Her body loosens around my hand, legs opening slightly for access. A violent growl leaves me. This isn't going away because she's pacifying me, or because I'll come inside her, and the gun being pushed inside her mouth tells her that. She gags around it, but I don’t care. I pull my hand back and manoeuvre so I can shove my dick all the way in. I force it in harder than normal, driven on by the dry lining of her cunt around me. It sends her throat further onto the barrel, a choking sound gurgling out as my hand holds her head down.
“You fucking lied, Hope,” I snarl as I slam into her.
Her body shunts under my aggression, another choke coming out of her throat. Over and over I do it, punishing her with my dick, part wanting to fucking kill her and another wanting to find out why. Lies, fucking lies. I forge into her, her body being dragged and pushed to wherever the gun makes her travel.
She'd do this to me? To us? “Goddamn whore,” I spit, phlegm coming with it and sticking in her hair. “Up on your fucking knees.”
I pull out and move, the gun tugging at her mouth and knocking her teeth. Her face twists to me as it levers her up. She'll raise that ass for me and beg around metal, beg for her life if that's what I want to take from her. My dick slips from her and presses upwards, fingers driving it at the other hole. The move makes her try to lean away, choking again as she does. “You won't win this, Hope. You be a good girl and you might get to live by the end of it.”
Fucking darkness comes then. It drives me into black holes where no one wants to be. She's shoved without care or thought, some part of me desperate for the bitch to be dead by that end I'm talking about. Everything's yanked, torn at, or ripped into. Every piece of her. Her clothes, every hole, every connection she tried to take from me, the trust—all sliced into nothing but a blank haze of hatred and loathing.
Disgust. That's what it is. Pure, unadulterated disgust.
She’s invited into my home, given everything she’s ever wanted, and she’d do this?
I come at some point and roar out at the fucking achievement, glorifying myself in whatever place I've just been. Still, I’m not finished with her and fuck into her ass. It's rough, my own throat choking on the very thing I'm doing, as I hold her head down and keep showing her how fucking stupid crossing me is.
The gun gets thrown behind me, pulled from her lips so I can listen to her whimpers and screams instead. She bellows them out for me, pain coming from howled screams of pity. Tears, too. Pretty tears. I can feel them on my fingers as I shove my hand into her mouth, screwing her face up towards me again. I lean in, my eyes inches from hers, and tilt to look right into them for one final shunt inwards.
So fucking blue. Tears filling them, bloodshot whites surrounding that pretty damn ocean I used to see. Why do this? She had everything here. I gave her everything. I snarl, my lips pursed from the loss of something I trusted. What a waste. What a pretty fucking waste of a whore.
I end up tossing her face away to the floor, disgusted with the sight of it, and pull my spent dick from her ass. I’m done for now. She lies there like the whore she is, a mess in the middle of my carefully crafted life. Blood and saliva streak her face. Her hair’s matted, and her ass is still on show, high-end dress that I damn well bought ripped and splayed out by her side. I growl at the vision and pull in a breath as I tuck my dick away. “Don't fucking move, Hope. You wanna live, you stay just like that.”
My neck cricks, eyes searching for liquor as I cross through to the entrance and triple lock everything down. I snatch the gun on the way back. I'll wait now—wait and think. Plan. War. That's what I'll do. I’ll find it somehow, see the route I need now I’ve got this out. I can't think. Cane? Or her? Which one? I’ve got the rest of the drugs covered, guys going into the other houses from all angles trying to work out what the fuck’s gone down. I organised that earlier, set the wheels moving while we were poring over the dead bodies. I just need to work out where the fucking leak is happening.
She splutters out a cough while I’m thinking. My dick twitches at the sound as I move back across the room. Maybe I’ll fuck her again. She’s so pretty. Especially like this. It reminds me of the first time I saw her, the thoughts I had about what my fucked-up head might do to her back then.
No, think.
The Canes.
