Doll Face

by Sadie Grubor

  "Take what's yours," he urges, relaxing the hand at my neck and sliding it down my chest.

  Moving over him, faster, harder, our eyes lock.

  The dark gleam is there, reveling in my depraved descent.

  "There it is," he growls.

  The sound of skin slapping, heavy breathing, and the smell of sex fill the air around us.

  Gripping the back of his neck with one hand and pressing the other to the front of his shoulder, I close the space between us. Rising above him, I press my breast against his mouth.

  Without hesitation, he opens, sucking the hard tip between his lips. When his hands come to my hips, I move them to cup my breasts and grind down on his cock. On a groan, he moves to my other nipple, then wraps my arms around his neck and head. Holding his face to my chest, I fuck him fast and hard. My thighs burn to the point of pain, but the ache in my clit and maddening anticipation of orgasmic escape are too powerful. And the force of what's to come emboldens me.

  Wanting him to watch me fuck him, I release his head and collar his throat with my hand while my hips never cease their assault on him. He allows me to use my new hold on to push him back against the headboard, but the satisfaction, pride, and hunger in his eyes are enough for me to falter. His hands find my hips, assuring I find my rhythm again, and I lean in, licking his mouth before taking his bottom lip between my teeth.

  "Fuck," he moans, painfully gripping my hips and increasing my pace.

  Screaming my orgasm, I release his lip. The coppery taste on my tongue, I drop my head back and ride out the most intense orgasm of my life. White spots burst behind my eyelids and a long, guttural moan tears from my throat. The force of it all turns into over stimulation, every touch sending a jolt of pleasurable pain through me.

  "We aren't finished," he promises as I slacken against him.

  Shoved to my back, Saint kneels above me. Placing one ankle on his shoulder and pressing my other leg open wide, he slips the tip of his dick through my cum saturated lips.

  "Fuck, you're soaking." Without hesitation, he drops my leg and buries his face between my thighs.

  He eats me with fervor, wanting every last drop, then he's back inside me, ankle on his shoulder and palm pressing me open wide. His thrusts are hard and punishing, exactly what I crave. When his thumb presses to my clit, I moan, lost in the sensation of it all.

  "So. Fucking. Good." His thrusts accentuate each word as my head hits the headboard.

  "Yes," I moan my agreement, earning me a swirl of his hips. "Fuck yes," I cry.

  "You. Belong." His hips once again emphasizing his words, but on the last he shouts, "To me," staying deeply planted inside me.

  Slipping an arm beneath me, he rolls us to our sides.

  His cock slides out, resting against the inside of my thigh as he entwines our legs. Running his hand up the back of my thigh, he uses his fingers to slip through his cum.

  "I like my mess in you," he repeats, and my body jerks as two fingers reenter me and stay there.

  Saint

  Unsure of how today's meeting with Felix is going to go, I'm distracted.

  So, when I'm stopped short on the last step by Sketch, I'm unprepared for his verbal assault.

  "You're starting a fucking war," Sketch states, blocking my path.

  "I'm well aware of what I'm doing, but if we're being honest, it's Angelo who started the war," I remind him, lifting one brow before pushing past him.

  Removing my vibrating cell from inside my suit jacket, I glance to the screen.

  "Fuck," he growls from behind me. "You're going to get us all killed."

  Ignoring his concern, I swipe the phone, and answer, "Yes?"

  "You watching the news?" Felix asks.

  "Should I be?"

  "Mick and Harry are dead," he states, his words lacking emotion.

  "Who?"

  "You fucking know who," he growls, frustrated.

  Taking a deep breath, I respond on a heavy exhale, "The assassin."

  "Assassin? Please tell me you aren't buying into all the fucking rumors," he shouts, disbelief lacing the hypothetical question. "You know who carves into their fucking targets, Saint. They even threatened to carve out Cosimo's eyes." Felix's fiery temper escalates.

  "The Cartel is sorted," I remind him. "Cosimo is no longer of interest to them."

