That is until his gaze moved down and to the right, where the middle-aged naked man lying face up on the table had frozen at the sight of Rocco too, his dick still managing to remain hard as a rock—standing so firmly at attention, the throbbing head pointed straight up toward the ceiling. The dark-haired man’s blue eyes widened at Rocco.
The classical Mozart hymn Requiem, blasting from the stereo system in the far corner of the room, had been turned up loudly enough for both of them to be completely unaware of the madness ensuing on the other side of the door. The haunting melody of the song’s choir, however, paired with the even more spine-tingling bellow of the violins, was no match for whatever feeling was roaring through Rocco’s body.
The man immediately shot up from the table and moved across the room, seizing the clothes he’d folded neatly on the console table next to the radio, redressing in what looked to Rocco to be a high-end suit. He met Rocco’s eyes in the mirror above the table as he pulled his pants up.
Rocco cut his narrowed eyes away from the man’s reflection and back to Stella.
Her mouth fell open. She tried to speak, but no words came. Only incoherent jumbles before she finally gave up and just shook her head softly.
Stella Armstrong. At a loss for words. It was a day he’d always prayed for but never believed would come. Now, there it was. God had somehow found a way to grace him and curse him all at once.
“Goddamn it,” he hissed, not even realizing his own voice was shattered, broken, and trembling too until it had tried and failed to fill the room. He wanted to curse her name, but his gaze shifted to the mirror once more, where the john was still pulling his clothes on and watching Rocco with earnest eyes.
Drawing in burning a breath, Rocco charged toward Stella while ripping the handcuffs from his belt, seizing her arm.
The look in her eyes as she gasped up at him appeared to be one of pure betrayal, but she didn’t fight him.
“You’re under arrest.” He yanked at her arm so fiercely it forced her to turn away from him, stumbling in her heels. Their eyes met in the mirror once her back was to him and the jingle of his handcuffs rose into the air. He cuffed one of her wrists, then the other.
She tilted her head at him in the reflection, but something in her eyes was gone. Something that, before that moment, had always been fully present. The arrogance? The haughtiness? The unapologetic superiority, even though she had absolutely nothing to feel superior about? Rocco couldn’t decide what had disappeared from in her eyes at that moment; he just knew it was the first time he’d seen it make its exit since the day he’d first laid eyes on her in kindergarten.
Clearing his throat, he tore his gaze from hers and looked at the client, who was now fully dressed. “Get out.”
Straightening his gold silk tie, a perfect contrast to his black suit, the man moved toward Rocco with the pace of a CEO strolling the halls of his own billion-dollar company, not a man who’d just been busted in a raid.
“Officer...” He sank a cool hand into his pocket and produced his alligator skin wallet, flipping it open and fingering the thick stack of hundreds inside. “As a token of my gratitude—?”
“Just get the fuck out.” Rocco slammed his eyes closed, begging for patience as he clenched his fists, one of which this guy had no idea how close he was to catching to the throat. When he opened his eyes and saw the man was not only still standing there but was now gazing longingly at Stella, Rocco’s hand flew up, seizing him around the neck and squeezing with all his might. “Don’t you ever goddamn look at her again.”
The man’s shocked eyes flew back to up Rocco, soaked with barely-restrained indignation even as his breathing grew wheezy. His blue eyes lit up like an animal on the verge of attack. As if one of his fisted hands was seconds from flying at Rocco’s nose.
Instead of biting back, however, the man’s eyes fluttered closed, and he gave a sharp nod.
Rocco used his hold on his neck to shove him toward the door once more. And the man was gone, leaving with a hurried stride that still somehow managed to seem almost leisurely. As if he had no fear of what might await him, as he looked both ways down the hallway. He took a right instead of a left, going for the back door instead of the lobby, which told Rocco this was a regular client who knew his way around.
Unfortunately for him, Rocco had officers stationed out back as well, but he couldn’t blame the simp for trying to escape regardless. He slammed the door of the room closed behind him, silencing the screams still booming through the building, and faced Stella once more. He drank in the back of her head before lifting his eyes to the mirror.
