by Nia Farrell
“Obviously, Matteo doesn’t know about this.” Mr. Visconti slid his gaze to her still-flat abdomen. “Until I say otherwise, you will make sure that it stays that way. Capisci?”
Avoiding his eyes, she kept her gaze fastened on his mouth. “Yes,” she croaked. “I understand.”
“You can work for now. It’s good to keep busy, yes?”
Resentment flared. She shoved it down and managed to sound meek, at least. “Yes, sir.”
“Doc will find you a nice place to work. Vincent, you’ll see to it?”
“Of course. Beth, I want you to put in your two weeks’ notice tomorrow. We’ll have something lined up so that you leave the hospital one day and start work the next—unless you want some time off in between jobs.”
She swiveled her head and looked at Dr. Romano in surprise. “Actually, a week off work would be good. I can take my time and get my fall cleaning done.”
Dom Visconti shook his head. “You can supervise. I’ll send my girls to do it.”
Jesus. Was nothing beyond this man’s reach?
Beth’s forced smile turned genuine when she thought of having seven days of hours that were all hers and a cleaning crew that was beyond her budget. “Thank you,” she said sincerely. “I appreciate any help I can get. Just the thought of blinds and windows wears me out right now.” She swung her gaze from Mr. Visconti to his medic. “When we do blood work, I’ll be interested to see if my fatigue has another component besides pregnancy. There’s a history of anemia in my family.”
“I’m going to write you a prescription for prenatal vitamins that won’t trigger your dye allergy. Now, let’s go ahead and get your blood drawn. I’ll have a courier take it to the lab at the hospital next door. I know it’s normally done fasting, but I don’t think you’ve kept enough down today to throw the readings too far off the mark. When I write your referral to Dr. Bartolotta, I’ll forward all of the test results so that he has what he needs to get started. By the way, on the off chance that you did conceive, I already figured your due date as April 11th. The sonogram will merely confirm it.”
Beth walked back to the exam table. The paper crinkled as she hoisted herself onto the end to sit with her bare feet dangling.
“I’m going to get Colin back in here to assist. He’ll need to complete the paperwork and centrifuge the tubes to give to the courier.”
Beth nodded. Those were menial tasks that didn’t require a doctor’s expertise. She had wanted Colin out of the room while she talked to Dr. Romano. He’d be gone again as soon as his work here was done.
Dr. Romano opened the door and motioned for Colin to come back and assist. Mr. Visconti stayed but took a seat on the far side of the room, out of the way.
Donning latex-free exam gloves, the doctor put a rubber tourniquet around her left biceps and secured it with a loop. “Make a fist. Good.” He percussed the crease of her elbow, looking for a good vein to tap. Hers were small and tricky to find. If she was lucky, he’d get it on the first try. Usually, it took two or three.
“I tend to be a challenge,” she said. “They tell me that a small needle works best.”
He kept tapping and eventually nodded and smiled. “Colin, a small needle, please.”
Dr. Romano hit a vein on his first try. Drawing two tubes, he handed them to Colin, who disappeared out the door.
The doctor pressed on the puncture site with an alcohol-soaked cotton ball. “Hold this,” he said. Reaching for an adhesive strip, he tore open the package, peeled off the backing, and placed the strip over the cotton.
“Very good, Beth. Keep that in place at least thirty minutes. I’m ordering a general health panel, plus an A1C for blood sugar and a thyroid panel. Where you’re experiencing fatigue, we want to rule out those components as well. We should have the results tomorrow. Before we schedule your sonogram, let me call Dr. Bartolotta. He may want to wait for the twelve-to-twenty-weeks age to get it done. You’re only seven and a half.”
Giovanni Visconti rose from his chair and came to stand by Dr. Romano. The Dom’s words were lightly spoken, but they carried the full weight of his power behind them.
“I want to see what we’re dealing with,” he said. “Do it now.”
9
Monday, June 4, 2012
Somewhere near Tuscon, Arizona
Matteo closed his eyes and counted to five backward, wishing like hell he could just hang up on his father. He didn’t want to deal with him right now.