  "That's bullshit and you know it!" The line goes dead.

  "What the fuck was that about?" Sketch asks, standing next to me.

  "I need you to add Nick and Harry to your information," is my response.

  "She strikes again." It's not a question, but a statement filled with awe at our latest nuisance.

  "You're so sure it's a woman?"

  "I fantasize that it's woman," he admits with a shrug.

  Shaking my head, I continue toward the kitchen. I may find Sketch ridiculous at times, but I would be a liar if I said I wasn't a bit impressed with this killer—or killers. They are ballsy and swift to act.

  "If they continue this way, you'll all be dead by the end of the year," Sketch teases.

  He's not too far off in his assessment.

  "Mr. Ruggiano?"

  Shoving my cell back inside my suit jacket, I glance up at my personal associate. Jacob Colmbs came into my service when I was just a kid, my father and mother bringing him on as security.

  Knowing damn well Jacob hasn't called me by my given name since I was a child, I taunt, "Still so formal after all these years."

  "Would you prefer Mr. Saint?" I don't miss the edge to the way he says my nickname.

  "Welcome home," I greet, ignoring his question. "You were missed."

  "And you have a new pet," he responds, lifting a brow and holding out a mug.

  "Mei," I stress her name, making it clear that’s what he's to call her, "is still asleep."

  For a moment, my mind flashes to the image of Mei twisted in the sheet of my bed. The way the soft cotton wrapped around her waist and cross beneath her body leaving the bare globes of her ass on display. The urge to leave my hand print on her fair skin had been almost undeniable.

  Shaking off my lust filled thoughts, I continue. "She has free reign of the penthouse, but isn't to leave."

  I don't miss the way his eyes flare with curiosity before I turn to Sketch.

  "I want you to focus your efforts on the flash drive, today's development, and I need you to check on Raul's recent activity," I instruct.

  "So, you think The Cartel has something to do with it?"

  "No." My answer earns me a frown.

  "Care to tell me why I'm risking getting caught checking up on him?"

  "Thought you don't get caught," Jacob tosses back words he's repeatedly boasted over the years.

  Sketch glares. "I prefer to work under full disclosure," he says to Jacob before turning to me, "Something that's not happening much lately." His words accusatory, but I can't find it in me to give a fuck.

  "You'll know what I want you to," I inform.

  Placing the now half full mug on the island, I glance at my watch.

  "I'm late."

  "I'll message for the car," Jacob says, falling right back into his routine.

  Adjusting my cuffs, I give them a nod and leave the penthouse.

  Frankie moves the SUV through the streets of Chicago in silent familiarity while a stiff and tense Vincent quietly sits in the passenger seat. They may not know the reason behind this meeting, but the men I keep in my inner circle are there for reason. They aren't fucking stupid and have a skill set. Perception and intelligence are two, while being loyal as fuck is another. After that, they each possess their skills in different levels.

  Frankie's capability to maneuver a car and his split-second reflexes and Vincent's ability to read a room or a person are only matched by his skill to find people. Russ, who follows in a separate vehicle, is a decorated sharp shooter who will be covering us from higher ground in a building across the street.

  I know each of their minds are on this meeting
, but I can't say the same. Mine drifts back to the woman in my bed—my dangerous obsession.

  "Boss?" Vincent pulls me from my deviant thoughts. "Two things." Not waiting for a response, he continues. "We're about twenty minutes out."

  "And?"

  He turns sideways in the passenger seat, holding up his cell phone.

  Requested package delivered to destination.

  The feeling of victory is quickly replaced by the rage I've been locking away.

  Arman is in place, just hours away, and all I want to do is turn the fucking car around and introduce him to all the reasons people fear The Saint, and why touching what belongs to me is a terrible idea.

  Vincent pulls his phone away, casting his eyes down, and I follow his gaze.

  My custom talon blade spins around the fingers of my right hand, my body moving on autopilot, seeking out the comfort of a sharp edge and familiar handle.

  Smirking, I glance up and catch his eyes with mine.

