Sick Bastard

A Sick & Twisted Love

Jaci J

Sick Bastard © 2015 Jaci J

All Rights Reserved.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below

jaclinjean@gmail.com

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, any place, event, occurrence, or incident is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created and thought up from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Cover photos;

Bigstock photos (http://bigstockphoto.com)

Jorgophotography 44412043 (Photo of man)

Zigi 18683591 (NYC Photo)

Cover Art; Margreet Asselbergs of Rebel Edit & Design

Authors Note: This book contains elements of stalking, which some readers might find upsetting.

This one is for my monster boy, Ty.

I hope to God you never read this & if you do you’re grounded until you’re 30.

This book is proof that dreams do come true.

Never give up on something you love.

Always do what makes you happy.

I love you monster baby!

Thank you

Dana Hook, my book bitch.

Without your encouragement and support, I wouldn’t be able to get this all out there.

Thank you for your insanity, your humor, your love, and your hard work!

Thank you for putting up with my shit and impatient ass!

My Sister,

For always dreaming big with me.

One day we’ll be people watching out of a high rise in all those cities with our b-nocs.

One day we’ll get out of here together, it’s a promise!

Love you!

My girls,

DM, Brook, Jessica, Catherine, Freya

Thank you for the support and taking the time to read the book for me!

Margreet Asselbergs,

Thank you for all of my amazing covers!

Thank you for helping me to fulfill my dreams with your creativity!

You’re amazing!

My Beta’s,

Thank you for always taking the time to read my shit early!

Sam Price, Lena Gaitanou, Chris Alderson Kovacich.

Thank you for your kind words, your helpful feedback, and your support!

I appreciate all of your hard work, and even your criticism!

Thank you for everything!

I especially want to give a very special thanks to Lena Gaitanou for helping so much with advice and the time you spent helping me with the Italian words and phrases. You have been invaluable during this process and I thank you so much. You are a rock star with a huge heart.

And for all my readers who read my shit.

Thank you from the bottom of my badmouthed little heart!

You read it and love it, then I’ll keep writing it!

Thank you for your constant love and support!

Play List

The 1975 – “Pressure” & “ Fallingforyou”

Beyoncé – “I Care” & “Rockets”

Hozier – “Take Me to Church”

Banks – “Drowning”

Miguel – “Pussy is Mine”

Lykke Li – “No Rest For the Wicked”

Calvin Harris – “Summer”

Panic! At the Disco – “Miss Jackson”

Childish Gambino – “Do Ya Like”

Neon Trees – “Foolish Behavior”

J. Cole – “Power Trip”

The Notorious B.I.G – “Fucking You Tonight”

Vince Kidd – “Sick Love”

Kendrick Lamar – “Poetic Justice”

Table of Contents

Thank you

Play List

One

Two

Mr. White Horse or Shining Armor Guy

Three

Mr. Creepy Stare

Four

Mr. Master Of His World

Five

Mr. Super Sexy Personality

Six

Mr. Serial Killer

Seven

Mr. Expertly Tailored Suit

Eight

Mr. Too Many Personalities To Count

Nine

Mr. Devilish

Ten

Mr. Knight In Shining Stalker

Eleven

Mr. Stylist As A Personality

Twelve

Mr. Twelve Personalities

Thirteen

Mr. Car Aficionado

Fourteen

Mr. Boundaries

Fifteen

Mr. Breaking And Entering

Sixteen

Mr. Accommodating Gentleman

Seventeen

Mr. Remorseful

Eighteen

Mr. Unsure And Untrustworthy

Nineteen

Mr. Liar

Twenty

Mr. Bang Bang Shoot ‘Em Up

Twenty-One

Mr. Watchful

Twenty-Two

Mr. Tragic

About the Author.

His love is a beautiful, amazing blessing.

His love is also a hard, hurtful lesson.

I’m just not sure what’ll be more painful, the blindingly beautiful blessing or the achingly sick lesson.

One

Royal Prick

London

I cram my purse and coat into my tiny work locker and slam it shut, giving a good twist to the lock I had to buy. I didn't have time to go home and change before work so I'm stuck getting ready here. Luckily I had on a little black dress that was work appropriate because there’s no way I can change in our tiny bathroom and not drop something in the toilet. I know this from many personal experiences.

For such a fancy place, they sure skimp on luxuries for their employees. A terrible one stall ladies room, ripped couches in the employee lounge, and tiny unlockable lockers for our shit. The owner is a cheap sleaze ball who doesn’t give a shit about the ones who make him his money.

I'll be out of here in two weeks, I remind myself. Two fucking weeks. My two weeks’ notice has been given so I’d be done with this place, giving me two weeks to concentrate on studying and finals so I can graduate in the next four weeks. But until then, I have two weeks of hell left to get through.

I need to stop thinking about what this place is lacking and my ass of a boss. It'll just irritate me, thus ruining my night and I can't afford to be annoyed at work. I don’t want anything to mess with my tips. I take a few deep, calming breaths, fluff my hair, and dab on a little lipstick. Last, but not least, I put on my game face and walk out onto the main floor. The lights are muted but I can see that the dining room is full tonight as I scan the floor. It's Friday night so it’ll be busier once seven o'clock hits, so I make my way into the bar to get started.

“Hey, girl. Mr. Williams and his party will be here in ten minutes and he requested you, of course.” My co-worker Lena calls from behind the bar, wearing a huge smile on her pretty face. She's a petite thing with wild blonde curls and a lovely doll like face. Her eyes are big and blue and always smiling.

“Thanks, love,” I call back, returning her smile. Lena’s one of the few girls I enjoy working with.

I work at an upscale restaurant/bar called The Blue Lounge on the upper east side of New York City. I'm a waitress, but I can do just about everything here, except the cooking.

Being a waitress isn’t my ideal job, but it helps to pay for utilities, groceries, and half of my tuition for business school, so it’s worked out. I may not need to work or pay for any of these things, but I prefer to do it and earn my own money. My grandfather haggled with me over it for a while, but he eventually came to understand my reasoning and accepted my decision.

Many of the girls who work here have regular customers. Most of them are men from the many financial companies that overrun this city, such as Wall Street, bankers, CEO’s. All the billionaires, elite, and big wigs of New York mingle here after a long, stressful day of sitting in their plush offices, harassing their hard working employees.

I will say I do well around this joint. Men come here for the eye candy, expecting to flirt and get attention, so I give them what they want. It’s something I learned from spending a great deal of time with my grandfather and his business partners. It’s a distasteful profession, but it’ almost over.

I take a quick glance at the clock from behind the bar. Mr. Williams should be here any minute now, giving me just enough time to prep his table. With a quick hustle, I set up my tables for the evening. As soon as I grab a handful of menus, my first group shows up, just like clockwork.

Mr. Clark Williams is one of my regular customers. He’s here every Monday and Friday at exactly five forty-five. He works in finance on Wall Street, or some shit like that. It’s not my job to keep up on these things. He comes in with different business associates twice a week for what I assume are business meetings. Although, I don't think I’ve ever heard them discuss anything business related. They usually talk about money, sports, and what I’d look like naked.

I'm too busy and uninterested to pay much attention to his group tonight. I’ll be dealing with them all soon enough. Just as I’m ready to escort Mr. Williams and company to their table, I see my next group walking in, so now it’s time for me to bust ass. “Good evening, Mr. Williams. Right this way.” I usher him and his party to their usual table, but he’s already starting his shit. Just because I know it’s coming, doesn’t mean I’m ready for it.

He leans into me, placing his hand on my lower back. I fight the urge to step away but I dredge up my polite and proper attitude, going for a friendly smile. “London, darling, you look even more beautiful than you did last week,” he compliments me in what he must consider a seductive voice, but I find it silly and needing work.

Mr. Williams is, if I can remember correctly, in his late forties. He's a decent, but average looking man for his age with dark brown hair, sporting a little peppering of gray throughout. But believe me, he’s nothing to lose your panties over. His expensive tailored suits make him seem distinguished and powerful, yet none of it makes me find him attractive, and I’m a sucker for a well-tailored suit, so that says something.

I walk him and his party to their table with no further incident, but I feel their eyes on me as I walk ahead of them. It always makes my skin crawl. For anyone who thinks otherwise, of course it bothers me, but I’ve learned to shut it out because I know at the end of the night, I’ll be going home with a lot of cash, all from the tips I make. This job consists of getting eye fucked by lots of men and I knew it when I got the job, but tonight there’s a little extra creepiness running up my spine. I work to ignore it and get them seated, handing out their menus and giving them a moment while I move to seat my next table.

I can’t shake that something seems off tonight. The air in the room feels stifling and heavy, which is not normal, at least not for me, so I shake it off and return to Mr. Williams’ table to give them the specials. Acting as if I’m the best goddamn waitress in the world, I smile and flirt. This is what they want.

“Would you all like the usual?” I ask.

I already know what their order will be; a bottle of bourbon and enough glasses to equal the men at the table.

“Yes, thank you.” Mr. Williams answers right away. Easy.

Turning to leave, I’m stopped by a voice that sounds demanding and a little annoyed, “Lady, you didn’t ask me what I wanted to drink. I don’t want the usual. What I want is a Jack and Coke. Do you think you can handle that?”

The cockiness in his voice sets my teeth on edge since I can hear the smirk in his deep voice. Who does this cocky asshole think he is, trying to humiliate me like this? I don’t recognize the voice so he’s not a regular as far as I can tell. My need to see the face that has such a demanding tone has me holding my breath as I turn around.

The sight connected to the voice is just that…a sight. He’s devastatingly handsome in a very uncharacteristic way. Harsh angles and dark features make him some sort of beautiful nightmare. He’s attractive, but most of all, he’s sexy in a brutal, scary way. I’m completely mesmerized by him. How did I miss him to begin with?

His eyes are intense. His jaw is strong and defined and his nose has a slight crook, like someone had the balls to punch his cocky ass in the nose. Good for whoever did that.

His dark, unreasonable hair is a mess. It looks like he either spent the time to style it that way or ran a towel through it and called it good.

As he sits in his chair like he’s some fucking god, he stares back at me with his arms crossed over his chest and an annoyed pout to his pursed lips. A man stands stoically behind him, melting into the shadows with his eyes straight ahead. Who does this guy think he is, the fucking President? Or is he some sort of aristocratic Royal Prick? Jesus, whoever the fuck he thinks he is, he really needs to relax.

Putting up my defensive pose, I hold my head high, square my shoulders and glare right back at him. He's gotten under my skin with only a few words, but those words were said intentionally to be rude and condescending. I may be his waitress, but I’m not his bitch.

I'm snapped back to the present when a hand touches my arm. “London?”

Shit, I've been caught staring by the whole table. “I um … yeah, I'm sorry,” I stutter out hopelessly. Way to be professional, London. Mr. Dark and Dangerously Sexy throws me off balance and I’m pissed about it.

“It's alright, beautiful. That was rude of me. Let me introduce you to the new guy.” Mr. Williams says with a smile, “This is Mr. Marx. He's the new owner of the company we work for. Mr. Marx, this is my London, the one I mentioned to you.” Mr. Williams says as he introduces us, but I barely register what he says. I can't stop gawking at Mr. Marx, who most certainly has my attention in more ways than one.

He gives me a small, cruel smile on those delicious lips of his. Everything about him is strong and menacing, and so fucking arrogant. It’s sexy.

My mind snaps back to Mr. Williams’ comment; his? I involuntarily roll my eyes. It’s a reaction to all dumb assholes. I just can’t help it. I wanna tell him that all the men who come in here think I'm theirs, but it's pointless. He believes what he wants. “I've been trying to convince her to let me take her out for a long time, and I think she’s finally coming around. It won’t be long now, ain’t that right, London?” No, you fucking dimwit. He’s so damn dumb.

“Maybe someday, Mr. Williams.” I say, giving him a sweet, placating smile and pat him on the shoulder. Now that I’ve done my own eye fucking on Mr. Marx, it's time to work.

I can’t help taking one last look at Mr. Marx, whose face has changed and looks even more irritated, if that’s possible. What a moody, sexy asshole. “Let me go get those drinks.” I sing at Mr. Williams, patting his arm again.

I turn to leave, but not before Mr. Williams smacks my ass. God I hate when he does that. ‘Remember that five hundred dollar tip,’ I remind myself.

I straighten my shoulders and walk off, knowing Mr. Marx’s eyes are on me as I go. I'm not able to resist the urge to look back. Call it a sick fascination, but sure enough, he’s staring at me, just like I thought he’d be. A thrill crashes through me but’s dashed just as quickly. He doesn’t look happy. In fact, he looks downright murderous.

Putting on a happy face, I pretend not to care but sadly, I know it fails me. It's hard when his hateful eyes are boring into me from across the room. It’s hard to act happy when he looks like he hates me.

Dante

I loathe my job from time to time. It’s not often, but right now would be one of those times. Occasionally, during times just like this, I wish I weren’t the boss. It would be nice to leave the little things to the seemingly capable people I employ, but that’s just not the case this evening.

“Here ya go, Boss.” A single piece of paper floats down on to my desk with the information I need scribbled on it. I read it over a few times and commit the words to memory.

“What did you find out?” I ask, looking up into a set of bloodshot eyes. He fidgets and starts thumbing through a mess of papers in his arms. You’d think he’d learn to be more organized after so many years of doing this, but as long as he gets the job done, which he manages to do, I could honestly care less how he does it. I just can’t give him any important assignments anymore, only bit work that he’s more than capable of doing.

“There’s no threat. From what I can tell, there’s nothing to be concerned about.” He says firmly.

A simple task for him, but I’m not ready to simply take his word for it. The last time I relied solely on just his word, I lost two men and half a million dollars over intel he received but didn’t confirm. Therefore, he only does bit work now, never to work in the field again. We’re still trying to recover from the losses. I’m not in the mood for bad intel this evening, so I’ll do this one myself.

Should I be scouting and working in my personal time this evening? Fuck no. At this point, I’m not sure what I pay my men for because it’s most certainly not to work. Since I’m the only one capable of starting and finishing a job, I find myself always carrying these burdens on my shoulders. Nevertheless, this is something I feel needs my attention. It’s rather fitting that I was invited to the exact place I need to be this evening. I hate work dinners, and I hate paying for them even more.

~~~~~~

I hate wasting what little time I get to myself on menial tasks, but a rather important thing I need to do is meet and get to know the guys that work for the company I just acquired. I need to know them before I start firing them, or see if any of them are worth keeping. It’s something that has to be done. My second reason for coming has everything to do with the name on that piece of paper. It’s the real reason I’m even bothering with any of this tonight instead of during the work week. I’m on a mission to eliminate a possible threat, but trimming the fat from my new company is just bonus.

Mr. Williams is the current president of my newly acquired company, and he’s who I’ll be dining with this evening. He insisted that these dinner meetings are business related, where work is discussed. I knew that was a load of shit the moment the bull left his mouth. He thinks he can take me for a fool. I’ll teach him soon enough. I want to see what type of “business” is being discussed on my dime.

The Blue Lounge isn’t somewhere I'd ever frequent. The name alone leaves little to be desired. I’m just hoping that the inside proves to be better than its name, but I’m feeling doubtful.

Williams insists that the food, drinks, and women are amazing, which I’m assuming meets his standards, not mine. He’s told me about his girl who works here, about how beautiful, witty, and wonderful she is. If she’s all that then I’d hate for her to be my target. Why would I ever want to eliminate something so “wonderful,” as he puts it. What a joke.

At first sight, The Blue Lounge is exactly how I imagined it. It’s overly extravagant in decor and leans toward tacky. The women are all scantily clad with blonde hair, spray tans, fake tits, and even faker personalities. So not my type. In fact, they're all quite disgusting. So far, from what I can tell, Williams has poor taste in women and restaurants. If I didn’t know any better, I would think this place was a strip club. I’m ready to just leave. I’m not in the mood for this shit tonight.

My mood and patience is slowly declining. Okay, so declining is a loose word, really. Gone to shit would be more accurate. I'm gonna try my best to get through this dinner without losing my patience, but nothing is guaranteed.

“Good evening, Mr. Williams. Right this way.” I hear a woman say when I’m looking around at the god-awful carpet. That voice captures my full attention immediately. My head snaps in her direction because with those few simple words, she has my interest.

Her voice hints to a slight accent that curls around certain syllables, adding an edge of mystery to her. It's soft and so fucking sexy. It holds a note of confidence, and it’s a voice you’d want to hear your name screamed out in while fucking her.

When I look at her, I’m hit with beauty like I’ve never seen before, and it damn near knocks me on my ass. She's not even in the same league as all these trashy women here. I’ve seen a lot of beautiful women in my life, but I’ve never seen someone as beautiful as her.

She's small, but powerful. She has almond shaped eyes, lined with long, black lashes that bring out the bright green and dark specks in her eyes. What I wouldn’t give to have those green eyes looking up at me through her long, black lashes while on her knees as her full, fuckable lips wrap around my dick. The thought has me squeezing and adjusting myself.

Her long, dark hair falls in long waves down her back, perfect to wrap my hands up in and pull. Her skin is just a hint darker than mine, and her body is tight. She’s in amazing shape, and for such a small frame, her breasts are large and her ass is what rap songs are written about. Everything is perfectly proportioned. She’s a goddamn wet dream for any man, or woman for that matter.

I know I'm staring, but I don't give a shit. I couldn't care less if she catches me watching her like a goddamn predator. This woman begs for attention without ever saying a word.

I watch as Williams places his hand on her lower back and whispers something that I’m too far away to hear. She’s turned towards him, giving him her undivided attention. I'm sure it's because she knows him, but a pang of jealously hits me when she looks at him. I hate him already.

I look over to Vinn and tilt my head in her direction. We follow her to our table and I can't keep my eyes off her as she walks in front of me. I’m fascinated with the way her ass sways from side to side. She holds her head high, her shoulders back, and walks with purpose. Extending a hand at the table, she instructs us to sit and we do, like trained monkeys.

The beauty hands out our menus and leaves to seat another table. Just a few moments later, she’s back, giving the specials for tonight, then prepares to take our drink orders. Her voice is soft and sure when she speaks to the table full of powerful men.

“Would you all like the usual?” She asks the table, but looks at Williams for an answer.

“Yes, thank you. He says. She doesn’t look at anyone else at the table, her eyes firmly on the asshole. I don’t even get a second glance. Well that shit never happens to me. I’m quietly begging her, even willing her to look my way, but she doesn't. She turns to leave but I can't let her go yet. There's no way I can watch her walk away without some type of acknowledgement. I want her to see me. I want her to notice me.

“Lady, you didn’t ask me what I wanted to drink. I don’t want the usual. What I want is a Jack and Coke. Do you think you can handle that?” I call after her. My words come out harsher than I intend. I said the first thing that popped into my mind. I would say anything to get her to talk to me, anything to bring her right back to me. I don't give a fuck about the drink. She could bring me water for all I care, I just don’t want her to go ‘til I have her attention.

She turns back around and her face is priceless. She looks a little baffled and a lot of pissed off. Princess has fire in those veins. I don't know if it's from me barking orders or pulling her back here, but either way, I have her full and undivided attention now. She only has eyes for me while she digests my callous way of speaking to her.

Fuck. I can’t tell if she’s plotting my death in her head or if she’s gonna come across the table for me. Usually I wouldn't care, but that look on her beautiful face makes me feel bad for barking out orders.

“London?” Williams speaks.

So this is London. Well fuck me. I wasn’t expecting this little thing. She certainly doesn’t look like anything I couldn’t handle, so for the time being, I won’t consider her a threat to my plans. Although, I do think I should keep a very close eye on her, just in case that changes. Better to be safe than fucked. I’ve lived a certain way my entire life. Her face is void of any harsh realities. She may live the lifestyle, but she doesn’t participate. That’s good.

Before I get a chance to say anything, she finds her voice. “I um… yeah, I'm sorry.” she mutters.

Good. I fucked her head up just like she did mine, throwing her off just like she threw me. You’re welcome, darlin’.

She shifts her gaze back to me and then to Williams. “It's alright, beautiful. That was rude of me. Let me introduce you to the new guy.” He says to her with a smile. The word beautiful drips from his lips while his eyes devour her. He’s playing the game, but it’s too bad for him that it’s a game I play better, and a game I’ll win.

“This is Mr. Marx. He's the new owner of the company we work for. Mr. Marx, this is my London, the one I mentioned to you .” He points toward me dismissively; as if I’m just some average asshole and not the man who can take his livelihood away in a second. She hasn’t taken her eyes off of me, which is exactly what I was hoping for and I smile, like I won a prize. Clearly she knows there’s some sort of power play going on here. Williams is starting a pissing contest with me. He said, “My” London. All I can concentrate on is that one single word. That’s never fuckin’ happening.

Her silence is killing me. It’s literally taking years off my life waiting for that sexy voice to tell me differently until finally, she subtly rolls her eyes and I can see her irritation toward him.

“I've been trying to convince her to let me take her out for a long time, and I think she’s finally coming around. It won’t be long now, ain’t that right, London?” He says with a smug smile on his face, like he owns her. Clearly he’s not nearly as smart as he thinks he is.

He really needs to learn when to shut the fuck up. I'm having a hard time holding my tongue with the shit he’s talking, but she seems to let this comment roll off her back. “Maybe someday, Mr. Williams.” she says, giving him a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes as she gives him a pat on his shoulder. It makes me physically ill to watch her do this and I have to look away. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to get myself under control and calm down before I do some shit I shouldn’t do.

“Let me go get those drinks,” she says sweetly and hustles her ass away, but not before Williams, the motherfucker, slaps her ass. That will not happen again, but the sick part of me gets a fucking kick out of it. She’s so goddamn appealing that he can’t keep his hands off her, so he’ll take every chance he can get to touch her, but I’m not a fan.

Don’t misunderstand me, I get it. Fuck, do I understand. He’s only a man, and she has a body made for fucking. I see why he wants a piece of her and I can sympathize, but it doesn’t mean I don’t fucking hate it. I hate it enough to let it take over my emotions. I hate it enough to make me fucking crazy. I hate it enough to end him.

Tomorrow he's gone; out on his ass and a box of his shit on the sidewalk right next to him. He'll never touch her again, and if that means I have to rip his fucking arms off, then so be it. I'll remove appendages one piece at a time, slowly. I hold my tongue long enough for her to walk away, but when she’s out of earshot, I make no promises. Halfway to the bar, she looks back over her shoulder at me with a small smile in her eyes. She’s gotta know.

“Mr. Williams…” I growl out his name like some fucking wild animal. Stopping his conversation, he looks over at me, surprised. “You like to touch things that don’t belong to you?” I ask him. I can feel Vinn at my back immediately, familiar with my tone. I'm close to snapping, but on the outside you’d never know it―I wouldn’t let you. I’m the master of calm; the king of composure and the God of self-fucking control.

He stares at me with a dumbfound expression on his face. The asshole has the audacity to look offended at my words. “Well yes, I always do. She’s my girl. She likes it.” He mutters stupidly. This man has a death wish, and I’m extremely close to granting it.

“Wrong and wrong again. Keep your fucking hands to yourself unless you’d like me to remove them, digit by fucking digit.”

He doesn't say anything to me. He knows I’m serious. I don’t kid around and I don’t fucking joke. There’s no rebuttal or argument on his part. He only stares at me stupidly. Keeping his fucking mouth shut would be smart in this situation, especially considering how quickly I can ruin him. “You need to remember that you're a married man, Mr. Williams… a family man.” I remind him. His face pales at my words. Did he not think that I wouldn’t look into the lives of my employees? I know everything there is to know about Williams. Nothing escapes my attention, especially when it comes to my businesses.

“Oh,” is all he has to say. There’s nothing else to say.

I’m not in the business of ruining families, but I will if need be. It wouldn’t be the first or the last time, so he might do well to remember his fucking manners. I could so easily tear apart his whole world.

I’m not entirely certain why I’m sitting here like an angry sixteen-year-old over a woman with striking green eyes, a beautiful body, and more complications than I need, but I’m not fucking sorry about it.

Leaning tensely back in his seat, he makes no further remarks. Keeping his eyes, hands, and remarks to himself, he knows he’s lost. Smart man. I’d hate to make trouble for him, but if he tries to fuck around again with London, I can’t make promises to his welfare.

Two

Mr. White Horse or Shining Armor Guy

London

I put in the order for their drinks with Lena. Leaning my hip against the bar, I prop a tray on my other hip. “Holy shit, London, who’s Mr. Sexy Pants?” She says as soon as I touch the bar. She works on my drink order, staring longingly over the bar at the scary man at Mr. Williams’ table. Mr. Sexy Pants would be one way to describe him, but I think something like ‘Mr. Scary Fuck,’ or ‘Mr. Rude Motherfucker’ are more befitting names. She’s right though, he’s hot as hell.

“Don’t get too hung up, Lena. I'm sure he's just like the rest of those ass hats.”

She thinks on my observation and asks, “How do you know?”

How do I know? Well let’s see. He's here with a group of self-entitled fucks, wearing an expensive designer suit that’s made and designed with the finest materials that are hand stitched and tailored to perfection. He's humiliated me in front of my customers with his condescending tone, like I’m no more than an irritant that he has to deal with, getting what he needs as he basks in his own glow of absolute entitlement. Yeah, just like all the other ass hats, but with a little more attitude.

“I’ve been around enough to know the type,” I answer, and she seems to believe me without further explanation.

“Yeah, you're probably right. I'd bang him though,” she laughs. She would too. She loves herself a hot, rich guy.

“You go right ahead.” I tell her as she giggles like a schoolgirl.

Finishing up with the drinks, she puts them on my tray and sends me on my way. “Thanks, babe. I'll see you at break.” I tell her with a smile. Picking up my tray, I head back over to Mr. Williams’ table, working to keep my composure in check.

I ignore the annoying, yet pleasurable tingle my body gets under his stare. Yapping on his phone when I return, he gives me the most seductive look, but doesn’t say a word to me. I place the remaining bottle of bourbon on the table and begin walking around the table, setting full glasses in front of each person.

I’ve made my way around the table and now have one single glass left on my tray. Setting his glass on the table in front of him, I try to make a hasty retreat, only to be stopped by a hand wrapped around my wrist. Oh shit.

He leans in close to me, too damn close for my body to handle. I try to calm myself but it’s pointless. He smells so damn good. He needs to get the fuck out of my personal space before I self-combust and lose all control. Talk about being humiliated.

“Are you alright?” he asks in a strong whisper. Am I alright? Aside from having to deal with him and how he’s making my body react, I think I’m hanging in there, just barely.

“Why wouldn't I be?” I fire back.

He sighs tiredly, “I’m asking because of Mr. Williams’ tasteless fucking behavior towards you.” His voice is harsh as he says this.

I get it. He's one of those types that thinks he needs to rescue me. I almost laugh out loud. He hasn’t got a clue. I don’t need to be rescued and I sure as hell don’t need him to ride in on his white horse and shiny armor, flinging around his sword to protect little ol’ me. I’ve got my shit handled, which includes handling Mr. Williams. In fact, he's one of my easier costumers.

“I'm great, so don’t worry. I can deal with him.” I assure him, “But you’re a problem,” I mutter to myself. I'm a little annoyed at his assumption, but it’s also kind of sweet he cares, I guess. I keep my voice sweet and polite, “He's nothing I can't handle.” He lets go of my arm and doesn't say anything more. That was easy …maybe a little too easy.

Walking back over to the end of their table, I look at Mr. Marx. His body is radiating anger and he doesn’t even try to hide it. Man, what’s his deal? He's wound up tighter than a cheap ass watch.

“So, are you all ready to order?” I ask with my pen and pad ready.

“Yes. Bring out a few of the sample appetizer dishes, please.” Something’s going on here, and I’m getting a bad feeling that I won’t be receiving my usual tip. It’s as if Mr. Marx has changed the whole dynamic of the group, which may cause me to suffer financially.

Nevertheless, I go to close my pad when I hear, “Excuse me, again. London, is it? Mr. Williams doesn’t speak for me,” Mr. Marx says as he gives Mr. Williams a look, “and I would like to place my order, if you don’t mind.”

There’s that fucking patronizing voice again. It must be in the rich asshole’s handbook to strive and achieve to be the best asshole you can be; Chapter One: Being the Perfect Asshole in a Public Setting. The writer would be so proud of Mr. Marx because he has to be exceeding his expectations. “Yes, of course. What would you like?”

He looks surprised that I’m ready to take his order. Is he fucking serious? What did he think I would do, give him attitude for being hungry? I swear, people never cease to amaze me with their stupidity.

“Surprise me,” he says in return. I’m over his shit. Now I’m just ready to see him get the fuck out of here.

“I can do that. I'll be back shortly with your orders.”

I scurry over to my other table and get their orders too. I hand one slip over to the kitchen, but I don't know what to write for Mr. Marx yet. I’m thinking something mixed with a little spit. I give it some thought and don't come up with anything exciting, so I order him a French Dip. It's one of my favorites so he’ll either love it or hate it. I don’t give a shit at this point.

As I put in his order, I see another one of my tables waiting to be seated so I go to greet them, seat them, and take their drink orders while I wait for my food orders to come up.

As I’m exchanging pleasantries with the group of regulars, I look up to find Kim, another waitress, making rounds at my table, shoving her big plastic tits in Mr. Marx’s face. I almost laugh, except the look on his face keeps me from doing so. He’s not looking or even paying any attention to her. His eyes are only on me.

As usual, the guys are overly sweet and a little grabby. They try holding my hand, putting their hand on my lower back as they speak to me, things like that. It goes with the job, but I never said I like it. It’s a means to an end for me, that’s it.

I start to walk away when I bump into a hard chest, “Excuse me, Mr. Marx. Can I help you?” I ask him, failing to sound as cordial as I should.

“Come with me,” he whispers harshly. His face is just below my ear and right at my neck, making my body feel things I don’t want it to, at least not with him.

“I'm busy working, if you hadn’t noticed. I'll be with you in a moment.” But he doesn't go.

“Now,” he growls. What the fuck is wrong with him? I don’t know who this man is or what his problem is with me, but to keep from causing a scene, I agree to go with him.

I look at the men at my table …hell, at all the tables. We’ve become the center of attention. The back area of the restaurant is dark and dingy with old rusty lights keeping the hallway poorly lit and shrouded in darkness. Being back here alone with Mr. Marx gives me the creeps. Taking a few more steps down the hall I stop, but he doesn’t. He takes my hand and begins dragging me to the back door, which leads into the alley. This can’t be good.

He doesn’t let me go even when I try to pull away. He just shoots me a warning look when I try to dig my heels in to stop. My heart’s in my throat and my stomach’s in knots as he shoves the door open, which obviously wasn’t even locked, and pulls me into the alley behind the restaurant. All kinds of crazy shit flies through my head. Is he going to rape me? Kill me? No, he can’t. Too many people saw us together so there’s no way he’d do such a thing, at least that’s what I’m hoping.

I begin to shiver, and it’s not from the temperature, but from the dark look on this man’s face. He makes no move to do or say anything. He just looks at me, breathing heavily and twists his watch around his wrist like it’s a calming exercise. He looks deranged and unhinged as he continues to do this repeatedly.

As freaked out as I am, I also have a big mouth that gets me into trouble quite often, and just when I’m ready to let loose, I reign myself in and breathe through my nose a few times before I speak. “Mr. Marx, what is it that you want from me?” I say in a defeated tone, “And please, would you stop with the watch? It’s unnerving.”

“Sure, if you’ll stop letting those fucking perverts touch you,” he fires back.

Where is this coming from? He doesn’t even know me so why is he making an issue out of this? Maybe it’s not so much to do with me, but something else. Maybe he just doesn’t like to watch women get groped, but who knows. “I appreciate your concern, I really do,” I say as he continues to glare at me, “but what I do and how I do it is none of your fucking business. I can handle them and I can most definitely handle myself. So, your concern is appreciated, but not needed.” I assure him.

“Watch your fucking mouth,” he barks at me.

“Watch your fucking mouth,” I counter, giving him as much attitude as possible. So he can curse, but I can’t? I hadn’t realized he was my father. He's pushed me too far at this point. “If that’s all, Mr. Marx, I've got customers to take care of.”

I start to walk away, but he's not finished with me yet. “I wish you'd have more respect for yourself. Those pricks only see you as a piece of ass. It's wrong. You should never give them the impression that you are.” I stop and whip around to see his face, but he’s not angry now. He looks… sad? And was that pity I detected in his tone? He thinks I don’t have respect for myself? I respect myself more than he'll ever know. He steps closer to me, bringing us face to face, although I have to look up. There’s no anger there because it’s been replaced with something else―lust.

Before I can process his intentions, his lips are on mine. I know I should stop him because really, he’s a perfect example of a man who would be cocky enough to kiss a lion, even if it would tear his face from his body. He’s dangerous. Normally, someone like him would have me running away as fast I can, but something about his brand of arrogance has me giving in, and grinding into him. I have no shame at this moment as he moves me up against the brick wall. He’s a sexy as fuck puzzle that I want to piece together, and I love a good puzzle.

I let him fuck my mouth with his until he slows it down, giving my lips one long, lingering lick. I want more. This man has me standing in a goddamn alley – a wet, needy mess – sagging against a dirty brick wall while my heart hammers away in my chest.

With him finally stepping away, the fog in my brain begins to clear and reality sets back in. I feel ridiculous. I was just arguing with this insane asshole, but I was so ready to fuck him right here in an alley. Shit!

I look to him but his face shows no emotion. The only effect I can see is the quick rise and fall of his chest as he tries to calm himself down, along with the twisting of his watch again. I suddenly feel dirty and as he said, “Like a piece of ass.”

“Don’t ever fucking do that again.”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” I ask.

“A woman as beautiful as you shouldn’t feel the need to use that kind of language, unless it’s in the bedroom. That’s the only time it should be used coming from your lips. That’s the time it would be sexy as hell.” It’s official. He’s just proven that he was dropped as a small child.

“Whatever. I need to get back to work and I would appreciate it if you would just go.” My voice sounds shaky. I don’t wait for a response. I open the door and duck inside, letting it slam closed behind me with a heavy thud. Slumping against the door, I try to recover my frayed nerves and focus on getting some much needed air into my starving lungs.

He doesn't attempt to follow me and I'm so thankful for that. I swear if I see him again and he says one more thing to me, I'll throat punch him. If I ever again have to watch him twist that watch around, I’ll throat punch him with a knife. If he touches me again, well, I might rip my own clothes off and climb him like a tree. I’m such a hussy.

I've worked here for a long time, and nothing like this has ever happened to me, not even outside of work. For my own sanity, I’ll reason that I was bound to do something crazy at some point, and who better than a total crazy fuck to bring it out of me.

I pull my shit together and work to shake it off as I head back to work, that kiss never far from my mind. Well played, Mr. Marx. Well played.

