SAVAGE POET: A Dark, New Adult and College Romance

by Jax Hart

  “No. No way.” I stand so suddenly the chair falls over as I press my back against the wall.

  “You’re in no position to make demands.”

  “I won’t do it and you’ll never have closure on what happened to your sister.”

  He roars, throwing the chair against the opposite wall. The other agent steps in, interceding and practically drags him from the room.

  “Look this over then sign, Ms. Fiorelli. Your freedom in exchange for taking away Mr. Salvatore’s.”

  “No tracer in my skin? Got it.”

  “You must check in with us.”

  “He’ll make me.”

  “Fine. We can put the tracer in a piece of jewelry. A watch? A bracelet?”

  “Bracelet.”

  She reads my mind… “The tracer has motion detection and GPS. Don’t even think about taking it off.”

  I nod once, then carefully read the contract. Me for him. My freedom in exchange for his lifetime sentence. I know he’s not an innocent man, after all I was his first victim. The revenge I’ve waited a lifetime for is in my hands. I remember Mama, Zio, and fresh in my mind—the pictures of the girls.

  I lift the pen, signing my name illegibly, nothing like my signature script.

  “There, done.”

  “Don’t fuck this up.” The agent hands me the tracker and recording gadgets. “We’ll be in touch.”

  “What? I don’t get my own jet back to the states?” I mock as I’m practically shoved out after being dragged here.

  “Four months. Tic tok.”

  I push my shades back up my nose. Four months. To capture Roque, but how do I get myself out of the dragnet? I’m given back my luggage. I take a cab to the airport, booking a business class seat to Miami using one of the fake passports they had returned. I need to let Roque catch me. He needs to think I slipped up and he finally won. If it’s too easy he’ll suspect that something is up. My pulse quickens at the image of him coming for me knowing I’m going to let him. Will I be able to resist the sheer magnitude of him? I’ve failed every damn time. But I need to redeem myself. I can’t fall for his devilish charm ever again. Roque Salvatore is a killer. Always was. Always will be. Period. The End.

  12

  Romina

  He’s not coming for me. If he was, he’d have found me by now. That knowledge rolls around my insides in nasty waves. I was careful, too. When I arrived in Miami, I was in full disguise, carefully choosing a rental on Key Biscayne a short fifteen-minute drive from South Beach. From my balcony, the high-rise condos, and hotels across the harbor light up at night. He must know I’m here. I’ve been careful but shed my disguise. My flame-colored hair hangs down my back. I only shield my moss eyes when I need to from the sun and a few times, I let my full face be caught for a few seconds by street cameras. Either Hans is off his game or Roque is over me.

  Agent Jack-ass is becoming impatient that I’ve been unable to make contact. So tonight, I’m going out. Running my hands down my strapless mini dress the color of a fresh-cut emerald, I turn in the mirror. Wearing five-inch heels is not the smartest thing but damn if my legs won’t rival any supermodel’s tonight. My tits are so small and perky, I don’t even need a bra. Besides, the dress scoops low in the back making wearing one impossible anyway.

  I rarely apply makeup but thanks to Tati and K, I know enough about how to style my long hair and perfect a smoky eye.

  Grabbing my small clutch with my burner I head out with the tracker bracelet on my wrist for my only jewelry. I take a water taxi across the small bay to South Beach. The smell of the salt, the tang of it on my tongue… the sexy way the moon shimmers over the water tonight makes me long for things that died long ago. Maybe tonight I’ll meet someone. A sexy stranger to dance the night away with and just maybe for a moment I can forget the ugly of my world.

  The small taxi boat docks and my pulse quickens. Miami Beach at night is alive with its own heartbeat. Bass from the clubs spills out into the night. Groups of women dressed to kill mill around while men in summer suits follow them with their eyes. All this happens under the swaying elegance of fifty-foot palm trees.

  The waves crash nearby, adding their own rhythm to the South Beach beat. I straighten my spine and lift my chin. Club Eden is just up ahead. It’s rumored to be owned by Dimitri Santos, Lord of South Beach, and notorious crime king of the underworld. His territory is south of New York and ends where Roque’s begins. There’s no way me being in his club will go unnoticed.