Their gazes locked in the reflection, both breathing heavily enough to overpower the Mozart still playing. Their bodies seemed to operate in sync as both of their locked eyes widened. Their lips flattened. Even the veins in their necks seemed to expand in time.
Stella broke the gaze first, eyes falling. Chin dipping low enough to touch her chest. She angled her lowered face away from the mirror as a grimace tightened her eyebrows, crossing and uncrossing her feet at the ankles.
He stepped forward, nostrils flaring when he came close enough to feel the soft brush of her cuffed hands against his forearms—exposed since he’d pushed the long sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows.
Something shot through him when her gaze rose back up to the reflection. He didn’t even realize he’d been leaning forward until the soft strands of one of her black pigtails tickled his nose. The weight of her body became more pronounced against his as she leaned back.
He sucked in a breath that only served to fill his nose with the smell of her hair. It smelled like the black, muggy sky he’d just seen outside. Rainy, cloudy, gloomy—just like her eyes as they held his in the reflection. Just like they’d been since the day Troy left. There was a thunderstorm in those big brown eyes. A sadness at their deepest depths that even the darkest sky could never compete with.
He cupped her waist in his hand.
She gasped. Because of the cold leather glove on her skin, or the unexpected touch, he wasn’t sure. He felt how hard she was breathing, how much her heart raced. So fast and hard he could feel the rhythm through the curve of her waist.
He squeezed.
Her eyes fluttered.
Then, he stepped away, hearing her inhale as he threw open the door and stepped out into the hallway.
“Clear!” he called into the hallway, much quieter than it had been just a moment earlier. He waited for any sign that he’d been heard, swallowing thickly when Justin appeared at the other end of the hall and gave Rocco a thumbs up.
“All clear, boss?” Justin’s voice echoed down the empty hall.
“All clear!” Rocco gave Justin a thumbs up as well, heart racing as he waited for Justin to disappear before turning toward the back door. The same door the john had just attempted to escape from. He charged forward and pushed it open. The back alley behind the parlor went empty as well. His team always worked fast. Still, since he’d trained his team so well, two officers remained at their stations on either end of the alley, which proved Stella’s john was surely sitting in the back of a cruiser in handcuffs.
“All clear!” Rocco called, holding his thumb up. “Excellent work, gentleman. Let’s reconvene out front!”
The officers nodded and heeded Rocco’s orders, both leaving their posts. His breath trembled as he moved swiftly back into the parlor, where the boom of Mozart’s Requiem still seeped under the doorsill of the last massage room. He threw the door open and crossed the room to Stella, who hadn’t moved an inch.
She gasped when he grabbed her arm from behind and yanked, hauling her toward the door more quickly that she was prepared for, making her trip over her feet to keep up with his brisk pace.
“Rocco?” she asked softly as he checked both ends of the hallway like a kid looking both ways on a busy street, before dragging her out of the room. “Roc…Rocco?”
He didn’t respond. He wasn’t even sure he could. The simple a
ct of speaking, suddenly seemed an impossible task when up against the flurry of rage pulsating through his body. His racing heart, closed throat, and quivering limbs could barely allow him to recall his own God-given name, let alone give her a response that wasn’t littered with razor-sharp expletives. He didn’t trust himself to speak, so he didn’t.
Eyes flying all over the hallway, never letting an inch of it go unchecked for more than half a second, he shoved open the back door of the parlor once more—hard enough to make it slam against the brick wall on the other side—and double checked the alley before pulling her outside.
The heels of her platform Mary Jane’s crunched against the filthy asphalt, and every step she took was uneven, proving that he was pulling her a little faster than she could handle.
He sped up, moving toward the massive red trashcan sitting against a graffiti-clad wall across from the parlor door. The kind of giant trashcan only a garbage truck was strong enough to lift.
He felt the exact moment she dug her heels into the ground, pulling back.
