Claimed by the Beast (Dark Twisted Love Book 2)

by Logan Fox

  “What were you thinking? Pizza? Chinese?”

  “Don’t do this, Milo,” Lars said, his voice deadpan.

  “And a cherry soda.” Finn put his hand on the bedroom door’s handle. “Get Cora a cherry soda too.”

  Lars’s lips turned up in a brittle smile. “Cherry soda,” he muttered as he swept to the door. “Sure, I’ll get bunny a fucking cherry soda.”

  The front door slammed, neatly coinciding with a Hollywood scream from the television set.

  The bedroom door was unlocked. Cora stood by the dressing table, running a brush through her hair. It didn’t need it—the wet locks were straight and clung to her scalp and down the nape of her neck. Her eyes flickered to him when he entered the mirror’s reflection, but then turned back to her own.

  “You can have the one on the left,” she said, pointing behind her to the bed closest to the window.

  “I don’t want the one on the left. I want you.”

  Her eyes widened. Apprehension, or disbelief? She made to turn to him, but then he was against her, pressing her against the edge of the dressing table.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered furiously, struggling.

  “You come out of the bathroom in nothing but a robe,” Finn murmured, staring at her panicked reflection. “I know you’re naked under it. You say you’re going to sleep. So I start wondering what you’re going to sleep in. You only have one pair of clothes. So, naked then?” The string of words poured from him as he bent to the side and slid his fingers up the outside of her leg. She shied away from his touch like a nervous horse new to being shod. So he grabbed the back of her neck with his other hand, holding her still.

  Her eyelids fluttered, and she let out a hard breath.

  His fingers reached her hipbone. He traced the curve of it where her skin stretched taut over it.

  She stiffened when he came closer to her clit, but he didn’t touch her. Instead, he changed direction and headed for her breasts. Cupped one and let it lay heavy in his palm. When he squeezed her, she moaned and bucked her ass into his hard on.

  The robe had fallen partly open. All that held her modesty in check was the knot dangling over the slit of her belly button. He tugged it away, and drew the two halves of her robe open, baring her slender body to the mirror. She looked at herself, and then at him where he loomed behind her.

  “One last hit,” he said quietly, releasing her neck so he could gather both her breasts in his hands. His skin was darker than hers, tanned from the sun. She was the color of creamy coffee, her nipples dark russet circles that puckered and turned into dark buds when he ran his palms over her aureoles.

  “Finn—”

  He pinched her nipples, one in each hand. So hard that her mouth gaped open. “Just one last hit.”

  “But I didn’t—”

  He kicked her legs open. She fell forward, crying out before she caught herself on the dressing table’s surface. Her face flickered with lust, mouth open and eyes sparkling when she glanced at him over her shoulder.

  She fought him when he grabbed her wrists and twisted them behind her but she couldn’t stop him pinning them to the small of her back. He grabbed her between the legs and squeezed until she stopped fighting.

  He was so hard for her that his dick ached. Finn tugged down his zipper, barely giving Cora enough time for a surprised gasp before he was inside her. Filling her. Making her squirm against him.

  Her nails bit into the back of his hands, but he held her fixed. When she tried to close her legs, he wedged himself between them.

  He thrust into her, growling with half-pleasure, half-disgust. The pleasure at how tightly her muscles milked him, disgust at how much he’d enjoyed forcing his way inside her.

  “Oh, god,” Cora whispered, eyes fluttering closed as he drew out.

  She moaned, bucking her hips to meet his every thrust.

  “Harder,” she murmured.

  The dressing table rattled as he slammed into her. She reached around to caress his balls, to feel where his cock met her slick skin. She grabbed the base of his dick, squeezing him, pumping him as if she was trying to jerk him off while he was inside her.

  “Finn, please. Hard—” and then she cut off with a strangled cry.

  He curved against her ass, going as deep inside her as he could. His hand went around the back of her neck, keeping her pinned against the dressing table as he fucked her from behind.