  When I enter Eden, it takes a full thirty seconds for my eyes to adjust. The music is loud but not to the point your ear drums hurt. It’s old world, decadent and rich with solid wood paneling and mirrored ceilings. Instead of one big room, the lower level of the club is several rooms separated by heavy black velvet curtains drawn back by solid gold colored tasseled rope. Rumor is this place is a S&M club but so far, I don’t see any collared women or overly DOM like men, but you never know in South Beach just what in the heck is in store.

  From the side glances coming my way, I know I look good. One dip of my chin is all it would take for the many men checking me out to move forward. Ignoring them all, I walk further inside Eden until I reach a polished mahogany bar.

  “I’ll take a Malbec. One from Argentina.”

  “A lady should never drink alone.” I sense his stare at my back before I turn.

  “Mr. Santos.”

  “Dimitri, Romina. Just Dimitri.”

  The bartender places my Malbec down between us on the bar. I take the glass, swirling it a few times before lifting it to my nose while maintaining eye contact with the notorious black-hearted playboy second only to Roque. His white teeth gleam in a shark’s smile as the stem of the wine glass touches my lips. I close my eyes letting the rich red wine coat my tongue. “Delicious.”

  “I’m glad you are enjoying it. What brings you to my territory, little fire?”

  I shrug my shoulders. “Just enjoying the Florida sun.”

  The tip of his index finger travels along my collarbone, rounding my shoulder. “Ah, I doubt that. Your skin is as smooth and pale as fresh snow.” Goosebumps break out everywhere his finger touched. Damn it. He grins wickedly. Strobe lights start pulsating from the ceiling, the music changes as dancers in cages descend from metal cables. They hang suspended in the air and start performing. Dimitri’s hand finds my elbow, he leans down whispering against my hair, “Upstairs. The VIP Lounge. It’s much quieter.”

  I dip my head, letting him lead me down a dark hall. He pushes the corner of a panel and it slides away, revealing a private elevator. Something in my gut clenches as it opens, and he insists I go first. But I have no choice. I entered his den on my own free will and now I’m at his mercy until I walk out. If he lets me walk out.

  He says nothing, just studies me as the lift rises. I arch my brow, daring him which is stupid as fuck. You don’t dare a devil, but I never could resist. Light reflects from the mirrored ceiling of the elevator off the cufflinks fastened to his impeccable sport coat. “Please,” he gestures as the doors open into blackness. I can’t see anything. It’s a sea of dark. You’d think we went down instead of up, but I felt the movement as we rose. It’s quiet besides dark. He senses my hesitation, gently placing a hand on the small of my bare back. Step by step in my delicate heels, I enter the abyss.

  “Soundproof. Lightproof. Welcome to the real Den of Eden,” he whispers, just as he disappears from my side into the inky blackness.

  I hold myself steady, feeling a hundred predatory eyes on me. I’m fresh meat. The dove under the eyes of circling hawks. I can’t see them, only feel the hunger in their gaze; in their desires pulsating in waves across the darkness landing on me. Daring me to break my stride. Daring me to try to flee. I hold my ground. Only the sound of my stiletto heels clicking across marble echoes in my ears. The thing about predators is the fear of their prey feeds their hunger more. Makes it burn. I don’t cry out. Or let my breath come out in hurried puffs. I use my years of training
to regulate both my breathing and heartbeat. Slow and steady. Dimitri pulled this shit just because he can. To prove a point. I came uninvited onto his turf. This is a test I must pass or face the consequences of such bold an action.

  Finally, across the fifty feet of nothing, light starts appearing from the middle of the floor. I cross to it, sucking in my breath. The floor is transparent glass, beneath me is the main floor of the club and my view is of a dancer’s suspended cage. She bends over, showing more of what’s between her legs that I’d ever want to see.

  I look up, into the eyes of a smirking man staring straight back at me from his perch on a high-backed chair. The kind you’d find in a throne room in a medieval castle. He’s holding a leather leash the other end is clipped to a collar wrapped around a woman’s throat. “How utterly predictable,” I mock. Lifting my nose, stepping to the left of the “window” in the floor.