He flexed and propelled forward, doubling down, and her weight was no match for his, leaving her no choice but to be towed to the trashcan as he took hold of the lid and heaved it upward. The heavy metal lid flew open and locked in place, showcasing several piles of multi-colored trash bags greeting them from inside. Rotten fruit and vegetables accompanied the never-ending piles of bags, along with a family of flies swarming above it all.
He turned toward her, and her eyes widened in his, wrists still locked behind her back.
Only then did he notice that her brown orbs were filled with tears.
“Rocco, please…” She shook her head rapidly. “Please. Don’t—” She squealed on the ‘don’t’ when he leaned down and swept her off her feet, lifting her body over the rim of the can like it was nothing and releasing her, letting the piles of trash and filth break her fall as she tumbled into the can, face down. She kicked and thrashed in the waste in an attempt to turn onto her back, shaking her head wildly to ward off the flies buzzing around her head. Even as she struggled to turn over with her arms cuffed behind her, she still had the good sense not to scream. Just as she made it onto her back, half her cheek covered in some unidentifiable black sludge, she looked up, gasping for breath, and met his eyes.
Rocco grabbed the lid of the can, held her gaze for one more breathless moment, and slammed it closed, encasing Stella in darkness.
7
Stella’s rasping breath refused to slow. Her bulging eyes didn’t dare blink. Every full body tremor seemed stronger than the last as her stomach begged to be emptied. But she swallowed back every quake, refusing to let the sickness leave her trembling lips.
Was Rocco coming back? Did he have a plan? Was this the plan? Had he taken full advantage of a unique situation, finally realizing his lifelong dream of tossing her into the nearest trash can? Had he thrown her in there to drive home the fact that he thought of her in the worst possible way—like trash? Was she going to get caught by one of his colleagues?
Stella wasn’t sure. When three flies landed on her thigh, her cheek, and buzzed in her ear all at once, she realized she didn’t care, screaming under her breath. The horrified sound of her frenetic gasps filled the dark enclosed space as her limbs thrashed wildly, attempting to shake each fly away. With her wrists still locked behind her body, she couldn’t slap them, so she twisted and jerked as fast as she could, kicking her legs so violently they thumped against the metal of the can and made it boom. Every fly she shook off, it seemed, only seemed to invite ten more, each landing on a different part of her body, apparently on a mission to drive her to the brink of insanity. They continued landing on her calves, her arms, even her breasts—leaving her with little time to think of much else but how disgusting that bin was. How she had no idea what that sticky moisture was clinging her ankle, or what the wetness was on her cheek because it was too dark to see. How she felt like she couldn’t breathe properly because every breath seemed to introduce a new vile odor. Molded fruit, spoiled chicken, curdled milk and baby poop were just a few of the scents she’d managed to identify, each one making her stomach turn a little more.
A cold sweat raced across her trembling body, making her clenched fists feel clammy. The hair from one of her pigtails was stuck to her sweaty cheek, but she was afraid to touch her face lest she accidentally get any of the bacteria surely infesting in that trashcan into her mouth or eyes. She tried to shift, but the tiniest movement only disturbed the pile of debris she was curled on top of, introducing a new disgusting smell or a new mysterious wetness against her skin. She was no longer willing to take the risk. So she lay still, the sound of her rushed breathing booming against the can, the heat from her lips making it muggy.
Her heart slammed against her chest. She had half a mind to throw the lid open and make a run for it, convinced that Rocco really wasn’t coming back. She didn’t know how long she’d been in there. It felt like hours.
Her tear-filled eyes nearly melted a hole into top of the trash can, where the tiniest wisp of moonlight kissed the edge of the lid. She could push it up and run.
But what if the police were still out there? What if they thought she’d been hiding? Evading arrest? What if they found out Rocco was the one who’d thrown her inside in the first place?
He’d lose his job.
He’d lose his spot in the FBI training camp.
He’d lose his biggest dream.
