by Anne Marck
“Dominic.” His voice remains impassive, our momentary truce meaning absolutely nothing.
“Salvatore.” I nod.
He takes an object from his back pocket and hands it to me. “That’s what you wanted.” There is even indifference in his movements.
I accept the small black portable camcorder that weighs no more than a few grams, the kind used for family recordings. As I touch the object, I imagine my girl alone, innocently making videos of her work, living under the same roof as the monster who wants her dead. The idea messes with my head.
I face the man I owe, telling him, “Thanks.” I don’t know where we stand with this white flag. “What’s it going to cost me, Nicholas?”
His hard face doesn’t change, but something flickers through his clear feline eyes, revealing more than words. “Let’s say we’re even.”
Narrowing my eyes, I ask coldly, “What did I do to even the score?”
The guy turns his eyes away, staring at the horizon, with no visible emotion, his fists clenched. For a moment, I don’t think he’s going to say anything, but then he returns his focus on me with some sort of apparent defeat. “You took care of her when I couldn’t.”
You don’t have to be a genius to know who he’s talking about.
“It’s never too late to sort out the mess, man,” I say.
A smile touches his face but doesn’t reach his eyes. “Nothing to sort, Dominic. Everything is as it should be.”
With a nod, I let him know I understand. “Just don’t wait until it’s too late.” With that, I turn and walk away, wanting to go back to the sleeping woman in my bed. But then I stop and look over his shoulder, adding what will surely leave me swimming in some shit. “I owe you for this.” I discreetly show him the camera. “And I pay my debts, Salvatore. Sophie isn’t a charity case.”
Nicholas Salvatore can deny it, but he just admitted that Sophie is still important to him. Knowing her, she may be hurt, the woman has a forgiving heart.
I breathe deeply, resigned. Only time will determine the end of their story. No one else can do anything for them.
• • •
In the low light, I watch Luna sleep. Her first night in this house, I did the same, wondering about her frown, about her defensive attitude. She never lowered her guard.
Today, with a mixture of relief and unease, I know the ghosts that torment her are gradually leaving. Sending Wine to prison will close this chapter of her story. The question that is tormenting me is: what then? What does Luna intend to do with her life? Will I have a place in it? Be that as it may, all that really matters is her happiness. My baby deserves to be happy above anything.
Luna doesn’t know we got the evidence against Wine. Once this comes to light, her security will need to be doubled until Wine is sent to prison.
I rub my face with both hands, feeling tired.
Dirty is dead. I don’t even know what to think about that. I hoped to make the dealer pay for his shit, mainly for hurting Luna, but death was always going to be the end for him. Anyway, now it’s no longer a problem, and I don’t have to worry about him chasing Luna and Jasmine.
Speaking of which …
I head back into the living room and call Damien.
“Why are you always calling me at this hour?” he gripes before I can open my mouth.
“You at home?” I ask.
“On my way. I had a long meeting.” His tone is a mixture of casual and exhausted.
“She can leave now,” I say seriously.
Only the low sound of his car’s radio gives assurance that he remains on the line.
“What are you talking about?” he finally asks.
“Jasmine. You can let her know that Dirty is no longer a problem. She can go home.”
Another long silence before he answers me. “How can you be sure the pimp isn’t still after her?” His challenge only confirms my suspicions.
“The guy’s dead, Damien. Jasmine is free of him.”
No noise, not even breathing.
Fuck, she really messed with my brother. I can’t tell if that’s good or bad. I’ve never seen Damien really interested in anyone. And to be honest, I only see this ending one way: with Jasmine hurt. It’s better that things end now.
“Whatever. I’ll talk to her,” he mutters, emphasizing the I.
“Okay, brother, just let her know she can go.”
The rest of the night, it’s all about Luna. I don’t want to think about anyone else, whether it’s Damien or the Pope.
Back in the room, I sit on the bed, my back against the headboard. I will never tire of admiring her beauty. Soft and strong, naïve and brave. I never thought such contradictions existed.
Suddenly, something on her angelic, resting face catches my eye. I adjust the lamp beside her to get a closer look. What the fuck is that?
Her cheek, just below the right eye, has a small, reddish circle, outlined in lilac.
Prickles break out over my skin. My gut twists in fury. Where did this come from? Hell! Like I haven’t seen it before.
I get up and slowly draw the sheet back, uncovering her body and leaving her naked for my inspection. What the fuck! How the hell did I not see this?
On the back of her right thigh, there are redder marks, outlined by purplish-blues, and identical bruises on the sides of her ribs.
I pull my beard hard, stifling a roar of frustration and guilt. I should have checked to see if she was okay, but no, I let my desires get the better of me and ignored her condition. My girl didn’t even complain while I took her.
Damien
I let the water flow into the shower, cascades designed exclusively to relax me. It was expensive, but it was worth every penny. Nevertheless, I can’t calm the strange anxiety running through my body.
Jasmine is about to leave.
I shouldn’t care. She’s just a girl with a bad attitude, a brat with no tact. I should be grateful for getting rid of her. Yet, for some stupid reason, the idea is not at all pleasant.
