his attention back to the girls on the stage and picks up his drink. He sucks back the rest of it, then turns to me. “Don’t pretend you care about me, Kill. Not after what happened. What you did.”

  “You know why it happened.” I stand. “We’re not talking about this.” I lean down close to him, take him by the collar, raise him up out of his seat. “I just need you to know that if you try to fuck me, you will fail. But when I fuck you back, I won’t. Am I clear?”

  I hear him swallow. He’s scared. He always has been.

  “Am I fucking clear?”

  “Yes. Clear as a fucking bell.”

  “Good.”

  I release him and he sits back down. He returns his attention to the girls. I shake my head and head to the elevator. Hugo follows after instructing two men to keep an eye on Benji. We ride up to my office.

  “If word gets to Dominic that Rossi’s men were here, he’ll send a message,” I say.

  “And you’re afraid your cousin will get caught in that net?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You don’t owe Benji shit.”

  “I know that. I just feel sorry for the kid.”

  “He’s not a kid anymore. He was before, but you took care of him. Your job is done.”

  “Because of me he’s on his own.”

  “No, because of his father, he’s on his own. He’s bad news, Kill.”

  “What do you want me to do? He’s my fucking cousin.”

  “He’s a bad seed.”

  “You think I don’t know that?”

  “If Dominic finds out from someone else, he’ll be wondering why you weren’t the one to tell him.”

  The elevator doors slide open to my office. Once inside, I switch on the monitors and locate Ben in one. I keep one camera trained on him and switch another one on to show me what’s happening at the Rockcliffe House. “I’ll talk to Dominic,” I say to Hugo.