  I don’t take one more sip of the wine in my hand. Instead, I hold it close. I’ll break the stem, using the jagged shard as a weapon if it comes down to it. Dim lights turn on one by one. A shadow of a bar appears. I walk to it, using the solid wood as cover for my back while letting my eyes scan left to right for threats. What I see has me stunned. I did feel eyes all over me. Against the opposite wall is five rows of stadium style seating. Men in suits wearing night vision goggles tracked my every move off the lift. What in the living hell is this place? From the opposite end of this large room, the elevator opens, and another woman steps out. But unlike me, she can’t stop her shaking knees or shallow breaths. The men practically salivate as the doors shut behind her, ripping the light away.

  “Sixty-thousand,” someone whispers in the dark.

  “Seventy-five,” another growls.

  Fuck this. This is the exact shit I can’t stand. This is the exact type of bullshit that makes me see the haze of red rage. “Two-hundred thousand.” My voice isn’t a whisper. Heads whip my way. I raise my wine, toasting those rich sadistic fuckers. Before I’m done, I’ll burn this place to the ground. My gaze taunts them all as they debate countering my offer for the girl when my heart stops. Shuts down. I swear, I see a smirk that follows me from dreams to nightmares. The soft wave of ebony hair covers one side of his forehead. His shoulders are twice as broad as the others. It couldn’t be Roque. Could it? I won’t know unless the man takes off those damn night vision goggles. I’m tempted to end the guessing and just walk over there and find out for certain when Dimitri emerges from the shadows behind the seating, bends down to say something to the man and they both exit.

  Now at least I know where the escape hatch is. Feigning indifference, I carefully leave the bar and skirt the edge of the darkness to the other side of the room. “Not so fast.” A hand encircles my wrist. “You owe Eden. For the girl. Mr. Dimitri has not given you permission to leave.”

  I open my mouth to tell him to fuck off when he presses his ear piece further against his head. I’m already forgotten about as the bouncer races off to put out some unseen fire.

  Once again, I go for the door but this time I’m blocked by the man with his “pet.”

  She’s gorgeous with a strong, athletic body. Her blonde hair you can’t find from a bottle and her nose is slightly crooked. She’s imperfectly beautiful which makes her stunning. “Why?” I ask her. “Why would you let him do that to you?”

  He growls low in his throat. A warning for me to shut the fuck up. But she smiles, stroking his forearm gently. The pet soothes the beast. His eyes shutter, reveling in her touch. I shake my head. The woman might be the one collared, but she has all the control. Why did I never see this before? Is that the key to taming Roque? Let him “collar” me. Let him capture me and think I’m the one caged, when maybe just maybe, the perceived captured one is the one who’s actually free?

  My mind swirls with this new knowledge as I close the distance between me and the concealed door. “Where are you going? I wanted the girl. Pay up or play.”

  “Go fuck yourself,” I spit out as the bulky man rises from his seat, yanking my arm. I use my heel as a weapon, stomping down hard on his toes.

  “Little bitch!” He growls, grabbing me like a ragdoll and pinning me to the wall. “No woman comes up here alone without knowing the game. You entered the lift. You aren’t a player sweetheart—you are the game.”

  “I came with Dimitri. I’m under his protection. You saw.” I bluff, hoping I’m right.

  “Dimitri? Never saw him. All I saw was you walk off alone. Where’s your marker? If you can’t produce enough for 200k, you’ll have to compensate me some other way.”

  “She’s not collared,” another dark figure emerges to my left.

  “She belongs to no one, then. We can all take a turn.”

  One by one, more men dressed in dark suits circle me. All still wearing night vision. I empty my wineglass, breaking the stem with my own hands. “Bring it you, deviant fucks,” I snarl, kicking off my heels. On bare feet, I crouch in a fighter’s stance, circling, raising the shard high, ready to cut throats in a heartbeat. I’ll never cower to a man again. Never feel the fear of being helpless. I’ll fight till the end if need be.

  13

  Roque

  “You don’t have much time to claim her before Sullivan gets his hands on her.”

  Riveted by how stunning she looks; I can’t rip my eyes away from the screen in Dimitri’s office.

  “Red can handle herself a few more minutes.”

  “Can she cover the 200k?”

