by Chloe Walsh
His brows furrowed in frustration and he flicked his gaze to mine. "What was it?"
"Gone, not out," I explained before swinging the glass door open and backing into the shower. "You know better."
"Gone," Trig muttered, correcting himself, tone embarrassed. "Not out."
I smothered a smile, knowing he deserved none of those, and waited for him to turn his back before placing the knife on his shampoo rack.
Protection, I assured myself. Just in case this was a trick. A game. A false sense of security. My brain was screaming danger, my heart was laughing at the notion, my body didn’t seem to know what it wanted, and my pride was demanding vengeance.
Conflicted, I quickly set to work on lathering my hair with his shampoo and scrubbing myself raw with a loofah. My skin was littered with faint bruises, many of those being fingerprints, and my stomach turned at the sight.
"Can I…" Trig's voice came from the other side of the glass. "Is it gone?"
"I'm not bleeding anymore," I called back weakly. "I'm okay."
"I need to see," was his gruff reply. "Just see."
"I really don't…" Letting my words trail off, I decided to push the door open. There was little point in putting it off. If he wanted me, he could have me. Nobody was coming to save me. "See," I whispered, back pressed to the wall of the shower, as I watched Trig. He was still naked and standing in the shower doorway with his heated gaze locked on my lower half. "All gone."
"I marked you," he bit out, eyes locked on my thighs. "You are bruised."
"I'll heal."
Muttering a string of Spanish swear words under his breath, he stepped into the shower and I panicked, quickly scrambling into the corner and directly under the flow of scalding water. Holding his hands up, he eyed me warily. "I won't hurt you," he said in a slow, coaxing tone. "I won't."
Uncertain, I watched as he slowly closed the space between us and then sank to his knees. My pulse thundered in my ears, heart hammering violently in my chest, when he dipped his head and pressed a soft kiss to my left thigh and then my right. "What are you –" my words broke off, morphing into a throaty moan when he buried his face between my legs, nose grazing my mound as his tongue snaked out to lap at my swollen clit.
"Let me clean you," he whispered, nuzzling my pussy with his nose. "Let me take the pain away with my tongue."
"Oh god…" His words caused a dart of arousal to spear through me and I was instantly wet. "No – wait…" Breathing hard, I knotted my fingers in his hair and whispered, "I'm scared."
"Shh, just relax, mi reina," he coaxed, encouraging me with his hand to hitch my thigh over his shoulder. "Let me clean you." Recklessly, I did just that, opening myself up to his mouth. Moaning, I felt him lick and kiss and suckle on me. "Fuck –"
Body betraying me, I rocked my hips against him, crying out when I felt his tongue spear me into my tender hole. He groaned, inhaling deeply, as his large hands trailed up my thighs to cup my ass. It was such a male sound, so deep and primal, that I found myself relaxing, pressing myself into face, craving more from his tongue. I was sore and tender and, to my absolute detriment, aching for more of him. "I won't hurt you," he continued to whisper, trailing his tongue back over my slit and returning to flick my clit. "I only want to kiss you." To prove the point, he fucked my pussy with his tongue.
"Mmm." My pussy clenched around his tongue, greedily trying to hold him there. His tongue wasn't enough. I needed more, I realized. I needed the penetration. I wanted him to fill me up with his thick, hard cock and I hated myself for it. There was something wrong with me. There had to be, to crave that again.
Drunk off desire and pulsing with need, I let my leg fall to the floor and pulled at Trig's face. "Are you too sore?" Trig asked, breathing elevated, as he popped his face out from between my thighs to look up at me, brown eyes almost black with desire. "Was it too much, Cord –" His words broke off when I roughly dragged his face to mine and crushed my lips against him.
He came willingly, rising to his feet, and caging me to the wall with his huge frame. His hands moved to my neck as he kissed me deeply, plunging his tongue into my mouth. I could taste the faint tinge of metallic as his tongue stroked against mine in a slow, drugging rhythm.
Painfully aroused, I felt him thicken against my belly, his erection digging into my flesh. "Tell me," he growled against my lips as water cascading down on us. "Tell me what I can do to you, Corderito."
"Wh-what?"