~~~~~~

The rest of my night flies by in a blur. Customers, orders, seating’s, chitchat and drink orders consume me. It's a packed house and a busy evening. Mr. Marx didn’t leave as I asked. In fact, he came through the front door and resumed his spot at his table. Asshole.

I don't speak to him, but he watches me the rest of the night. I see lust, anger, and irritation―three signs of a multiple personality disorder. He can’t make up his mind what he is. I’m just ready for him to leave and never see him again.

I can’t help feeling slightly annoyed by all the flirtatious attention he's receiving from other women, though. I can’t blame them because he is beautiful. He’s all man and sexy, so I get it.

My shift is finally ending, but Mr. Williams and group are still here. They usually leave as soon as I do, so while I wait, I collect all my bills and tips, sorting my portion and what will be shared with other staff members. My last bill, which is included, is from Mr. Williams’ table. My usual five hundred dollar tip is in there along with something else―Mr. Marx’s business card.

Flipping over the shiny white card, I see something has been written on the back.

I'm sorry.

Along with the business card are ten, one hundred dollar bills. Is he paying me a thousand dollars for services rendered in the back alley, even though it was just a kiss… a very hot, sexy kiss? That was more of an assault on my mouth and my panties. I should probably be paying him.

This makes me feel cheap. I think I’d rather have him slap me in the face. He's fucking crazy so I’m sure he’d be happy to do it. I look over at his table and there he sits, watching me with a smile. I can only shake my head in disgust.

I know he's still watching me so I grab the card and throw it in the trash, knowing damn well he sees the small card float down into the garbage can, but I take the money and fold it in half. Plastering a lovely smile on my face, I let him see as I shove the cash into Lena's back pocket as I pass her. “That's for you, love.” I say as I plant a kiss on her cheek, then pat her ass as I walk away. She deserves it. She's trying to support herself and her ailing grandmother. If I would have kept it, I’d feel like a skank who got paid for acting like a whore.

“What the hell, London? This isn't mine,” Lena calls after me, waving the money in the air.

“Oh yes it is,” I yell back over my shoulder with a smile. That’ll teach that fucker. I’m guilty for my part and I accept that, but I don’t appreciate what that money implied. It’s over and I only have two more weeks. If I have to deal with him again, then I’ll be as pleasant as possible and never let something like tonight ever happen again. I’ll be gone soon enough and I’ll forget all about this.

I glance back one last time to find him standing by the bar, hands shoved in his pockets. I can’t tell if he’s amused by my antics or if he’s gonna throw a serving knife at my head. He’s strange, that’s for sure, so on that thought, I rush to the employee lounge, hoping I don’t get that knife to the back as I go.

Dante

Well fuck, that worked like a charm. Sometimes I wonder if I have any manners at all. My sole purpose of going there tonight got shot to shit the moment I saw her. I threw my scouting and scoping to the fucking wind and now tonight’s goal has changed to one of lurking and prowling. She’s not something I need in the business aspect of my life so I let that go, at least for now. However, my bedroom issues are another matter. She should be warming my bed tonight.

I acted crazy, even by my standards. I have my issues and I deal with them, but it was like I had no control of myself. I just lost it and did whatever the fuck I wanted. Watching other men touch her made me sick and horny, all at the same goddamn time. Seeing those sick fucks’ hands all over that body was fucking wrong, but I couldn’t stop watching. I want her tied up and begging for me. I’ve got it all planned out in my head.

I had to have a little taste. I needed it, really. I had to taste those lips and don’t regret for a second that I did it. I had to fight myself to keep my hands from pulling up that dress and fucking her up against that nasty ass wall. I wanted to take her hard and hear her scream, but I took control of myself and didn’t do any of it. I didn’t hurt her, no matter how much I wanted to.

She wanted it. She would’ve let me do her right then and there, but I have other plans. I wanted her attention and I got it. The only thing I really accomplished with her tonight though was pissing her off. I acted like an irrational dick, but she’ll get used to it. She gave me a little of what I was looking for. Watching her throw my card in the trash and give my tip away to someone else was fucked up. No woman has ever turned me down like that. She was telling me she wasn’t interested, but that’s bullshit. She may not like it, but she wants what I can give her. Once I have my eyes set on something I want, there isn’t a fucking thing anyone can do to keep me from taking it.

This beautiful, sexy woman is gonna make me chase her, and little does she know, I’m more than willing to put in the time. So first, I need to act like a gentleman and at the very least, apologize in person. For that reason, I wait outside in the employee parking area while the rain fucking pours down on me. I’m beginning to think no bitch is worth this much trouble, but still I wait. When she finally leaves, she doesn't come out the door I’m expecting. Dammit.

Walking around to the front of my car, I watch her getting into a waiting town car. Ah, something I didn’t think of, but no bother.

I jump into my own car, soaking wet. “Follow the town car,” I yell at Branson. He nods and pulls into traffic right behind her. I don’t know what I expect to accomplish by stalking her. I take that back, I know why. I have a tendency to take everything I do to insane, even dangerous extremes. If I set out to do something, I do it, no matter what the cost. I just don’t give a shit what I have to do to others as long as I get the results I desire.

I'm stalking a woman I don't know, and not for the reasons I intended. I've officially lost my fucking mind. I make a mental note to contact my therapist in the morning. Tonight, I just need a few strong drinks.

The car doesn't go far, only about a mile and a half from the restaurant and pulls up in front of a luxury apartment building that I recognize immediately. I looked in to moving here a while back when I came back to town. They had nothing available, so I stayed in my old place. I already knew she lived in the city, but now I know where to find her. I roll down my window as I see her get out of the car.

“Thank you, Al. I'll see you tomorrow at noon,” she says to the driver. I love the sound of her voice.

“You're more than welcome, my dear. See you tomorrow.”

I watch her go and put things to memory. I memorize the sway of her body as she walks, the very real smile that lights up her face, making her even more stunning. It's not just her looks, although she is devastatingly beautiful, but it's her being. There's something about her that calls to me, and it’s something I couldn’t explain if I tried. It’s something I’ve never felt before.

In all honesty, it scares the hell out of me and I don’t like that. Not one bit.

“Take me home.” I’ve at least concluded that her family is doing better than I thought, putting her up in such a place. Security is certainly something that’s not taken lightly when it comes to her. She’s obviously accepting what she’s been given, possibly to please him. I see that I personally need to do more digging into London’s life. I’m more than happy to take on this task myself.

~~~~~~

I head straight for my home office and my computer as soon as I'm through the door, tossing my jacket on the couch as I pass. Sitting down at my desk, I flip open my laptop and get to work. I want to know everything there is to know about London DeLacourt.

She's only twenty-five. Fuck, she's young. I know everything about her family, or at least for the most part. Her mom is dead and her dad is a low life criminal who she doesn’t have any relationship with, but he’s more than that… a lot more. I check everything from bank accounts, which is only one, to her work history, you name it. I know where she went to school, where she goes now, and what she goes for. I run her address though a property search. The apartment is in her name along with another, Matt Smith. My heart stops.

There’s a man. A friend, a boyfriend, whatever he is. I know she’s not married, but I check anyway, and I don’t find a marriage license. I’m beyond annoyed at this information. Fuck. Of course, there’s a man. Why wouldn’t there be? Who the fuck wouldn’t want that beauty in there bed on a regular basis. I wouldn’t mind her in my bed, but not for longer than it takes me to fuck her good and proper as often as I’d like. She’s proven to be a challenge.

It’s been a long night, and this information only has me thinking too hard. I need to peel myself away from my computer before this turns into something it shouldn’t, but who the fuck am I kidding? It’s already headed down a dysfunctional path. I need to get some sleep.

~~~~~~

Today's going to be hell at work. Long and drawn out with little getting accomplished is what’s on today’s agenda because I didn't sleep for shit last night. I finally fell asleep, but it wasn’t for long. I woke up to a raging hard-on that I took care of as I thought of every kinky thing I wanted to do to London’s body. I'm fucking delusional and screwed up, but I like what I like.

Every little noise from the ping of an email, the swishing of the overhead fan, to the light hum of traffic below grates on my goddamn nerves. The never ending phone calls, emails, and meets provide me with a lovely fucking headache.

By the end of my day, I’m ready to throw myself off my forty-story balcony into the traffic down below. My Friday is a huge fail, which only serves to irritate me more. Pouring myself a drink, I toast to the weekend. I’ll worry about what to do with all my new employees next week.

~~~~~~

My weekend is spent finishing work that I couldn’t bother with on Friday, working out, and I even visit “The Bar,” but not even a naked women tied up underneath me can keep me distracted long enough to get her out of my head. I take out all my frustration on the poor little brunette, knowing she’s a kinky bitch who’s more than willing to take whatever I give her. She begs for it.

The only naked woman I want under me is the one who tortures my thoughts. Nothing is helping, not a goddamn thing. I feel like I'm losing my control―a control I value dearly. I won’t give it up, not to anyone. Not even to that beauty.

~~~~~~

Much to my disappointment, my Monday morning is starting the same as it’s been since Friday; sleepless, horny, and frustrated. I sincerely hope my workweek will bring my mind some relief from thoughts of London, although at this point it seems like a long shot. I figure with a little time and keeping myself busy with the new company I just acquired, I can work her out of my system.

Walking through the building to my office, people try to stop me as I pass but I ignore them and keep walking. I have no patience for anyone right now and have nothing to say. My mind is on the verge of self-destructing.

Getting to my office door, I slip in covertly and breathe out a sigh of relief that I didn’t have to kill anyone, that is until I see Victoria, my worthless secretary, perched on my desk like the annoying bird she is. This morning she’s wearing an obscenely short skirt and her blouse is missing a few buttons. I’m not sure if it’s on purpose or she just didn’t have time to go home and change this morning, doing her usual walk of shame. It’s no secret around here about her promiscuity, and she doesn’t try to hide it, either. She’s actually quite proud of it by the way she flaunts it around.

“Good morning, Mr. Marx,” she hums at me. My stomach churns at the thought of dealing with her today. She's attractive in that plastic surgery, new nose kind of way, which is exactly the type of woman I avoid, but others enjoy.

I sit and listen to her ramble on about things I have no interest in, carrying on about meetings and paperwork. These are all things I pay her to do, not come to discuss with me until they’re things that are resolved. I only need to hear about the finished product. Slowly her run down of the weeks schedule dwindles into personal, and that’s her true reason for being in here. She can’t take the hint that I’m in no way interested.

“Victoria!” I snap at her.

Her head pops up, and she smiles, “You called me Victoria.”

“And?” Christ, I’d appreciate it if she hurried this along.

“You usually just call me ‘Hey you’, or you just clear your throat.” Right.

This is obviously what she’s been waiting for―recognition. I watch as her smile slides into a lip-biting smirk. Adjusting her shirt, she runs a hand across her exposed skin and I feel absolutely nothing. She doesn’t seem to comprehend that I don’t want to fuck her or have my dick in her mouth. But London on the other hand…Shit.

“What do you want?”

“Well I wanted to discuss your schedule for the week.” Such bullshit.

“I'm not in the mood, and even if I were, it wouldn’t be with you.”

I can't be around her right now. I vowed to keep the violence away from women, unless it’s what they want, but not with her. Right now she’s testing those limits and not because I wanna fuck her, I just wanna hurt her. “Oh come on, Dante.” She stands up and walks closer to me, swinging her hips, trying to look sexy but she just looks pathetic. Reaching her hands out, she attempts to run them down my chest, but I step back.

“It's Mr. Marx. You’ll do well to remember that or you’ll soon find your ass looking for another job,” I reprimand her, “So is that it?”

“No, Mr. Marx. Cam is here to see you.” She informs me as she backs off and makes her way out of my office.

Sitting down behind my desk, I watch as Cam saunters in. “You’re up early.”

“Out late.” He corrects me. Sometimes I wonder how he ended up being my right hand. Hell, I wonder how he’s still alive after all these years. I was sure someone, most likely a woman, would’ve offed his ass by now.

“So what do you want?” I ask, leaning back into my chair. There’s a reason he’s here. Carmine doesn’t just “show up” anywhere. Well, that’s not exactly true. If there’s money, women, or free drinks, he’s there.

“Marco’s back in town and he’s circling.” I knew it was only a matter of time. The moment I set my eyes on something, the shark swims back into my waters.

“Good, I’ll deal with him…and Cam? Get your fucking feet off my six thousand dollar desk.” I shove his feet off and listen to them hit the ground with a dull thud. No respect, I tell ya.

Three

Mr. Creepy Stare

London

I hate Monday's. They’re the days every class hands out assignments for the week. I don’t need more homework, I need to be studying for finals every spare minute I have.

I spend my mornings and afternoons in class or studying myself into a coma. School’s from eight to three pm, Monday through Friday. I get a few hours of down time in between and then it's off to work from five to eleven pm, Monday through Saturday. I spend the majority of my time either neck deep in schoolwork or elbows deep in rich, rude assholes and dishes. My days leave me little to no downtime, but I like it that way. If I have too much free time, I find Matt and myself getting into all sorts of trouble, some of it fun, some not so much.

The last five years of my life have involved schooling of some sort. I hardly remember what life was like before exams, papers, professors, and homework. I’ve had so much schooling that I'm used to not having any fun. I’ve all but forgotten what fun looks like, but that’s fine. I’m being groomed for my career―a career I’ve spent countless years going to school for. I want this job more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life. I want to make my grandfather proud. School’s almost over for me and I’ll finally be able to move up and on with my life, and onto the job of a lifetime, at least it is for me.

Hustling home after class, I’m ready for a nap as soon as I’m through the front door. Slumping down on my couch, I glance around my apartment. My heart hurts a little walking into such a quiet, empty house. I hate empty. My best friend and roommate, Matt, has been gone for two weeks now. I miss him so much. He’s an important part of my life. Without him, I’m not whole.

Since meeting ten years ago, we haven't been apart for more than a week. Now it’s going on two weeks and it's killing me, but Matt should be home any day now. I need him around because he keeps me sane and in check, but really, I just miss his crazy ass.

I kick my shoes off, pull down the throw and wrap myself up. Laying my head down, I groan at the thought of work. I don't have the energy today – much less the patience – for assholes tonight. I close my eyes, but no matter how tired I am, sleep eludes me. I haven’t slept for shit in over a week. My mind’s fried from school, but adding my job to the mix tends to drain me more often than not.