Giovanni Visconti wasn’t above blackmail— emotional or any other kind. “It’s Italian Fest, Matteo. The family always attends. You know this. I’m going to pull the plug on this one. You’ve had nine months to find the guy. Eventually, we will, but you’ll do it from home. You’ve been gone long enough.”
Fuck.
Matteo looked around the room, disgusted by the grimy walls and shoddy furnishings. He’d booked it only because the by-the-hour motel had working air conditioning to dispel the heat and it was outside the city limits. The county mounties who visited were too busy making traffic tickets disappear to pay him any heed. Which was fine by him. He was here for one thing and one thing only: following his latest lead on Neil Rhodes, also known as Reaper, the President and sole surviving member of the Blackwater Demons MC.
The rest of the club had been destroyed in the war with the Visconti family and the Avenging Angels MC. Matteo had made it his mission to find the man who’d brutalized his cousin and put a bullet in his shoulder.
He wouldn’t rest until Reaper was dead. Unfortunately, he was no closer now to finding him than he was eight months ago. He’d hit the road as soon as the doctor released him. He’d been living on it ever since.
He hated to admit it, but his father was right.
“Okay,” he sighed. “All right. You win. It’ll take me three days to drive home if the lanes are open and construction isn’t a problem. I’ll call you if there are any delays.”
“Good boy,” his father hummed. “We’ll see you soon.”
Matteo missed the old days when the click of a phone signaled the end of a call. With burner phones, he got his father’s voice, then nothing but dead air space and the echo of his conscience, reminding him that he had yet to avenge his family’s honor.
His last night here, he tried to drown his regrets with alcohol. When that didn’t work, he dialed the number that he’d used twice since he came.
“Phoenix.”
The hooker’s voice was just as low and sultry as the night that he’d first heard it.
“Al at The Shady Rest. You free?”
“For how long?”
He could tell from her tone that she was free. Since the last factory closing, when she wasn’t working a pole, she was turning tricks at the truck stop by the highway, just down the street.
The strip club where she danced and a bar with package liquor were conveniently between the two.
“All night,” he said. Not knowing what he’d find on the road, he intended to get it out of his system. “I have condoms. Bring lube and your toys. Be prepared to play hard.”
“It’s five hundred for all night. No cash, no nookie. Capiche?”
If Phoenix was trying to get a rise out of him, she was doomed to disappointment—in this, anyway.
“Two fifty,” he countered. “I’m in Room 107. Be here in fifteen minutes or you can kiss my cash good-bye.”
Ten minutes later, knuckles rapped softly on the exterior door. Matteo put his eye to the peephole and saw nothing but bubblegum pink hair, pale ivory skin, and the start of tats that decorated her double D erotic dancer’s body from neck to toe. Pulling the gun from the back of his waist, he held it in one hand and let her in with the other.
Phoenix slid her gaze from his feet to his face, lingering on his groin and smirking at his body’s natural reaction. “So,” she drawled, “I can’t kiss you but I can kiss your money?”
He wasn’t letting that mouth of hers anywhere on his body. “I don’t know where those lips have been. It�
��s risky enough reaming you out with nothing but a trench coat between us. You gonna fucking stand there while I shut the door in your face, or are you coming in?”
Phoenix rolled her eyes and pushed her way past him. “You don’t know shit about sweet talking a girl, Al. You got the cash?”
She was wearing a sundress and nothing beneath it, from what he could tell. Her oversized shoulder bag bulged with whatever she’d brought. Remembering their last kink session, he felt his cock become self-aware.
“Money’s on the table,” he said. “Same as last time. And the time before.” He’d made it five fifties to simplify things.
Her loaded bag landed on the tabletop with a heavy thud. Phoenix picked up the bills and fanned them. “No tip?” she pouted.
“I’ve got a tip. Shut the fuck up and I might let you come. Keep it up, and you’ll be seeing a proctologist tomorrow.”
She started to open that smart mouth of hers but snapped it closed when he set his gun on the nightstand and reached for his belt. She was enough of a painslut to enjoy licks of leather biting into her skin, but taking it up the ass all night would make it a challenge to walk, let alone dance.