  My men aren't pussy's. They're strong and brave as fuck, but, as I said, they aren't fuckin stupid. It's smart to fear me—especially when Vincent is one of the few to see the aftermath of my own particular skill set.

  Leaning back into the leather seat, I raise my right hand and continue to twirl the knife. The vibration of my cell phone does nothing to calm my current mood. Taking my knife in my left hand, I use my right to take out my phone, swipe the screen and answer.

  "Yes?"

  "Look who's still alive," she responds.

  Closing my eyes, I inhale through my nose, trying to keep my temper under control. She only uses this tone when someone is within listening distance. It still grates on my fucking nerves and it's only in honor of AJ's memory that I continue to put up with this game.

  "You haven't been home in weeks," she continues with the charade of nagging. "And I need you to come home."

  "I'm busy," I say, much calmer than I feel.

  With the game about to change and Arman's demise so close, I can already smell the metallic hints in his blood, this is the last distraction I need.

  "Yes…well, we have a problem." Her voice lowers enough for me to know she's free of eavesdroppers. "Rosario is planning a family dinner before my parents return to New York." I don't miss the annoyance and exhaustion in her voice.

  "Christ," I grumble, pressing the heel of the knife handle between my eyes. Being summoned to play my dutiful domestic role isn't what I need at the moment. And it's a role that, if it weren't for AJ's plea, I wouldn't have. Anger burns in my gut. It's all because of Angelo and his greedy, power hungry, God complex.

  "My thoughts exactly," she whispers before the charade returns. "You need to be here tonight by seven and don't you dare call and tell me you'll be late. I don't ask for a lot and you know it."

  Clenching my jaw until it aches, I loosen it enough to growl out, "Fine," and toss the phone across the car.

  At the clearing of a throat, I look up and realize we're parked on the side street next to the Holy Name Cathedral. Frank stands next to my door, knowing not to open it yet.

  I take one last moment to collect myself and my thoughts before tapping the tinted window. Frank opens the door and a breeze sweeps inside, helping to cool my temper.

  Standing on the curb, I roll my head on my shoulders and quickly scan the street, finding Felix sliding out of a car a few spaces down. His men gather at his side and move at a steady pace with him.

  "Dante," he greets, giving me a quick nod before ducking inside the church.

  I follow close behind. Frankie stays with the car, while Vincent is the only man at my side.

  Inside the church, I'm met with the smell of incense and wood polish, and the soft lighting is almost romantic.

  "Good morning, my sons," Father Esposito greets from the doorway of his office.

  "Father," we respond in unison before locating the dark wooden panel at the back of a hallway. Releasing the hidden latch, we descend to the secure and secret part of the basement. It's deep enough to prevent any type of radio transmitted wires, cell phones, and once the door is closed behind us, it becomes sound proof. Reaching the concrete and stone destination, Felix turns to me.

  "What the hell is going on?" he demands.

  Eyes on Felix, I order, "Leave us."

  Vincent doesn't hesitate, but Felix's men don't move until he gives a lift of his chin. Once alone and the door sealed behind us, I straighten my spine and cross my arms over my chest.

  Felix raises one brow, a prompt for me to begin.

  "Angelo's fucked us since the beginning," I begin.

  "I think we already covered this," Felix barks.

  "Yes, he's the reason we were ambushed and AJ was killed," I state.

  "Again, shit I already know," he says with annoyance.

  Taking a seat at the large table in the center of the room, he sighs, running a hand through his hair before asking, "Are you going to tell me anything I don't know?"

  "Evgeni's son isn't dead."

  "The fuck," Felix exclaims. "Does the sick bastard have him locked away somewhere?"

  Part of me is relieved to hear how he refers to Angelo. It gives me hope I've made the right choice bringing him in on this—that our relationship isn't so strained we will be on opposite sides of the coming war.

  "No," I quip, gripping the back of the chair next to him.

  Pulling it out, I turn the chair to face him and sit.

