Matteo grabbed his wife, guiding her to the door where she winked at me and let him take her into the hall. Simon and Scar followed quickly, trailing after the stubborn couple who were impossible to guard effectively. "Take good care of her, Enzo!" she called as he dragged her away.
I closed the door, crossing my arms over my chest and leaning against it. Staring Sadie down, I grinned at her as she wracked her brain for a way to get rid of me. Her face was like a window to her mind, as every thought and emotion played on her features with such an obviousness that I had to wonder if everyone else saw right through her too.
The thought bothered me more than it should have. I wanted to be the only one who saw straight inside her. I wanted everything that made her to be a secret between the two of us, something nobody else got to experience and something that was mine alone.
I wanted to own her.
"Alright. This is how it’s going to go, Baby Girl. Pack a bag or I will. Your ass is getting on my bike. My house is bigger. It has better security—"
She cut me off, her voice dropping until she practically growled at me herself. "I am not your Baby Girl."
I smiled at her, pausing to study her face for a moment before I gave her the answer I already knew she'd never expect.
"You are now."
8
Sadie
I blinked up at him in shock.
I was not touching that statement with a ten-foot pole. I'd seen three women get wrapped up in the ridiculous insanity of Bellandi men. I would not become the next victim.
Not that it would matter. Enzo wouldn't want me for long. They never did once they got a glimpse at the real me and the amount of energy it took to keep up with my shit.
I opened my mouth, then thought better of it. Shaking my head, I turned on my heel and went for the kitchen. As soon as I opened the cupboard below the sink, my fingertips grazed against the bucket I kept there.
Right where it belonged.
Tugging it out, I reached down blindly and wrapped my fingers around the handle on the spray bottle of carpet cleaner. I didn't suspect it would be enough to get the blood stain out of my beige carpeting, but any little bit would help.
It had to.
I pulled on rubber gloves and filled the bucket with water. Grabbing a rag, I made my way back to the living room. Enzo stood right where I'd left him, studying the cleaning supplies in my hand. "Someone will take care of that," he said, pushing off the door with his foot.
"You're still here," I said, stating the obvious.
He just grinned at the best bitchy face I could muster, so it didn't seem like that would work in my favor. "You're cute."
"Don't call me cute," I warned, kneeling on the floor and using the rag to soak up as much of the blood as I could.
He studied the motion before the smile faded from his face. "Have it your way then." He walked past me, going straight into my open bedroom door. I hated him in that moment when I had no choice but to drop my rag into the dirty pink water and strip the gloves from my hands. Strange men did not get to wander about in my bedroom.
Under any circumstances.
The major reason for that wasn't that I had anything to hide or was afraid of what someone might find. It was that he might touch my shit.
I liked my shit right where it was.
By the time I made it to the doorway, the drawers of my dresser were all tugged open and he stared at the meticulously folded clothes and studied them. "You like folding laundry?" he asked, picking up a shirt from the top drawer. I strode forward, ripping it out of his grasp and refolding it to place it back on top of the pile where it belonged. His eyes were too knowing as he studied the way everything was arranged by color, at least until his eyes wandered to the drawer closest to my bed.
The apartment above the gym was small. Thanks to the high ceilings downstairs, there was only so much room we'd been able to work with. It was perfect for me, because I didn't need a lot of space. But it meant my dresser served as both that and my nightstand.
Tucked into a little box on the right side of my underwear drawer, my bright pink vibrator stood out like a shining beacon of masturbation. Enzo shook his head and bit his bottom lip to stifle his laugh as he lifted the tote bag he must have taken off the hook on the back of my door and grabbed a handful of underwear to shove into the bag.
"Pervert much? Should I just tell Matteo to call you the panty thief?" I asked, and he gave me a single bland look before reaching back in for a second handful. "Do me a favor? Leave the vibrator, Big Boy. I'm going to need it, and I ain't going with you."
He took a handful of shirts, and I studied the motion more than I wanted to as he shoved them into the bag unceremoniously. "Carina," he warned on a growl. "I promise, you will never need that again."
“If only that were true,” I mumbled, crossing my arms over my chest and arching a brow at him.
He plucked it out of the box, getting oddly intimate with my vagina for a stranger, and tossed it into the garbage bin on the other side of the room. Then without another warning, he moved on to my shorts and pants and shoved some of those into the bag for good measure. "Stop it," I hissed, my voice nearly betraying the panic I felt. The thought of my things being so dislocated from where they belonged made my heart race in my chest. He ignored it and didn't seem to notice the genuine distress that I tried to disguise, but my eyes never left the bag in his hand.
Not until he tossed a pair of sweatpants at me.
"Put them on. Can't have you freezing your fine ass off on my bike," he ordered, snapping me out of my trance the slightest bit, as I glanced down at the pants in my hand.
"Excuse me?" I wanted to deny the flattery I felt that the man thought I had a fine ass. Considering he was walking sex, that comment was okay with me.
Mostly.
He closed the distance between us, and my instincts took over as my panic rose. When his hand reached for the sweatpants, my right hand whipped out to shove it away with the heel of my palm. Dropping the sweats, I struck with my left, barely missing his chin when he jerked his head back with some of the fastest reflexes I'd seen in all my years working at the gym. Considering I trained with professional boxers, it wasn't a compliment I gave lightly.
