Perfectly Damaged: Luka : A bad boy mafia romance

by Alice May Ball

  She pulled , tried to yank her arm back, but his grip was much too strong for her.

  In a panic, sensations flew through her. Alarming sensations, but thrilling, too. Maybe alarming because they were so very thrilling. Then he spun her, grabbed her waist from behind, and lifted her like a rug.

  Princess felt as helpless as a small child, powerless and unable to resist as Agostini carried her like a rug up the spiral steps. She flailed and kicked, but it made no difference.

  Her hands clasped and clawed at his arm but it did her no good. As she screwed up her face, ready to yell with all of her might, she knew it was useless. Better to conserve her energy.

  In the dazzling daylight, when he carried her out onto the sidewalk, Princess struggled harder and she shouted to passers-by. Nobody paid her much attention, though. A middle-aged woman nudged her husband. He looked around and for a moment it seemed like he would raise his voice. Or a hand. Or something.

  When the man looked up into Agostini’s face, he put an arm on his wife’s shoulders to turn her and usher her away. Just another girl being carried off against her will in New York. She imagined hearing them mutter, What are you gonna do?

  One of the black bouncers held open the back door of a blue Bentley. Agostini slung Princess inside, onto the back seat. Her frantic breath was knocked out of her as she landed on the black leather and sank into its smooth softness.

  Pierce climbed in after her. Even before he was fully on the seat, before the big goon had shut the back door behind him, her feet, her knees and fingers lashed out.

  “Comfortable?” he asked her with his eyebrow cocked. Princess pulled at the nearby door handle. It was locked. She beat on the tinted window to no effect. She spun round and pummeled her fists on Agostini’s chest.

  He watched her with a detached amusement. There have could even have been a trace of admiration in his tight smile, but then he seized her wrists.

  At the touch of his skin against hers, a shock drained all the strength from her. Like a massive flashbulb went off in the core of her. She trembled inside as he drug her face right up to his and said, “Enough.”

  Her face was trapped close to his. His cologne, the smell of his expensive suit and his own musk filled her head. Intense sensation flooded her body. Briefly, in that moment, she was still.

  With alarm, she recognized a scent of her own, rising, hot and strong. His nostrils flared and his eyes gleamed hard. She knew she shouldn’t have the dark thoughts that swelled within her and she fought to push them down.

  His voice was quiet like a chill breeze. “Don’t you realize that I can make very bad things happen to your daddy?” She bit her lip and managed to tug with her wrists.

  His grip tightened and he spoke through his clenched teeth. “You’re collateral. You’re here so that he’ll cooperate with me.” She wrenched her arms and brought a knee into the side of his thigh. He held her wrists even tighter, and it hurt. “It would be a shame if bad things happened to your daddy, or to Hotsteppa’s, because of you, wouldn’t it?”

  He took both of her wrists in one hand and held her so easily that it made her tremble. He pulled her body down and held her across his thighs. Her breasts were crushed against his tight, muscular legs.

  His heavy hand pressed firmly on her back and fastened her onto his lap. Still, she writhed and struggled.

  “Do you want me to spank you?” There was a cruel amusement in his voice now. “Like a naughty schoolgirl? Is that how we’re going to play this?”

  She almost stopped moving. The weight of his hand on her back, the strength of him as he held her down. Something in the suggestion that he might spank her was very thrilling, and in a way, that troubled her. With her eyes screwed shut, Princess chased the idea away. Whatever that feeling was, she didn’t want it. Especially not now.

  Pinned to his hard thighs, she couldn’t see above the seat. The big car rocked gently as it swayed through the Manhattan traffic, but she couldn’t see out to get any idea of where they were going.

  It was hot where she was, and breathing into the leather upholstery didn’t help. She asked him, “You really believe what you said back in the club? You think you can just take whatever you want?”

  The rumble of his chuckle vibrated from his legs and though her body. He told her, “It’s a proven fact, Princess.”

  “In the way that you’ve just taken me?”

  “To get what I need from a person, I’ll take what they love best. They’ll give me whatever I want to get it back.”

  “And that’s why you’ve taken me?”

  “I took you from your daddy because I need to have his nightclub.”

  “So, what will you take from me, Pierce Agostini?”

  “I don’t need anything from you, Princess.” She heard the smirk in his voice as he turned to look in her face. He was handsome like the devil.

  “So, are you telling me that while I’m in your power, you don’t plan to amuse yourself by taking me?”

  “I have no wish to ‘take’ you, Princess. I’m sure many have tried, few, if any, succeeded, and most—if not all—probably regretted it.” His hand held down her back more firmly.