I haven’t forgotten about my encounter with Mr. Marx. No matter how busy I’ve been, our encounter is still fresh in my mind. Ever since Thursday night, I can’t help looking for him when I walk into work, wondering if he’ll ever come back.

The whole evening caught me off guard and I didn’t like it. I like having control of my emotions, but he stripped them with that kiss and as much as I wanted to bitch at him and despise him for it, he only scared the hell out of me because I wanted it. But I still think he’s an ass.

God, the more I think of his cocky attitude, the more I feel vindicated in my actions. If I see him again and get the same attitude, I may just punch his ass for kissing me like that, then for being a huge prick and not coming back. I definitely have a lust/hate thing for him, that’s for sure. It’s time to get past the lust part and continue on with my life the way it was before I ever met Mr. Marx.

~~~~~~

Showering quickly, I don’t dilly-dally. I need to get moving or I'll be late. My work uniform is pretty simple; anything black and white, sexy and slutty. Of course when I got the job, they omitted the slutty dress part, but it was implied.

I decide on black pants and a white fitted button down shirt. I throw on a pair of cute flats because I don't feel like fighting with heels tonight. My outfit choice isn’t too sexy, but I undo a few buttons on the top to give just enough cleavage. I'll show the girls off tonight.

I swear I get more tips this way than when I wear a short skirt that my ass hangs out of. I guess some men still like a little mystery. I leave my hair down, throw on minimal makeup and I'm done. Lastly, I grab my purse and I’m off.

~~~~~~

I get to work five minutes early and hang out in the employee lounge for a few minutes, waiting for my shift to start. I’ll wait it out to the very last second before I ever start early. I need these five minutes to prepare myself for the crowd tonight.

Lena walks in as I shove my stuff into my work locker. “Hey, love bug. How was your weekend?” She asks while plopping down in a chair. Sitting down across from her, I pull my legs up under me.

“Busy, but it was okay. How was yours?” She gives me an exhausted sigh. Guess her weekend wasn't great.

“It started out good. I had a date but halfway through, the neighbor called. Grandma was wandering around the back yard.” She says and frowns, “And he was a nice guy,” she groans, letting her arms flop down by her sides. I laugh a little. She's always having these dates with nice guys. Either they end in a sweaty romp in some club bathroom or they turn out to be total sleazebags.

“I'm sure he'll understand, and if he doesn't, you'll find one who does.” I reassure her. She looks thoughtfully at me and nods.

“You're probably right. You're always right.” I am, but I keep that shit to myself.

Glancing at the clock, I see that it’s show time. Heaving myself off the chair, I head for the door. “Are we busy out there?” I ask Lena as I tie my apron around my waist on our way out the door.

“Not really, but remember Mr. Sexy Pants? You know, the guy from Thursday? He's been here for a few hours just hanging around the bar, looking put off and mad. He asked if you were working today.”

Shit. My eyes go wide and Lena looks panicked. “But don't worry. I told him I didn't know!” she blurts out. If he’s out there, then he’s obviously about to find out that I am. I don't want to deal with any of his drama tonight, but I’m excited at the same time.

“It’s okay, Lena. I just wasn't expecting him today.” I smile, letting her know it’s all good. It’s not like she could have changed it anyway.

Now I really want to stay in here and hide, but sadly, I can't. “I will not kill anyone tonight. I will be nice, I will smile, and I will be professional, but nothing more.” I say out loud, trying to convince myself that I can, and I will, do this.

Here goes nothing.

Walking out onto the floor, I glance around the room but I don't see him. Sagging in relief and disappointment, I go behind the bar to grab my pen and paper, stuffing them into my tiny apron. He must’ve given up and left. I can’t believe he gave up so easily.

I decide it’s for the best that he left and go about checking my reservations and tables at the bar, preparing for my shift. My head’s down and my mind’s into my reservation book when someone takes a seat directly across from me and I know. I look up to see Mr. Marx staring me down. I can't help it. My heart races and I’m excited that he stayed, but I would never show it. He doesn't smile outright, but I can see a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Good evening, Mr. Marx,” I say coolly, trying to look busy. I don’t give him much of my attention, but I'd love to ask him what he's doing here. I assume he’s here to eat, drink, or to see me.

“London,” He nods politely.

I try to keep myself busy. I shouldn’t even acknowledge his presence but I can’t stop myself from looking. Trying to be discreet. I peek through my lashes with my head down. He’s staring at the bar top with his mouth pulled down into a firm line and his brows drawn together in thought. I watch him fiddle nervously with that goddamn Rolex on his thick wrist. What’s with that?

Looking longer than I should, I notice just how beautiful he is. He's even sexier than I remember in his pale gray, perfectly tailored suit. It’s a single breasted Armani suit, and it fits him like a glove. It’s not like the custom made one he had on the last time I saw him, but this one does wonderful things for him too, if not more.

His hair is no different though. It’s still a thick mess, going in every direction. Something new is the three days’ worth of stubble on this face. Why does he have to be so handsome and such an asshole.

I’m so enthralled that I don’t even notice he’s watching me. I’m completely embarrassed so I turn to leave, but he stops me, “London?” His voice is low, laced with uncertainty. Turning back around, I finally get to see the most amazing smile. Does this mean he's happy to see me? I wonder which personality I’ll be dealing with tonight.

“Yes, Mr. Marx?” Crossing my arms, I lean up against the bar and wait. He doesn't seem much like the arrogant shit from before. Is he nervous?

“Please, call me Dante. I just wanted to drop by and say hello, and see how you’ve been?” His eyes are glancing all over the place, anywhere but me as he starts twisting his Rolex around his wrist again. This is awkward. Nervous doesn't suit him. He's too strong and domineering for this weird energy he’s got going right now.

“I’m good. Thank you for asking,” I say as I walk away, brushing him off.

I know it’s rude but there’s no point in standing there, trying to come up with some form of conversation when neither of us know what to say. Besides, I have to get to work.

While I take orders, serve drinks, and flirt my ass off for big tips, I do everything I can to ignore the beautiful man sitting at the bar who openly watches me. It’s a bit unnerving, yet flattering. He has me twisted up inside.

His smiles have become warm and friendly, but his eyes…not so much. This man, Dante, is no good for me, or for the population of women as a whole. He’s a heartbreaker; the man that would take your heart and stomp on it, all the while laughing about it. That’s what he is.

But none of this stops me from glancing at him every chance I get. He continues to smile, knowing that I’m looking. I want to kick my own ass but that smile is beautiful and secretive, and I want to know what the secret part of it means.

I finally have to go back to the bar for more drinks, and I'm a tiny bit excited to be near him again.

“Hi.” I say with a smile. I have no idea why I'm engaging him, but I have an overwhelming need to hear his voice again.

“Hello again,” He smiles and tips his head. His eyes sparkle and it makes him look relaxed and comfortable for once.

“Can I get you anything?” I offer. He looks amused for a moment while he rests his elbow on the bar, finger tapping his lips thoughtfully.

“There’s one thing in particular I want very much, but I need to being patient,” he muses, sounding as if he’s talking more to himself than to me. I have no idea what he’s talking about, but the waitress in me offers anyway.

“I can try to get it for you,” I offer helpfully. It is my job, after all.

He looks at me a little dazed before he shakes it off, “No, thank you. I'm okay for the time being.” He says and smiles kindly at me.

I leave Mr. Marx, at the bar to help a gentleman at the other end, waving his empty bottle at me rudely. I’m not a ditz and I can see you, dumbass. A simple head nod or bottle tip would have worked. I grab another beer for the man, “Here ya go,” but he doesn’t say shit to me. Jerk.

Before I can turn around, I feel large arms circle around me from behind, hands pressing into my stomach. I stiffen immediately, but relax as soon as I realize it’s Matt. I turn to hug him tight, “I've missed you, London,” he says as he hugs me just as tight.

“I’ve missed you to, bitch face.” He picks me up whirls me around, and that’s when I see Mr. Marx watching us, looking absolutely murderous. I don’t give myself time to process his mood because my Matt is back and my world is whole again.

“I've missed your face,” he says and kisses my forehead with a big, sloppy kiss.

“I wasn't expecting you back today.”

“Well I got my cousin all moved and I was so ready to leave. Her pregnancy hormones were driving me insane, but we’ll talk later. Let’s get to work before boss man fires our asses,” he says, slapping my ass as he runs off.

A loud crack startles me back to the other end of the bar. Turning on my heels, I find a shattered glass in front of Mr. Marx.

“Shit,” I mutter to myself and run down to get it cleaned up.

Mr. Marx doesn't say a word as he watches at me pick up the broken pieces. Did he really just break a glass? What the hell? Glaring at him a few times while cleaning up the mess, I don’t even bother to ask because at this point, I don’t really care. I pick up the shattered pieces and make a pile to toss. He looks a little ashamed, but doesn’t offer me an excuse or an apology.

“London?”

Dumping the glass into the trash, I quickly make my way past him. “I have customers. I’ll send another waitress to take care of the bar. I hope you have a good night, Mr. Marx.” I nod politely before turning on my heels to leave, letting him stew in whatever’s bothering him. I don’t have the time or energy for all that. I won’t even entertain the thought that it has anything to do with me. He’s just a psycho who seems to enjoy fucking with me, but I can’t even begin to imagine why. He’s just a Sick Bastard. Staying away from him is obviously the right course for me to follow.

I need to find someone else to run the bar and Kendra is the first waitress I pass. I figure she'll do. “Hey, Kendra, can you run the bar? I have things on the floor to take care of.”

She takes one look and hones in on Mr. Marx immediately. A large smile takes over her face at the sight of him. “Fuck yes! He's hot!” She squeals in delight. She even claps her hands like a goddamn child.

“He's a good tipper too.” I assure her, but it’s not like she needs a push. She’s already headed toward him.

Have a nice life, you crazy fuck. I wish he were different. What a fucking shame.

Dante

I’ve given up on my “Stay the fuck away from her” rule. It’s a rule I started just this week, but here I am, sitting at the bar in The Blue Lounge waiting to see her. I need to see her.

I didn’t go as far as finding out her work schedule. I just decided to show up and hopefully take some time to prepare myself if I did see her. I’ve been here for hours, watching the door like it’ll start performing tricks. People come in and go out, but there’s no sign of London.

I don’t know what I’m doing. This shit is seriously disturbing on so many levels, but she’s an obsession that I can’t walk away from until I have her. I’m not looking for forever, hell, not even a few days. I’m looking for right now and tag, she’s it. I get what I want, one way or another.

Sitting at the bar, I stare into my drink and begin thinking this may be her day off. My phone starts to vibrate in my jacket pocket and I fumble with it in pure desperation, pulling it out before it stops ringing, “Branson?”

“Sir, she just left her building.”

“Same car?”

My unyielding need for any and all information about London has become an unhealthy prerequisite in my daily affairs. I’m not proud, but this is how I function. I don’t let shit go, and she’s one of those things at the moment.

“Yes sir,” He answers.

“Thank you, Branson.” I end the call, shoving my phone back into my pocket. Now I wait some more.

“Good evening, handsome. Is there anything I can get you?” Plastic Barbie purrs as she leans over the bar. Jesus Christ, I can’t stand women like this. They’re so dense that they can’t even take a hint when they’re not wanted. I’m not interested. I’m a single-minded man on a mission for one woman, and one woman only.

“No,” I snap at her. The only thing I need has long dark hair, a slim body with tits and an ass to die for. That’s the sight I get as I look down the hall that leads to the back of the restaurant, and she’s smiling from ear to ear.

I feel a bit of relief wash over me as soon as I set eyes on her. It’s like that first hit of a cigarette after hours of waiting for one. At least all this waiting wasn’t a huge waste of my time. I get my second chance to talk to her, to make a better impression. I feel I need to apologize and maybe, just maybe, get to fuck her and move on. The need to talk to her and get her out of my head is a must. Apologize, leave a more suitable impression of myself and move the fuck on with my life. She’s just an obsession, that’s all. I have to convince myself of this before my life really gets fucked.

I figure I’ve got time to take a quick piss so I head to the restroom. Once I return, I see her. Fuck, of course she’s even more beautiful than I remember. I was hoping the terrible mood lighting from the last time I was here had fucked with my eyesight but it didn’t. I see that there’s not a damn thing that could make her look bad.

She looks around the floor like she’s looking for someone, but she only shakes her head, almost looking disappointed if I saw the look correctly.

She walks behind the bar and I watch her as she starts going through what I assume is the reservation book. I wanna fuck her on and against that bar like she’s never been fucked before. She leans up and over the bar and my dick gets hard. She's concentrating with her arms folded under her tits, pushing them up where all I can see is a whole lot of cleavage while she bites her fucking lip. I wanna do that. I wanna bite down on her lip and make it bleed, then move to those big tits of hers and fuck ‘em.

Before people start to notice my dick trying to rip out of my slacks, I take a seat back at the bar, but I take the stool directly in front of her. Shit, seeing those tits this close, I’m about to lose my fucking load without even touching her. I can see my dick pumping between those tits…

She finally raises her head and looks at me, forcing me to take my eyes away from her chest. Thank fuck for small mercies, but shit. I need to force myself to look anywhere but her right now because I don’t think I have any control over what may happen if I keep thinking about it.

Her stunning eyes go wide for only a second, but the shock doesn’t last. Those deep green eyes morph almost instantly to annoyed irritation. I really did fuck up our first meeting and now she hates me.

“Good evening, Mr. Marx,” she says as she takes some time looking me over. I’m still trying to get my dick under control, rolling my watch around, anything to distract myself.

“London,” I nod, barely realizing she’s still staring at me. I must pull her out of her haze because she begins to walk away, but I don’t want her to. “London,” I call to her in barely a whisper, feeling unsure of what I need to do to make whatever went wrong right with her. She turns around and I can’t stop the smile from spreading across my face.

“Yes, Mr. Marx?”

“Please, call me Dante. I just wanted to drop by and say hello, and see how you’ve been ?” God, could that sound any more stupid. I’m fucking ashamed of myself, acting like some goddamn girl with a crush. I can’t even look at her. Could this get any worse? This is not me. I don’t do this shit, ever.

“I’m good. Thank you for asking,” she says. I want to say more but not a damn thing comes out, so she turns on her heels and walks away. I’ve built my career on my ability to speak with precise execution. My livelihood depends on it and I’ve succeeded with my extreme ease in communicating and verbalizing my thoughts and ideas, but right now, I’ve got shit.

I know she has work to do, but I decide to stay and watch her. I figure since I can’t say a fucking sentence in her presence, that I’ll just watch her, try to figure her out. I catch every glance she tries to hide and this makes me hopeful. Winning her over now seems like a possibility.

She finally leaves the floor and heads back to the bar, and straight for me.

“Hi,” she says with a real smile on her face. This smile is just for me.

“Hello again.”

“Can I get you anything?” Yes, she can.

“There’s one thing in particular I want very much, but I need to be patient,” I say more to myself than to her, causing her to look a bit confused.

“I can try to get it for you,” she offers. Damn, if she only knew. My mind goes back to my earlier thoughts but I shake them off. I can’t go there again, not right now.

“No, thank you. I’m okay for the time being.” She leaves me to take care of someone else at the other end of the bar.

What happens next has me ready to lose my fucking mind as a man in what seems to be the restaurants employee uniform walks behind the bar and heads right for her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her to him. My heart starts pounding as she turns to hug him tight, obviously happy to see him. This must be her boyfriend, or whatever the fuck you wanna call him.

I watch their interaction and feel sick. She may have a man, but that sure as fuck didn’t stop her from kissing and grinding into me in that alley.

He says something to her and takes off to the back of the restaurant. Through this whole thing, I don’t realize how hard I’m squeezing my glass until it breaks in my hand, shards of glass flying all over the bar.

She runs to clean it up and all I can do is stare at what I’ve done, but she’s pushing me to a breaking point and doesn’t even know it.

“London?” I say as my temper is at an all-time high.

“I have customers. I’ll send another waitress to take care of the bar. I hope you have a good night, Mr. Marx,” she says as she walks around the bar to speak to another waitress who looks more than happy to cater to me. Fuck her.

Throwing a few bills on the bar, I go to leave. The last thing I need is to be here right now. I don’t know what the fuck I might do next, but no matter what she thinks of me, she wants me and I want her. I’m done fucking around and trying to win her over. I am who I am and she’ll see it soon enough. She’ll be mine, no matter what means I have to go through to make it so.

She better get the fuck ready, ‘cause I’m comin’ for her.

Four

Mr. Master Of His World

London

I look back toward the bar just as Mr. Marx gets up and walks to the door. Good, I think to myself, but a little part of me is sad to see him go. I don’t know how to take him. His moods are all over the place and he’s obviously confused about something when it comes to me. I understand that now because he stirs something inside of me, whether it’s anger or something else, I'm not entirely sure. Mr. Marx is one angry man whose smile can turn into a scowl in the blink of an eye. It’s too much for me to deal with, but I hate how fascinated I am by him. That big ball of crazy is someone I very much want to know more about, but it’s just not an option at this point in my life. Nevertheless, I think tonight may have been his last straw with me and I’ll never see him again.

“What was up with that sexy hunk of a man?” Matt asks as he watches him walk out the door, licking his lips. “Goddamn, he is one yummy piece of man meat. I wonder if he plays for my team.”

“He's got issues,” I tell him dismissively. He looks at me like I'm exaggerating, which I’m not.

“All the hot ones do, boo boo,” he says over his shoulder as he makes his way back to the bar.

Well if that ain’t the truth.

~~~~~~

“Come on, babe,” Matt calls as he slams his work locker shut.

“I'm ready for bed.” I sigh in exhaustion, slumping against him. My bed is calling my name. “Ah, me too. Let’s do popcorn and a movie when we get home.” Matt suggests as we walk arm in arm out the back entrance of the restaurant. Thank God work went smoothly the rest of the night.

“Yes, please.” Nothing sounds better at this moment. Okay, maybe one thing does, but I'm not going there.

Our car pulls up outside of our apartment building. “It’s so good to be home,” Matt says as he climbs out of the car, stretching as he goes. I follow right behind him.

“London?” A deep voice calls from behind me. Turning around, I find Mr. Marx, or rather, Dante, leaning casually against a Bentley with his arms and ankles crossed. What the fuck is he doing here? Maybe he hasn’t given up as easily as I thought. Maybe stalking is his big turn on; his secret.

“What are you doing here?” I ask him, “How do you know where I live?”

He doesn't say anything as he glares between Matt and I. What’s his problem with…Oh, I get it. Shit, this could end badly. My over-protective best friend and a problematic, possibly bipolar stalker. This is not how I wanted to end my night.

“Matt, this is Mr. Marx. He's a customer at the restaurant. Mr. Marx, this is Matt, my best friend and roommate.” I say so there’s no confusion as to who is what to me.

Dante only continues to glower at Matt. Actually, it’s more like he’s imagining himself ripping Matt in two. He really needs to get a goddamn grip on his fucking emotional issues. I don’t appreciate his attitude with Matt at all.

“Hey man,” Matt drawls in his usual friendly tone, none the wiser of the crazy man standing only a few feet away. Dante only nods at Matt, which is a silent slap to the face.

Matt doesn't miss the coldness rolling off him and shoots me a look.

“It’s late, Mr. Marx, and I see no need for you to be here or act rude to my friend. You need to go and not come back.”

This obviously gets his attention because he looks a little pissed. I take it he isn’t used to being dismissed, “I’m only here for a moment of your time.”

“I’ll give you a moment, and then I want you to leave.” I have no clue what he wants, but I’m curious as to why he tracked me down. Dante and Matt are still staring at each other, but Matt looks between the two of us with confusion.

“Give me a sec, Matt. I'll be right up, I promise.” I smile, trying to reassure him. I can see the big brother coming out as he squares his shoulders and fists his hands at his sides.

“Are you sure?” he asks with concern evident on his face.

“Yep. I'm okay. Just give me a few minutes.”

Matt lingers for a second, looking unsure about leaving me alone with this man. I don’t blame him, he’s a scary fucker.

“Okay, but I’ll come right down if you need me. Don't take long,” he says firmly, but looks at Dante as he says it. He turns to leave and I give Dante my attention.

His face is dripping with anger. As soon as Matt’s out of sight, he begins running his hands through his hair. What the hell is wrong with this man?

“What do you need, Mr. Marx?” I bite out. I’m not being nice at this point because I just don’t care. Whatever I thought I was feeling towards him is diminishing by the second. He’s completely unhinged. “Mr. Marx?” I implore.

“Dante.”

“Excuse me?” That's not what I asked him.

“Call me Dante.”

“No thank you. There’s no need for me to be on a first name basis with you so I'll stick with Mr. Marx,” I retort. “So why are you here?” I try again. He only looks at me like the words are on the tip of his tongue, but nothing comes out. “Listen, I'm tired and I wanna go to bed, so could you please just say what you need to say and leave so I can go in?” I snap. My temper is about to get the best of me and I sure as fuck don't feel like playing this game with him.

He takes a deep breath and walks towards me. “I'd much rather you called me Dante, but call me whatever you like,” he says, waving a hand in some grand gesture. He catches me off guard and he’s close enough to run his fingers down the side of my face with a sexy grin on his perfect lips. I'm caught like a deer in headlights, staring at this madman.

“Who is he?” He asks while I’m in this euphoric state, just from his touch. I like his touch. I want him to keep touching me.

“Who?” I whisper. I know who he’s talking about but I don’t want to process words. I only want to feel. It’s been so long since I’ve felt this. It’s something so simple, yet to me, it’s so much more.

“Your friend … Matt.” He spits out. His tone brings me out of my lust induced spell and I step out of his reach. “Who is he, London?” He shouts out at me.

He starts stalking after me as I continue to back up and speak as I do so, “For the record, that's none of your fucking business. I don’t know you and you don’t know me, so why are you doing this? Is it because I’m not throwing myself at you? Am I some sort of challenge? I don’t want whatever it is you think you want. So please, Mr. Marx, I want you to leave me alone.”

“He's your friend? Just your friend.” He says sarcastically. I figured he wouldn't believe me. Why is it so hard to believe?

“Yes, he’s my best friend. He has been for ten years and that’s something that will never change. You’ve gotten what you came for so I’m going now.” I gesture towards my place. I'm done and over this.

“I came here to apologize. It’s not something I ever do, and apparently I don’t know how.” He says. His words are harsh.

“I don’t know what you feel the need to apologize for and I never asked for one.”

“I came to apologize for my actions the first night we met. I wanted to say that I’m sorry so we can hopefully put it behind us.” He sounds more disgusted with himself for putting himself through this when it wasn’t necessary in the first place. He doesn’t mean it anyways. It’s all in the way he says it with a sour face, like the words taste bad in his mouth. All this apologizing must be hard work for a man who I assume hasn’t apologized and meant it a day in his life. “I’m sorry.” He tries again, but it still sounds like he’d rather drink acid than say those words. I don't have it in me to fight tonight though. He wants me to forgive him? Fine, I’ll give him that so he can “Put it behind him”.

“Sure, we're great. So go on, you can put all this behind you now. Good night.” I turn to look at him over my shoulder one last time. That strong face looks somber and lost . UGH! I’s only be wasting my time trying to figure him out. He’s definitely bipolar, I think to myself as I leave him standing there. He’s right. I hope this is behind us and he’ll stay away for good.

Dante

I should be happy. Whether she considered my apology sincere or not, she acknowledged it, which means I should leave and be done with this whole mess. What a bunch of bullshit. I don’t need or want her in my life, but my mind’s been singing a different tune. I wanna think my obsession with her is because she shows no interest in me, which I don’t understand, nor can I accept. Maybe her friend, Matt, is more than what she says? Of course he is. Fuck this bitch, I’m done.

A ringing phone tears my attention away from the building London just entered. “Yeah?”

“Boss, we’ve got an issue.” Don’t we always. What I should say is, “No, you’ve got an issue.” I give an order and the only thing I should be hearing is that shit’s been handled, not that they fucked it up.

“Spit it the fuck out then.” I’m not in the mood for mysteries.

“The car never showed.” Shit, that is an issue, just not one of mine.

“Then why are you calling me? It’s your job to fix any issues so get it done, and Carlo?”

“Yeah boss?”

“You don’t want me to come fix the issue, capisci?” Shoving my phone back into my pocket, I decide I need a fucking drink.