  His other hand slid around her hip, found her clit, and began to circle it.

  Her struggles abated abruptly. She let out a guttural moan. Pushed against him, whimpered, and spread her legs for him.

  Fuck, that single gesture, how she so readily opened herself for him, it almost made him come. The sight of her arched back with the trough of her spinal column…that sound she kept making that made it impossible to decipher if it was pleasure or pain…

  He stroked her to orgasm, his fingers slowing until she begged him to end her and then swore at him when he didn’t. Her climax was silent, but powerful. She clamped around his dick like a vice, making movement impossible. Which was fine, because he emptied himself inside her while she was still trying to find her way back to the light.

  Massaging her ass, he leaned into her as a last throb tore through him. He could have stayed inside her until he was soft. Until he’d grown hard again and could take her again.

  But the front door of their hotel room slammed.

  Finn jerked, half coming out of her. She made an unhappy sound when he tugged himself out the rest of the way, and then slumped against him as if her legs had turned to water. He lifted her, carrying her over to the bed as his eyes flashed to the door. The movie was still playing, but there weren’t any car crashes to hide whatever noises they or Lars made.

  He could hear the man moving around behind that thin door.

  Of course Lars had known what would happen the moment he’d left. But he’d still left.

  He set Cora down on the bed, and she rolled onto her stomach and stretched like a sun-lazy cat.

  “Oh my god,” she murmured, voice partly muffled by the sheets. “That was fucking amazing.”

  She pushed herself up, rolled onto her back, and looked at him as if he’d single-handedly parted the clouds and shown her what heaven looked like. Maybe he had.

  Laying there, she looked so delicate. Like a toy, easily snapped in two with a casual twist of the hand. Like the new bruises on her hips—stripes where his fingers had gripped her.

  Next time, we’ll break her, his beast purred to itself in the back of his mind.

  But for now it had been sated…for now.

  Shame burned in his chest at the thought that when it woke again, when it became hungry, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself taking her again. How much punishment could her body still take?

  Christ, let her be long gone before that happened. For his sake…and hers.

  20

  Somesuch nonsense

  Sex hung in the air like a cloud. Not the smell of it—the bedroom door had been closed the whole time he’d been gone—but the anticipation. It had been what drove him from the hotel room in the first place.

  Lars set down two pizza boxes on the coffee table, glancing up at the bedroom door. There were sounds from behind it, but no grunting or thumping. They were done, and would be coming out soon.

  He had a half a mind not to be here when they did.

  It was bad enough he had to ignore the hollow screams in his head about how wrong this was. What the fuck was Milo thinking? Then again, he could almost—almost—understand what drove the guy. There’d barely been enough time for a quick wank in the shower these past few days, what with all the shit that had been happening.

  And that brief moment in the elevator? He’d never been that aroused around someone who was still wearing their clothes. And the way she’d trembled when he’d almost touched her? It was like the whiff of fear that came from prey before the predator struck. Or, in his case, watched while anothe
r predator claimed the dainty gazelle.

  His dick twitched at the thought of what had happened behind that closed door. What the girl had looked like, sans-robe. What Finn had done to her on that white—

  The door opened. He looked down, flipping open a pizza box’s lid. “Hope you’re hungry. Got one with just about everything on it. The other one’s for desert.”

  Not hearing a response, Lars hazarded a look up. Milo stood in the doorway, nearly filling it, face unreadable but cheeks still spotted with faint color. Both hands hung at his side, the one on the right clenching, releasing, clenching to some unknown rhythm.

  Lars grabbed a slice of pizza and straightened. “Am I interrupting?” he asked dryly, before biting off the tip of the slice. He chewed for a second, and then lifted his eyebrows. “I could go get ice or something,” he said through a mouthful of cheese and salami.

  Milo dropped his eyes and went into the bathroom. The faucet came on. While it was still running, Cora emerged from the room, all bright eyed and disheveled. She had a shell-shocked look on her face. That good, huh?