  “I’ll pay it. The girl was willing though?”

  “She was. But it was her first trip into The Den. Perhaps she had second thoughts.”

  “I’m leaving for the island in the morning. Watch Romina for me. Don’t let her leave South Beach.”

  His brows lift. “You’re not taking her tonight?”

  “I can’t. I need to take care of the situation first. She clouds my head. Fills it with too many things, making it impossible to think of anything but her.”

  “A woman was the end of my friend, Christos.”

  “Christos Devillo?”

  He nods. “He’s upstairs with his wife, Jessie. I’ll text him to keep an eye on your Red. He’ll keep Sullivan and the rest away from her until you go. I’ll send the best men I can spare with you tomorrow. But you’ll owe me.”

  I stand, finally taking my eyes off my woman. “I’d expect nothing less, Dimitri. I’ll pay you in cash for tonight.” He nods. “One more thing… I’ll need this.” I reach for the devil’s mask hanging on his wall. Golden horns sprout from the head of the mask.

  “That’s special. I wear it once a year at the DOM/Sub party in Italy. Everyone will think you’re me if you wear that.”

  “Everyone but her. She’d know me in a thousand different hells.”

  Dimitri shakes his head. “That’s your problem, Salvatore. Don’t be her hell. Be her heaven.”

  “I don’t know how.”

  He takes out a Cuban, lighting it up. “I don’t know how to change either. The best we can hope for is to find women who accept our darkness. It worked for Christos.”

  “From the looks of it, the women who come to Eden know exactly what you’re about.”

  “They do. But it’s too easy. I need a woman who will challenge me. One who makes me want to chase her to the ends of the Earth.”

  “You romantic, fuck.” I shake my head, grinning like an ass because I know exactly what he means and that girl for me is upstairs in desperate need of her dark devil to come to her rescue. On my way out of Dimitri’s office, I grab a collar just in case.

  Dimitri sits behind his desk, controlling the scene. He ups the dimmed lights a fraction, lets couples who came to “play” enter the room and adds music. It’s all a game. All a carefully controlled type of entertainment. But there are rules in the Den. All subs must obey their master’s. It’s one of the strictest DOM/sub clubs in the world. Because if rules are broken, people get hurt. This isn’t a game to the most alpha of DOM’s who live
by their codes. Some men need this like air. Romina needs me before she taunts the wrong one and I’ll end up killing for her. Again.

  14

  Romina

  They circle me. A pack of deviant wolves—they taunt. Every vile thing a woman can imagine is spewed from their smirking lips. They think I came here wanting it. Some women get off on the thrill of being hunted. I like the chase but not this game.

  “BDSM shit isn’t my thing. Being chained to a spreader bar and groveling at a man’s feet to be fucked isn’t my jam. Get out of my way before I cut you all,” I warn, swinging the glass in the air. But my taunting only makes these wolves hungrier.

  Their eyes shift somewhere behind me. Finally, they step back uncertain about pouncing on the prey they’ve encircled. “Took you long enough, Dimitri,” I whirl feeling his presence at my back.

  But this man isn’t Dimitri. Not unless he grew an inch and added twenty pounds to his frame in the last twenty minutes. I have no idea who he is but the men around me back off, recognizing the alpha’s arrival.

  His eyes are hidden behind the thin, black nylon fabric eyeholes in the mask. The air radiates between us as we inspect one another. My eyes are defiant as they take in the coiled leather rope and collar in his hand.

  “You escaped, pet. Beg your master’s forgiveness.” His husky voice is raspy behind the mask but still sends a shiver down my spine.

  The other men smile wickedly enjoying the dance between us as I pop a shoulder, something I’d do when I was Blue and raise my fist. “Bow to me, dog.”

  He sneers, fists curling as he steps closer. But I don’t dare step back. That would be weak. Besides, a wall of men stands behind me anyway. He steps forward until our toes practically touch, he’s obviously not afraid of my weapon.

  “Stand down, little girl,” he hisses against my hair. His hand caresses my face and I shudder at the warm touch. There’s something so dominant and commanding and yet so utterly gentle, it’s hypnotizing. Something deep inside of me wants to please him while the other ninety-nine percent of me wants to defy him and run like hell.