by K. V. Rose
“Me,” he answers his own question. “You belong to me. Now make me believe it, love. Make me believe you’re mine.”
But I’m not.
And I want him to make me do it.
I want him to force me, because otherwise, I’ll hate myself for it. Even after what I just let him do, it was all him. This feels different. Like I should fight it.
I push away, against his hand on my head. My own hands are on my thighs, but still, I angle my head away from him, fighting him, just a little.
He laughs, fingers tightening against my hair as he forces me closer. “You like fighting me?”
I meet his gaze, see the smile in his eyes.
“Answer me, pretty girl.”
I bite my lip, feel my face warm all over again. “Yes, Daddy.”
He tips his head back and groans, “Fuck,” before he dips his chin and pushes himself back into my open mouth, as far back as he can.
We continue like this, me pretending not to want it, and hating that I do. Him not giving a fuck how I feel about it either way.
And when he slows and my lips are swollen, my throat sore, I feel him tighten in my mouth and he finishes, dragging his cock out slowly so his cum coats my tongue.
When he’s done, he pulls out of me, leans down and catches my chin between his thumb and his forefinger, tipping my head up.
“Open your mouth, stick out your tongue.”
I do, feeling my face heat as he inspects me.
“Swallow it.”
I do that too.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it, love?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer him. Instead, he lets go of me, then offers me his hand.
Warily, I take it, thinking something bad is coming now that he’s gotten what he wanted.
But he just pulls me up, toward him.
“Dominance isn’t all about pain and humiliation, Addison,” he whispers in my ear, holding me close to him. “Sometimes it’s about pulling you to your feet after you’ve gotten down on your knees. It’s give and take. Don’t let anyone teach you otherwise.”
With those words, he pulls away, gestures to the bed. “Lie down.”
I wipe the back of my hand over my mouth, then do as he said, conflicting thoughts rushing through my head. Shame and pleasure and exhaustion settle over me as he covers my body, and I turn to face the wall.
He lies next to me, one arm around me, and together, we fall asleep.
At least for a little while.
It’s an interesting thing when the predator becomes the prey.
Interesting when the lion becomes the lamb, just days away from slaughter.
And it’s infuriating that I can’t help but feel a sense of foreboding about what’s to come. A sliver of unease at making a man like Max become…nothing.
As I watch him sleep, a slice of moonlight illuminating the sharp planes of his face, the wounds on his perfect skin, it’s his eyelashes, more than anything else, that remind me that he was once a little boy.
They’re long and black, nearly grazing his cheeks as he sleeps. I don’t know what horrors he lived with, but I can only imagine they’re as bad as mine. To become this evil, this monstrous, yet with that finely-honed edge of manipulation…he came from somewhere dark.
But I think he’s forgotten, in his world of wickedness, that he isn’t the only one. He isn’t the only one that grew up with fiends masquerading as parents. He isn’t the only one who received pain instead of comfort. And he’s not the only one who can snake his way out of a fate worse than death.
I breathe in Addison’s innocent scent, hold her closer to me in her bed, my hands wrapped around her chest.
Blinking my eyes open, I wince, taste blood in my mouth.
There’s dim light coming from the small window set near her ceiling, and I know today is going to be a long one. I know I should get up, slip out of here.
But I don’t.
Luca is holding another party before he returns south, to Miami. I have no interest in going, considering what happened last time I did, but he has information that I need. He’d looked into Jameson’s claims that Danik London is a narc, but he didn’t want to tell me what he found over the phone, and the past five days, I’ve been a little fucking busy.
I press my swollen lips to Addison’s hair, letting my eyes flutter closed. A sharp pain lights up along my brow, and every muscle in my body aches.
Still, with her so close to me, her perfect body, her beautiful face and the memory of her staring up at me, on her knees…my dick is aching being so close but knowing I have to give it all up soon.
Give her up.
The second visit to see Elliot down in Culiacan was a reminder of just what I have to lose.
I took the flight because the day after Luca’s party, the asshole with the face tattoos wouldn’t leave the edge of my property, him and his men in blacked-out vehicles on my street. Typically, I would’ve fucking killed them, called in a guy to bury the bodies.
But this is different.
I’m a puppet on a string until I have Oliver back. And not only is there more to lose, but the playing field is far dirtier.
This isn’t on the same level as the factions of individuals that work along the east coast hoarding their own assets, stacking their own cash, dealing in drugs and guns and trafficking.
I have no love for America, but their criminals know how to keep things on the low. There are no heads in freezers, no bodies hanging from bridges.
In some parts of Mexico, with the cartels, things aren’t so…nice.
I was reminded of that the second I stepped foot out of the airport and me and my guard were both drugged.
I woke up in a warehouse, a bag over my head, arms bound behind my back.
Things got worse from there.
Zeke, I was told, took things too far. Zeke was only supposed to “check on” Addison. But I, apparently, wasn’t supposed to kill him.
For that, I paid with my own blood.
And I saw another video of just the sort of hell Oliver has endured.
My stomach twists up in knots, thinking about it.