“Pull out your toys,” he ordered. “Show me what you’ve got.”
Nipple clamps. Two dildos, different sizes. A rabbit vibrator. A flogger. A paddle. A blindfold. Anal beads. A cock ring with a clit stimulator. Lube. No handcuffs or rope, though. She might do bondage with someone she trusted, but not customers with cash. She knew enough to keep her options open. A hooker needed to be able to get away if she had to.
Crossing her arms, she caught the hem of her sundress and pulled it over her head, exposing inked skin and a body built for sin. Shaking out her pink hair made her tits bounce. Cupping them in her hands, she pinched her nipples into tight, hard buds that begged for clamps.
“Bring it all and put it on the other nightstand.”
His held a pile of condoms and his gun.
Laying his belt on the turned-down bed, he peeled off his A-shirt and tossed it on the closest pillow. Phoenix played with her tits and watched him undress. She knew enough to wait for his commands.
By the time he kicked off his pants, she was practically drooling. Very few customers could fill her greedy holes like he could. The first time that she’d seen what he was packing, she’d practically orgasmed on sight.
Snagging a condom from the pile, he tossed it in the center of the sheet, within reach of wherever he would be when it came time to cover up.
“Bend over the bed, slut. Stick that ass in the air. My belt has your name and a number on it. Twenty to start.”
An erotic shiver rocked her frame. Gooseflesh skittered down her arms. “Yes, Sir.”
Phoenix stretched her torso over the mattress and arched her back in a near-perfect display of anatomy. The only thing missing was a toy.
He settled on the anal beads. Applying a light coating of lube, he shoved them none-too-gently up her ass. She grunted and squealed into the sheets, muffling the sound. The dildo was next. The big one. Wetting the tip on her juices, he found her opening and corkscrewed it in, pushing and pulling, driving inside her until he’d bottomed out and could go no deeper. Stuffing her would heighten her senses during impact play and make it all the sweeter when he ripped out the beads and shoved eight-and-a-half inches of man-meat in her ass.
His cock nodded its approval.
“Count,” he growled. With his doubled belt in his hand, he hauled back his arm and swung it with the precision of a major-league pinch hitter.
She yelped on impact. “One,” she choked out, shocked by the strength of the blow. He didn’t tell her that he’d gone easy on her last time. Tonight, she’d learn just what it took to satisfy his dark side.
He swung again and watched red and white bloom across the pale skin of her twin cheeks.
“Two,” she whimpered.
Smack!
“Three.”
She was an ugly mess by the time he got to twenty. Her face was wet with tears. Her nose was red and her mascara had run, blackening below her eyes and tracking down her cheeks. She’d made the mistake of laying down her head and soiling his sheet with her makeup.
Crawling up over her, he grabbed a fistful of pink hair and yanked back her head.
“Gah!”
“Look what you’ve done, slut. My fucking sheets need changed and there’s never goddamn room service here when you call for it.”
“I’m sorry, Sir.”
Rising to his knees above her, Matteo reached for the condom and let go of her hair. He ripped open the foil packed, pinched the end of the rubber, and rolled down the rest with practiced ease. Backing off the bed, he stood behind her, humping her bright red bottom while he reached for his belt. He caught her wrists, pinned them behind her back, and used his belt to cuff her hands more securely than any kink store set. He gagged her next with the A-shirt that he’d left on the pillow, knotting it behind her head.
“Sorry, she says. If you’re not, slut, you will be.”
Finding the protruding end, he pulled out the anal beads and tossed them at the trash can. They landed half inside, sparing the carpet, at least. He thought about taking her with no lube, but honestly, with the dildo still in her pussy, a slick slide into her back door was going to feel better than forcing his way in and dragging back out.
Popping the lid, he drizzled coconut oil down her crack and coated his length. He set the oil aside, pressed the head of his cock against her pucker, and lunged, relishing the scream that only he could hear. Jesus, she was tight. So goddamn tight. Yeah, leaving the dildo in was a good call. It was almost like being in a threesome. He hadn’t done one in a while—unlike his rock star brothers who indulged on a regular basis. Out on the road, there were plenty of groupies who were willing to be shared.