I quickly dry off my body, feeling restless. Then I can’t decide whether to put on a T-shirt or not. Would it be wrong to walk around bare-chested in my own home?
War is war, man. Everyone uses the weapons he has.
I put on a pair of sweatpants then rub the towel over my hair and fix my hair with my fingers. The reflection in the mirror scares me a little. It’s been a while since I’ve seen that predatory glow in my eyes.
Over the past few years, I’ve had a diverse range of women in and out of my bed without any effort.
Maybe that’s it! I’m bored with the usual hunting process and the vixen’s disgust with me is creating a new challenge. After what I have planned for tonight, though, Jasmine will just be another name among many.
I head toward my target, turning on some music on the way, a romance playlist. Yes, I’m going for heavy ammunition.
Damn, but what is that smell?
I sniff the air a few times to make sure that’s what I’m smelling.
From where I stand, I see Jasmine tense, her arms firmly at her side, leaning against the sink. I move closer to the kitchen, where the unbearable odor of burnt plastic permeates the room.
“What is that smell?”
She hunches her shoulders, likely from shame.
I look at the black mess inside the sink. “You … You put the whole package in the oven?” I can’t hide my shock.
The woman swallows hard, her guilty eyes avoiding mine. “I-I didn’t know the tray had to be removed. Usually these packs are safe and …” The way she nervously bites her plump lower lip distracts me for a second.
I shake my head, recovering my mind. “These are different. They’re ready-made foods prepared by an Italian restaurant near here.” Narrowing my eyes, I study her face. “I thought the instructions were written on the packaging.” I try not to show my displeasure.
Yes, they’re fucking written! I’ve been buying these meals for years. The food is much better t
han the processed ones, but the tray doesn’t go in the oven. You need to move it to your own tray.
“Sorry. I should have seen it,” she whispers.
Fuck it. A burnt dinner will not disrupt what I have in mind for tonight.
I smile. “It happens to the best chefs. I’ve burned a few, too. That’s why I stay away from the kitchen,” I lie. “Anyway, I think Chinese will be better. Do you like Chinese food?”
Her face softens slightly. “Thank you, but I’m not hungry. I-I’m going to lie down.” She walks away from the counter.
“Hold on,” I say, grabbing her arm.
The contact suddenly causes an unknown rush through my stomach. I feel an unfamiliar vibration build somewhere inside me, unsettling and completely unfamiliar.
What the fuck is this?
I catch my breath, momentarily confused by my own body. And staring at her face, I’m immediately aware that I’m not the only one feeling this.
Those large, greenish-brown eyes meet mine, barely hiding her surprise. The small vein in her neck pulsates rapidly, and her breathing speeds up. At the same instant, her gaze falls to my chest, as if only now becoming aware that I’m shirtless. Shit, I’ve seen that look before … many times. Jasmine, the little vixen, is lusting after me.
The satisfaction of her reaction has an immediate effect on my dick. I’m as hard as stone. And so fast that it’s noticeable.
Jasmine, like the good, trained girl she is, disguises any emotion and returns to her traditional indifference.
Too late. You will not run away from this, vixen. Not now.
With deliberate geniality, I continue the game. “Please join me for dinner, Jasmine. I hate eating alone, and I had a helluva day.”
I see the battle on her face. The vixen is reluctant to be alone with me.
Okay, I’ve given her plenty of reasons to hate me, but what is she, a spiteful child? The woman is a whore! I’m probably not the first man to give her shit. And that’s how she reacts, with contempt? She even looks like an amateur!
I swallow my frustration and resume the posture of someone with patience.
Breathing noisily, she shudders. “All right.” Her annoyed tone is almost endearing.
I can’t stop the fucking victorious smile twisting my face. The truth is that this little game is freaking me out.
“Right,” I say, struggling to hide the youthful joy of a man who knows he’s going to have a good time tonight. “I’ll call them while you set the table, okay? The wines are in the cellar on your left.” I turn around and search for my phone. I can’t give the vixen time to change her mind.
I place the order at the nearest place and promise a good tip if the food arrives in less than twenty minutes. The faster we break the ice, the longer I’ll have to enjoy Jasmine and get her out of my system.
Trying to give the impression that things will happen naturally, I pull a T-shirt from the closet and cover myself. It’s best not to act like I expect her in my bedroom before the hour is up.
I clean up the room a little then finally return to the living room. The playlist continues low, with a melody spouting sugary love. It’s so sweet that I should take a glucose test.
“I like this view,” I say, approaching Jasmine next to the large windows that show the city at our feet.
The little vixen shudders. I’m really enjoying knowing she’s not as indifferent to me as she tries to act.
“Whenever I need to think, I stand here and watch the movements of the city.” I stop at her side.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispers without taking her eyes off the horizon.
I watch her profile for a few seconds. Young and too beautiful, despite the impatient mask she adopts in my presence. I see there is much more there than she lets show.
Jasmine is certainly strong. If someone thinks she has one fragile bone in her body, they would be wrong. Something dark, though, is hidden in her features. I wonder if it’s due to her profession or something else that led her to be a whore.