~~~~~~

It takes me twenty blocks to try and formulate a plan to make that woman see me for what everyone else does―the master of my world. I don’t get dismissed by anyone, especially a woman. She’s lucky I’m not in the business of killing women, but she’s easily changing my mind. You don’t roll your fucking eyes at me, and you sure as shit don’t brush off an apology from me. That self-righteous bitch should be on her knees, thanking me for giving a fuck enough to go out of my way to excuse myself for my behavior. Behavior that wasn’t, in my opinion, all that uncalled for. I made a move and she didn’t stop me so fuck her. She’s gonna wish she accepted my apology ‘cause she’ll never get another one from me.

My car pulls up to the curb outside of The Bar, a place I've been to far too many times to count. It's a disgusting sickness really, but do I care? No. It’s a necessity for me―a sick fascination that’s like breathing. I'm not here for the drinks. I only need one thing that’ll satisfy my need for the night, preferably someone who likes it rough, has curves in all the right places, and looks like the bitch I desperately wanna fuck.

Sitting down at the bar, I can immediately see women on the hunt, which is always the case. It makes shit so much easier for me. They come to this bar looking for exactly what I like to give.

I’ve already got quite a fan club, all waiting to make their move. Finally, my ego finds that happy place where all women on this planet want me to fuck them. They’re all begging for my attention, and they would never think to treat me like London did.

“Evenin’, motherfucker,” Cam says as he takes a seat next to me. I should’ve known he’d be here. Where else would he be? Ordering two shots, he pushes one towards me, “Drink up.” And I do, downing the drink quickly, welcoming the burn that follows.

“How long have you been here?” I ask. He’s my cousin, but he’s more like a brother.

I get a faint shrug, “A while. There's some new faces here tonight.” We’re both here on a mission.

“Dibs,” he says, claiming the redhead looking him over. How old is he? Dibs? Before I can turn to him, he jumps up, already prowling toward the girl like a predator. She’s not my flavor. I’m here looking for a replacement―a diluted copy of a beautiful brunette I’ve become infatuated with.

I nod for the bartender to order another drink. Leaning back in my seat, I sip my drink and check my watch. It only took five minutes.

A bottled blonde with blue eyes makes an exaggerated show of walking up to me, swaying her hips and adding a little bounce to her step so her tits bounce with her. She looks forty, but she’s trying her damnedest to look ten years younger. Her hands give her age away. No amount of plastic surgery will fix your hands. Hands tell a woman’s age far better than her face or her license ever could.

I watch her tired face, only brightened by cheap makeup, smile at me. She helps herself and slides into the seat next to me, leaning into the bar with her fake tits shoved out. She’s a mess. There’s no way in hell I could get it up for her even if she was what I was looking for.

“Can I buy you a drink, handsome,” She purrs. I tip my full glass at her, trying for subtle. “You sure? Come on, baby. You look like you could use another.” Her voice is raspy and rough, like she’s smoked one too many cigarettes in her lifetime. It would be a turn off if her hands and age weren’t already. I give her a curt headshake, but I see it’s not enough. This bitch is hungry tonight.

Throwing my drink back, I ignore wrinkly hands and wave the bartender over. “Jack and Coke.”

“I could turn that frown upside down,” she coos at me in that two packs a day voice. I don't bother saying anything to her, I just get up from my stool and leave.

Glancing around the bar, I spot a brunette sitting alone a few tables away. She’s sipping her drink and looking greedy. I don’t have to do a damn thing because she’s already eye fucking me over the rim of her drink.

Not very subtle, sweetheart.

She's not what I truly want, but she’ll do. She's attractive enough with long, brown hair, unremarkable blue eyes, and an average body, but she’s willing and that’s all I need.

I nod at her and she damn near jumps out of her seat in an attempt to get to me, hustling as fast as her cheap stilettos will carry her. Desperation oozes off her like cheap perfume, making me sick at the thought, but again, pussy is pussy in this place.

“I've been watching you since you walked in. I'm Amanda,” She giggles while running her hands up and down my chest. I don't like her already, but I don’t need to like her to fuck her. I don’t need stimulating conversation, a sense of humor, or intelligence. All I need is a warm and willing body to do with as I please, and I’ve found it in Amanda tonight.

I don’t say anything as I turn to leave. She follows without hesitation. She knows why I'm here and she knows what I want from her, and she’s more than willing to give it to me.

~~~~~~

Looking at her sitting next to me in the car, there's nothing about her that appeases me. She’s not London. She’s not an elegant, natural beauty who’s hot as fuck. My balls don’t ache and my dick isn’t straining just from looking at her. She doesn’t have the curves or those full fucking lips that I want wrapped around my dick so bad.

Staring out the window, I avert my attention from Angie … Amanda. I have an itch I need scratched and I’ll make sure that Amanda here does everything I need her to do to scratch that itch.

Pulling up in front of a hotel, I all but jump from the moving car, my mind close to exploding from a goddamn London overload. “Britt … Amanda,” I nod for her to follow me out. Christ, why can’t I remember her fucking name? I’m not sure why I’m sticking with the pleasantries; she’s already on my heels, ready to fuck. Her eyes are alight with greed when she takes in the extravagance of the hotel. I can practically see the dollar signs in her eyes when she looks at me. She’s a clueless bitch. You can’t find a sugar daddy in a place like The Bar. Everyone knows this.

It started with the excessive amount of chatter in the car about my suit, the car, my watch. She was laying it on thick. Walking through the plush hotel is no different. She’s on about all thing's money related. She’s a gold digging whore.

I make quick work of getting her into the elevator, bypassing all the niceties of the building. No, the doorman doesn’t want to hear your life story and no, I could give a shit less about what you want to see in the area. I hurry her starry-eyed gaze into the small room of the hotel I keep reserved just for this. I’ve never once slept here, and it’s not where I spend my time. This is a place to fuck.

“No tour?” She whines as I shove her through the door. A tour? It’s a fucking hotel. The only thing she’s here to see is that bed and my dick.

Grabbing onto my arm, she pleads with her eyes and pouts. Childish antics do nothing but piss me off. I wanna fuck a woman, or what is considered a woman these days, not a pouty ass brat. “Either follow me or leave.” I tell her, pointing right back at the door. This isn’t goddamn social hour. I’ve no interest in sitting down and chatting. I don’t want to get to know you better. She’s put off by my short words, but still, she follows me.

“Lose the clothes and get on the bed.” I tell her, locking the door behind me. I hear a zipper, followed by the thud of her shoes, and then finally, the rustle of sheets.

“I’m ready, baby.” I know this. There’s an unspoken protocol for this shit. I know she’s ready because if she weren’t, she wouldn’t fucking be here.

That small conscience I have left tells me not to do this, but I drown that fucker’s voice with a shot of Brandy.

“Baby?” That one word is too much.

“Do not talk to me, do not touch me, and do not look at me. You just need to fulfill your purpose and lie the fuck down. Once I’m finished with you, you’ll leave without a word, do you understand?

She nods, clearly surprised, and maybe even a little pissed, but fuck her. This is all she’s good for to me, and she should’ve known that when she left with me. Women only go to that bar for one particular thing and it isn’t the stimulating conversation. Apparently, she needs to be reminded.

“Now, let’s get on with this.”

Five

Mr. Super Sexy Personality

London

“Good fucking God.” Sighing, I flop down on my couch and kick my feet up, resting my back against Matt's shoulder as I settle in for movie night.

“Not a pleasant visit, I take it?” Matt jokes, draping an arm loosely over my shoulder. Pleasant isn’t a word I would use to describe Mr. Marx, or Dante. “Lover boy break a date or something?” He carries on, so I punch him in the leg. “Fine, I get he’s not your lover boy, but there’s no need to resort to violence.”

“Call him lover boy one more time and I’ll be pouring out the wine just to cram the bottle down your throat. And stop talking about him, it gives me a fucking headache.” Matt laughs which gets him another punch. “Not funny, asshole.” I can’t find one thing funny about any of this.

“But seriously, what’s that guy’s deal?”

“Not a clue.” I answer honestly because I really don't know. He’s truly something else and I’m not sure that’s a good thing.

“Well, if looks could kill, I'd be dead.” Throwing his hands around his neck in a chocking fashion, he starts gagging.

“You’re not funny.” But he’s right. Those eyes show how lethal he really is.

“He asked me about us.” I tell him hesitantly.

He sighs dramatically. He’s such a fucking drama queen. Shaking his head like he’s disgusted with me, he takes a gulp of wine. “They always do, don’t they?” That wasn’t a question. “Did you tell him the truth, or did you leave the important answers out?”

“I told him the truth.” I lie, but he’s not buying it.

“My ass you did. You’re good at giving people partial truths, but not me. I don’t know why you just don’t tell people I’m gay. I've accepted it―it’s okay.”

“You’re gay?” Shaking his head, he grumbles something about “bitch” and “driving him insane.” Yeah. Right back at ya, buddy.

“Are you ashamed of me? Am I your dirty little secret?” He mocks his shock, pouting his lips and batting his eyelashes.

“You’re my secretary. My wife can’t know about us.” I play right along with him, rubbing his leg like I’m consoling him.

His drama doesn’t last long. “You know you use our relationship to keep men away.” He points out. He's right, but it's just easier this way. I don't have time for men. They’re worse than women most days and too much trouble. I don’t have the time, nor the patience, to put into any new relationships.

“I’m not explaining shit to anyone, man or woman, especially if they’re demanding to know. I don’t know him, and I don’t owe him an explanation as to who you are or what you are to me.”

“And I get that. Our relationship is no one's business, but we look like a fucking couple. What do you think men think when they see us together? You may not want their attention, but have you stopped to think about me? Any chance I’d have is gone because they think I’m your man. Men think you’re my woman. How am I supposed to meet someone if they think I’m straight?”

“Whatever. You never have a problem getting dates.”

“Listen, I'm not getting into this with you. I’ll pretend to be your man until we die if that’s what you really want, but you really should consider the possibilities of giving some lucky fucker a chance. Take your time and do some dating, that’s all. I’m not saying you have to get into a relationship, just stop being a prude and get out there.”

I don’t say anything. This isn’t a conversation I’m in the mood to have so I get comfortable and set my sights on relaxing and preparing for another long week.

~~~~~~

“I’m starving to death.” Matt complains, wandering into the living room.

“Right there with ya.” It’s been a busy few days and work tonight was no different. I missed lunch and dinner.

“Chinese.” He declares while thumbing through his phone. He doesn’t bother asking if it’s good with me, but he knows I love it.

“That works for me, thanks for asking.”

“I'll order, but you have to go pick it up. The guy there hates me.” This is true. When we first moved here, Matt, the shameless, dirty slut, threw himself at a waiter there. The waiter was not gay and didn’t appreciate the come on. I doubt Matt would go back there even if he wasn’t banned for life. He’s too embarrassed, and I don’t blame him.

“Yes he does, ya pervert.”

“I’m a pervert?”

“You sure the hell are. You grabbed his ass. That, my friend, makes you a perv.” Tossing a pillow at me, Matt grumbles and flops down on the couch, “Go get my food, wench.”

~~~~~~

Crisp, cool air hits my face when I push through the front doors of my building. It’s not too cold tonight, but it’s just enough to need a jacket. For me, it’s the perfect temperature for a stroll. The Chinese restaurant is only a few blocks away, so the walk isn't bad. I could use some time to myself, anyway.

It's late, but there are still quite a few people out and about. This is why I love the city. No matter the time, it’s always so full of life as people get off of work, couples go out on dates, families have late dinners, and clubs fill up for the night. The city is always full of life.

Walking blissfully down the sidewalk, lost in my thoughts, I jump when I hear a man say, “You shouldn't be out here alone at this time of night.” I spin around in surprise because I know the voice. I come to a halt, and so does he. I thought I’d finally seen the last of Dante, but apparently, he’s not done with me yet. As much as I hate to admit it, I’m excited to see him. Nevertheless, he just scared the living shit out of me and that shit bothers me, a lot. I come face to face with Mr. Super Sexy, Multiple Personality turned Stalker. “What the fuck are you doing here?” I don’t know why I can’t find it in me to be nice to him. It’s like he brings out the bitch in me, especially when he keeps showing up out of nowhere. Why can’t he just ask to meet with him and talk to me like a normal person?

“I wanted to see you. I wasn’t happy with the way things went the other night and … I just wanted to see you.”

I’m struck dumb at his admission. “I gave you what you came for. I accepted your apology, so what more could you possibly want from me?”

He doesn’t answer, but he reaches out and grabs my elbow, trying to pull me closer. “Get the fuck off me!” I wrench my arm away as he drops his hand to his side in defeat.

“I told you, I just wanted to see you.” I’m probably being unreasonably harsh here, but he’s stalking me for fuck’s sake. This isn’t sexy by any means to me. He has issues, and I don’t want any part of them.

“Listen, I’ve gotta go. You have to stop showing up like this. I don’t know what you want, and it’s obvious that you don’t either so please, just stop. It’s freaking me out. If this is how you go about getting a girl’s attention, you’ve got shit way wrong. Go practice on someone, or read a book for fucks sake.” I say before I turn and head down the road.

I make it a half a block before I hear him yell out my name. I pretend not to hear him and just keep walking. “London. Stop!” He yells again, not taking the hint. This man is relentless.

For a second I hear him running toward me, eating up the space between us until he finally catches up to me, now walking at my side.

Neither one of us say a word as we walk, but he twists his watch around his wrist repeatedly.

“For the love of God, stop with the goddamn watch twisting.”

He laughs. This isn’t just any laugh, either. He throws his head back and fucking laughs. It’s a rich, deep laugh, and I like it. It’s one of those laughs that bring out one of your own. Whether it’s a crazy, mental sort of laugh is still to be determined, but it makes me smile nonetheless.

How can a man I don’t even know make me wanna tear my hair out of my head? Once he stops laughing he continues to smile, but only shrugs as he goes for twisting his watch again.

“You're a pain in the ass,” I tell him. There’s simply no better description for him.

“I’ve been called worse.” And I don’t doubt that for a second.

“I wonder why?” I snap back, but he doesn’t respond.

I start to quicken my pace to get some distance from him. What should’ve been a ten minute walk has now turned into twenty. I’m not in the mood for silly games from one of his many personalities this evening.

“Where are you going?” he calls after me.

“Crazy,” I throw over my shoulder.

He’s raced back to my side, falling back into step with me. He’s rattling me. I want him to just go away, yet I can’t help being fascinated with such an enigma. His presence is larger than life. “Where are we going?” He pushes for an answer.

“We aren’t going anywhere.”

“I would disagree.” I’m sure he does. Waving a grand hand down the sidewalk I snap, “If you must know...”

“Yes, I must know.” He insists with a cunning smile. I roll my eyes at him and his antics. He really thinks a lot of himself.

“I'm going for some dinner.”

“Can I join you?” He asks. I look to him and see him attempting some innocent expression and I can’t help but laugh. He sure is laying it on thick. His eyes are shining now, beaming even.

“Are you really giving me a choice?” I know he’s following me no matter what I say, and in answer to my question, he laughs again. A very real laugh that I find myself smiling at. That’s twice in one night. I’ll bet it’s a rare thing for him and I’ve somehow just gotten two out of him. I’m feeling pretty confident with my smartass behavior.

Walking beside me his step seems lighter. That tightly strung, unsure energy seems to have faded into the night air.

“Why did you even ask to join me if I never had a choice in the matter?”

“I thought I’d do the gentlemanly thing and ask.” He shrugs nonchalantly. He’s one sneaky fucker. He’s playing me and I’m gonna let him, just to see what he’s all about. He thinks he’s got the upper hand when in reality, I’m gonna give him just enough rope to hang himself with. I have to give Mr. Personalities props for trying to play me like an instrument. He’s done the confused, irritated, nervous, scared, and bossy shows for me, so I can only imagine what else he has to show if I wait long enough to find out. I’m a game to him. I see it all now. He’s not used to being brushed off, especially by some nobody like me. It’s why he can’t walk away. He has to prove to himself that he can get to me. I should have taken the time before to figure him out, but I think this is how it had to play out for me to see him for what he really is―a self-centered control freak. He always gets what he wants, just like every rich fuck around here does. He’s crafty, smart, sexy, and very resourceful.

So the games begin.

“Do you even know where I'm going?” I ask as he walks a few steps ahead of me. He sure is walking like he does. I fall a few paces behind him, watching his walk.

I get a little silent moment to marvel in his beauty. He has a large, powerful body. He buys expensive tailored slacks that hug his muscular legs. I’ve also seen what those tailored slacks do for his ass.

A finely fitted, black wool trench coat hangs perfectly from his broad shoulders, but it’s his insane hair – which is always a mess, strands going in every direction – that make him so goddamn sexy to me. I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t something very intriguing and alluring about this man with the multiple personalities, stalking tendencies, and ridiculously messy hair.

“No, I don’t, London. I assumed you'd tell me.” He answers easily. Nice try, you slimy asshole. Of course he “assumed” I’d tell him where I was going, just like he “assumed” he could join me for dinner or that he could show up at my work and my home earlier this week.

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re arrogant and pushy?” Of course this only prompts him to laugh more. Now that I’ve come to my realization, I’m less than thrilled to hear his laughter.

I'm busy sulking and staring at the sidewalk dejectedly when I slam right into a hard, sculpted back “What the hell!” Stumbling back I fight to stay upright, but before I can fall on my ass, Dante catches me. He grabs me around my waist just like in the movies and holds me upright. He's close … so close. Our bodies are pressed against each other and I like his arm wrapped around me. My body shivers involuntarily. Dammit.

My irritation at his sudden stop ebbs away quickly, fading into a nauseating lust. He smells like Armani, mint, and a slight hint of sweet tobacco. I don’t want to have this kind of reaction to him. Looking up into his amused and warm eyes, my heart pounds painfully in my chest and my breath is ragged and choppy. He’s fucking crazy, but so achingly gorgeous.

Those eyes are doing dirty things to my body. He’s so close to laying waste to my expensive as sin Agent Provocateur panties. Heat rises in me and my skin tingles with shock. He leans his head down and his delicious mouth is close to mine. I want so much to feel the stubble on his face rub over every inch of my skin.

This is exactly what he wants, for me to give in to him, and here I am, doing just that. “I’m… I’m―” I sputter like an idiot. I’m losing my fucking mind, “I'm okay.” I assure him and frantically push him away. I have to get his hands off me before I start ripping off his clothes. With a little struggle, he lets me go.

“You know, if you wanted to touch me, all you had to do was ask.” He jokes playfully, that big charming smile on his face. Nope. Never gonna let that shit happen again …ever.

“I'll remember that next time,” I mumble down at the sidewalk, trying to brush off my crazy surge of hormones, but damn the man for being so fucking hot. It’s not fair!

“Here,” I say pointing to the restaurant in front of us, trying to change the subject. The doors of the Gold Dragon loom a few feet away. If I’m lucky I can ditch him, get my food and eat in peace at home on my couch in my PJ’s. “I ordered ahead for my food and it’s to go,” I emphasize the last part.

The briefest look of disappointment crosses his face. Did he seriously want to have dinner with me? It's beyond me why he'd want to eat with a person he knows is annoyed by him. I mean, we both seem to piss each other off when we're in the same space.

A pang of guilt hits me. Part of me hates bringing him down like that – it’s a very tiny part – but it’s still there. It’s hard to believe that I was able to cause his happy mood to sour with a few words. There’s something so different about him when he’s smiling and laughing. Happy is a good look on him.

“Maybe I can have a drink while I wait.” I offer. I’ll never understand why I just did that. After tonight, I’m going to pretend it didn’t happen.

“Really?”

“Yes, really, so don’t make me change my mind or regret it.” And there’s that full watt smile. I’m a sucker for dimples and perfectly straight white teeth. It’s a smile that would break hearts all over this lovely city if he flashed it more often.

“I promise I won’t disappoint you, London.” He says, then breathes out what sounds like a sigh of relief. He wasn’t joking this time. He really did want to have dinner with me.

“I’m gonna hold you to that.”

Before I can change my mind, he ushers me into the restaurant. Resting his hand indecently low on my back, the tips of his fingers brush the top of my ass as he guides me through the door. Ah, he’s sneaky. That small touch gives me goose bumps all over again.

He walks with purpose and authority, like he owns the place. Shrugging off his coat, he all but shoves it a man standing at the front desk. “Hang this up,” he demands. There’s the man I know that can go from laughing to rude in an instant.

Walking by patrons and employees, they nod and smile at him as we pass while women's eyes wander over his body, licking their lips and batting their lashes at him, but he ignores them all.

Walking by two women at a table, one has the balls to reach out a long, slender hand and grab him by the arm and standing up in front of him. “Hello, handsome.” We’re both stopped in the middle of the restaurant because of her blocking our way. He looks from her hand to her face, curling his lips in disgust.

“I suggest that you remove your hand. Unless you’re blind, or ignorant, you can see that I’m here with someone.”

She turns her icy gaze on me and sneers, “Why lower your standards for someone trashy like her when I’m sure you would enjoy what I have to offer so much more.”

Trashy? “Excuse me―” just as I’m about to let loose on the bitch, Dante wraps his arm around my waist.

“Don’t bother with loathsome bitches, beautiful.” With a quick wave of his hand, he grabs the attention of a man in a suit, “I think this establishment should take out the trash, don’t you agree, Vinn?”

“What the fuck?” She spits and sputters, but she doesn’t get much of a chance to say much else. A large man in a suit quickly and efficiently escorts her out. “Come with me, Miss.” Where did the big man come from?

“Fuck that bitch. Let’s get that drink.” Keeping his arm firmly around my waist, he walks us to the bar. Pulling out my chair, he nods and says softly, yet firmly, “Sit down, London.” And that’s what I do. I sit my ass down.

He takes the seat next to me, placing his chair close enough for our thighs to touch. I have to admit that watching him in action was hot. I take note of another personality―controlling. I need some cold water, and a fan would be extremely helpful.

A bubbly waitress makes her way to us, asking for our orders and of course, Mr. Personality orders for me because apparently I’m unable to order for myself. “Two house specials.”

“What’s a house special? One shot of Gin, a splash of Coke, and a side of date rape?” I joke.

Oh, that was so not funny. Turning toward me, he looks at me like I’ve just spoken Turkish. Something scary flashes across his face when he looks at me. I guess I pissed off one of the personalities. “Relax, I was just kidding.” I hold up my hands in surrender. That was a bad fucking joke and bad timing.

“You think I would rape you?” He growls. Uh, well, I don’t actually know him enough to answer yay or nay. I don’t know what he would or wouldn’t do to me. I don’t think he would, but this is a man who seems to be stalking me. I don’t think happy, smiling personality would, but crazy psycho personality might. “No. At least, I would hope not.”

“I wouldn’t do shit to you that you wouldn’t beg me to do.” Well, alright then, Mr. Full of Yourself. I don’t beg, nor do I have any intentions of doing so, but he’ll never know that.

The petite bartender scurries our drinks over with a flirtatious giggle as she hands Dante his drink. Her fingers linger on his hand longer than necessary, but I don’t get a smile, not even a glance. She just carelessly slides my drink to me and half of it sloshes onto the bar. Great customer service.

“Can I get you anything else?” she says to him, smiling seductively.

“No. I believe me and my beautiful date are fine. I’ll be sure to yell for you if she would like anything else.” He says as his hand finds my thigh. Not happening. I remove his hand just as the bartender looks me over with a scowl on her face before walking away to help someone else. Well fuck you very much, bitch. Do I look that bad? I’m still wearing my work clothes, but damn. I guess I should’ve dressed skank tonight to pick up my meal.

“I’m not your date,” I grumble. This is only drinks.

Dante

“Alright, this is pretty fucking good.” London concedes with a smile. I’d figured as much since it’s a girly drink. “What's in it, really?” She asks, staring into her drink.

“A little bit of this and a little bit of that, minus the date rape.” I throw her words back at her and she actually laughs. It’s soft and musical. It’s a sound I thought I would never hear coming from her beautiful mouth and it’s a sound I really fucking like.

“Honestly?” I ask her.

“Yes, honestly,” she says. I’m trying to drag this out, anything to get her to stay and talk to me.

“I have no clue.” And it’s the truth. I haven’t got the slightest idea what’s in her drink. In fact, I don’t care. I ordered it hoping she’d like it and she did, so I ordered her another, but from the waiter this time, not the trashy waitress. I’m finding that I’ll do anything just to get a few extra minutes of her time.

For a while she sits quietly, looking around the restaurant. Her eyes are everywhere, except on me. It’s annoying. It’s fucking frustrating, actually. I’ve never had to work for something like this and to be honest, I don’t know why I am. I said I was done with this shit, but I’m not. Whatever it is about London that draws me to her has me damn near eating out of her hand.

“So what's your deal, Dante?” She turns in her seat towards me and raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. I finally have her attention―her full attention, and she calls me by my name. That right there is a huge fucking accomplishment and I’m happy as fuck about it. Her intense gaze is focused right on me as she waits for an answer, but she’s chewing on her bottom lip and it’s fucking distracting. How am I supposed to answer her when all I can see is my dick being sucked into that lovely mouth? It’s an impossibility not to think of that with her plump, wet lips right there in front of me. My mind wanders, thinking of her on her knees in her little black skirt, hiked up to her waist while I take her right here at the bar. I can see her fingers under some lacy black panties, rubbing…

A jarring scrape of the chair on the tile gets my attention. Her drink is on the bar top and her back is to me as she’s already walking away. Fuck, I’m losing her. “I apologize.” I stop her before she can disappear through the door. Second goddamn apology and it’s to her, again. “I'll talk. I was just… distracted.” And I was. I was so distracted my dick is aching to the point of pain.

“Sit, please.” She does, but she doesn't look happy or even interested anymore. Her fingers tap impatiently on the bar top as she sighs loudly for emphasis.

She thinks I'm a pain? Well ditto, baby. This woman is the biggest pain in the ass that I've ever met and I hardly know her. She doesn't get her way and she throws a fit. It's fucking adorable, really.

“So?” She's the first one to break the silence. She really does just jump right into it.

“So?” I fire back out of instinct. I know I’m being an asshole. I guess a part of me is just trying to rile her up, see what she’s made of. I wanna know if she can handle what I want to give her.

“What's with you? You’re showing up at my house, following me around. I’d just like to know why? What’s causing you to seek me out?” I watch her face for a moment and she never falters when she speaks to me. She’s relaxed and at ease, neither scared, nor intimidated by me. I like this a lot.

“I don’t know how to explain this. I felt that I owed you a sincere apology―”

“But what, exactly, are you apologizing for?” She counters with a hard stare. Oh come the fuck on. She knows, but she wants to hear me say it. I’m not gonna beg or get on my goddamn knees and grovel. No fucking way. That shit is absolutely beneath me. She can get up and go if that’s what she’s expecting.

What do I say? This all started when I wanted to apologize for the first night I met her and how I dragged her into the alley and kissed her. She didn’t fight it, but it at the time, it was wrong. I’ve stalked her, I’ve yelled at her because of my own frustrations, practically forced myself on her, and the list goes on. Am I sorry? Fuck no, but it’s the only excuse I have to see her and talk to her. I truly don’t feel wrong about any of it. I’d do it all again. Hell, I have a lot of shit I should be sorry for, but I’m not. I don’t have time for sorry. Feeling remorseful is a weak man’s emotion.

“For being an asshole,” I proclaim loudly. There, that’s something. I probably could’ve been a little more gentle and well behaved with her, but when it comes to this woman, I have no control. Hell, I stalked her here tonight and if it were any other woman, that would’ve never happened.

“So you’re sorry for being a dick?” She laughs, and it's a real, happy sound.

“I’m an asshole, not a dick. Big difference.” I correct her.

“Either way,” she shrugs. She can call me whatever she wants as long as she stops with the angry scowls and pissed off looks.

“So which time are you sorry for being an ass? Are you apologizing for every encounter we've had, because you’ve pretty much been an ass every time?” She laughs again, drawing me in. I love the easiness and realness of it. Her face lights up and it’s the most spectacular thing I’ve ever seen. She’s fucking bewitched me.

I don't wanna spoil her happy mood , so I try to go for a little more light and playful, “I'm an ass?” I feign hurt. That smile is too good to let go so I’ll do what I have to do to keep it, and I do just that as she starts to laugh even harder. I’m not above deceit and trickery to get what I want. In fact, I’ll do whatever I can to get what I want. But in an instant, my mood goes to shit at the sight of the waiter carrying her to-go bags over. If it wouldn’t scare the living fuck out of her, I’d shoot him on the spot just to keep him away, but that option’s off the table. She notices my expression and looks toward the waiter, and for a brief, but real moment, she frowns. She doesn’t want to leave me yet, and that’s a huge fucking victory for me.

That's it. My time is up. A whole goddamn week from the last time I approached her at her apartment where I’ve been planning and waiting for the perfect moment to get her to myself, and all I get is one fucking hour. But in that time, she let her guard down, showed me a little of herself, and I got her to smile. I got her to laugh. She relaxed and spoke to me even if it was at my expense. I win. She’ll soon see me the way everyone else does, and finally, she’ll be the one who won’t be able to shake me from her mind.

Standing up, the waiter hands her the bag and she hesitates. “Have dinner with me.” I blurt out. She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, but why? There’s no way she could know the game I’m playing. “Please, have dinner with me.” I try for politeness, but the word is bitter in my mouth. Even to my own ears, it sounds forced.

Those lips tip into a smile and I don’t expect what comes out of her mouth.

“No, but thanks for the offer.” Before I can say anything else stupid to stop her, she leans down and presses her full lips to my cheek, close to my ear and whispers, “As always, it's been interesting. Good night, Dante.” That didn’t fucking work, but she just succeeded in fucking my world up.

Six

Mr. Serial Killer

London

That… that was a fucking mind trip. That’s what that was. He’s everywhere. As much as I'd like to say I hate it, I don't.

There's something about him. I’m not sure if it’s his dark, broody moods or his self-assured attitude, but I haven’t filed a police report yet so that’s saying something. You could say he's growing on me in a fucked up stalker, Stockholm syndrome kind of way.

I met him a week ago and I've seen him more in that week than I have my own reflection. He has my interest and that excites me, something I haven’t felt in a long time. I stuff away all thoughts of my disturbing stalker ‘cause I have to get this food home before it gets cold. I really don’t want to see Matt acting cranky the rest of the night. One moody man tonight is enough.