"Tell me," he repeated, grinding his body against mine. "What you want?" He kissed me again. "I need to hear the words."
"To fuck," I lost my mind and said, both cringing and moaning loudly when the words spilled from my lips. "I want –" Breathing hard, I reached a hand between us and gripped his cock. "I want you to fuck me with this."
A deep, guttural groan escaped him and he reached for my thighs, lifting me up in one swift movement. "I will make you come so hard, you'll forget to hate me," he growled, lips ravaging mine, as he reached a hand between us and guided his cock to my entrance. "I will fuck away the pain, mi reina," he vowed, slowly feeding his cock into my hungry pussy. "I will fuck you all better –" We both groaned loudly when he was buried deep inside me. "And I will lick your cuts and bruises." With his hands clamped around my thighs, he rocked into me. "That will be my vow to you, mi mujer."
Gasping for air, I hooked an arm around his neck and clung to him, reveling in the delicious rippling sensations he was invoking inside of my body.
"Aplastaré tu coño, corderito…"
"You are worthless to me…"
"Puta traidora…"
"Good girl panties on a whore."
My hand was reaching for the knife on the rack before my brain could make sense of what I was doing.
"God doesn’t answer the prayers of whores…"
"I can make it good for you…"
"Or painful…"
Moving on instinct, I drove the blade deep into his shoulder.
A loud, feral snarl tore from his chest and he froze inside me, gaze flicking from my eyes to the knife sticking out of his shoulder.
Breathing hard, I never took my eyes off his as I slowly pulled it out of him and tossed it on the floor.
Grunting out a pained breath, he glanced down at the blood oozing down his chest and then back to me. I held my breath, waiting to for death to come, because he would surely kill me now.
He didn’t kill me.
He didn’t hit me, either.
Releasing another pained growl, he tightened his hold on my thighs and thrust inside me. Withdrawing slowly almost to the tip, he pushed inside me once more. Eyelids fluttering, I rocked into his thrusts as he slowly built up a sensual rhythm. He grunted out a pained breath with every thrust of his hips, but he didn’t stop fucking me. Burying his face in the crook of my neck, he nuzzled my flesh with his lips.
Exhaling a ragged breath, I gave myself up to the madness and wrapped both arms around his neck, welcoming the feel of his chest against mine as his blood rained down on both of us. "I think you might be dying," I cried out, pulse quickening to the rhythm of his relentless fucking as he moved harder, faster, hungrier.
"I already told you that you cannot kill me, Corderito," Trig growled, resting his brow against mine. "I'm already dead."
With that, he pressed a kiss to my lips and then slammed into me so hard that I exploded around him, screaming the words, "I hate you," at the top of my lungs, as he joined me in ecstasy and emptied his seed into my body.
When I woke the next day, after a night-long marathon of furious fucking, I was naked and alone. Pulling myself up on my elbows, I glanced out the huge window to see the sun setting in the sky. I'd slept the day away.
Bone weary, I flopped back down on his luxurious mattress and winced when my womb contracted tightly. Every part of my body ached and not in a bad way. I felt sated. I felt stretched. I felt hungry.
The smell of sex was all around me, my thighs were sticky and damp, and the blood sme
ared across his sheets assured me that the events of last night were not a figment of my imagination.
Disgusted with my thoughts, I glared at the empty patch of mattress where he'd laid beside me and bit back a sob. Drowning in a world of corruption and gangsters, I buried my face in my pillow and allowed myself to freak out.
"El jefe dijo que necesitas tomar eso," a deep male voice announced in Spanish, disrupting my personal meltdown.
Panicked, I scrambled to drape the blood-stained sheets over my body and locked eyes on the huge, suit-clad man sitting in the armchair next to the door. The black Glock resting on his thigh had my heart accelerating in my chest and my survival instincts on high alert.
Breathing labored, I let my gaze trail over his slicked back hair, his deeply tanned face and the jagged scar running down his left cheek, feeling a wave of recognition trickle through my mind.
"Patrice?" I frowned at Trig's righthand man. A man I hadn't seen in two years. Since that night. Loyal to his brother-in-arms, he and several of the younger members of Crellid's mob had left with Trig, willing to face the wrath of their king of the underworld in order to bleed with their prince. I hadn't realized he was back in the area until now.