Instead of being pissed off by my display of violence, he grinned and knelt in front of me. Snatching up the sweats, I was momentarily disoriented by the sight of those intoxicating hazel eyes staring up at me. Of the twist to his lips with his face so close to my breasts.
He snatched up my foot and shoved it through one of the holes in the pants before I snapped out of it. Tearing it out of his hands, I stumbled when he didn't let go and lost my balance. He moved quickly, like some kind of devil, impossibly fast. By the time I was trying to vault myself off the floor, he'd already gotten my other foot in the pants and tugged them up my legs while I squirmed.
I trained women how to fight a man trying to take her pants off.
I'd never thought of a scenario where one might try to put them on, and I didn't know what the hell to do with that. Kicking out, I tried to catch him in the face, but he caught my foot in his hand and shoved a boot on without bothering with a sock.
That alone was wrong on so many levels.
"Let go of me, you tit stain!" I snapped, trying to kick him with my other foot. He repeated the process and gathered up my jacket off the back of my bedroom door while I pushed up to my feet.
This was ridiculous. I was not a weakling. I wasn't pathetic.
How he maneuvered my body to do what he pleased when I wanted the opposite was beyond me. It didn't take him long to slip my jacket on and zip me up while I stared up at him. "What the fuck are you?" I whispered.
"Yours," he murmured, touching my cheekbone briefly as I stood there in shock. Once he'd zipped me up, he grasped me around the waist and slung me over his shoulder while I kicked. My tote draped over his shoulder, he turned and left my bedroom in his wake. Strolling past the mess in my living room, he nabbed the key
s off the rack and switched off the lights as he went out the front door and locked it behind him.
"Put me down!" I punched him in the ass, wincing when the rock hard muscle seemed to deflect the blow. He wasn't human. There was no way he could be with an ass like that. I suddenly wanted to take a bite out of it.
He jogged down the steps, somehow jarring me on his shoulder very little and holding me still until he plopped me onto the seat of a Harley like he did it every day.
The wild child in me wanted to rub the supple leather and purr, but the pissed off woman refrained. Before I could stand, he cupped my face in his hands and stared down at me intently. "You're going to hold on tight. I will not be pleased if you fall off."
I closed my eyes, trying to tune out the stare that threatened to make me unravel. He was too much, too fast, too soon.
What in the ever-loving fuck was happening?
There was no way I could survive being around a man like that and not be reminded of all the things I'd never be able to have. I tapped my fingers on my thigh, drawing in a deep breath while I tried to center myself against the magnetic pull he seemed to have over me. There was no logic to it, and nothing that should have made him appeal to me.
"What are you doing?" he asked, and his laugh coated my skin with the faintest tingle. That anticipation that came before sex built inside me in response.
And not just any sex.
Good sex.
"Cursing you," I lied.
"And what kind of curse are you putting on me, Carina?" he asked and warm, minty breath fanned over my cheek when he leaned closer.
"May your left sock always be wet."
He threw back his head, rich laughter rippling up his throat until the intoxicating sound filled the city street with warmth. “Just the left?”
“Yep. More annoying that way,” I agreed. Grabbing a spare helmet from the saddlebag, he dropped my tote down in its place. Sliding the helmet over my head, he tilted my chin up to secure the strap underneath it and pull it tight. Maneuvering himself onto the bike, no simple task with me already sitting on it, he tugged on my hands until my arms wrapped around his waist and pulled on his own helmet that he grabbed off the handlebars. He started up the engine, bringing it to a rumble beneath me that I felt in every part of my body.
Shit.
I was so fucked.
9
Sadie
The gates closed behind us, locking us inside a fortress of a gated community. Other homes with perfect lawns stretched out on either side of the narrow road that wound around the corner as we went further into the neighborhood.
I couldn't look back at the guards by the gate, couldn't see if they treated it like a prison as much as it felt. Logically, I knew the aim in a community like this was to keep people out. I also knew they weren't normally armed with rifles.
Would they keep me in?
The motorcycle revved underneath me as Enzo slowly continued down the winding road.
He drove all the way to the back until we'd long since passed the last house. The only things to look at on either side of the road were empty fields that faded into the night in the distance.
Until, at the very end of the road, there was a house that was a boxy mix of wood, stone, and a smooth stucco face. He touched a button on the handle of his bike, the garage door opened quickly, and he pulled the bike in. The minute it closed behind us, a beeping sound counted down through the space and he hurried off the bike and to a panel on the wall.
He pressed his left thumb to the unit, and I watched as the screen lit up in green and a robotic voice sounded through the garage as the beeping stopped. "Welcome home, Enzo."
He came back to where I sat stupefied on the bike, tugging the helmet off my head and placing it gently on the top of a toolbox. I winced, eyeing the hook above it where the helmet was undoubtedly meant to hang. His helmet followed, sitting next to the one I'd used and distracting me just enough that he tugged me off the bike and pulled me toward the door to the house without another thought. Snagging my bag with his free hand, he looked comical carting my blush tote around like a purse.