~~~~~~

“Took you long enough. Were they busy tonight?” Matt complains as he digs through the bags I placed on the kitchen counter. One minute through the door and he's already bitching at me. I’m gonna smack him.

“Shut it.” I grumble, heading straight past him for my room. I need my PJ's before dealing with Matt.

My chow mein finds my hands as I make my way to the living room. I take it straight to the couch where it’s meant to be eaten. There's nothing better than sweatpants and Chinese food on the couch.

“Movie?” Matt asks, already digging though the TV cabinet. It's a sight watching him balance sweet and sour chicken in one hand while digging through a pile of movies with the other. That's a serious food talent right there. He’d drop a baby before the Sweet and Sour.

“Sure, whatever ya want.” I mutter half-heartedly. All I can think about is Dante. A movie isn’t going to help anything. His maddening good looks are stalking my thoughts. His infuriating personality is driving me crazy, and his intrusive ways baffle me.

This is what he wanted. Whether it’s good or bad, he doesn't care, as long as it's him I'm thinking about. Damn, I wish I’d never met the fucking jerk.

Matt turns his attention to me, “Spill it, sista.”

“I saw Dante on my way to get dinner, or rather, he was lying in wait for me.”

“No fuckin’ way. Really? So he’s a real life stalker?” He teases. I have a feeling stalking might be the least of his issues. “And a hot stalker, ya lucky bitch.” He adds with a grin.

“You don’t find it weird?”

“He seems strange, but who am I to say. I mean, you could probably get amazing angry sex from him and you know how I feel about angry sex.” He swoons with his hand on his heart and stars in his eyes. He's never shy, not even about the filthy stuff. He's borderline inappropriate nine times out of ten, but it works for me. “He's probably looking for sex, so give it to him and he’ll leave ya alone.” I wonder if that’s it. That makes more sense to me than anything else I’ve thought up, but he’s going out of his way to get it for some reason. After tonight, I’ve seen he can get ass easily, so why try so hard with me.

“So I just give it up to him and he’ll go away?"

“Oh come on, London. Live a little. What's it been, two-and-a-half years?”

He's right, it has been. I did the casual sex thing for a while, but it didn’t end so well. I was always nervous that I would be the one to get attached and hurt, but it turned out that he wanted what I didn’t wanna give. He wasn’t happy about it and made sure I knew it with texts, constant phone calls, flowers, even those fucking singing telegrams. Wow, thinking about it really makes me feel like shit. I am such a bitch.

“Yes, it’s been over two years and after the casual sex thing, I’m not looking to do it again. You saw how that ended. Anyways, it’s not like I'm desperate. I’ve just been so busy and seeing how women throw themselves at him, that can’t be what he really wants. Maybe he needs a loan,” I tell him. He gives me a dramatic eye roll.

“London, he's a man. Of course he wants it, and seriously, you’re fucking hot. You have a killer figure and tits for days. He wants him some of that, I promise you.”

I drop the subject and shove all that shit down, drowning it in cheap wine as I settle myself back into the couch and enjoy my dinner and movie in peace. We watch Too Wong Foo without another word about Dante or sex of any kind. I keep my focus on Miss Noxeema Jackson, Vida Boheme, and Chi-Chi Rodriguez. I drink and eat until I can barely move.

“Night Matt,” I say, kissing him on the cheek after the movie. I'm exhausted from today and need some sleep.

“Night, bitch.” He kisses my cheek in return before we both head to our rooms. I fall into bed face first and forget about Mr. Marx for the night, making sure I get some sleep.

~~~~~~

Dammit! I'm so late. Between working and classes, I’m exhausted. I guess I didn't realize how much sleep I actually needed until I overslept. A quick shower is all I get this morning. Scrambling around my room, I throw on a pair of black jeans, a white tee, and a gray cardigan, then I slap on my black riding boots. I run a little product through my hair but have no time for makeup.

Rushing out of the door, I stop by the kitchen on my way out. “Damn, I was about to go in there after you. You know you're late, right?” Matt asks as he hands me a glass of juice and my pill. I give him a vile look before I throw back the juice and pill in one quick gulp.

“No shit, Sherlock. Where was this concern an hour and a half ago when you should’ve been waking me up?” He only shrugs me off and goes back to digging through the fridge.

“Hey, don't blame me. I just got up myself. I don't have to be at work until noon today. You got time for an omelet?” He jokes. I could slap him.

Matt’s a stylist by day and he works at The Blue Lounge with me, tending bar at night. He loves the tips the bar provides, but styling is his passion and his appointments usually don’t start until noon. Ain’t he a lucky bitch. I give him the finger while I walk through the front door. I don't have time for his jokes or omelets this morning.

~~~~~~

I make it just in time, only to be bored to tears as class drags. All I can hear is the teachers incoherent babbling. I can't keep my mind on anything, except for Dante. I haven’t seen him since last Thursday and my mind’s been going over every encounter we’ve had, trying to see anything that could clue me in to what he wants with me. But since not hearing from him, maybe he figured I wasn’t worth the trouble. He’s probably right.

I still can’t help but wonder since he knows things about me, what do I know of him? Where does he work? What’s he doing at this exact second? Is he out stalking someone else? Is he wearing a sexy suit? Then I picture that suit strewn all over my bedroom floor. I wonder if he wears boxers.

Class ends with no assignments, just more studying for finals that I’ll be taking over the next few weeks. It’s Friday, and last night was officially my very last night of working at The Blue Lounge. It would have been tonight but hey, I did my time and after hiring a new girl to take my place, it seemed appropriate for her jump into the deep end, starting with the Friday night crowd.

This weekend is big. I have the pleasure of being Matt's date for some charity function Sunday evening. He’s styling a few people attending and his work earned him an invite to the black tie event. I'm not a huge formal dress kinda girl with a heavily made up face, but on rare occasions, I do enjoy getting all prettied up. These functions are usually dry and boring, but there’ll be free booze, and Matt and I will make our own fun with free alcohol.

I have an hour in between my first and second class, so I spend it in the library. I find all the books comforting and calming. I’m gonna miss this place. After years and years of college, it all boils down to these next few weeks.

Finding my usual spot empty, I plunk down and spread my mess out. It's in a secluded corner in the back of the second story library, among all the history books that I like to hide away in. It's quiet and private, which is just how I like it.

The top floor isn't a full floor. It's more of a wraparound balcony with a railing around the outside. You can look down and see the whole bottom floor of the library. It’s my little piece of heaven.

I’m halfway through my science homework when I'm interrupted by loud voices. “Oh come the fuck on. You’ve got to be kidding me.” I whisper to myself. I pray they go away. I don't wanna be bothered, especially when I’m in the zone. Last time I was interrupted up here was by some horny couple looking for a place to fuck. It was awkward when they started ripping clothes off only to realize I was no more than five feet away from them. I’m not looking for a repeat.

“Here you'll see the history section. You'll notice the need for new bookshelves, too.” A woman says. Cheery and high-pitched, it’s the voice of the college's representative, Ms. Jones. Her face is on posters, fliers, and commercials for the school.

“Yes, I can see.” A disinterested male voice answers back. “Are we almost finished here?” I recognize that voice too. Son of a bitch! Did that motherfucker put a tracker on me? I haven’t seen him in over a week but how the fuck does he show up here, of all places? Maybe it’s a coincidence. Before I can get up and grab my stuff to make a quick getaway, they round the corner and I have no time to escape. Why is he here in my little corner of the library, and why does he have to look so fucking good today? I’m frozen for a moment, staring at this sexy man in an amazing dark blue suit. He’s the epitome of handsome. His hair is its usual mess and his five o'clock shadow is now unruly. It matches his messy hair and I imagine what that would feel like between my thighs … Fuck.

Play dead, my brain shouts. Maybe if I ignore them and keep my nose in my work, they won't even notice me. One can only hope.

Holding my breath, I turn my head and pretend to read. I’m stuck. This isn’t the time or place for another awkward moment with what sounds like Mr. Grouch’s personality.

“There’s also a great need for more tables and chairs for students to study at.” Ms. Jones continues , “We could use new computers in the lab, new office supplies, and more help, possibly,” she goes on. Sighing at the fading voices, I slump back into my seat. I totally dodged that bullet.

Sitting back and relaxing, I look up and into Dante’s eyes, damn near causing me to jump out of my seat. Shit, he’s found me. His brows pull up and he looks surprised to see me, then his perfectly practiced scowl replaces his surprise.

I've got to get out of here and away from him. I stand up and start fumbling with my shit on the table like a bumbling idiot. He doesn’t speak to me, but says over his shoulder, “Ms. Jones, I'll meet you back in your office. I need a few moments.”

I look up for a moment and see the confusion on her face until she spots me, looking as if she understands his problem. “Mr. Marx, we're not finished.” She says, glaring at me. I start to gather my things faster, shoving them in my bag haphazardly. I’ll sort it all out later. I need to be gone before she decides to leave because I cannot be left alone with him.

“I need a fucking minute,” He barks at her harshly. Waving a hand toward the stairs, he dismisses her. Ms. Jones’s face flashes her anger not at him, but directly at me, but there's no argument. She only nods and leaves us. Oh good, now I'm on her shit list.

I grab my packed bag and turn to leave. I start walking, trying my best to get away quickly. “God dammit.” He growls at me under his breath, “Wait!”

He catches me right before I can escape. He wraps his hands around my waist and pulls me into him, my back flat to his front. “What the fuck are you doing?” Spinning me around, he holds me tight against him as his other hand grabs my face, covering my mouth.

A bit of terror washes over me along with a small thrill that I feel all the way down to my core. “I’ve grown to love the sound of words like fuck come from your lips because when I finally fuck you, and I will, I wanna hear them slip between those thick, fuckable lips of yours,” His warm, minty breath says before he leans his face into my neck. “Are you going to scream?” He teases softly. No. I’m gonna slap the shit out of him.

Shaking my head, he removes his hand from my mouth and begins to trail his fingers down my cheek as his facial scruff brushes against my ear. I shiver. I can’t fucking help it. I should be scared shitless of this man, yet he only turns me on. “Are you done running away from me, Miss DeLacourt?”

“No.” I say with as much determination as I possibly can, given the situation.

My back meets a bookshelf with a jarring thud and my bag falls to the floor. His hand goes behind my head, catching it before it hits the shelf while the other arm keeps me trapped. His body crowds mine into the dark corner, pressing into me―suffocating me. The hand at my head grabs a fist full of hair and tugs my head back. “Fuck, I wanna take you right here, right now,” He whispers harshly.

“W-what the fuck are you…” Pulling my hair more roughly, he jerks my head back so I can look up at him. “Are you done running, Miss DeLacourt?” he reiterates with his lips just barely touching mine, staring straight into my eyes. This is so fucking hot. I nod stupidly as I rub my legs together. “London, I’m asking you a question.”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now, I wanted to tell you how beautiful you look today,” he mutters softly against my lips. Oh no, he’s switching tactics. He knows he’s getting to me.

The hand that was gripping my hair is now starting to wander down my neck to my shoulder. One calloused finger finds its way to the hem of my V-neck shirt and begins tracing the curves of my breasts along the fabric, setting my skin on fire. Lord, help me. I’m ready to fuck him right here.

I lose myself in his touch and let my body sag into his as he supports me. His smell, his lips touching mine, set me on a downward spiral. I can feel his rock hard dick pressed firmly against my stomach and I want to drop to my knees.

“Do you like when I touch you?” I can feel his lips form the words. Yes. I want his hands and mouth all over me, but I can’t form the words. I’m too caught up to speak.

With another hard slam, my back hits the shelf and it sways. A book clatters to the ground, landing by my foot and brings me back from my fantasy. I just let this man slam me into a fucking bookshelf, twice. “I asked you a question. Do you, London?”

“I like it, but I sure the fuck don’t like you.” Dante’s lip curls into a mean sneer.

“What I wouldn’t give to shove my dick down your throat to shut you the fuck up.” My body throbs with each word.

“Try it.” I challenge him.

The sick part of this whole situation is that I want it. I’m itching to smack him and let him fuck me hard right up against this shelf. This is so wrong. “Oh London, the things I want to do to you should be illegal.”

“The thing I want you to do to me is let me go, you fuck-wit.” I shove into him but it’s pointless. He’s all solid, unmovable muscle. The more I push the more his eyes darken. The more I fight the bigger his smile grows. His hand moves in a flash tangling in my hair again. Ripping my head back, he looks down at me with eyes that are wild and unfocused, and I love it. He looks wild for me.

“Do you really want me to let go, or do you want me to me to fuck you senseless? By the time I’m done, you’ll still be begging me for more, and I guarantee that you will beg.”

“Fuck you.”

His lips crash down on mine and he bites down on my bottom lip, hard. I try to pull away but it hurts to move.

My lip drags though his teeth when I move, then he starts to kiss me like he can’t control himself. It’s forceful and rough, making me think of all the ways he would fuck me, and what he could really do with his mouth. His hands are everywhere, and mine are running through his messy hair, making it worse.

He fucking thrills me as he licks me, tastes me, and touches me. My lips feel abused in the best possible way until he stops. Keeping his lips on mine, he whispers, “That’s one way to shut you the fuck up.”

“You sorry son of a bitch. Get off of me.” Taking a step back, his chest heaves and his step falters. Looking at his hands, I see them shaking at his sides. He’s terrifying, but here I am, trying to be a hard ass and wanting, needing more of him. I feel sick and wrong about it, but I want him so bad. I’ve got to get away right now. I’m shaking more than he is and I don’t want him to see it. “I have―I’ve got class.” I sputter, scrubbing at my face. Throwing a hand out, he smirks, “Then you better go, London.”

“You’re so right.” I tell him. His smirk turns into a full-blown smile. He seems perfectly fine now, but I feel fucked up and thrown off kilter. I’m so unbelievably wet for him. “Yeah, I have class and you’ve made me late.” I tell him. Like he really gives a shit.

Jesus Christ. Straightening his tie, he looks up and smirks again. “Then what are you waiting for? You don’t want to be late, beautiful.” Giving me one last appraising stare, he smiles, turns on his heels and leaves me leaning against the bookshelf for support. I’m left feeling used, abused, and wanting a whole lot more.

Dante

I'm stalking right now. On this lovely Friday, I’m creeping and watching―I’m waiting. I spent all goddamn night searching and researching her at my computer. I haven’t gotten shit done at work this week because I’ve spent time I didn’t have stalking and researching her.

I’m crazy, but I just don’t fucking care anymore. I want to fuck London right out of my head, and I intend to do just that.

I stalk the college’s campus like a serial killer. I’ve got a plan all worked out. Every head full of long, brown hair sets my heart racing. I’ve followed at least four different women, thinking they were London. I’m assuming they’re all filing police reports as I speak of a stalker, but none are my London. I’ve lost all my edge with this woman. Seeing her gets me all fucking worked up. It’s a strange thing for me. My composure is something I need. It’s something I value, but with her, I have none.

I’ve learned a lot more about her while on my hunt. The Internet is full of useful information once you really learn to use it properly. Fuck, the internet is the most amazing fucking thing I’ve ever seen, next to London, but it’s pretty high up there. The things you can find on it are staggering. I’m in the wrong fucking business. Maybe I’ll fire some people and just research my own shit when I need to, but I digress. Miss London DeLacourt is close to graduating, earning a diploma for her second business degree, focusing on the law aspect of business. She received her bachelors, her MBA, and now a Law degree. There's no surprise in her academic accomplishments. She's a smart girl, and she’d be really smart to stay away from me, but me being me, that shit won’t happen.

Today I learned a lot about this woman, but this past week has been a wealth of information. One solid week of insanity provided me with information about her daily patterns and interactions, but I was only trying to cure this unbearable need that I’m not sure what to do with. I had told myself I was just watching her out of curiosity, but who the hell am I kidding. This was never business once I saw her for the first time. It’s now completely personal. This is also a huge for me. I’m seeing that if I don’t keep my eyes on what needs to be done, she could become a threat to me and mine, something I didn’t believe until I dug more into her life. She has the skill and background to run her grandfather’s business with her hands tied behind her back. It’s a problem, but until that day comes that I see it, I’ll continue on with my obsession.

Monday I followed her to a bookstore. I watched her browse every shelf, but not one single section stood out. She browsed them all with a content smile on her face. She bought six books before leaving and I tailed her until she slipped inside her building. What did I learn about her on Monday? She enjoys literature.

Tuesday I watched her outside of her building. I stood on the other side of the road like a fucking moron. Leaning against a building, I kept vigil. I watched her stand on the sidewalk and talk to her doorman for twenty minutes. He showed her his phone and her eyes lit up with happiness when he showed her whatever it was he was showing off. She smiled and laughed with him, chatting like old friends until her car pulled up. What did I learn about her on Tuesday? She’s a people person.

Wednesday I followed her to a school, then the grocery store. I got nothing but a few moments of her getting in and out of her car, but it was enough. It was enough to feed my need to see her. What did I learn on Wednesday? I learned that I need to get a hobby and a life.

Thursday I watched Matt and London go to a yoga class together. Later that evening, I hid in a dark corner of a noisy restaurant, watching her and Matt from a distance as they talked and laughed together. They spent two carefree hours there before I followed them to a smaller bar, but I couldn’t stay. I was pulled away due to business. That night was another lesson for me in self-control as I watched every man in the place stare and send her drinks. But despite that, what did I learn on Thursday? London looks fucking hot in tight yoga pants, where Matt does not. Good God.

I’m well aware that this behavior isn’t normal, but I’ve never really functioned on a “normal” level. Normal is too mundane, too plain, and too boring for someone like myself. I function on a level of extremes, always going above and beyond what’s needed. The ultimate life lesson learned from this week? I need some serious fucking counseling.

~~~~~~

It’s Friday, and after my jaunt around the college campus, I’m now being dragged around the rest of the campus by Ms. Jones, which is another extreme gone too far just to see the woman who hates me. I had to have an excuse to wander around campus, and a large donation gave me just the excuse I needed. Ms. Jones strikes me as a lonely and desperate woman as I watch her shamelessly do shit like leaning over in front of me at every available opportunity, bending over for unimportant items. She even had a problem with the heat that required the opening of a few buttons on her blouse. Hell, she’s one step away from palming my dick through my pants, but I’ve got nothing for her. My interest is elsewhere.

I’ve made it through various departments; Science, English, Math, and all with a fucking smile on my face. I went through it all, just for one chance run-in, yet there’s nothing about this meeting that’s chance. It’s all been orchestrated on my part, doing what I have to do to get what I want. I’m not above extremely ridiculous tactics to get it, either.

We’re on to the library now and I’ll be damned, I can feel her here. My heart’s in my goddamn throat at the thought of seeing her. I feel like a prepubescent boy on his first date. I hate it.

My world stops when I round that corner. The only thing I can see is London. Her head is down and in a book, long silky hair falling all around her. Sitting in the dim light of the library, she looks like a fucking angel. It’s not right that she looks even more beautiful without a stitch of war paint on. She’s fucking breath stealing, body heating, and heart breaking. Nothing about this woman is right, but everything about her is perfect.