  “No, I don’t want to ‘take’ you.” He paused. Then a cruel smile darkened his face. “Although it could be fun to watch you break.”

  Princess tried to shift her body but it only made her breasts press harder onto his thighs. Her breath trembled and her chest felt tight. “Why do you need Hotsteppa’s, Mr. Agostini?”

  After a pause, he said, “I’m not a Bond villain. I’m not going to reveal my evil schemes to you and say, ‘mwa-ha-ha,’ so that you can break free and thwart them with your skill and cunning.”

  Princess shook her head. Some days, she thought, nothing goes right.

  A firm and distinctive stirring was definitely going on beneath her. Below her breasts, inside the fabric of his suit pants, something heavy and strong started to heat and uncoil.

  She wished she could scoot down and bite it.

  Pierce suspected that Princess only gave up struggling to conserve her energy. They traveled in silence the next twenty minutes. All that he heard was her breathing and the muffled sounds of traffic outside the Bentley as it swung and sailed through the slew of Manhattan traffic and swept north toward the park and home.

  He kept her held down. He told himself that it was mainly so that she didn’t see the route they took. He knew that it was an excuse and that it wouldn’t bear much examination.

  From the penthouse, anyone who had the slightest familiarity with Manhattan would know exactly where they were. It was probably true of just about any penthouse, but the one he was using was right on the west side of the park, so it wouldn’t be any kind of a challenge to pinpoint on a map.

  He needed to restrain her—she’d proved that already—but he didn’t want to admit to himself how much he enjoyed the pressure of her body on top of him. His cock hardened, but that was only normal. She was a strangely beautiful woman.

  While his response was natural, there was a note, a pitch, that he had not experienced before. It felt something like a forgotten song or a beautiful memory.

  They drifted by the Time Warner Center and up along the side of the park. Pierce cleared his throat and said, “Callaghan, we better go in from the garage. No sense in risking her going wild in the lobby.”

  Callaghan nodded once. Pierce asked the girl, “Do I need to carry you to the elevator, or can you walk unaided?”

  When she said, “I’ll be a good girl, Mr. Agostini,” with a low chuckle in her voice, it made his cock really harden. Little minx. He was sure that her laugh was not genuine. She was trying to play him, he was certain of it.

  He breathed in deeply as she pushed her warm, soft tits down harder against him. He would need to watch her. She was clever.

  Under the high glass tower of Park Place Pinnacle, Callaghan drove the Bentley down into the darkness of the garage and pulled up smoothly in front of the elevator.
Calhoun stepped out and around to open the back door.

  As soon as the door opened, she burst out like a champagne cork. Calhoun sprinted after her. She was fast, though. Callaghan jumped out the driver’s side and chased around wide to her right.

  She saw Calhoun and Callaghan to either side of her and she scurried, keeping low, then darted behind a row of dark SUVs.

  Agostini lost sight of her. Calhoun and Callaghan prowled wide, and they kept their arms out as they crouched and craned to peer under the vehicles.

  They heard a scuffing sound and looked up. She was two rows of vehicles away, halfway to the entrance and dashing for the upward slope. They turned and ran after her, but she was too far ahead.

  As she made it into the light and the slope slowed her run, Agostini strolled out from behind a van and scooped her up like a loose football. He smiled and ignored her struggles and her shouts as he hauled her back to the elevator.

  Over Princess’ howls of protest, Calhoun laughed and said in his broadest County Kerry brogue, “Will I carry your baggage for you, sir?”

  Callaghan said, “Sure, you read her like a book.”

  Pierce shrugged as he stepped into the elevator with her thrashing under his arm. “She had to make for the entrance. Where else would she go? All I had to do was get there before her.”

  With her knees and elbows flying, she shouted, “You can put me down now.”

  As Calhoun put in the elevator key for the penthouse, Pierce smiled. “I think we’ll get you installed all nice and cozy first. Then I’ll think about putting you down.”

  She continued to wriggle in spasms, and the sensation of her hot, frantic body held against his stirred and stiffened him, but there was nothing to be done about it now.

  Calhoun and Callaghan stood either side of Pierce Agostini with his wailing bundle. The three men chuckled quietly, and the elevator whooshed as it shot them to the top of the building.

  When the elevator doors opened, Agostini finally put her back on her feet. Princess stopped still and her jaw dropped.

  She stood and stared silently at the massive glass box on the side of the high, airy room, the plain two-story-high windows. Through them, she saw clear across Central Park.