The house door closed behind us, and he turned to another panel on the wall. All the locks snicked closed audibly, and something like blinds dropped from the ceiling to cover the massive windows. "Bulletproof," he said, his tone uninterested like it would be obvious.
Because everyone had bulletproof blinds.
As soon as he turned on more lights, I stepped further into the kitchen and eyed the space. My hand ran over the clean counter, admiring the simple lines and the lack of clutter on the open main floor.
There was nothing unnecessary. Nothing out of place.
Except for the fruit bowl on the counter. I nudged it as I trailed my hand over the smooth marble, subtly straightening it so that the angle of the corner aligned with the angle of the counter itself.
"You like it?" Enzo asked, and I turned to look at him. His brow was furrowed as he studied me too closely.
"It's beautiful," I admitted, and even I knew it was an odd choice of words for a woman to use to describe something so square. The lines and the angles were all sharp and perfect, with varying tones of grey and black to accompany the woodwork in the floor and beams of the ceiling.
"Most women think it's cold and boxy," he said, a smile tilting his lips up. It seemed significant to him, somehow, that I would like his house.
I ignored the jealousy I had no right to feel, hating the way my heart clenched. I didn't know him. I had no claim over him.
So why did the thought of other women being in his house bother me so much?
"No! The angles are all so perfect." The living room faced a huge art canvas, the navy and blush colors working like such a perfect pop of color in the otherwise monochromatic space that I wanted to cry. It was clearly a woman's touch.
I didn't know a single man who would choose art with blush in it. That it was my favorite color must have been a random coincidence. It was probably his girlfriend's favorite too.
Unlike most of the Bellandis, he seemed like just the type to settle down. Far more than Matteo, Lino, and Ryker had, anyway.
"The angles?" he asked, his voice rising with a chuckle as he tested the words. I could practically feel his eyes studying me.
I stilled, spinning to give him an awkward smile. "Ninety-degree angles are my favorite."
Of all the things I could have said, I scoffed inside my head. Who the hell had a favorite angle?
He did me the favor of ignoring the weird statement. "It's late. I'll take you to your room and get you settled," he said, scratching the back of his head and leading the way to the stairs at the front of the house. I sighed with relief as we climbed them. One never knew quite what to expect from Bellandi men. "I'm not going to rape you, Sadie. You can tell me when you're ready."
"Ready for what?" I squeaked, my voice raising to a level I was fairly certain I hadn't heard in decades. There was something about him that disarmed me, that made me care too much. I always wanted to hide my quirks and the disorder they came from. But with him, it felt like he saw right through every cover that usually worked.
Like he saw right through to the very core of me.
"Ready for me to fuck you so hard you forget your own name and only remember mine," he murmured, and I tripped on the top step. Nearly falling to my face like an uncoordinated boob was not on my list of accomplishments for the night.
I'd single-handedly taken down an attempted kidnapper. I could handle walking.
Most days, but those words made my thighs clench up on me.
Mayday, Mayday. Abort mission.
I needed out now.
I laughed, deciding to insult his manhood to brush off the statement. I knew better than most that men were just pigs. They said shit like that just to boast, not because they genuinely meant any of it. "In my experience, men who make big claims like that?" I pinched my fingers in the universal symbol for small. "They never deliver."
> He growled, spinning and grabbing my waist. Pushing me back to the wall, he didn't stop until he towered over me and had me pinned with the hard surface at my back and his bulk at my front. Before we'd stopped moving, I'd grabbed a handful of his junk, ready to twist and squeeze until he begged for mercy.
Instead, he grinned for a moment, his eyes glancing down at where I held him through his jeans. The length of him twitched against my palm. And it was really, truly unfortunate that there was just too much there to be small.
Some men had it all.
"Do not speak of other men to me. They no longer exist for you, Carina." His hand stroked my hair, wrapping it around his fist and tugging until I tipped my head back under the pressure. "There's only me now."
His lips crashed down on mine, the taste of pure man filling my senses. He was everywhere, surrounding me, all over me.
I couldn't allow it.
I parted my lips for him, deceiving him into thinking I'd open for him. The way I so wanted to.
Just when I had him convinced, I sank my teeth into his bottom lip until I tasted blood. Instead of relenting, he gripped his hand around my jaw. Fingers on one side and thumb on the other, he applied just enough pressure that I had to release his lip. Then his tongue thrust inside, devouring my mouth until my body was ready to melt in his arms.
Until I was ready to climb him like a spider monkey.
Then he tore his mouth away, leaving me gaping after him as he picked up the bag off the floor and tossed it into the bedroom across the hall. His eyes went to the red stain on my lip as he ran his tongue over the wound on his own. With a wink, he turned back to the stairs. "Sweet dreams, Carina," he said.
I stepped into the room, observing how perfect everything was in there as well. The bathroom was immaculate, looking like it was never used. Either he was as obsessive as I was, which I didn't think was the case given the state of the clothes in my bag, or he wasn't home often.
Shielded Wrongs: A Dark Mafia Romance (Bellandi Crime Syndicate Book 4) Page 5