I knock my head with the gun, trying to find the evolution behind all this, then look at the bitch. She's cowering, sniffs coming out every now and then, and mascara all over her face. It's pitiful. Fucking state of it. It arouses the man in me that’s been gone so long I’d near forgotten about him, and I reach for the bottle of bourbon. “Shouldn't have screwed with me, Hope,” I mutter out, pouring a drink.
She murmurs something, causing me to stare down at her and wait for the begging to come like it did when I first had her. She’d look at me back then from barely alive eyes and plead for her life, insisting she was loyal to me alone. I started to believe that at some point, gave her that trust and softened. For her. It must have been real. Should have been. I wouldn't have trusted her if she wasn't worth trusting. But no one else knew. “Should've known better than to rile this cunt up again.”
She doesn’t beg, though. All she does is slowly pull herself to her knees to look back at me, her hand wiping her face gracefully, as though she isn’t in a state.
“I haven't. Wouldn't,” she says, a resolute tone coming as she rights herself in front of me. “I'm on your side, Benjamin.” My cheek twitches, annoyed at fucking everything. “Why would I?” I don't know. But she has. Must have. Unless it's Cane. They could be double dealing, trying to get my city from beneath me. But they didn't know about that building or the run of brown going out. I don’t think they did. Maybe they did. I sip my drink, eyes focused on her as my brain whirrs through the possibilities. “I just… Anya's a friend of sorts. I knew you wouldn't be in the right mood. The children, Benjamin? Two boys.”
Sentiment washes through the riot in my brain, as I picture their faces the last time I saw them. It riles me up further, the thought of Tony’s kids left unchecked without a father filling me with revenge plans. Her knees shuffle towards me, hands out to her sides. “And I told Anya you'd look after her financially. I was trying to keep her on side. She knows a lot.” I step back, eyes still trained in on the bitch. “I did it for you, Benjamin. For us. Please, think sensibly.” Us? There is no us. Never was. “The library earlier tonight? That was us, Benjamin. You and me. Real for once. You did that for me, remember? Why would I do anything to jeopardize that?”
The library.
I swallow my drink, remembering that and my thoughts towards her only a few hours ago. She laughed, snickered at me as if we were normal people. I laughed. My mind spins around her reasons to fuck me over that aren't there to find. She might, though. She's clever like that. I’ve made her that way, encouraged it. The gun pushes into my skull again, rubbing it to find reasons as I walk back to a chair and sit. “Benjamin, please. You know me. You do. You wouldn’t have done that if you didn’t trust me. All this time together. You know me, please.”
So fucking pretty. I watch her, intent on hating her enough to kill her. It’s not there, though. She’s too precious to die, whether she lied or not.
“Anya’s house?” I mutter, gun pointing at her again.
“Yes. Think, Benjamin. Why would I do anything else?” she says, inching forward again. Maybe she did. “I was trying to help.” It's logical. Fucking disobedient, but logical. Tony's wife always was a goddamn handful.
“I’ll kill you if this is a lie, Hope.” She nods and comes forward again, eyes still looking at me. I snarl at them, annoyed that she has this ability to get inside my head. Clever bitch. It’s working, too. I can feel her calming me down with every inch closer she gets. “I might give a fuck about you, but that won’t stop me gutting you open if you don't do as your damn well told next time.”
“You won’t need to. My life is you. Has been since you asked for me,” she says, one hand reaching for my knee.
Asked. I snort at the thought of it, given this situation, and watch that hand getting closer. I did. I asked for her. She didn’t sidle up to me like other whores did, didn’t try at all. She was aloof, capricious, and damn hard work for me to get hold of. It was the fucking thing that attracted me to her in the first place.
The gun drops a little when her hand finally lands, and I take a sip of my drink, scowling at whatever she’s trying to do.
“You would have pulled that by now if you didn’t believe me. Please, put it down,” she whispers, fingers loose on my trousers. I can't think straight. It's Tony's eyes—they're all I can see. And now his fucking kids, too, and the stamp mark pushed into his skin. I should be killing her. I should. I should be killing everyone that's too close. Getting them gone.