~~~~~~

I lost all control in there when she started spewing out those dirty fucking words I love to hate. Such beautiful lips attached to an angelic face shouldn’t say such nasty words, but it gets my dick so goddamn hard when I think of her saying them in my bed, just for me. I can’t help but push her for more. I seem to have a thing for shoving her against shit. It gets my dick closer to her. She loved it then and she loved it today. I call that shit a win for me.

I could smell it, feel it in the way she pushed back. She wanted it just as bad, if not more, than I did. I had to apply every calming technique I’ve ever learned to keep myself from pushing to far; biting my cheek, counting, flexing my fists, picturing something I hate, but I wanted her so bad that nothing seemed to be working. I pushed hard and I loved the flash of fear in her eyes. It makes me sick to push her this way, but I love that moment of uncertainty in her; The newness, the wrongness, and the wildness of how it makes her feel. She wants it, but I almost went too far. I’m trying to break her, not fucking ruin her, at least not yet, anyway.

Seven

Mr. Expertly Tailored Suit

London

Go to my last class? I’d never be able to manage class right now. I need a cold shower, a shot of something strong, and a new pair of panties. There’s no chance in hell I could sit through a class after all that.

It was wrong and filthy, and so fucking good. I was willing to take whatever he wanted to give me. I didn’t want him to stop and I hate myself for it. If I’m not careful, I’ll let him fuck me in the middle of Times Square.

After today, I realize that there’s nothing surprising about our run-ins. They’re planned and intentional, but the question is why? What the hell does he expect to accomplish by stalking me all over the city.

If he truly just wants to talk or see me, or whatever it is he wants, all he has to do is ask like any normal person would. I’m not unreasonable. Sure, he was a crazy asshole when we met, but it could’ve been a bad day, or days, for him. Everyone’s entitled to those every now and then. We tend to take them out on others and I get that. All he had to do was say that without making it such a big deal to apologize, even knowing he didn’t sincerely want to. I would have graciously accepted and moved right on along. All this nonsense and crazy is over the top and too goddamn much, but try telling my body that.

~~~~~~

Walking through the door, I find Matt at the table working on his computer. “What's wrong, doll face?” He asks, sounding worried. All the way home I played the encounter over and over in my head, only making it worse. It got hotter. It got crazier. Thinking of him slamming me against the shelf and taking absolute control of my body sends shivers everywhere. It’s getting harder to be a bitch when I want him to fuck me so bad. I’m afraid I may just hunt him down and do exactly what he wants―beg.

“He's fucking winning,” I whine at Matt, slumping into a chair at the table. I hate to whine, but that's how I feel right now.

His brows knit together in confusion. “What the hell are you talking about? Who won and what did … Ah!” He starts to put it all together and a slow smile creeps across his face.

“I knew that would happen. You’re a sucker for a sexy man in well tailored suit.”

“Expertly tailored,” I correct him. There’s nothing well about the man. Perfect, exquisite, impeccable, and immaculate are how I would describe him. But let’s not forget the most important descriptions; deranged, crazy, and not in control of himself. He’s all those, but definitely not well.

“Just fuck him already. What’s it gonna hurt?” I’m about to point out the millions of reasons why it would hurt when there’s a knock on the door. Did he stalk me home again? Shit. “I’ll get it. You look all flustered and shit,” he waves a hand at me and wrinkles up his nose, “let’s also add sad and pathetic.” That’s nice. I watch him disappear around the corner and slump further into my seat.

“Oh damn,” Matt drawls, hustling around the corner. A big vase of flowers are blocking out his face. My heart skips a beat on its trip to my feet because I know they’re from Dante. There are so many beautiful flowers overflowing a gorgeous crystal vase. They’re probably meant to thank me for letting him slam me against a shelf and feel me up ... again. I’m such a slut!

“They’re beautiful,” Matt says as he sets them on the table. And they are. It’s a huge arrangement of orange lilies, and they’re the most stunning flowers I've ever seen.

“There's a card.” He taunts me, waving it in front of my face.

I snatch it away, “You’re a child.”

“And you’re a bitch. We’ve covered this, now open the damn card.” I'm a nervous wreck over a card. Taking a deep breath, I rip it open and read the five small words printed on it,

I don’t give up… Ever.

D

He doesn’t give up? Ever? That’s scary, but my subconscious screams, “Bitch, you don’t want him to. You want him to toss you around a bit and then fuck you.”

“Those kinda look like a ‘thanks for the fuck’ flowers.” Matt says knowingly.

“You’d know.” I fire back.

“Eh, not gonna argue that. I fuck them so good they want to send me flowers. It’s a gift, really.”

“Shut up.”

“Those really are pretty, though.” He says a little more seriously.

“Beautiful,” I counter.

“They had to cost a fortune. And didn’t you just see him no more then two hours ago?”

“Yeah, so?” I don’t see what that matters.

“Babe, it’s only been a few hours and he had flowers delivered to you. It’s rush hour in New York. He had flowers delivered … during rush hour… in New York City, and that florist is like forty minutes away on the other side of the city.” He points to the card.

“Damn.” I’m not sure what to say to that, let alone think. I let him grope me and he sends flowers? I wonder if I should be happy that I didn’t have to fuck him to get them or embarrassed at what I did do to get them.

“So what are you going to do?” That’s a good question.

“Send him a thank you card?”

“Where to? Do you know where he lives?” Matt asks all snarky.

“Send an email?”

“That’s impersonal, and not to mention, rude.” Matt purses his lips. Dante did send flowers that had to cost a small fortune. I guess I should tell him thank you.

‘Stupid, stupid girl,’ the sensible part of my brain screams. I wanna see him again, even though I know I shouldn’t. “I probably should say thank you,” I mutter, more to myself than to Matt. Sometimes stupid wins.

“In person,” Matt adds.

“In person?” I grumble.

“Yes. What’s it gonna hurt?” That’s a loaded question.

~~~~~~

Google has a few photos, all taken from a distance and he’s always alone. I find information about his job. Apparently he deals in Mergers & Acquisitions, and he looks to be extremely successful. I find an address to a building connected to his name, but that’s it on any type of personal information. I find it strange, but maybe I just need to be a better sleuth. I do know that he has no police record, no divorce decree, and he’s not on any social media sites. I’m not sure if that’s a positive or negative thing because really, doesn’t everyone deal with some form of social media today? I’ll just have to do some more digging later, but right now, I’ve got a thank you to deliver before I chicken out.

I drag Matt along for the ride since it’s his idea. We get into the waiting town car and head out before I can change my mind.

The car rolls to a stop in front of a tall building in the middle of the city. Peeking out the window, I let my gaze drift up the forty plus stories of the massive building looming over me like a dark cloud. It’s beautifully constructed with its tinted, mirrored glass shining in the late afternoon sun. I've walked past this place a time or two, and now I’ll never walk by this place the same way again. On a daily basis, it houses a crazy person. It’ll be forever changed to me.

“Let’s go.” I try to tug Matt out of the car, but he waves me off.

“No, I’ll wait here.” He’s gonna make me do this alone?

“This was your bright idea,” I point out.

“And I got you here. You go in there and tell him “Thank You,” and then come back down. I’ll be here.” He pats the seat next to him.

“Gee, thanks, asshole.”

“Have you seen the doorman? He’s a slice so I’ll be here.” He’s ditching me for dick.

“Yeah, yeah.”

The inside is just like the outside; big, imposing, and sleek. The interior is all glass, concrete, and stone as far as the eye can see. It’s massive. I couldn’t picture anything different for this guy.

The lobby is as impressive as the building, all very modern and sleek. I don’t stand around taking it all in long, though. I have something to do before I bitch out.

A long, dark, cherry wood and granite desk meet me in the middle of the space. I walk up to the first available person I see. “Good afternoon. I was wondering if a Mr. Marx works here and if so, could I possibly see him for a moment?” I slap on my most charming smile.

“Mr. Marx?” The man repeats, eyeing me.

“Yes, Mr. Dante Marx.” I confirm as uncertainty settles in my stomach. Maybe I’m not dressed appropriately enough to be here?

“Yes, of course. Do you have an appointment?” I knew that was coming.

“I don't. I was hoping to surprise him if he’s not busy. I know he loves surprises. Maybe you could call up?” I don’t know if he likes surprises. Part of me hopes that he doesn’t because it’ll be fun to see that handsome face shocked as hell.

I lay it on thick, giving him my biggest, sweetest smile. “I could probably do that.” I almost sag in relief.

“I'd really appreciate it.”

“What is your name?” The old clerk asks. I throw it out there before I change my mind.

“London DeLacourt.”

There’s no going back. Even if I run away now, he’ll know I came and come looking for me instead. At least this way, it’s on my terms. The clerk picks up the phone and calls up.

“Afternoon, Miss Betty. I have a Miss London DeLacourt here for Mr. Marx … Oh, yes, of course.” He waits for a few moments, then nods and hangs up the phone.

“He'll see you right away,” the kind old clerk tells me, handing over a key card. Turning it over, I stare at the plain white piece of plastic. “Go to the elevator bank and use number one. Swipe the card and you can head right up.”

“Thank you.”

Standing in front of the elevators, my heart starts to race and my palms sweat. Am I really going to do this? Now I’m stalking my stalker. God, we’re both disturbed. I may be here under the guise of thanking him for the flowers but in reality, I just want to see him again. Maybe I’m starting to understand his way of thinking, and that scares the shit out of me. ‘I can do this’ I chant. Swiping the key card, I press the call button and wait.

The elevator dings its arrival and the doors slide open. Stepping in, I look around the small box, taking it all in. It’s elegant and opulent. A small sign above the one and only number says, PRIVATE / PENTHOUSE. Of course he has a private elevator to the penthouse. I should expect nothing less from this man, so I lean back and wait.

Finally the doors slide open, into an open hallway. One side of the hall is nothing but glass and overlooks the city. The other side is polished concrete, and at the end of the hall is one door. Jesus Christ, what is this place? It's all very clean and sterile. My stomach does small twists and turns as my boots clomp ungracefully down the long hall. I sound like a troop of marching soldiers. How very ladylike, I think to myself.

I walk to the large door at the end of the hall. Standing in front of it, I wonder if I should knock. I decide knocking would be my best bet. It’s the polite thing to do, anyway. I knock quietly and listen, but I get nothing in return, so I decide I’ll just go in.

Pushing the large doors open to the wide reception area, I see it's massive and beautiful, just like the first floor area of the building, but this one has a large desk in the middle with a not so friendly looking woman behind it. I take a few steps into the space and start to feel queasy. The woman behind the desk looks up at me, her eyes boring holes into me and she looks like she’d rather slap me than help me.

“Hello. I'm here to see Mr. Marx.” I say to the less than friendly receptionist. The more I speak, the pissier she looks.

Sighing loudly, she says, “Yes, I know. Mr. Marx is a very busy man and he never takes walk-ins. He's not happy about rearranging his schedule, but he'll see you. I suggest you make it quick.” She snaps at me. Alright, so he works in a beautiful building and has a bitchy-ass receptionist. Two things I now know about him.

“Thank you, but―” I start to say when an older woman comes around the corner, waving a hand at me.

She must be about sixty with short white hair and petite wireframe glasses. She looks grandmotherly, with a sweet face and kind eyes. I instantly take a liking to her. Anything is better than the bitchy chick behind the desk. “Victoria, that's quite enough.” She scolds the younger woman. Victoria scowls at me, looking like I stole her Barbie. Someone needs some dick.

“He's expecting you and looking forward to your visit. Come this way.” The older woman places a hand on my back and escorts me through a set of doors at the end of the reception area. It opens to another small seating area with the same feel as the rest of the place.

“Just go right through that door. He’s waiting for you.” The woman smiles and waves her hands at the large, wooden double doors. Before I can thank her, she turns and leaves me there alone. Nooo! I can't go in there alone. Suddenly this doesn’t seem like such a good idea after all. Damn you, Matt.

Dante

“What?” I snap into the phone on the third ring. The never-ending phone calls are grating on my goddamn nerves today. After seeing London, I can’t sit the fuck still. I wanna see her again. After I touched her and she responded just the way I wanted her to, I’ve lost all focus and concentration on anything that doesn’t have to do with her. I’d almost let the call go to voicemail, but I can’t ignore business.

“There's a Miss London DeLacourt here to see you.” Betty says through the phone.

London? My heart fucking stutters for a moment. London’s here? This is not at all what I was expecting from her, unless she’s here to kill me, which is a high probability.

“Dante?” Betty interrupts my thoughts. I'm completely unprepared for this but I should’ve seen it coming. This is what I’ve been working towards. I just didn’t think she’d come to me so soon.

“Yes. Send her up immediately.”

Sitting back, I rest my head back and take a moment. Is it hot in here? I loosen my tie and run a clammy hand through my hair. Taking a deep breath, I work away the sudden flush of anticipation and tell myself it’s game time.

There's a soft knock on my door a few minutes later and I’m still unprepared. Her knock is hesitant and unsure. She’s nervous, which for some disturbing reason makes me more comfortable. I like her unsure. I want her unprepared for what she’s getting from me because I don’t want her to think she’s got me figured out. A little intimidation does amazing things for my ego. “Come in.”

The door cracks open and she pushes through, taking a few timid steps inside. Every word, thought, and breath I had waiting for her has been knocked clean out of me. I’m rendered stupid as I sit behind my desk and stare at her. She’s still dressed the same as earlier. She looks just as good, and just as fuckable. She’s just so naturally stunning.

My body moves toward her before my mind has a chance to catch up. Placing a hand on her back, I kiss her cheek like a royal fucking asshole. She smells good, like citrus and something sweet. I want that smell on my sheets every morning. “Miss DeLacourt, what can I do for you?” Please say you want me to fuck you bent over my desk.

“Thank you for seeing me. I didn’t mean to barge in on you like this, but I didn’t know how to get in touch with you.” She says softly, waving a hand around my office.

“I rearranged a few things. No big deal.” Lie―a big, fat fucking lie. I wasn’t doing a goddamn thing other than going insane. I have a few conference calls and some paperwork, but nothing is more important than seeing her here, in my territory.

“Well I won’t take up much of your time then.” Such politeness.

“Please, sit down.” I take her hand and lead her to a chair and wait for her to sit, then I make my way around my desk and take my own seat. I watch her. It’s in her eyes. She’s still unsure and a little scared of the situation. Good.

“Thanks,” she says, smiling brightly. It’s a sweet and soft smile and it’s everything I’m not. Gracefully folding herself into the seat across from my desk, she tucks her legs under herself and settles in. For a woman as uncertain and cautious as she is, she’s comfortable enough to relax with me in her presence. I like seeing her here in my office. I like having her here.

“So, Miss DeLacourt, what can I do for you?”

“We’re well past that, don’t you think, Dante?” She questions. I fucking love it. It’s not the first time, but it makes me happy to hear her using it instead of Mr. Marx.

“Yes.”

“So if I stop calling you Mr. Marx, you’ll stop calling me Miss DeLacourt?”

“I make no promises.”

“Do you always have to be in control of everything?”

“Yes.” I am, and always will be, in control.

“Well then, Dante, I came here to say thank you.”

“For?” I inquire.

“The flowers are really beautiful,” she says quietly.

“You’re welcome. Is there anything else you need, other than thanking me for the flowers?” I know I’m pushing my luck here, but I just wouldn’t be me if I didn’t.

“Actually, there is.” Oh this should be good. Waving a hand, I gesture for her to continue. “I wanna know why you’re stalking me?”

“So you think that I’m stalking you?” Stupid question, really. There’s no doubt that that’s what I’m doing.

“Yes, I do,” she answers without hesitation.

“So does that mean you’re stalking me too? You did show up to my office. Wouldn’t that make you the stalker?” That’s so lame.

“I’m not stalking you. I did have to google you just to find you though. I thought I should thank you in person for the flowers, nothing more, nothing less. So, will you answer?”

“I’m observing, being friendly, and trying to get to know you by visiting you. I’m trying to be friends with you,” I answer her easily.

“You want to be my friend?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Then just tell me what it is that you want.”

“I don’t know.” And that’s the sad truth. I don’t know. All I do know is that there’s something about her that challenges me and holds my interest. She went from a possible threat to a conquest in just mere seconds of meeting her. I need to know her.

“Are you planning to hurt or kill me?” She asks with a nervous laugh. She really thinks there’s a possibility. I should be offended, but I’m not. It’s a valid concern. If some strange man is following you just to be able to be close to you, you should be scared. In fact, if she were smart, she would’ve filed a police report by now, but lucky for me she’s not and I’m still stalking her. I want to hurt her, just a little, but only in the bedroom. Do I want to kill her? Fuck no.

“Of course not.”

“Are you sure?” I find myself smiling a little. She’s a little like myself―determined and persistent. She’s not afraid to speak up and ask questions.

“Are you second guessing me?”

“Fuck yeah. I don’t know you and you seem like a liar so yes, I’m second guessing you.” Fair enough.

“No, London. I don’t want to hurt you, and I most certainly do not want to kill you.”

“So you’re not sure why you’re stalking me, but you know you don’t want to kill me. I guess that’s one small sigh of relief.” Yes. That pretty much sums it up on the surface, but deep down, underneath it all, there’s so much more.

“Listen London ….” Is all I can get out before Victoria walks through the door without knocking. Of all fucking times, she picks now to be prompt and ambitious. Stupid bitch.

Walking through the door with a smile on her face and the mail clutched in her hand, she looks like she’s on a mission. She must have a death wish.

“What is it?” I bark at her. She doesn't flinch, she only glares at London as she shuffles to my desk, sitting my mail down in front of me. Victoria stands next to my desk, crosses her arms and waits. “What do you need?” I ask, teeth clenched tight.

“You have an appointment at five-forty and here's your mail.”

“I would know since I set the appointment.” I grit out. Incompetent bitch. She really interrupted me for this? My appointment is with Cam, and he can fucking wait.

“If that’s all,” I wave at the door, but of course that’s not all.

“I also need you to sign these documents.” She steps toward me, uncrosses her arms and tosses a file on my desk. I open the folder and begin flipping through it when I notice movement out of the corner of my eye. London is standing up, ready to leave. I’m not ready to let her go, but I have no excuses to keep her here. Fuck.

“Well, I should be going,” she announces.

“No. You're fine.” I grind out. I sign the papers quickly but when I’m done, London is halfway to the door, “Out, Victoria.” She collects the papers and stomps out the door, pushing past London.

“London, did you need anything else?” Her step falters and she hesitates at the door. Taking a deep breath, she turns back to me and gives me those big green eyes and perfect smile.

“No, but Dante?”

She really has to stop that. “Yes?”

“Thank you so much for the flowers. They’re perfect.” Reaching into her pocket, she pulls out the elevator key card. “Here,” she says quietly. Walking back to my desk, she places it in front of me. I shake my head. I don’t want it back.

“Keep it.” I tell her.

“Keep it?” Yes, keep it.

“In case of an emergency,” I tell her. I’m not sure what kind of emergency would bring her here, but whatever.

Laughing softly, she shakes her head at me. “Okay, I’ll keep it for emergencies. Dante. Thank you.” Taking a few steps back, she turns and disappears through my door without another word.

I do something I’ve never done before in my life―something I loathe, especially when I see others do it. Getting up from my desk, I chase after her and I yell, sounding more like I’m begging, “Have dinner with me.” She’s almost to the elevator when she stops. It’s not a question, but a blubbering demand. Looking back over her shoulder at me, she quirks a brow, and it’s that smile right there that kills a little of the bad in me and does something to that dark part of my heart.

“Always bossy and persistent, aren’t ya.” She calls back before turning and stepping into the elevator. I watch the doors slide closed and I have to smile because that wasn’t a yes or a no.

I walk back into my office, close the door and sit in my seat with a smile on my face, but it doesn’t last. I knew Victoria wouldn’t last more than a minute before the elevator slid closed. My father requested that I keep her after I took over his position, or demanded, really. I’ve put up with her shit for far too long on his behalf so now I think it’s time to talk to him about doing something else with her. “Yes?” I yell at the door, but it’s not bitch face, it’s Betty’s smiling face, popping in around the door. There’s no need to invite her in. She comes in whether I want her to or not. Betty’s like me and she does whatever the hell she wants, whenever she wants.

Sitting down on the couch, she pats the empty seat next to her. I can't deny her. She'll only drag me out of my seat by my ear, so like a good boy, I sit next to her.

“Who was that?” She asks. I can practically see her picking out China patterns. She knows. My face gives me away.

“That's her, the woman I told you about.” I groan. I told Betty about London. I had to tell someone and I tell Betty everything. Getting it off my chest was the only way. I thought it might help and as I’m starting to see, I couldn’t have been more wrong.

“Oh my. I understand now. She’s beautiful.” She nods thoughtfully at me. Betty doesn't miss a damn thing. Since I was a child, she’s seen right through me. “I hope to get to know her soon.” She says as she pats my hand lovingly.

“Don’t hold your breath.”

“If I held my breath for anything related to you, I’d have been dead years ago.” Touché.

I’ve known Betty my entire life. She was my nanny and adopted mother from birth to eighteen. She then became my personal assistant and my life sorter, helping me sort my shit out on a daily basis. She’s my rock―my only family aside from a few select people. I could never let her go. Not only does she keep my life in order, she’s been more of a mother to me than my actual mother ever was.

“Cam should be here in a second. I'll get going.” She mumbles as she leaves my office. I've no time to collect my thoughts before Cam walks through the door, just as Betty leaves.

“Good afternoon, motherfucker.” Cam drawls as he strolls in and right to my office bar. He helps himself to an eight hundred dollar bottle of Brandy and throws it back like a fucking frat boy. He's lucky he's family.

I don't bother with a rebuttal. I've got no shitty comebacks for him at the moment. London left me with a head full of shit. “What's up with you?” Cam chuckles, flopping back on my couch and kicking his feet up.

“You’re a rude prick, that’s what’s up,” I fire back. So I do have a little left.

“Oh, here. This was stuck between the door, prick.” He says as he flicks a white card at me but it hits the floor by my feet. Picking it up, I immediately recognize it. Written on the front, in my handwriting, is my card to her, I don’t give up… Ever. D.

What the fuck? Not sure what to think of it, I mindlessly flip the card over in my hands, wondering why the hell she stuck it on my door when I see it. Written on the back are six of the most amazing fucking words I will ever read as long as I live.

I wouldn’t expect anything less.

L.

Eight

Mr. Too Many Personalities To Count

London

“So how did it go? You get an office quickie from Mr. Sex on Legs?” Matt teases as I climb into the back of our waiting car.

“Yes, tons. I was only in there for ten minutes, but in that short amount of time, we managed to get in a few quickies.” I retort sarcastically. I swear, everything is about sex with Matt, but then again, he is a man. I shouldn't expect much.

“But really Matt, quickies? What are you, twelve?” I give him a rib shot, laughing at him.

“Thirteen.” He retorts, his face splitting into a huge grin. God I love him. He can always make me laugh. My mom had passed away when I was young, and my father was a no good son-of-a-bitch who was always in trouble or doing time. I didn’t know my father, and I didn’t want to. Mom had a will, leaving all parental rights to my grandparent’s. After my grandmother died, I became a handful after a while, so my grandfather decided to send me to boarding school. I was a wild child sent to learn manners and Matt was a gay boy, sent away to be “fixed”. We were the perfect odd couple.

We were never fixed; we just learned to hide our crazy until we didn’t want to anymore, which got us both kicked out of school. I had my grandfather to go home to but no one wanted to take Matt in, so my grandfather took it upon himself to have Matt’s parents sign over legal guardianship to him until he turned eighteen. Once this was done, things got better. I stopped my wild ways and Matt had a real home with people who loved him. He had a family. Matt and I have been together ever since. He’s my brother, my family, and the rest is history.

“I'm so fucking excited about shopping tomorrow.” Matt says cheerfully while he flips through my Vogue magazine. “I have no idea what to wear.” He's never sure of what to wear. He has a closet full of designer clothes and he has nothing to wear.

“I'm sure you'll find something. You always do.”

“What are you planning to wear? Any ideas?”