  Lars slumped in an armchair, trying to get through the pizza as fast as he could, eyes glued to the TV screen. He’d done a quick recon before he’d left to make sure everything was still sealed up and that no one lurked in the street below.

  Cora sank onto the edge of the sofa. She’d dressed in the same clothes as earlier, but sat stiffly as if they chafed her. When he looked at her face, she kept her eyes straight ahead, a slow blush staining her cheeks the longer he looked.

  “You okay?” he asked quietly.

  Her blush intensified from pink to red. She gave him a brief look, barely long enough to focus on his face, and then took a slice of pizza from the box. “Why wouldn’t I be?” Her voice was husky and rough. She cleared her throat and, without looking, added, “Thanks for the food.”

  Milo came out of the bathroom, hesitated, and then took the chair opposite Lars, leaving Cora stranded on the two-seat sofa like a piece of driftwood.

  Fucking weirdos.

  Lars grabbed another piece of pizza, and then cracked open one of the cans of cherry soda. He put it down on the coffee table, close to Cora, and then opened another one for himself.

  He didn’t bother to get one for Milo—the man detested soda. He’d probably make himself another cup of coffee in a few minutes.

  When the silence became too much for him to bear, Lars dropped the uneaten half of his slice of pizza back in the box and made a show of cracking his knuckles. It drew the eyes of both Cora and Milo, the latter watching him with wary anticipation.

  “So…when’s the wedding?”

  Cora stopped chewing.

  Finn put his barely touched pizza slice down on a napkin and then laid his hands on his knees as if impatient for the rest of Lars’s speech.

  “You know…” Lars gave a shrug, pushing out his bottom lip. “Where you’ll live? How many kids you’re going to have? Should you go with home schooling, private, public? That kind of thing. Are you going to convert—” Lars pointed at Milo, and then gave Cora a quick, hard look “—is it racist of me to assume that you’re Catholic?—” and then focused on Milo again “—or will you keep living in sin?”

  Milo didn’t move his eyes from Lars as he stretched out a hand and slid the remote off the coffee table. The pair on the television had been having an animated discussion about their impending bank robbery or somesuch nonsense, but a single stab of Milo’s thumb turned the screen black.

  If it had been a standoff, Lars would have won.

  Milo rose to his feet. “Wake me at two.” And then he lumbered off to the bedroom, closing the door silently behind him.

  Lars would have preferred it if the guy had slammed it behind him. This quiet, fuming man was nothing like the Milo he knew. Admittedly, things hadn’t always been great for Finn. He’d had his fair share of shit hands dealt to him. But he’d never sulked. He’d never thrown tantrums and stopped listening to reason because he wanted something.

  Lars turned to the girl. She held a piece of pizza in her hands, long forgotten, and stared at nothing.

  “You’d make a pretty bride,” he said, his voice deadpan. “But he’d make a terrible fucking husband.”

  Lars stood, intent on going to the window that faced the window so he could survey the street. Cora’s voice stopped him.

  “I’m twenty, not twelve.”

  He turned back to her, eyebrows lifting. “Barely.”

  Anger boiled in her eyes, her pink mouth set in a thin line. “If you don’t like it, you can leave.”

  “Would if I could, bunny.” Lars flicked his hand to the bedroom door. “But I’d never leave a man behind again. Not for the likes of you.”

  “The likes of—” she cut off, and put her hands on her hips. If she hadn’t been so small, so young, so goddamn cheeky, it might have been an intimidating posture. As it was, she just looked like a kid who hadn’t gotten enough candy. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  Lars cocked his head, silent as he went over to the window. In the street below, a dark car drove past. It stopped at the intersection, paused just long enough to make his shoulders tighten, and then turned and disappeared down a side street.

  A hand grabbed his arm. “Hey, I’m talking—”

  Lars spun. He had the girl by her wrist, barely stopping his other hand in time to avoid breaking her arm. They stared at each other, her eyes wide and his narrowed, as if they’d both just realized what had almost happened.