About him.
On his knees.
A collar around his throat. His mouth opening and closing as he tried not to hum, like he always did when we were kids and he was nervous. Of the way he rocked back and forth, and Addison’s future buyer struck him with a whip each time he moved.
Eighteen years, and Oliver looks like a man.
But he acts much the same as he did when he was mine to protect. Mine to look out for. Mine to…fail.
Ollie became the very thing my father always hated him for. Weak.
I wanted to kill Jameson.
I still do.
I asked Elliot who took Oliver, wanting him to confirm what my father told me. Wanting him to tell me something else too. Wanting both things at once, so I could hate my father more. So, I could pretend he wasn’t as sick as I remember him to be.
But he is.
Elliot confirmed it was the same man hired by my father to kill my mother. He was also tasked with taking Oliver to an auction and sending my father the profit. As an autistic, non-verbal boy, Ollie was deemed easy to train. Easy to manipulate. Easy to hurt.
My fucking brother.
Rage like fire fills my veins, and I have to work hard not to crush Addison to me.
And I’m sending her to the man who bought a disabled boy. To the man who raped him. Used him. Hurt him.
This is what happens when you play with fire. This is what happens when your hope gets bigger than your fucking common sense.
And Addison has to pay the price.
I hold her closer, feel her stir in her sleep, but she doesn’t wake up.
Her life will be miserable when she leaves here, and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. Backing out isn’t an option. I can’t leave Oliver.
Not again.
Even if I found a way to keep her, if I murdered Jameson in cold blood, som
eone would come after me, with the people he’s found an in with.
She’s fucked, no matter what happens.
For now, though, I can distract her. For now, I can try to show her that I’m sorry. That I hate what will become her life. That I do, in my own fucked up way, care for her. Even if, in the end, it means absolutely nothing.
The house is crowded, most of the party congregating in Luca’s entertainment room. It’s as if no one was shot here a week ago.
Music is pouring through his sound system, making my head throb.
I don’t listen to music, and I don’t appreciate it like I should. In my house growing up, music was used to drown out the screams of the dying.
But this isn’t my home and I respect I have no control over what happens here. For that reason alone, I’m ready to leave. As soon as Luca tells me what he discovered, I’ll do just that.
Evora is at my side for appearance’s sake, and I turn to her, my eyes raking over her tight, bronze dress, the way it flows over her hips, fitting just like a glove.
Her long, shiny brown hair is pulled into a high ponytail, and she looks good. Tonight, when I leave here, I’m going to take a knife to her throat as I fuck her, and she’ll look even better, covered in blood.
She hasn’t asked about the bruises, like Addison did.
She hasn’t asked, and I haven’t told her.
As a waiter passes by, champagne on a silver platter, I take a glass and chug it.
I’d much rather spill Addison’s blood tonight, but I’ve done enough damage to last her a lifetime. I’ve done enough to get us both fucked up, and yet I can’t find it in me to feel any remorse about the situation. I don’t regret meeting a girl like her, full of fire and feeling, even if I have to send her off to a hell worse than mine.
Thinking about last night is enough to make my dick hard, and I set the champagne glass on another passing tray and resist the urge to down one more.
Addison London has to go, and the fact that sometime soon we’ll likely be boarding a plane to Russia should make me feel good.
She’ll be out of my fucking hair.
Like Dante, once she’s out of sight, she’ll be out of my mind.
I’ll have my brother back.
But I don’t want to let her go, and I hate that I can’t have both of them.
My mother used to say I had an addictive personality, which is funny, because I rarely drink and don’t do drugs. Sleeping pills are something I battle with, because they silence the nightmares.
But she meant people. My mother said I had been addicted to her and Ollie, always wanting to know where they were going, when they would be home if Oliver had an appointment.
I had no shame about running to the door to hug my mother, even as a teenager.
She deserved it.
She died for me. Risked and forfeited her life to keep me and Ollie safe.
Is that an addiction? Craving loyalty that transcends the grave? Loyalty you’d die for? Break bones for? I don’t know.
I do know, though, that while I don’t regret meeting Addison, I’m sure as hell the feeling isn’t mutual.
She tried to run twice.
I can’t blame her.
I see Luca approaching me and I push the thought aside. He has an unopened beer in hand and a smile on his face. But despite the smile, something is…off. It’s not just the message he sent, either. His dark eyes are narrowed, and while he glanced once at Evora, he’s holding my gaze as if he’s trying to convey something without words.
Handing me the beer, he leans in close and I do my best not to back away from him.
“Let’s step outside.”
My fingers clench around the ice-cold bottle as he leans back, a brow cocked, as if waiting for me to tell Evora I’m going away for a word.
I grit my teeth, but the look in Luca’s eyes is pissing me off. I need to know what he knows, and I need to know what the fuck it has to do with me. There are already too many uncontrollable factors at play here with the warning from Addison’s buyer about Danik becoming an informant and the change in flight plans to St. Petersburg.
Not to mention Elliot’s warning.
If Luca has more bad news, I’ll snap.