  "He's kept him close, hiding him in plain fucking sight the whole time," I hint a little more at the truth. I don't want to overwhelm Felix too quickly. He's known for his cold fury. Where others are hotheaded and explode in times of severe anger, Felix gets calm—too calm—until he smoothly executes you how he sees fit.

  "You?" he guesses with an incredulous laugh. "Of course, you're the fucking missing Bratva son everyone thinks is dead."

  "No, Felix." I shake my head, but hold his eyes. As the silence stretches, I watch realization soften his face.

  "You're wrong," he denies.

  I stay silent.

  "It's impossible," he snaps.

  "It's not," I finally confirm. "Felix, you were born Kazimir Leonid Volkov, son of Evgeni and Diana Volkov. The fucking Bratva son is you."

  Pushing out of the chair, he spins around and paces the side of the room.

  "How is that possible?" he asks, and without waiting for a response, adds, "They found the evidence of his wife and infant son's body in the car after the flames were extinguished."

  "Angelo arranged the car accident, but it's not what everyone thought. Diana was barely alive when the car was put into motion and the infant was already dead."

  Felix stops and looks at me, his eyes burning for answers.

  "Angelo used the body of your parents' first child, a newborn son, who conveniently died around the same time the 'accident' occurred," I explain, letting my suspicions on that matter seep into my words.

  "My mother would never have allowed him to—"

  "You think he asked?" I snap. "How many open caskets have you seen for an infant, Felix? Most people don't want to see a dead adult, let alone a child."

  "Evgeni knows?" His eyes search my face.

  "I don't believe so," I shake my head.

  "So, the day we lost AJ…" he trails off.

  "Was Evgeni taking what Angelo took from him, though I think it was done on a gut feeling. I don't believe he had any real proof. If he did, I think he would've found you long ago."

  "But why?" Felix asks the same question that bothered me.

  Why would Angelo murder Evgeni's family and break a long-standing truce?

  "Greed, power, a fucked up tactical move to supersede the Bratva's power and influence," I offer the only educated guesses I've come up with. "I hope I'm not the only one who sees how obsessed he's become with power and ruling like a goddamn tyrant."

  It's not a question, but Felix nods in agreement.

  "Christ," Felix growls. "How could my mother fucking keep this from me
?"

  He begins pacing again.

  "I don't think she knows who you are," I explain. "I'm pretty sure Angelo just swooped in as the big brother saving the day. She'd just lost her first child, Felix. She wouldn't think past having a baby in her arms again, besides the fact that Angelo has sheltered her since she was a child."

  His eyes meet mine, understanding shining in them. No one in the family needs to say exactly how protective Angelo is of his sister. It's evident in every over-the-top protective action where she's concerned.

  "But my father," he stops short, snapping his head in my direction. "He figured it out. That's why he…"

  Tightening my jaw, I give a firm nod. This will be the true test between Felix and me.

  "The fucker called him a traitor just so—"

  "He could get rid of a loose end," I say, dropping my eyes to the floor.

  I don't lower them in regret or apology. I am a monster, a demon, and death is what I do, but this has always been a point of contention between us.

  "I'm not an idiot, Dante." Felix's unexpected words bring my eyes back to his.

  "I know you did it so I wouldn't have to," he confesses. "Not at first," he continues, returning to his previous seat. "But eventually, I figured it out. You thought I wouldn't be able to kill my own father."

  "No." Now it's my turn to surprise him. "I didn't doubt for one minute you would kill him."

  His brow furrows. "Then why?"

  "Felix," I lean forward, elbows to my knees, "by the age of fifteen, I had more blood on my hands than anyone in that room."

  His eyes widen just a bit.

  "I did it so you wouldn't have to live with it," I admit, sitting back into my chair. "My soul was already twisted and black."

  "A saint owned by a devil?" Felix tries to tease.

  "I am the devil. I just go by the name Saint," I retort.

  Snorting, he gives a nod.

  "What the fuck are we going to do, Dante? It's not like we can confront him, and we sure as fuck can't bring in the rest of the family without risking Angelo's wrath."