“Relax. Let me help you.” Help me. My eyes narrow. “Anya's family is there with her now. Tony's mother is on her way. That part is covered and organised.” My head nods to the sound of her voice. I don't know why. Maybe it's the lilt of it soothing this fucking chaos in my mind. “You want me to rub that tension out of you?” My eyes level down at hers, still not convinced she's telling the full truth, but she keeps getting closer to me with all the confidence she'd normally have. “You need to get this together, Benjamin.”
She's damn right I do. Her included.
Lies. Deaths. I focus on a blank haze in front of me as she goes behind me, her hands on my shoulders as she begins rubbing into my chest. So many of my team dead. Blood sprayed all over the fucking place, drugs gone. I tense under her fingers at the thought. That's a lot of goddamned money I've just lost, and it'll need replacing.
“Do you know who it was?” she asks, pushing that tension out of me again. My eyes close, my gun falling into my lap. Yes. I do. I know exactly who it was. Yakuza scum. Trouble is, I don’t know if her or the Cane boys are involved.
Ten
Time slips past us. The only indications that it’s still moving are the aches of my body and the drink that Benjamin continues to throw down his neck.
Even in the beginning, when he would test me—push me to the point of breaking—he didn’t ever shove a gun in my mouth. He’d do plenty of threatening, and I believed him. I’ve seen too much not to believe in Benjamin’s threats, but actually doing that sort of thing? Never. I can cope with violence, aggression and hateful words. They’ve been a part of my life for so long they’ve somehow helped form the foundation of who I am. Those experiences give me strength. They’re my steel core, helping me stand up and live in the world I’m in. But this is something new from him, something I've never felt on my skin before. Almost psychotic.
I run my tongue over the jagged edge of one of my back teeth, chipped from the barrel of the gun. The blood and come have dried on my thighs and body, and I’m desperate to wash last night off me. Every muscle in my body protests as I pull myself from under Benjamin’s arm. Mentally, I brace for the tirade of shouting he’ll throw at me, but nothing comes, so I crawl off the bed and stumble into the bathroom, quietly closing the door behind me.
The bright lights show me just how much damage he’s done. My reflected face is marred by light bruises. My lip’s torn with blood still crusting over the wound, and my sunny hair is dark and matted, hanging in knots. I peer at my red-rimmed eyes, wondering what I’m getting myself into. If I get this reaction from nothing but paranoia, what the hell will happen if he actually finds out what I’ve done?
There were times in the past when I’d come home roughed up. It was part of being a hooker on the streets of New York. Back then I was a timid mouse compared to what I’ve fought to become. Men thought paying for sex gave them permission to do anything they wanted—rough sex, rape play, sometimes no play at all. Strange that I allow it from Benjamin now, but I suppose that's because of my goal. Cane. I tell myself that because I can’t look at the other reasons too carefully. Admittedly, this is far worse than it’s been for a long time.
The spray from the shower is a soothing balm to my pain, washing it away in a tinge of pink water. I stay hidden away, fortifying my strength for much longer than necessary, but I need to build up my walls. Whatever this has been from him, it could happen again, and I need to be prepared, to use my resources to calm him down.
When I emerge, Benjamin is passed out on the bed, the drained bottle on the floor where it slipped from his grasp. I grab a silk negligee from the wardrobe, pull the covers over my body and try finding sleep. It’s easier than it should be given what just happened.
* * *
The morning light through the window wakes me, confusing my muddled mind. I bolt upright, regretting the move instantly, and grab hold of my jaw in pain. The clock flashes nine fifteen, which can’t be right. I never sleep in.
I throw back the covers and pad, as enthusiastically as I’m able, out of the bedroom to go searching for Benjamin. The door to his study is ajar, so I creep up to the threshold.
He’s dressed in his usual black vest over a white shirt, the phone to his ear and a neat stack of papers on his desk. He turns on his chair to see me and a small smile lifts the corner of his mouth. He beckons me with a finger and pulls me down onto his lap, something he’s never done in his office.