“Something black,” I offer. It’s my go-to color. Easy, functional, and goes with just about everything on the planet. I’ll find something, I always do. “We’ll discuss options over lunch.”

~~~~~~

I have to make a stop that’s long overdue. It’s kinda my home away from home; a place that dredges up all kinds of old memories. “Al, to the Port, please.” I say from the backseat. We've already dropped Matt at home after lunch so a quick stop won’t hurt.

Soon I'm stepping up to the front doors of an industrial office building. By no means is it small, but by New York building standards, it's on the smaller side. Before my time, this building held various other businesses, all of which pertained to the port as The Fish and Game Department, Port offices, and Shipping offices. The bottom floors were used as ship building workshops. It's an old building that’s been beautifully restored to its former glory, with some modern updates. The old architecture still holds true. Wood framed windows overlook the Atlantic Ocean and the port. It's been weathered by the wind, rain, and salt water, all to perfection.

Inside is a different story. The open reception area displays polished concrete floors, worn, brown furnishings, and boating memorabilia that adorns the walls, tables, and shelves. It’s all very rustic and nautical, capturing the company and what it stands for.

Stepping into the elevator, I make the short trip up. I don't usually knock, but considering the door’s closed, I'll knock.

“Come in,” A deep, gruff voice calls from behind the door. Walking in, I'm caught off guard. Grandfather’s casually leaning his big body back in his chair with a cigar dangling from two fingers and papers are strewn about. The faint smell of smoke and liquor litter the air, but that’s not what's unusual; It's the woman perched on his desk that’s leaning in toward him, trying to look seductive. Eww. She has one arm is resting on his shoulder and large, fake breasts that are shoved in his face. The woman doesn't even offer me a look when I walk in. She only has eyes for my grandfather. I've no idea what her face looks like, but I'm sure it’s as fake as the rest of her.

“Cara,” his deep voice reaches me. I love that he still calls me sweetheart. The annoyed scowl on my face morphs into a smile from his warm endearment for me.

“Nonno.” I reply, but I can't tear my eyes from the slut on his desk. He obviously notices my distaste for her because he sets about getting rid of her.

“Leave us.” A dismissive wave towards the woman is all he offers her. He's not going to explain her to me.

“Well, I'm off. I'll phone you soon with the date and time.” She purrs. She looks at him when finally, he nods in return. What the hell is this all about? I watch her fake ass saunter out the door, but still don’t see her face. Skank bitch.

“Sit, sit.” He waves me over. I kick off my shoes and get comfortable, but I for some reason I can’t stop wondering about the woman who was just here. Something about her didn’t sit well with me and I feel like I’ve seen her before, even though I only saw her profile, not her whole face. I’ll investigate this shit later. “Now let us talk about after graduation, shall we?” He says, clapping his hands together loudly. I smile at one of my most favorite men on this planet.

“I’m listening.”

~~~~~~

“I'm fucking tired. I need at least eight hours to be rested for shopping.” Matt complains as he rests his chin on top of my head.

“I agree. I'm beat.”

I quit this job on Thursday yet here I am, on a Saturday night because Matt called, begging for me to come and help him when the other bartender called off. Saturday’s are extremely busy, especially for just one bartender, so Matt spoke to the boss and asked for me. I couldn’t tell him no, especially when he sounded like he might cry. I don’t get paid for tonight, except for the tips I made, but I did get to take a rather expensive bottle of wine for helping, per the boss. I’ll take a nice bottle of wine any day.

We make our way out of the restaurant and slide into the car. “Good evening, London.” Al smiles and nods from the rear view mirror.

“Hi, Al.” I smile. Al was my grandfather’s driver for many years before he became mine. Grandfather trusts him, so once I moved back to New York, he was insistent on Al being my full-time driver, and there was no argument. I know better. I love and adore Al, and I appreciate everything he does for me.

“I have something for you.” Al says and hands me a folded piece of paper.

“What is it?” I ask. I wasn't expecting anything.

“I have no clue. It was on the windshield of the car.” He shrugs and pulls into traffic. Of course he doesn't. He wouldn't open something that wasn't meant for him.

Matt doesn't even notice. He's too busy talking on his phone. I already have a creeping suspicion of who it’s from because there’s only one creep in my life at the moment. I slowly open it and see his familiar handwriting:

I need to see you again. Don’t make me wait.

D.

I'm speechless. I begin picturing that powerful and intimidating man scribbling out this little note to me while sitting behind that big desk of his with the city skyline looming largely behind him. He was probably running his hands through his mess of hair just trying to think of what to write as he twisted his watch around his wrist. It makes me laugh because I think I’m starting to figure out Mr. Dante Marx.

~~~~~~

I get no rest. My night is full of wicked and dirty dreams of Dante. It starts out innocently, but then it explodes into sucking, licking, biting, and before I know it, it turns rough, mean, and angry. I wake up hot, sweaty, and needy as hell. Sleep’s impossible.

“Hey,” I grumble at Matt as I flop down on his bed.

“You look pretty this morning.” He winks at me as he finishes working on his hair. I watch him for a while as he applies product, styles it, and repeats the process a few more times.

“Awe, you're pretty too.” He truly is. Everything about him is striking. He may not be ruggedly handsome, but what he lacks in hard beauty he makes up for in elegant beauty. His best features are his stunning blond hair and crystal blue eyes. They make him stand out in any crowd. We couldn't look anymore different. He's a Ken doll while I'd be more like Barbie’s Italian friend.

“My hair’s misbehaving today.” He pouts at his reflection in his mirror.

“If you don't give your hair a rest it's gonna fall out of your head, ya asshat. Come here.” Matt can manage everyone’s hair but his own. He bends down in front of me and I begin to fix it for him. “There, you look great. Lets go!”

“Thanks.”

Thirty minutes later we pull up outside of Saks. It's Matt's home base where all great shopping starts and ends. “Thank God we're somewhere amazing.” He says as he steps out of the car.

“Where the hell else would we go?”

“Walmart?” He has never in his life shopped at a Walmart store.

“Have you ever been to a Walmart store?” Tapping his chin, he gives it a little thought.

“Yeah. There was this one time I had to pick up some rubbers there.” I guess he has. Holding up my hands, I stop him

“Got it. I don’t need any more information.”

Rolling his eyes, he hooks his arm with mine and tugs me along the sidewalk, “Come on, my Prude Jude.”

We walk in and head straight for the fitting rooms. “Is Cary around? We have an appointment,” I tell the sales girl at the desk. She speaks into her headset and points us to a seating area.

“She'll be right in. Please have a seat.” Before our asses touch the chairs, we hear her.

“Well if it isn't my two favorite people in the world.” Cary's loud, squeaky voice hits us as she barrels around the corner. She's crazy, but she’s a lot of fun, not to mention a fashion genius. “So what can I help you find today?” She chirps excitedly while herding us into a room. Her eyes are practically gleaming with dollar signs as she stares at us. Yes, it’s expensive to shop here. We both make our own money and pay for all our own necessities, and today we’re splurging and spending some of our hard earned cash. I’m just praying that Matt doesn’t decide to go on one of his power-shopping marathons today.

We tell her what we're looking for and off she goes to round some things up. “I love shopping like this.” Matt says with a dreamy sigh. I love to see him smile and excited about something.

“I do too, and this takes all the work out of shopping.” It only takes Cary about twenty minutes to come back with a rack full of designer dresses, suits, shoes, and a huge grin.

~~~~~~

“What do you think of this one?” I ask Matt.

“Spin around, bitch.” He eyes me up and down with his hand rubbing his chin in deliberation. Playing fashion judge and jury is his favorite pastime. “It's okay, but it’s not my fave. It makes your ass look huge.”

“Everything makes my ass look huge because it is.” I point out. Looking in the mirror, I notice the awkward gathering of material around my ass. Okay, so it does make my ass look abnormally larger than usual.

“Agreed. But that icky dress makes it looks super huge.”

Slipping on another dress, I pull the straps up and I know it’s the dress before I even look in the mirror. It’s made of a soft, silky material that hugs my body and fits like a glove. It’s perfect.

“This?” I ask, twirling around before he demands it. Matt’s face splits into a huge smile and his head bobs a yes the moment he lays eyes on me.

“Absolutely! That's the one. It looks like it was made for you, London.” He claps enthusiastically. I love it too.

“Now it’s your turn to spin, bitch.”

Slipping off my dress and into my clothes, I hear a deep familiar voice outside my door. This cannot be happening to me.

“Yes, whatever you want.” Dante grumbles.

“That’s what you always say, Dante, but you still make the final decisions.” He’s with a woman. What the fuck?

“That’s because I pay for your shit, Lucy.” A very, and I mean very small part of me gets pissed. He’s supposed to be pursuing me, but here he is with someone else. Is she his newest victim, or possibly his girlfriend? God, I’m so stupid. What a fucking asshole.

Creeping out of my dressing room, I try peeking around the corner all James Bond style and shit. It’s not as easy as he makes it look, I’ll tell ya that. With my back flat against the wall, I hold my breath and stealthily move along the wall and look around the corner. There stands Dante with a very pretty, leggy brunette. I was hoping it wasn’t him, but I’d know his voice anywhere.

“Dante, you don't have to stay.” She stares up at him, her eyes beaming. They’re sitting awfully fucking close.

“I do. I wanna make sure I approve of what you choose.” He smiles down at her as he says this, and she returns his smile.

“What the hell are you―” Matt says before I push into his chest and back into the dressing room. Clamping my hand over his mouth, I shush him.

“Dante’s here,” I whisper. He looks around the room and lifts a doubtful eyebrow at me. Fucking smartass. “Not in here, ya fucking moron.” I slap at his arm.

“So what if he is? Be polite and go say hi.” He tells me like its no big deal, urging me toward the door.

“He's here with a woman, and from the looks of it, she’s his woman, if you catch my drift.” I hiss at him. His eyes grow wide in surprise.

“Really?”

“Really.” I retort. I know I shouldn’t be, but I’m so fucking annoyed. “Why's he pursuing me if he has a girlfriend? What an asshole.” I conclude, throwing my hands up. There’s nothing more to say about it. He makes me sick.

I can't believe he has a girl. I mean, she has to be with the way they spoke and looked at each other, so why has he been showing up at my house, following me around, making out with me and sending me flowers? That’s considered cheating in my book, and I think she would see it the same way. Does this make me a home wrecker or some shit? I feel horrible and ashamed, but mostly, I feel humiliated and used.

“Come on.” I grab Matt's arm. I have to get the hell out of here before I snap a hanger in half and stab Dante in the face with it. The only way out of here is walking past him.

FUCK!

I hold Matt's arm and march right past Dante. I'm slightly aware that I'm stomping through the dressing room like a three year old, but I don’t give a shit. This is the only way out.

“London?” I hear him say in confusion as I pass. I don't bother to stop or even look back. I can't. I carry on out of the with my dress like a small child. I leave Matt to take care of the purchases and head towards the shoes. I’m acting like a brat. It doesn't escape my attention at how childish I'm acting, but I just don’t care. Being played fucking sucks!

Dante

My irritation is beyond disturbing this fine evening and I’m taking it out on everyone around me. London walked right past me today and said nothing. I sat there with a goddamn smile plastered to my face as I saw her and she fucking blew me off. She’s gonna learn to never walk away from me.

It’s unprofessional of me to take shit that happens to me out on my guys, but that’s what they fucking get for being soldiers to the Boss. You get the good, the bad, and the ugly, and tonight they’re getting the ugly. And speaking of ugly, Primo’s cry is becoming obnoxious. It’s an ugly sound.

“How much more are you gonna give him?” Josh asks. As much as it takes for him to get it, that’s how much. They all seem to think I revel in the violence in my life. There’s enjoyment at times, but it’s a part of my life’s mission. I don’t wake up in the morning with a quota to fill and visions of dead men dancing through my head, but there are rules. These rules are important, and they must be followed. If they’re not, then violence is used. We all know this.

“Have your views changed on thieves and stealing?”

“No, Dante. They haven’t,” Josh mutters back into his drink.

That’s what I thought, but since the money didn’t come directly from his pocket, he doesn’t seem to get it. The moment you let one get away with thievery, the rest will follow and I won’t have that. The second they see me slipping they’ll use it to their advantage and no one wants that, I can guarantee it. Josh is a fuck up. He seems to think he should get special treatment, being my half-brother, but what he doesn’t know is that he’s gonna have his own answering to do very soon for letting this shit happen in the first place.

“I’m s-sorry,” is what I think I make out around a muffled, suction sound. I’m sure he is sorry, but only because he got caught. No one ever goes in thinking they’ll get caught, because if they did, they wouldn’t do it.

To be honest, I’m still surprised he’s alive. I think I’ve refilled this fucking bucket fifteen times and my arms are getting tired. “You know stealing is bad, Primo, and now I have to give you one of life’s fundamental lessons. It’s a lesson I’m sure your mother taught you at a young age, but since that lesson didn’t seem to sink in, I’m going to ask you again. Where’s my money?”

His chest is rising and falling rapidly as he kicks his legs around. His hands are twitching and his head is shaking violently from side to side. None of this bothers me, but what does grate on my fucking nerves is the awful sucking noise. It’s that muffled suction of a wet cloth when he fights for the intake of air that makes an ugly sound. As medieval torture and a terrorists type of punishment, waterboarding really does work. There’s something to be said for the classics.

~~~~~~

My fucking shirt is soaked, but I blame that on London. If my head weren’t so far up my ass with thoughts of her I may have remembered to change before handling Primo. I have shit to do this evening and a wet shirt won’t work, so I’m stuck redressing when I’m already running behind.

Heading down the stairs, I spot her. Just like clockwork, Lucy's is on time and ready, waiting in the living room for me. Buttoning up my shirt on the way down, she gives me a disapproving once over.

“You look … nice.” She says as her way of a greeting. I don’t bother complimenting her. She looks hungry and a little cranky, but that’s nothing new.

“You look tired.”

“Gee, thank you, Captain Obvious.” Shrugging, I walk past her to the door and head for the car. Tonight will be another boring function with a bunch of pricks I’d rather not have to deal with, but I'm committed. I have to be there.

An excruciating two-hour car ride out of the city with Lucy might just be a little bit of hell. Her endless chatter and bitching wears a man down. It’s no surprise she’s not married or dating. By the time we finally pull up outside the venue, I’m a moment from snapping and killing her with my seatbelt.

“Out,” I point Lucy out the door, but she doesn’t fucking move.

“Yeah, yeah.” She waves me off, eying herself in her makeup mirror. I leave her vain, self-centered ass in the car as she reapplies her already ridiculous makeup. I don’t have time for her shit.

Climbing out of the car, I’m immediately assaulted by press―questions and flash bulbs coming from every direction. I hate this shit, but Lucy relishes in it the moment she steps out of the car. Smiling and waving, she looks like a goddamn puppet. I'd much rather be doing anything else than be here. A root canal, jail time, even a fucking appendectomy would be better than this.

Ignoring them all, I walk quickly to the front door with my head down, watching my feet as Lucy lags behind. “I need a fucking drink,” I grumble to no one. Lucy is still completely engrossed with the reporters to notice that I’ve left her, so fuck her. Walking into the eighteenth century mansion, the place is crawling with old money, celebrities, crime families, and New York's upper class, none of whom I want to talk to. I want to find our table and get a drink as quickly as I can. It’s my sole focus to drink this horrid fucking night away. I plan to stay rooted to our table and consume as much alcohol as possible to make it through this function.

I try desperately to bob and weave my way to our assigned table without conversation, but I’m stopped a few hundred times before it’s possible. There are handshakes, idle chit-chat, and mingling with the other partygoers, which severely hinders me from getting a goddamn drink. It takes a fucking miracle, but I finally make it to our table. I’ve yet to master the fine art of strategic ducking and dodging, but I have a renewed interest in working on it. I wonder if there are classes you could take for such a thing. I’ll be sure to find out.

I was also able to snag not one, but two drinks on the way to my table, which doesn’t do anything to help my mood at this point. I’ve lost Lucy somewhere in the mix, but I can't say I'm sad to see her go, either.

~~~~~~~

An hour in and I already want to leave. I’ve not left the table and paid a waiter to keep the drinks coming my way so I don’t have to leave my seat.

“Hey, where's Lucy?” Fuck, Cam’s found me. That was quick. He sits down at the table and makes himself at home.

“Fishing for compliments, I would assume. I lost her as soon as I was inside. So, where the fuck were you earlier?” He knows we had business this afternoon.

“I was busy.”

“The fuck you were.” Cam fuck off, but he doesn’t fuck up.

“What the fuck’s wrong with you?”

“Lazy, irresponsible employees … oh, and let’s not forget your lack of responsibility,” I tell him. He ignores me and instead, gives me a quizzical look.

“No, there's something else wrong,” He states. He looks me up and down like it’s something physical. “You’re drinking again, I see.” He says this with a tone that’s condescending and judgmental. This little fucking prick is lucky we’re in public or I would beat his goddamn ass.

“For the last fucking time, I’m not an alcoholic,” I grit out. My jaw’s clenched so hard it might crack from sheer force. Fuck, he irritates the piss out of me. If I were an alcoholic, it would be because of incompetent and degenerate motherfuckers like him and my brother. His attention turns elsewhere and away from my apparent case of alcoholism.

“Who the fuck is that?” He damn near shouts, pushing out of his seat in a hurry. Turning around to see who he's talking about, I choke on my drink. Absolute perfection just walked through the door, from that flawless face to those perfect tits. Her dress shows off those long, sexy as fuck legs that I’m dying to bury my face between. Every male eye in the room has turned their focus on all that beauty, and she truly is fucking beautiful.

She’s wearing a long black dress that hugs every single curve of her body like a glove. It's strapless, raising those amazing tits up, making me remember the time she leaned over the bar with all that cleavage and wanting to fuck them. That dress was made for the sole purpose of lying crumpled up on my bedroom floor. Her hair is in those loose, beachy looking curls that make her look like a sex goddess.

Sitting alone at my table, I drink and watch. I watch her talk to people, smile for people, and then the men start coming in, asking her for a dance. They all want a reason to be near her, to touch her. For as much as I hate it, it makes me want her that much more. I want what they all want.

I decide to drink, just to keep my hands busy and to myself. I’ll let her enjoy her evening for a little while longer, then she’ll be mine.

~~~~~~

I’ve had four glasses of champagne. The party is in full swing by the time I gravitate toward the bar where I down two shots of bourbon, and take another with me. The band is playing, people are dancing, and dinner is being served. I'm briefly interrupted from my stalker duties and drinking by a man who works for me. He’s the type who talks nonstop, droning on and on about absolutely nothing.

I end up losing London in the crowd while I try to participate in empty conversation. Not for one minute since she walked in have I lost sight of her until now. I’ve watched her vigilantly. I’ve watched men put their hands on her. I’ve watched how their eyes glide over every inch of her body, but most importantly, I’ve watched her. I catalog to memory how she’s reacted to every touch, every look, and every whisper. There’s not a goddamn thing about that woman I miss. I watch it all.

I’m on the hunt again, leaving the man there to talk to himself. Do I have a plan for when I find her? No, but that shit’s never stopped me before, and it’s not going to now.

I finally find her in the arms of another asshole. She’s smiling and laughing at what the fuck ever he has to say and I decide I don’t like it. Besides, he’s probably talking about how his dog can do tricks.

For a disgusting minute, I watch. I watch until it no longer provides that thrill that I usually get from seeing other men touch her, and it starts to make me feel violent. I can’t fucking stand it anymore.

“You can go. I’m here now,” I growl as I push my way in between them, making sure the prick catches an elbow first. Lucky for him, he bows out gracefully. I would hate to ruin her dress with his blood.

I need this. Grabbing her hand, I wrap my fingers around hers and squeeze, but she doesn’t pull away like I expected her to after today. I force her body into mine, pressing my hand into the smooth, soft skin of her back and feel her shiver under my touch. That’s right. After tonight, she’ll never think of another motherfucker’s hands again, only mine.

She relaxes into me with no hesitation―no argument. I don’t get any of that rude shit that she loves to spew out at me, but I do get her lip. “Stalking me again, I see,” she mutters under her breath. I know she’s had quite a few drinks and I’m surprised she’s still on her feet.

“I’m actually thinking you may be stalking me, seeing as I was here first.”

She rolls her eyes and scoffs, “Are you always so self-absorbed?”

“Yes.” It’s the truth. I’m the only person I think about … well, that’s not true anymore. Somehow she’s managed to worm her way in, but I still consider myself as first and foremost, always.

She shakes her head, but smiles. “Well at least you’re honest.”

“Don’t get used to it, London. I do have to confess something to you. You look beautiful tonight,” I whisper in her ear and her whole body shudders against me. I knew it wouldn’t take long to get her on the same page as me.

“Thank you.” Her voice says softly, but still with that edge. It’s that edge I fucking love. It only shows me that she’s breakable, and I want to break her.

She voluntarily lets me pull her closer, if that’s even possible. She lets my hand wander as I trace her spine, run my thumb over her shoulders, touching her neck. It’s like Hell on Earth, being able to touch her like this and needing to touch more.

“So what are you doing here?” She cocks her head and looks at me for the first time since we began dancing.

“Stalking you.” I lie.

“This must be becoming an expensive habit for you. Tickets to this thing are extremely expensive.”

“I know, and I’m expecting full repayment, London.”

“And what would that repayment be? Monetary, physical, or material?” She has no fucking clue. I want it all―I will have it all.

“Baby, you give me an inch and I’ll take miles. Don’t give me options like that unless you’re willing to pay my price.”

Working our way around the dance floor, I make sure to make eye contact with every motherfucker in the room looking at her. She belongs to me, but one set of eyes challenge me. One set compete with a possibility of winning. Her friend Matt watches me and doesn’t turn away from my stare. Ballsy fucker, I’ll give him that.

“London?” She looks up at me through those lashes and smiles at me. For a moment, I forget all that shit. It’s been a solid ten minutes and she’s not made any effort to leave me. She’s relaxed, peaceful, and even calm in my arms. I like this shit. I like the way she feels on me.

“Yes?” But no matter how much I fucking like this, I have to know.

“Who is he?” She tips her head to the side and studies me. A slow, sly smile spreads over those juicy lips, because she knows why I’m asking.

“He’s Matt,” she answers easily. Should’ve known she’d answer with humor.

“Are you fucking him?” She shrugs one shoulder and smiles again. Clearly she’s enjoying this little game.

“So you are fucking him? Do you let him lay you out on the kitchen counter at home while he runs his hands up and down your thighs, fingering, licking that sweet, wet pussy of yours? Do you let him take you hard and rough?” I growl in her ear

Her hand wraps up in the lapels of my suit and jerks hard on it, bringing us face to face. Her eyes are hard and fucking sexy.

“I fuck who I want, when I want. That’s all you need to know, Dante.”

That fucking mouth of hers pisses me off, and makes me hard.

“Keep it up. I would love to pound that bad language right out of you and for fuck’s sake, stop avoiding my question. Who is he?”

She sighs, and I follow her eyes to him. “He’s my best friend, he’s my family, and he’s gay,” she announces. He’s gay?

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath.

“Yeah, fuck. Matt’s gay, and I mean super-duper fucking gay.” Well if I wasn’t a fucking dick before, I would be now. Too bad I just don’t care.

“Good.” That news is music to my ears. “But I’m still fucking mad at you.” She adds.

“Me?” What in the hell did I do now?

“Yeah, mad at you.” Well I’ll just have to remedy that.

Nine

Mr. Devilish

London

Slow strokes trace up and down my spine, then move to the base of my neck where his finger finds its way to the edge of my dress where he leisurely drags it across the top of my breasts. Dante’s touch is sinfully torturous and agonizingly slow in the best way. My mind’s foggy from the two bottles of champagne that Matt and I had during the drive here, then the two glasses once I got here, but my senses are alive. Yet I can’t seem to remember why I was even mad at Dante in the first place when he starts putting his bastardly hands on me. I’ve enjoyed myself all evening, but as soon as Dante showed up and pulled me into his body, I forgot everything. My name eludes me, words escape my lips with no real thought, and everyone around me fades into a blur of unimportance.

He whispers awful things in my ear―beautiful, filthy images tumble from his hateful lips, “I could fuck you in a dirty bathroom stall, or I could lay you out on one of these tables and fuck you while all these people watch me pound into that wet pussy.” He tells me all the terrible things he wants to do to me, and I want him to do every single one of them.

He’s danced me into a dark corner of the room, hidden away from everyone. My dress shows the smallest hint of side boob and that’s where his finger slips under the fabric. He rubs the back of his finger up and down, while the tip of that finger rubs against my nipple once… twice… My hands tighten on his shoulders and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from moaning. “Dante …”

“Shut up, London. Just let it happen.”

Kissing the side of my jaw, he runs his tongue along my skin and up to my lips. He kisses me long and deep, tangling his tongue with mine. I’m shaking with want, and am so goddamn wet I can feel it on my thighs. I want to slap him hard enough to make it hurt, enough to leave a red handprint on that handsome face of his, and then I want to drop to my knees and suck him into my mouth.

“Stop.” I mumble around his lips. He doesn’t listen and he doesn’t stop. I’m struggling to pull out of my sexual need for him. I won’t do this here, I can’t. He’s making me lose all sense of reality with the way he talks and touches me, and I also remember where I saw him earlier and with whom. I won’t let myself be his plaything, no matter how bad I want him. With a hard push to his chest, I say louder than necessary, “Let me go.”

And he does. Stepping back, he gives me a cocky grin before he licks his lips, like he can still taste me.

“I’m not …” I’m not fucking sure what I’m doing. Jesus Christ. “I’m not doing,” I fling my hand between the two of us, “this with you, whatever the hell it is.

Taking a few steps back away from his arms my hands are still shaky and his handsome face leaves me breathless. I take one final look at Dante before I walk around and away from him.

“London,” he calls after me. His voice is a deep, commanding taunt. Turning to look over my shoulder, he smiles that perfect dimpled smile at me.

“What?” I whisper breathlessly.

“Save me another dance.”

“Not if it leads to that again,” I mutter as I turn on my heels and leave. The last thing I hear is his deep laugh and it sends a spark through my body, then straight to my dripping, wet panties.