  The view stretched right over the roads and the lakes of the park, from the rooftop ridges of the Metropolitan Museum, past the zoo and all the way downtown.

  The green roof of the Park Plaza Hotel, with the huge black rectangle looming behind it, the gleaming silver curves of the Time Warner Center towers, the farther, smaller peaks of the Rockefeller Center, the Empire State, and the Chrysler all spread in front of her.

  She hadn’t yet moved from the elevator, and she could see almost all of Manhattan. Silently drawn across the thick, pale carpet to the windows, she was wide-eyed as she traced Broadway to Times Square and way beyond. She searched out landmarks of the financial district that was her home.

  The windows were high, clear glass walls of a gallery that stretched up beyond the height of the spacious room. Princess stepped slowly toward the raised terrace. As she moved toward the glass, her chest tightened.

  The platform leading up to the window was obviously safe, but her body tensed as she approached it. Stepping up, she realized that the floor of the gallery was glass, too, and she saw the sheet of sheer, shining glass all the way to the ground.

  Outside the glass box, an open terrace a few feet wide—also made entirely of glass—appeared to wrap the whole way around the building. Princess’ heart beat hard.

  The height of the platform and the clarity of the view, coupled with the illusion that her feet were high in midair, made her stomach leap in a dizzying flip.

  Princess’ shoulders tensed when Pierce spoke, as though he shook her from a dream. “Let me show you around.”

  He was behind her with his hand outstretched, palm up. His eyes smiled. Princess wouldn’t take his hand, but she followed him and allowed him to lead her across the carpeted sunken living area.

  A wide flight of open steps in pale wood stuck out of the far wall and rose to the space above. Princess followed him across the wide living space.

  “Remotes for the entertainment center are all around.” He picked up a small tablet, showed it to her and put it down. “They know which room they’re in, so if you take one from here into the kitchen area or a study it will just work in there.”

  “A study?”

  He looked back at her and shrugged. “I work hard, I play hard. Feel free to join in or just, you know, veg and goof off. You like some champagne? Calhoun, crack out some champagne.”

  He led her through the wide open kitchen area with dark granite surfaces and ultra-modern equipment. One of the bouncers, Calhoun, handed a flute of champagne to her and another to Agostini.

  He raised his glass to her. “Whatever the circumstances, you’re our guest, and it’s a pleasure to have you here.”

  She lifted her glass and said, “We’ll see about that.”

  She followed him down a few steps to an airy corridor. Pointing to a tablet screen he told her, “All the tablets work as phones, of course.”

  She said, “For my one phone call?”

  He stopped and turned. “You can make all the calls you want, Princess. Call anyone.”

  She frowned and waited.

  “Obviously,” he said, “I wouldn’t suggest you encourage people to come around visiting. Not unless you want to watch them make a twelve-hundred-foot swan dive. You like some lox with cream cheese on a bagel?”

  “Suppose I told the police I was here.”

  “Is that something that would interest them, do you think?”

  “If I were being held against my will, it might.”

  “Good thing you aren’t, then.” He led her on down a carpeted hallway to a pair of wide, lacquered doors, which he swung open. “Your dungeon,” he inclined his head, “madam.”

  Inside was a sumptuous suite. A huge, high, canopied bed with muslin drapes and silk pillows and throws dominated the main area. The side wall was a floor to ceiling window. To the right was a dressing room with a dressing table and a walk-in closet.

  The tan tiled bathroom had a claw-footed bath and a three-hundred-sixty degree shower. Left of the bedroom area was a lounge at a sunken level, with a desk on one side and a coffee table, a sofa and armchairs, and its own glassed-in balcony.

  A glass terrace wrapped around the balcony, just like the one off the main room. Princess tried to guess if they were at the same height. If they were connected.

  She turned to him and pouted. “I expect your own suite is much bigger and nicer.”

  His eyes rolled. “No, Princess, I always put my captives and kidnap victims in the better rooms. It’s so they’ll give me a nice character testimony if it comes to court.”

  “At least you don’t pretend there’s nothing wrong in what you’re doing.” She scowled at him.

  “Oh, you mean like the bankers who come to your daddy’s club and pretend they’re not doing anything wrong?”

  “I was thinking more of the other criminal lowlifes.”

  Pierce narrowed his eyes. “Princess, I have to admire your complete disregard for your own personal safety.”

  “You won’t hurt me. You can’t afford to. Not while you still need Daddy’s cooperation.” Saying, ‘Daddy’ to this gangster was starting to feel odd to her.

  “You push your luck, Princess. Something untoward happens to you, it could be a while before your daddy gets to know about it.”