Hell. None of this is my business, and I shouldn’t care. The woman fucks for money, nothing more, nothing less.
The sound of the intercom is my cue to push away the personal thoughts.
“The food is here,” I say softly, swallowing the bitterness that has suddenly set in.
• • •
Despite my best efforts, little progress has been made.
As we eat, I keep the conversation as relaxed as possible, talking about myself just enough to break the ice and asking a few simple questions. I don’t want to know anything about her business. I just want to make her feel comfortable with me, which is certainly not happening, since she barely eats or opens her mouth.
Jasmine gets up to take her plate to the sink, and I quickly follow. One thing about her: she flinches at my nearness. I never thought a bitch would play hard to get with me.
Leaving the dishes in the sink, she grabs a sponge to start washing, but then she seems to change her mind when she realizes that I’m two inches from her.
“I-I’m going to bed,” she says hurriedly, trying to get past me.
Like a lion encircling its prey, I catch her and trap her between my arms, resting them on the closet door behind her without touching her. It’s time to make my move.
“It’s still early, Jasmine,” I murmur lowly, leaning close to her face.
Her hazel-green eyes widen. And fuck, the beautiful way her lips part in surprise almost draws me to them, like a magnet.
“Get away from me.” Despite the rude demand, I hear the familiar tremor in her request, typical reaction from a woman who wants this.
“Why should I?” I ask softly.
She swallows hard. “Because I told you to!”
“Don’t try to pretend, girl. You want it as much as I do,” I whisper a centimeter from her forehead, moving a few strands of her hair with my breath. Then I retreat an inch to see her reaction.
The air of disgust is there, barely masking the lust I can see in the way she exhales through her mouth as her pupils dilate.
I smile, satisfied.
And she squeezes her eyes shut.
“Oh … look, y-you, you asshole, get away! S-step aside and let me through, okay?”
I slowly move my mouth closer to hers. “Manners, Jasmine.” I don’t touch her lips, but damn, I want to very much. “In my presence, use your manners. This offensive behavior does not please me, and I don’t like to repeat myself, so take note.” My mocking tone and the surprising hoarseness in my voice makes her close her eyes.
She doesn’t say a word, but she does bite her lower lip, apparently in anger. I don’t know if she wants me or is mad at herself for wanting as much as I do.
I corner her with my body without touching her yet … and it’s almost my ruin. I can feel her heat, smell her scent, and see that vein pulsing faster in her neck.
“Open your eyes,” I demand.
She doesn’t. Stubborn vixen!
“Open your eyes, Jasmine,” I repeat.
Unwillingly, taking her time, she does.
“Leave me alone, Damien, please. Just get away from me and let me go to the bedroom.” I notice the change in her strategy, asking me politely this time.
The scent of her arousal contradicts her, as do her dilated pupils throwing flames, which only makes me harder than ever.
“Say you don’t want this, too,” I demand, looking into her eyes and almost touching her mouth. Yes, I’m leaving no room for games here.
With a harsh rise of her eyebrow, she raises her chin. “I-I want you as much as I want to get lice. Does that convince you, asshole?” The lie flows easily out of her pretty mouth.
Although offended, my laughter comes freely from my chest.
I take one of my hands off the closet behind her and slowly slide it up to my chest, brushing the top of her breasts in the process. “That hurt.” I touch my heart. “And it made me fucking hard.” I look down, hoping she’ll do the same.
Why does the damn woman resist so much when I can see that she wants it, too?
Wait a second.
Does she not …?
No …
Dammit!
It’s so obvious!
The realization makes me want to punch the wall. She’s a fucking whore!
“How much?” I ask coldly, clenching my teeth.
Her eyes widen, rising the line of her brow, and her mouth opens in a small circle.
My blood boiling, I keep my accusing smile. Yes, vixen, I see what game you’re playing.
Something in her expression, however, confuses me for a moment. Her skin turns as white as a sheet of paper.
Watching her closely, I see her chest rises as she inhales a great deal of air. The delicate lines of her face soften until she becomes expressionless. Her eyes, previously dilated, lose focus, darken, and dull.
I have to step away a few inches to see her more clearly, watching closely as Jasmine fully becomes another person. Someone who is apathetic, lifeless, impenetrable.
What the fuck?
I breathe softly and lick my dry lip, lost in the image of a completely unfamiliar woman.
Fuck this! I can’t let her disguise affect me. This is my domain! I make the rules here!
“So?” I challenge impatiently, invading her personal space.
“You want to pay me?” Her voice is void of emotion.
“Isn’t that the way things work with you?” I reply venomously, knowing I may have gone too far.
Her response is to simply stare at me. “Yes, it is.” The way she says that, so insipidly, scares me. No offense or defense. No denying me. She isn’t angry. It’s worse. She’s treating me like a client.
I shake my head then slowly nod, completely confused. But I still want it. And if she can be indifferent, I can, too.
“Okay.” I raise an eyebrow, using the arrogance I usually use in business. “So, we have a deal?”