So even as her body yearned for that kiss of moonlight on the trashcan lid—she didn’t move a muscle.
She didn’t even realize her eyes had fluttered shut—that she’d stopped bothering to shake away the flies still tickling her skin—until that kiss of moonlight became as strong as a strobe-light. Until the insistence of its white glare made her eyes, which she hadn’t even realized had fluttered shut, pop open.
Her heart zoomed to a stop, as she looked up with a gasp, drinking in the black silhouette of a man whose face she couldn’t see through her sleep-deprived, blurry vision. Cursing under her breath, she pushed herself up as best she could against the rubbish and kicked away from the opening of the can, her hands and feet sinking into the debris as she went, causing her to lose her balance several times as she struggled to make it to the back.
This was it.
They’d found her.
She was going to jail.
She blinked rapidly against her blurry vision and gasped when the shadowed man reached his long, thick arm inside and seized her arm.
She screamed at the top of her lungs, the sound bouncing off the walls of the can and soaring into the black night sky. The man pulled her arm, strong enough to lift her ass up off the used egg carton she was sitting on, but she pulled back.
“Get off me!” she wailed. “Stop!”
“Damn it, Stella, get up!”
And, just like that, her racing heart slowed, her screaming lips relaxed, her taut limbs went limp, and her vision crystalized. The moonlight now spilled in around the shadow man like an angel who’d been lowered straight from heaven.
“Rocco?” she whispered.
He didn’t respond, tugging her arm again.
This time, she let his strength take over her body the way it had been built to. In a way that left her no choice but to comply. To let him pull her to the edge of the can. She watched him with eyes full of wonderment as if she couldn’t believe the vision bestowed upon her. His face was pulled tight as the jingle of keys rang into the air, and he leaned in close, leaving her face buried in the crook of his neck, unlocking the handcuffs still clapped around her wrists.
Her wrists had been cuffed for so long that her arms had gone numb, so she didn’t even know they’d been freed until he put his big hands under her armpits and they swung on either side of her like a rag doll. The feeling of him gripping her underarms reminded her of the way she lifted Blue out of her crib every morning. Even the tears spilling down her cheeks and the soft whimpers burning her throat were just like Bl
ue’s. She tried to stand up, but the uneven trash under her feet wouldn’t let her, leaving her unsteady as she attempted to trudge through it, stumbling when a milk carton collapsed under her weight.
He tightened his hold on her armpits to keep her upright before taking one of her wrists and wrapping it around his neck. Then he seized her other wrist and did the same.
She tightened her arms around his neck, so much it was a wonder he could still breath, and buried her face in his neck, shaking like a leaf. She took what felt like her first breath in minutes. He smelled like any man would smell after a long day on the job—after a police raid no less. Like work, sweat, and musk. Still, the scent of the laundry detergent he always used still managed to sneak into her nose as well, quelling her senses and softening her cries. His cologne was there too, making her previously heaving breath slow even more. The lingering scent of the spoiled chicken, rotten banana peels, and black mold was still so strong at the base of her senses she felt like she could taste it. As if she’d chewed it up and swallowed it. But the scent of him was promising to overpower it. Slowly but surely.
He reached into the can once more and slid his big hand under her legs—his fingers sinking into the soft skin at the back of her thighs—before lifting the rest of her body out. Once he had her in his arms, he moved backward into the quiet alley, where the rumble of a car engine filled her ears for the first time.
Stella curled into the warmth of his black cotton t-shirt, taking chunks of it into her fists as she dug her nails into his back. The solid ridges of his biceps against her thighs and back made her feel like she could float in mid-air if she wanted, so strong that falling felt impossible. She tried to move in closer, but she was already as near as she could get.
As she cuddled in, he reared back, drawing a sharp gasp from her lips when he released her legs and let his arms fall to his sides.
She tightened her arms around his neck, leaving her legs hanging down from his 6’6 frame like she was swinging from a jungle gym, her lips still pressed into his neck.
Forbidden (War Book 1) Page 6