I turn to Evora and nod once. “I won’t be long.”
Without another word, I follow Luca through the room, a few people clapping him on the back as we head toward the door I walked in from. No one dares to touch me, and even though I’ve got the beer in my hand, my other hand is at my hip, on the gun I wouldn’t let Luca’s guards take from me.
He knows better.
He pushes open the heavy wooden door to the room, and we step out into a cream-colored hall, pale gold floors beneath our feet. The door swings shut, and I take a deep breath in the quiet of the corridor.
Luca slips his hands into his pockets and nods toward my beer. “You might want to drink that.”
I don’t say a word. I just wait for him to get to the fucking point.
He blows out a breath, runs his tongue over his teeth, then he says, “Your man was right. Danik’s been compromised.”
I twist the cap off of the beer and slip it into my pocket as I take a drink and hold Luca’s gaze.
“Yeah,” he says, nodding, shifting from foot to foot, even though I didn’t say anything.
I take another drink.
He rubs his hand over his jaw, clearly stressed. “He’s…he’s an informant for the DEA. He’s waiting for you, Max.” His eyes meet mine. “Waiting to secure proof of funds, meet with you to get his sister, and get you in cuffs.” He drops his hand and bites the inside of his cheek. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was tweaking. He’s twitchy, restless. But Luca doesn’t do drugs. He just sells them. “Danik London wants everyone to burn.”
I take another drink, keeping my eyes on Luca’s. I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him, which is a reasonable distance, but I’m not sure what any of this has to do with me now. I have no plans to meet with Danik, and he hasn’t reached out to me.
“You need to leave.”
I drink again.
“She’s going to give him everything.” He slams his fist against the wall, turning away from me. “You need to go, now. She’s going to give him everything. Anything she’s seen in your house,” he turns to me, dropping his hand. “It’s not just the drugs, Max. It’s the fucking trafficking. The murder. You’ve let her go free, haven’t you?” He steps closer, points a finger toward me but doesn’t touch me. “You haven’t kept her locked up, and she’s going to—”
“How do you know that?” I interrupt him coldly, glancing at his finger an inch from my chest.
He drops his hand.
“How do you know that I haven’t kept her locked up, Luca?”
His brown skin goes suddenly pale.
I grip the bottle in my hand tighter, waiting.
He rakes a hand through his thick, dark hair. “Have you?” he counters. “Have you kept her—”
I drop the bottle, where it shatters on the floor between us. I’ve got the Glock to his head before he can think to reach for his own gun. “I really, really don’t want to ask you again, Luca.” I back him against the wall, right beside the door to his entertainment room. If any of his guards saw me now, they’d shoot me in the back of the head.
But they’re not here right now, and I’m considering shooting Luca and making his guards fucking mine.
Being a man, he doesn’t lift his hands. Doesn’t cower or start stammering. Instead, he says with a wry smile, “You have to be careful who you trust. Even inside your own home. I would’ve thought you’d learned that by now.”
I say nothing, waiting, but as focused as I am on him, I can’t help wondering if he’s telling the truth about Danik. Who goes surfing when they know their sister may be taken at any minute? Who stays at an address that everyone in the business knows, because everyone keeps tabs on the kids of crime lords?
What if this was all a set up?
And what if Addison knew it, all along?
If that’s the case…Danik London will get to bury his sister in fucking pieces.
I try to tamp down on my rage, knowing that if I pull this trigger and put a bullet between Luca’s eyes, his guards will come for me, and I’ll have to kill all of them and manage not to get shot while I leave here to find Addison. She’s worth way too much to risk it.
If Danik is working with the DEA, and if Luca knows that I haven’t kept her chained, then he’s either fucked me over, or he chose his words very, very poorly.
“What did you do?” I ask him through gritted teeth. I shove the gun harder against him. “What did you fucking do?”
His smile falters. I see his internal battle as his eyes flick from mine to the floor, back again. Finally, he says, “They threatened my mother.” He swallows, a sheen of sweat on his brow because he knows exactly what I’m going to do. “They wanted me to get her because they don’t trust you, and they threatened my fucking mother, Max!”
I lower the gun from his head, fire two shots into his thigh instead.
He screams, clutching his leg, red blooming along his dark pants, dampening the fabric as he slides to the floor.
I hear what can only be described as a pause from the entertainment room, and I know I have seconds before a guard is on me.
“If you come for me, Luca, I’ll make your fucking mother scream my goddamn name before I fuck her to death. And this?” I gesture toward his leg with my gun. “This isn’t over.”
With that promise, I turn my back to him and jog down the hallway, toward the front door. I hear people screaming and the doors to the entertainment room bursting over.
I keep going.
Somewhere in the chaos, I hear a woman scream my name.
Evora.
I debate half a second, the double doors to the front of Luca’s house in sight.
Half a second, and I’ve made my decision.
I walk out, shooting two guards in the back as I do, and I get in my car and leave.
The rope is biting into my wrists, my mouth, the feel of it against my teeth rough and straw-like. My head is aching, and I feel blood trickling down the side of my face.