“Keep me posted.” He ends the call and tosses the phone on the desk.
“I’m sorry I slept in.” It’s a stupid thing to say, but they’re the only words I can think of.
“You needed to sleep. Besides, I want you with me today. Here.”
The thought that he doesn’t trust me chills me. I’ve worked too long for him to doubt me at the first sign of trouble.
“I need to go out, Benjamin. I can’t stay cooped up all day.”
“Why do you need to go out?”
“Because I have a chipped tooth that needs fixing.”
I climb off his lap, not ready to have this conversation with him where he can reach for my skin. He’s a manipulative bastard at the best of times. The sigh that comes from him as I move is unusual and causes me to turn to see what it's for.
“How is it?” he asks, pointing at my face. Painful. I don't know how to reply.
A million responses fly through my mind. All of them involve something he's not going to like. Admitting fault isn't something Benjamin ever does. He seems genuine, though. It's strange, as if he's questioning his actions for once in his life. My mouth stalls, unable to find suitable words, and I watch him shake his head and pick up a pen to get back to whatever he was doing. “You can go with Torino, but not today,” he says quietly. “We have lunch with the Canes. I need you there to keep on with Quinn.”
“You sure that’s a good idea?”
My words are out before I’ve thought them through, but instead of the ice in his eyes, I see a haunted look. The part of my heart that belongs to him hopes it’s remorse for last night. The realist in me knows it’s not.
“Go get Torino. He wanted to talk to us both. About yesterday,” he mutters, a frown on his face.
I know this is going to be bad. Once Benjamin realises that I went off without Torino, he’ll never let me out of his sight.
“Okay.”
Torino’s post is in the hall outside the apartment when we’re at home. He has a small desk where he waits for me, always ready if I want to go out on my own. Today is the first time in however long that he won’t be needed, it appears.
“Jesus, Hope,” he curses as I open the door.
“Good morning. You wanted to see Benjamin.”
He looks torn, and I know why. The bruising will have only increased from last night. Covering this up for lunch will be a challenge. Him talking now? Telling Benjamin the truth? Christ knows what will happen then, to either of us.
“It… It can wait.”
“Cold feet?” I press, knowing exactly what he’s thinking about reporting. Asshole.
“No, but I’m sure I’ll be out of a job if he kills you.” Dead is possibly more correct, which is what I'm thinking I might do to him, too. “Wha
t did you tell him?”
“None of your business. Either speak to him or don’t.” I count to ten in my head, keeping my stare on Torino the entire time. He fidgets, clearly agitated, but doesn’t move from his post. Good. He's more sensible than I gave him credit for. Him reporting my behaviour can only end one way—with him dead and me with more of this on my face. “See you later. We’re going out to lunch.”
I shut the door and let out a breath. Torino is right. Benjamin has never pushed me this far before, and all of that after the simple transgression of me not obeying an order. When he finds out how deeply I'm about to betray him, I’m not so sure he’ll leave me alive.
* * *
“Will I do?” I strut out of the bedroom after spending two hours covering up my face and ensuring I’m as close as possible to the ‘perfect’ Benjamin always insists on.
“Mmm. Ready?” He cocks his arm, which is another unusual thing today, but I take it. He’s acting… different from normal. Maybe the whole library date thing went to his head? That or the psychotic episode from last night is still ongoing. I smile and nudge in closer to him, desperate to make sure he trusts me again. Whatever that was last night is not helpful to me.
In any way.
Luca is waiting for us in the car, a new aggressive frown on his brow. I try not to stare at him, or Benjamin, as he drives us to the restaurant situated close to the Cane’s hotel, but the atmosphere has changed since last night. They're both edgy, quiet, not that they're ever that talkative.
We arrive, and I see Quinn and Emily are already at the table that’s only set for four. “Are Nathan and Gabby not joining us?” I whisper to Benjamin.
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