If he had followed Trig back into hell, then the rest of them had, too.
What was left of them, at least.
"What are you doing in here?" Panicked as I was, I still spoke slowly, knowing that this man had a far weaker grasp on the English language than Trigger. "Why are you here?" I gestured around us. "In this room with me?"
"I guard," he said in a heavily accented tone of voice.
"Guard me?" I felt faint. "From what?"
"Men no good at rules," he confirmed grimly. "So, I guard."
My brows shot up. "Trig sent you to guard me?"
"Sí." He nodded stiffly. "I guard. You take."
"Take?" I frowned.
"Jefe say you take." He pointed to the Trigger's nightstand. "Take now."
"Jefe?" I arched a brow. Boss man. "You mean Trig?"
He nodded stiffly before quickly averting his gaze. "Sí."
"Where is he?" I forced myself to ask, urging my pulse to steady and my heart to stop thrashing around in my chest. "Is he here?" I didn’t care. I wouldn't. Don't feel it. "Did he l-leave?"
"Not business of woman where man go," Patrice replied, tone clipped. "No ask."
Fuck you, Patrice.
"What is it?" I asked then, feeling weak at the sight of the pill sitting on the nightstand alongside a glass of water. "Why do I need pills?"
"You take," he repeated, moving to the window. "Jefe no want bebé."
"Excuse me?"
"Jefe no want bebé bastardo." He inclined his head to the nightstand. "Take now, Señora."
"Shouldn’t that be Señorita, not Señora?" I muttered, reaching for the pill. "I'm not married."
"Porque traicionaste a tu rey," he replied, stretching his legs out in front of him, as he polished his gun. "Se habría casado contigo. Delante de dios. Un verdadero matrimonio. Una buena vida para una mujer en tu posición. Pero no pudiste mantener las piernas cerradas." Flicking his dark eyes up to meet mine, he sneered, "O tu boca."
Furious to be once again insulted and blamed for something I didn’t do, I grabbed the glass off the nightstand and flung it at him, enjoying the way he had to duck his head to avoid the glass flying past his face.
It shattered against the wall behind his head, water spraying everywhere.
"I don’t take orders from you or your precious jefe," I hissed, throwing the pill across the floor to join the shards of broken glass. "And your jefe knows that I didn’t do what you were all convinced I did." Tears filled my eyes and I quickly batted them away. "So, you can take your insults and your pills and leave me alone."
"He oído."
"You heard," I mimicked his words, broken. "Oh, so he did tell you? At least he's finally setting the record straight."
"Sí. Eras puro y él áspero." Rising to his feet like an aggravated lion, Patrice, tucked his gun into the waistband of his tailored suit pants before stooping down and snatching up the pill. "You take," he added, stalking towards me. "Or I make."
"No," I argued, refusing to take another order. "I won't –" My words broke off when he grabbed my hair and dragged me towards him. "You must take," he repeated, fingers digging into my jaw, while he clutched my throat with his free hand. "Or I make."
"Isn't this against your precious code?" I choked out, forcing myself to not to flinch and cower away from him. "Preventing a claimed woman of conceiving? That's a big no-no, Patrice. You could be shanked for suggesting such treason."
Patrice shrugged, unfazed, and forced my mouth open. "I not make rules," he said before ramming the pill down my throat. "I not follow Crellid code." He clamped a hand over my mouth. "I follow jefe." With his free hand, he pegged my nose, cutting off my air supply. "Now, take."
Deviant, I scratched and tore at his huge arms, resisting his overpowering until my vision blurred and I grew lightheaded. It was no use. I was no match for these men.
Feeling weak, demoralized, and desperate for air, I relented and swallowed, eyes watering from both my pain and temper.
Teary-eyed, I felt my shoulders sag in defeat as I nodded my submission.
"Buena niña," he said approvingly, releasing his hold on my face and stepping away from the bed. "Lo creas o no, esto es más para ti que para él. Es la forma del jefe de protegerte."
"His way of protecting me?" Gasping for air, I rubbed my tender throat as my brain hurried to translate his words. "His way of protecting me from what – him? Being raped?" I laughed humorlessly and wiped my cheeks. "How generous of him. What's he going to do next? Send for the doctor and have me shot up like the whores?"