Taking her ass was like plunging into an endless sleeve of soft, warm clay. He thrust into her, enjoying the feel of her, inside and out. The fiery heat of her abused flesh. The white-hot stretch of her anus as it struggled to accommodate his girth. The friction of the dildo, the fake dick separated from his by only a thin wall of tissue.
At one point, he pulled out, flipped her over, and fastened the clamps on those tight, hard nipples of hers. Fresh tears sprang from her eyes, running down her temples and wetting her hair. To add to her torment, he used the flogger that she’d brought, raining lashes onto her thighs, her belly, her midriff, her breasts. Flogging her clamped nipples made her shake with sobs.
He wailed on her until his bad shoulder started to complain. Tossing the flogger aside, he fondled his balls and looked at her, trying to decide what he wanted to do next. He pulled the dildo from her pussy and stuck it up her ass, filling her to the brim with ten inches of pliant synthetic cock. He drove his condom-covered dick into her cunt, unwilling to risk taking anything away from this except his ultimate satisfaction.
Hooking his elbow behind her knee, he opened her up further to his possession. The change in angle let him grind against her clit and force the first orgasm from her. Her climax had the desired effect, making her pussy walls tighten around him, rippling along his length. He fucked her harder, driving into her until he heard her panting breaths and felt her body stiffen with her impending release. Lowering her leg, he caught the chain connecting the nipple clamps and gave it a tug to send her hurtling over the edge.
He dipped his head and bit her breasts hard enough to leave teeth marks in her mounds of flesh. Flicking the tips of her nipples with his tongue, he tormented her sensitive flesh and earned more tears for the pain that he was causing.
Matteo grinned like the sadist that he was. The hooker writhed beneath him, desperate to escape but unable to get away. Lying on top of her cuffed hands was wrenching her shoulders.
Good luck with working that stripper pole tomorrow.
10
In the morning, Matteo gave her another two fifty before he booted her ass out the door. As whores went, she was clean, with a pretty
face and a killer body. More importantly, she didn’t complain. She did her job and took it whatever way that he wanted to give it to her
Which was mostly up her ass.
As soon as he’d washed his sweat and her scent from his body, he got dressed, packed his bags, loaded his car, and checked out.
The annual Italian Fest was held on the second full weekend of June to avoid conflicts with Memorial Day observances at the end of May and the Fort de Chartres Rendezvous in Prairie du Rocher. An eighteenth-century reenactment held the first weekend of June, the Rendezvous drew people from across the country. Many attendees were from the tri-state area of Missouri, Illinois, and Kentucky.
His father wanted him home, but Southern Illinois was a solid twenty-two hours away, plus gas, meals, pit stops, and delays for wrecks and construction. With four days to get back, he was going to take his time getting there. Breaking the trip into three equal legs, Matteo spent the first night in Santa Rosa, New Mexico, and the second on the far side of Tulsa, Oklahoma. Staying on the east side and checking out early let him hit the road at seven and miss the traffic heading into the city.
The northern route took him across Southern Missouri, a price that he was willing to pay to avoid the wastelands that comprised parts of Texas. Either of those beat driving mile after fucking mile past wheat fields in Kansas.
He rolled into Diamond Springs on Thursday at five pm. Topping off with gas, he scrubbed the bugs off his windshield and headlights and headed for the Visconti compound on the outskirts of town.
The new guard at the gate had the balls to stop him and verify his ID. Granted, he couldn’t see much through the blacked-out glass, but it pissed him off that his father hadn’t forewarned the guy. He should have been given a picture for a visual match at the very least, for Christ’s sake. He knew that he was coming.
Matteo recognized it for what it was—punishment for not being here sooner. His father had tried to pull him back in December, then again in February. The worst rant came in April. He just would not fucking quit. Probably because he was still pissed that Matteo had spent Christmas and New Year’s looking for Reaper instead of coming home for the holidays.