  He hurriedly released her. “Get some sleep. There’s another long drive in your near future.”

  She massaged her wrist as she backed up and headed for the bedroom.

  “Oh no,” he said, snapping his fingers and pointing to the couch. “Out here where I can see you.”

  “I can’t sleep on a couch.”

  “Have you ever tried?”

  Her mouth became that thin line again, and she drew a breath big enough to puff out her chest. But instead of the tantrum he’d expected, she lay down on the couch, grabbed one of the scatter cushions for a pillow, and turned her back to the room.

  Lars studied the street for a few seconds, and then went and turned off the living room light. Darkness instantly reclaimed its space. He slunk back to the window, studying the empty street for what seemed like hours.

  Well, at least they’d gotten it out of their system. Tomorrow, Cora’d be back with her cartel buddies, and he and Milo would be heading back to Albuquerque. Maybe, this time, he’d convince Milo to stay at his place for a week or so. Regroup. Milo’s apartment was a sad, lonely place. He could call up some of his friends. They could get stoned, play some beer pong…fuck insignificant others…high school shit.

  That’d get Milo’s head out of the clouds. And wasn’t Heather due to come out of rehab sometime this month? They wouldn’t be able to get stoned, not around her, but they could still have some fun. Movies and shit.

  Fuck, who was he kidding? Milo was happiest when he was armed to teeth and trigger happy. Lars put his head against the window, watching his breath mist up the glass as seconds flowed by like syrup.

  Eventually, he heard the soft sounds of Cora’s breathing as it evened out and became heavy with sleep.

  21

  Soon

  Zachary stared into the spitting flames of his ranch’s sole fireplace. It was in the living area off the dining room; a space small enough that the fire warmed it sufficiently during the winter months. The sole armchair that inhabited the room had been positioned a few feet from the hearth. Beneath it, a well-worn rug extended just far enough from his chair that there was enough space for his four dogs to lay encircling him. Blue and Lady held positions by each of his feet. The other two pit bulls were spaced out between him and the fire, one fast asleep on its side and snoring loudly.

  Ailin had taken a call a few minutes ago, and now the man returned with urgent strides. He knelt beside Zachary’s armchair, with a distasteful look a
t Blue, the closest dog, before whispering, “We have something.”

  Zachary glanced at Ailin from the corner of his eye. The man looked tense, almost excited.

  “Something good, I assume.”

  “Yes.” Ailin’s eyes had a fervor in them that the firelight couldn’t account for. “The road Angel and Marco were watching? There’s been a vehicle waiting in the same spot for the past week.”

  “Waiting for whom?”

  Ailin ducked his head a little. The smell of stale cigarettes came off his clothing, but for once Zachary didn’t find the smell distasteful. It was almost comforting; something he knew and expected from Ailin.

  He despised it when people behaved unexpectedly.

  “Waiting for whom?” he prompted, when Ailin didn’t speak.

  “Don’t know,” Ailin said, sounding peeved that he didn’t have an answer. “The man took a call just before sunset and drove off.”

  “Toward Martin’s compound?”

  “If his compound is down that road.” He tapped a finger against his lips. “That car must have been waiting for someone. Someone who might have been delayed by unforeseen events.”

  Ailin’s eyes gleamed. “Like being snatched by Noah?”

  “Exactly. Perhaps, by tomorrow, she will arrive.” Zachary let his arm fall over the side of the armchair and brushed his fingertips against Lady’s one ear. Her ear twitched, but the dog didn’t pull away. “Let’s give her a warm welcome.”

  22

  Falcon

  A rough shake woke Cora. She scrambled up, blinking to wash away the dregs of a tangled, incoherent dream as her heart pulsed furiously in her chest. Her mouth was so dry that her lips had sealed, and parting them was met with a flash of pain.

  Sunlight turned the hotel bedroom into a bright, white square.

  Bedroom?