"He no rape you, señora," Patrice snapped back at me. "No rape."
"You weren't there." I glared at him. "You didn’t see."
"I no need see," he shot back, tone hard. "Jefe no rape his reina." He tapped his head. "I no need see to know truth." He placed his hand to his chest and stared hard at me. "Reina is heart of Jefe." His brows furrowed. "You –" he paused to point at me and then touch his own shoulder, "Wound your king."
"He deserved it," I strangled out guiltily.
"You no see Jefe before," he urged, shaking his head. "Hombre loco for two years." He held up two fingers for emphasis. "No corderito make Jefe hombre loco."
"No, he's always been crazy." Scrambling off the bed, I kept the sheet wrapped tightly around my naked body as I side-stepped the huge gangster and hurried into the ensuite bathroom. "And I'm even crazier for not sticking that knife where I should have; in his cold, dead heart!" I slammed the door in his face and turned the lock, unwilling to listen to another word.
Throwing off the bed sheet, I yanked the shower door open and climbed inside, blasting the water to full heat. Shivering, I stepped under the jets and leaned against the blood-stained tiles.
Wrapping my arms around myself protectively, I desperately tried to get a handle on my emotions. It was impossible with his smell all around me. With him still leaking from me.
Try as I did, I couldn’t force Trigger from my thoughts, and, like a cruel twist of the knife, my heart decided to jump aboard the torment-Ashton train by forcing bittersweet memories to the surface...
"Come on, Vasily, just leave her alone," the youngest Crellid brother, Jethro, mumbled as he hovered restlessly in my bedroom doorway, watching his teenage brother stalk towards me with purposeful, menacing strides.
I had been at the Crellid estate less than a month and this was Vasily's fifth visit to my room. Infuriated with the small boy for just standing in the doorway and not helping me, I glared at him and felt a small smidgen of satisfaction when his pale cheeks reddened.
"Come here," Vasily coaxed, drawing my attention back to the immediate threat, blue eyes shining with malice. "I only want to talk to you."
A wave of panic swept through my body and I found myself scrambling off
my bed, backing away from the big, blond, seventeen-year-old boy. I knew what he wanted to do with me and it wasn't talk.
Trick me once.
"Stay back," I warned, glaring daggers at the huge boy. I knew all about the workings of a boy's mind. I might have only turned ten last week, but I was no child. I'd grown up quickly in my father's world and I was all too aware of the twisted minds of men. Had been for years. And this one was dangerous. I could sense it. I could see it. I knew what he would try to do me if I let him. I also knew that I would rather throw myself out of my window before I let it happen.
Holding the book I had been reading in front of my body, I tried to sidestep him, but he blocked my path, leaving me cornered and trapped. Again. "Touch me again and I'll kill you," I warned. "I know how to shoot." I didn’t, but he didn’t know it. "My father showed me all the tricks." Another lie. "I'm dangerous."
A cruel laugh tore from his throat and he shook his head. "Did you hear that, Jethro? Northwood's baby-spawn whore is going to try to kill me." Snickering, he added, "She's 'dangerous'."
"Leave her alone, Vas," Jethro mumbled. "Father won't like this."
"Father said she was ours to do what we wanted with," Vasily shot back. "Just because you're all too pussy of Northwood's ghost doesn’t mean I am." He smirked at me. "My brothers agreed to wait until you're thirteen before they unwrap you, but I intend to cash in on my gift now."
"I said that I will kill you, not try," I corrected, jutting my chin up in defiance. "Don't mistake my promises for threats."
"And how do you propose to kill me, baby whore?" he taunted, caging me into the corner. "With these scrawny arms?" Reaching down, he placed the palm of his hand against my flat chest and roughly slammed me against the wall at my back. "With this skinny body?"
The air escaped my lungs with an audible ooof and my book slipped from my fingers, clattering to the floor. "I'll find a way," I strangled out, panting now. "I promise you that."
"You'll do absolutely nothing because you have no power in this world," he challenged, stepping closer. "You are a girl. You are beneath me. You are only good for one thing –" he paused to cup my private area. "I'll break this."