~~~~~~

Finding Matt at our table, I sit down next to him, or more appropriately, I throw myself into the chair, but my ass makes it in either way. Instantly I seek out one of the waiters who pass around drinks.

“You two looked extremely cozy out there.” Matt says, bumping his shoulder into mine. “Cozy?” There was nothing cozy about that.

“I was trying to be polite, but fine. You both looked like you were ready to fuck right there on the dance floor. Even I was starting to sweat just watching the two of you. Better?” No, worse.

“I need a drink.” If I’m going to sit here and do this with Matt and be in the same room as Dante, I need to get that numb, intoxicated feeling back, and fast. Looking around, I can’t find a single person with a tray anywhere. Where the fuck are the trays? “You want one?” I ask Matt as I get up to head to the bar. There’s a line, but I really need a drink ... or five.

“Sure, babe. Maybe ask for a bottle since no one seems to be working tonight.”

Standing in the line at the bar, I try for two impossible minutes to ignore him before I have to look. There he is, looking back at me with those dark, intimidating eyes. There’s also a woman at his side laughing with a few other women standing around her, but his eyes are focused solely on me.

The woman at his side leans into him and touches his arm. She’s beautiful with long, dark hair and the lean body of a dancer. She’s wearing a lovely red dress, and she’s also the woman from Saks. She’s his woman.

She says something to him but he doesn’t even acknowledge her. He does, however, nod his head with his eyes in my direction. He’s still looking at me when she follows his gaze.

Meeting her eyes, she smiles at me for a moment and I smile back like a fool. She’s perfect, exuding elegance from head to toe. Cocking her head to the side, she studies me briefly before turning back to talk with her circle of friends. Dante remains fixated on me and smiles wide, showing his dimples and all. Fuck my life.

~~~~~~

The line moves slowly. I wait my turn and people watch because Dante’s no longer there, staring at me. I’m watching a man and a woman make out a few tables away when I feel a large body crowd me in an inappropriate way, and I know that it’s not Dante.

“Miss me, amore mio?” That’s the voice of evil. His hands wrap around my waist as his fingers press into my hips. I can feel his chest pressed against my back and I want to vomit when I feel his hot breath on my neck. Oh no, no, no. My skin crawls and I try to move out of his grip, “I was never shit to you,” I spit, trying to step away. Jerking me back against him, his arms tighten around my waist as he starts to laugh.

“If you didn’t run in the first fucking place, you’d be mine by now.”

“You’re delusional, you scumbag piece of shit.” I fire back, “Just let me go and walk the fuck away.” I hiss. I hate him.

Perry ignores me and rubs his cheek against my neck, “Mi sei mancata.” He doesn’t miss me―he needs me. There’s a big fucking difference.

“What are you doing here?”

Sighing long and hard, he says, “It’s a work thing.” I know what that means. I’m the work thing he’s here for.

Perry was someone my “father” arranged for me to date, unbeknownst to me. The plan was for him to sweep me off my feet, fall in love, and get married. It could’ve worked, but Perry had no patience, especially when it came to getting something done. When things didn’t progress the way he wanted them to, he would say really hurtful shit to me and apologize for it later, but I was done. When I tried to leave, he held me down and laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world. He had very loose lips when he drank whiskey and began to tell me the whole story of how he and my father were going to use me to take over my grandfather’s business. That could only happen through me, the one who would inherit it once he stepped down.

I waited for Perry to calm down and go to sleep. Once I knew he was out, I ran as far and as fast as I could from him and my father. Apparently, from the information Perry spewed out that night, I also found out that my father had planned to take over the business through my mother’s inheritance, but once she died, that plan was changed. He was smart, though. My mother getting pregnant was never an “accident”. My family had nothing back then, but my father was seeing potential in what my grandfather was doing, watching it slowly start to succeed, so I was his insurance policy. My grandfather hated him, so there was only one way to get what he wanted, and that was through my mother or me. It’s just too bad for him that I’m not someone he can fuck with and tell what to do. I’m not that girl.

“Let me go. Go home to your wife. Don’t do this, Perry.”

“Oh, mio piccolo uccello, you know you miss me too. As for marriage, you know as well as I do that it’s overrated anyway.”

“You suino schifoso.” He laughs at me. I wish I’d never laid eyes on him.

“You didn’t think I was a disgusting swine when I was fucking you.”

“Everyone makes mistakes and you are my greatest one, as the song goes.” I tell him, but he only shrugs.

“You need to come with me, London, and you need to do it quietly. Your father would be so happy to see you, and I’m here to make sure that reunion happens.”

“Damn it! Let me fucking go.” I say loudly enough for people to look our way.

“Shut the fuck up. I’d hate to spill your blood on that lovely dress.” He presses what I can only imagine is a knife into my side with enough pressure to cause some pain. I stop fighting. My eyes scan the room for Matt, but he’s not at the table. Where is he? When I need him, he’s nowhere to be found.

“There you are, baby. I was looking for you.” I practically sag in relief. With a soft tug, Perry lets me go as Dante pulls me free.

“I've got you.” Dante says in my ear.

“Who is your friend, puttana?” Perry spits.

“Don’t you ever fucking call her that. She’s my fiancé, stronzo.”

“Ah, your fiancé speaks Italian, does he?” He doesn’t believe a word Dante says. “You are mine, London. You were promised to me years ago, and I intend collect on that promise,” he spits out, his body shaking with anger.

Dante goes rigid behind me. People are starting to stare and a hush falls over the people near us. Instantly I’m shoved behind Dante, his body shielding mine. “Dante,” I touch his arm to only have him jerk it away.

“That’s not how you talk to someone’s fiancé, and certainly not to mine.” Dante taunts.

“She’s not yours, asshole.” Perry challenges.

“Oh, she belongs to me in every possible way, especially when I’m fucking her in my bed, listening to her scream out my name every fucking time she comes.” Not only is Perry showing up here for me scary, now I’m mortified by Dante. People are looking at me and my face is beet red.

“You two can play house, but it’s not going to last for long. Remember who she really belongs to because I will be coming for her very soon.” Perry sneers at Dante before turning eyes on me. “We will get what we want, London, and we will do whatever we have to do to get it.”

I press my face into Dante’s back, “Please, lets go.” I’m done. I can’t handle anymore.

I find my ass in my seat and Dante crouched down in front of me with his hands resting on my thighs. “Are you okay?” His voice is full of concern and his face a mask of hatred and worry. For the first time since I’ve met him, he seems like a real person and not some shadowed enigma of crazy. He for once looks genuine.

“Not really.” Running a thumb down my cheek he nods once.

“You look fine. Here,” he says softly, pushing a drink towards me. “Drink it.” No need to tell me twice.

I’m gonna need a whole bottle. I swallow down the drink and take one from his hands and down it too. I watch him stand up gracefully and hold his hand out to me. “Up,” He demands. My head is spinning with fear, alcohol, and lust, but I do what he asks. Placing my hand in his, he pulls me up and onto the dance floor.

“What the hell are we doing?”

“We’re dancing.” One hand spans my lower back while the other one is wrapped around mine. We fall into a comfortable dance, like we’ve been doing this our whole lives, and just like earlier, he buries his face in my neck. Those lips lick a wet path up to my ear and back down. My body hums and I lose sight of everything.

“Why are we dancing?” I ask breathlessly. He just ignores me and keeps touching me, tasting me.

After a few minutes he asks, “Are you alright now?” I am, and I’m completely lost in him. “That’s what I thought. Don’t think, just feel me, London.”

“What about your girlfriend?” That gets his attention.

“Excuse me?”

“The woman you’re here with. The same woman you were with this afternoon at Saks,” I clarify. He bursts out laughing. When he’s finished, he lets out a deep breath, “Christ, I needed that. Anyway, if you must know, she’s my little sister.”

“Oh.” I feel like a total ass.

“Are you alright now?”

“Yes, I am now, but why are we dancing?” That face in my neck is distracting, making it hard to speak, let alone think.

“Because I needed something to do with my hands besides kill your friend, and you, London, are a lovely fucking distraction.”

Dante

I‘m pissed because of that douchebag Perry. Seeing London so upset, I made her dance with me. I personally don’t like to dance, but tonight with London, it’s definitely had its perks, but any other time I hate it. I saw the look in her eyes and I knew she was scared. When I touch her, she tends to get lost, so there was my answer. Distract her enough to calm her down was my plan, and it’s working. I’m a resourceful man..

Perry. That motherfucker is a problem. I should’ve known he’d come looking. He’s only a friend of the family―a goddamn soldier, and watching him throw around what little weight he holds is laughable. For someone like me, he’s an annoyance. For someone like London, he’s a much different story. He’s an unstable and power hungry little pest, and she’s his ticket to get him where he wants to be in the ranks. If her father wants her bad enough, he’ll do whatever it takes to get her for him. Sad for him, though. He’ll get her over my dead body, and that will never happen.

“I need to find Matt,” she mumbles into my chest, pulling my attention back to her. Ah yes, the other man in her life. At least my blood pressure isn’t shooting through the roof this time around. I’m practicing great restraint tonight by not killing anyone. I hope she can appreciate that.

“Okay.” I let her go. She seems bereft when I move away. What the fuck now? She looks at me expectantly, “Yes?”

“You’re not coming with me?” She asks, like me not following her is crazy. One minute she’s cursing at me, calling me a stalker, and the next she’s smiling at me and wanting me around. I’m lost.

“Do you want me to? You’re okay with the stalking bit now?”

She just rolls her eyes, “Yeah. I guess I am.” Okay then. Waving a hand out I follow like a good little boy.

“Oh my God, London. Perry’s here. We’ve gotta go now!” Matt looks pale with his eyes wide. “Should we leave the city? Move again?” He suggests.

“No one needs to move.” I tell them both. I’d hate to have to move just to stalk her somewhere else.

I watch Cam walk up to the table, looking between London and I. He’s making lewd eye gestures at her that might get his eyes removed from their sockets. Once he’s close, he makes a b-line for London.

“And who is this beautiful thing? I saw you earlier and haven’t had the opportunity to dance with you, since you’ve had so many admirers’. ” He puts out his hand to her and she accepts it. Cam starts to lay it on thick by kissing her hand and lingering longer than necessary. Yeah, that’s enough.

“London, this is my cousin, Carmine.” He bows like some royal asshole.

“It’s nice to meet you, Carmine.”

Smiling he winks at her. “Call me Cam.”

“Cam?” Jesus Christ, I wish he’d go the fuck away. I’m not in the mood for his overly exaggerated pretentious antics. Doesn’t he have shit he could be doing?

“Short for Carmine Cameron Marc-ugh, Marx,” I gut check him before he fucks everything up.

“Enough. Come here, Cam.” That was too fucking close.

Grabbing his shoulder, I pull his annoying ass away from her. “Is there a reason you’re over here?” He just laughs and nods stupidly.

“It can wait.” He laughs.

“The fuck it can. Let’s go over there.” I point a few feet away from earshot. Looking back at London, I tell her, “I’ll be right back.”

“What do you want, Cam?” With his hands shoved into his pockets, he shifts around with a gleam in his eye.

“So she doesn’t know, does she?” I wish it was okay to just punch him right here, right now, in front of everyone.

“No, and she won’t find out so keep your fucking mouth shut. Now get on with it.” Fucking prick, he’s enjoying this.

“Got word that you need to make an appearance.”

“Is that so? When?”

“Tonight. Late.”

“Fine. Did you see that fucker messing with London earlier? Look into it.” He nods his understanding. I spend ten minutes getting details and giving instructions. A phone call pulls me away for another ten before I find myself back at the table.

I find London alone and lip deep in a shot, and four empties sitting in a semicircle around her. “Did I miss the party, beautiful?” Throwing back the shot, she shakes her head no and hiccups. “Where’d your friend go?” Shrugging, she points over her shoulder.

“Found some man candy and they’re headed to man candy’s room, I think.”

“Want to know what I think? I think you’ve had enough, cara.”

“Yeah, I think you might be right.” She grumbles. Pushing off the seat, she sways a little once on her feet. I make a grab for her to steady her and she jerks away from me.

“I got it,” she assures me. Holding up my hands, I back away a step.

“Okay.” I watch her throw that last shot back and slam the glass down on the table. She’s gonna hate herself in the morning.

“How are you getting home?” I ask her.

“Cab. I gave Al the rest of the night off,” she shrugs. That’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard. Her drunk in a cab for a few hours spells disaster. Nothing good could come of that. “Have you seen my purse?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Fuck. Must have left it in the town car.”

“Come on,” Grabbing her arm, I walk her towards the door. She’s got me bending. Any other woman I’d send in a cab and not think twice about it, but not London.

“Where ya takin’ me, bossy pants?” She slurs.

“Home, Now shut up.”

~~~~~~

“A limo, huh?” She smiles wickedly. “Are you overcompensating for something, Mr. Marx?” I know what that look means and she’s playing with fire.

“London?”

“Is someone trying to make up for something with this long limo?”

It took me thirty minutes to get her out of there and onto the sidewalk. We’re not getting distracted now, no matter how bad I want to fuck her inside this lime and show her I have nothing to compensate for. “Get in the fucking car, London.”

The dirtiest of looks flashes across her face before she turns away and trudges to the door. “This dress is a fucking pain.” She slurs and starts tugging on it while trying to get in. She lifts it up obscenely high to crawl into the back seat. I think I catch a glimpse of ass, but I know I get a perfect view of those long, tan legs. Damn. “As soon as I'm home, it's coming off.” Yes, and I’d love to be the one to take it off, I think idly.

“You,” I point at her and then to the far end of the car, “sit over there.” There’s absolutely no way I can sit by her and possibly keep my hands to myself, not while she’s lifting that dress up and shifting around. She sits on her side like a good girl. I’m not in the business of fucking drunk women.

Driving for a while, neither of us say anything and I’m good with that. I answer a ridiculous amount of e-mails and send off a few documents. Little by little, she’s gotten closer to me, but she’s not looking at me or speaking to me, so I leave her be.

I’m engrossed in a rather obnoxious e-mail from Rocco about unimportant details when I feel her lean against my side. Looking down at her, she’s staring up at me, “You sit over there.” I point back over by the door on her side. She blinks and starts chewing on that fucking lip.

“I’m cold, and it’s lonely over there.” She whispers. Why can’t I just move her? I just can’t tell her no.

“Fine.” I concede. No use in fighting her because Lord knows, she’ll win.

Sleeping beauty falls asleep and I try to keep my attention on my phone. She’s resting against me, curled into my side, using my shoulder as a pillow while one of her hands rests on my fucking thigh. I even took off my two thousand dollar suit jacket and draped it over her legs to keep her warm and comfortable. Sitting here next to her, I turn my phone off and stare at her for the rest of the ride.

~~~~~~

“Sir, we're here.” Branson alerts me from the front.

“Thank you. It'll be a minute,” I tell him. I actually feel a little bad about waking her up. She looks comfortable and content, but she can’t sleep in the limo all night.

“London?” I speak quietly, trying my hardest to wake her up in the nicest way possible. “London?” I try a little louder. The car is so damn quiet I feel like I'm shouting. Cracking an eye open, she stares at me through her long lashes. “You're home. Do you have your key?” She ignores me and lets her eye drift closed.

“Time to get up,” I try again, giving her a gentle shake. “Do you have a key?”

With one quick shake of her head she grumbles, “Nope.” Shit.

“Do you have your phone to call your friend?”

“Nope. Matt,” she mumbles.

“I’m not Matt,” I remind her.

“I know that,” she states dryly, “Matt has a key and mine is in my purse, hopefully in the town car.” I didn’t even think of that.

What the hell am I supposed to do with her? I know what I want to do and it’s shit I know I shouldn’t. I’m trying to be a gentleman right now. “How the hell am I supposed to get you inside?” She closes her eyes and says nothing else.

Am I just supposed to babysit her? I can’t very well just leave her on the sidewalk. The doorman is gone for the night and the manager won't get a key to us until morning if we're lucky.

I have no choice.

“Take us home, Branson.”

~~~~~~

Getting her out of the car is a feat. She’s drunk and sleepy, and if she wasn’t such a pain in the ass, this might actually be funny. “We're here.” Standing outside of the door, I hold my hand out to her, but of course she bats it away.

“I got it.” Drunk, sleepy London isn’t very friendly.

She stumbles as soon as she’s out of the car and her feet land in a mud puddle. “Come on, you fucking pain.” I pick her up and throw her over my shoulder, removing her shoes as I go. I’m done fucking around on the sidewalk while she prances around in mud.

Standing in my hall, I debate on what to do with her. I’ve never brought a woman here. I have no clue what I should do with her.

I have one bed. Four rooms, but none are for guests because I don’t ever have guests in my house. If I put her on the couch, I don’t want her falling off in the middle of the night and breaking her goddamn neck. I could put her on the floor, but I’m just not that mean. Fuck, my room it is.

Laying her down on my bed, my hands start shaking. This whole thing is fucking with my head. My nasty little obsession is here, sprawled out on my bed. It screws with self-control. She’s every sick fantasy I’ve had playing out before me. She’s everything I shouldn’t want, but do with a desperation that borders on unhealthy. Her hair looks a mess, her eye makeup is smeared, and her dress is ruined, and still, she couldn’t be any fucking sexier. I hate how much I love it.

Swallowing hard, I do something I shouldn’t. Crawling up on the bed next to her, I look for a zipper. I’ve done this dance plenty of times, but never has it felt so right, yet so wrong. I suck back the fucked up emotions and try to get her comfortable. Leaning into her, I run my hands up and down her perfectly curved body, but she doesn’t move. That light citrus scent makes me hard and twitchy. Running my hands down her sides, I find the zipper. Unzipping it, I slip the dress off and find out what a bad idea this was. Bad, bad fucking idea.

She’s wearing a sexy lace bra and matching panties. The bra only covers the bottom portion of her tits, which pushes the rest up high. Fuck, this is so wrong. I have a serious obsession with those fucking tits of hers. She’s out of her mind and out of her clothes and oh, the things I could do. The tie on my dresser catches my attention and I have to adjust my dick just thinking of what I wanna do with it. But I don’t do a goddamn thing. I’m gonna have to take care of myself, but I’d much rather have her hand, or her mouth, wrapped around my dick.

I get the sheets and comforter out from under her and cover her up. Rearranging the pillows, I get her comfortable. There, she’s as comfortable as she’s gonna get and I need to leave and to deal with my other head.

~~~~~~

Leaning back onto the chaise lounge chair in the corner, I get comfortable. I never understood why my interior designer put this pointless piece of furniture in here, but now I get it. Sitting in my secluded corner of the room, I watch her sleep and I start to think about this family situation of hers.

Everyone is playing her, including me, of course. I want what she has, or will have. She has no idea what she stands to gain. She also has no clue as to what her grandfather is getting her into. I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing for me, but I do know I have competition to eliminate. Whatever the case may be, I’ll look into it and remedy the issue accordingly. At this point, who knows what her father and Perry have up their sleeves. There may be more players to the game now, helping them.

Sipping my bourbon, I watch her. Forty minutes I’ve sat here in relaxed silence. Why did she have to be her. Why have I let myself go this far with her. How am I going to handle it when she finds out the truth and the lies, because they will come out. I don’t want to hurt her, but I’m set on what I have to do for my family and it’s future.

She’s perfect. Everything about her is beautiful. She’s sexy, exciting, and most of all, she makes me feel. She’s changed something in me and I’m head over heels for her.

This whole situation couldn’t get any worse.

Ten

Mr. Knight In Shining Stalker

London

“Holy fuck,” I whisper to myself as soon as the fog of sleep lifts. The heels of my hands find my eyes and try desperately to rub the sleep away. I haven't even opened them and I already feel like I've been run over by a Mac truck, and then backed over and hit again. I feel like road kill.

My eyelids feel like lead and my throat is dry. Don’t even get me started on the grossness going on in my mouth. My body, as a whole, feels like … well, it feels like a Mac truck hit me.

Lying in bed, I listen for Matt, wondering how drunk he got last night. Did man candy come home with him? Oh hell, they better not have had sex in my kitchen again.

I can’t lay here forever, even though I’d love nothing more. I move to sit up but my head spins and my stomach rolls. I'm never drinking again. I recall telling myself that the last time I drank and look at me now. I should really listen to myself more often.

Once the spinning subsides, I pry my eyes open only to stare directly into blinding light. Jesus, it's deliriously fucking bright in here. Rays of sunshine shoot through the windows and assault my aching eyes. I make a mental note to get darker curtains. It takes me a good three minutes to fully open them, but it's not without a lot of effort.

Wait a minute … Where the fuck? Oh no. Taking in my unfamiliar surroundings, last night comes crashing down on me hard and it brings my headache screaming back. Drinks, Dante, drinks at the party, Perry, and more drinks. What a fucking mess. Dancing with Dante is the last thing I remember. Stupid fucking London. You let your stalker take you home, I chastise myself.

What the fuck did I do last night? Holy hell, did I have sex with him and not even remember it? I would remember that. I think I would, anyways. God, I hope I’d remember that. With the way he touched me while we were dancing I would want to remember.

I need some answers, some coffee, and some strong coma inducing medication. But what I really need to do is get the fuck out of here.

Standing at the foot of the bed, I take in his room. It's nothing like I would’ve expected. The room is actually nice and calming with the bed in the center of the room, and all the colors are in whites, browns, and creams. It's peaceful and inviting. Nothing scary and nothing creepy. He probably has his scary shit in a dark basement with his whips, chains, and torture devices.

I make it up and tip toe to the door. I peek my head out the bedroom, “Mr. Marx? Dante?” I call quietly. I listen but get nothing in return. Where could he be? I look back into the room for some idea. Did he just leave me here?

Looking back in the room, I find a clock. It’s nine am. I also find my dress folded and laid neatly over a chair. Why are my shoes muddy? They both look sad and the dress is in need of a good dry cleaning. Picking up my dress, I see some splatters of mud on the bottom. Great. I’ll have to do the walk of shame in a dirty dress and muddy shoes. Fabulous.

Looking down at myself and back at the dress, I figure fuck it. I find a closet and boom, tons of button up dress shirts, all smelling like Dante. At least I now know I didn’t leave with some random stranger. Thank God for small miracles. I grab the first one closest off the hanger and put it on. I’m sure I wouldn’t be the first half-naked chick Dante will see in his lifetime. In fact, I’m sure of it.

I walk into the hallway, peeking around corners. I find a long hall to my right with a few closed doors and to the left, it opens to what I’m guessing is the living room or kitchen.

I try staying quiet while I wander down the hall in my bare feet. I have no clue where Dante is or where I'm going in general. The living room and kitchen can't be that hard to find, right?

Rounding the corner, I find what I’m looking for and it's massive. I'm sensing a theme here―everything large and over the top with Mr. Personalities. Everything with this man is excessive.?

I thought I had a big living room, but mine doesn't compare to his. His is huge. Two large, soft gray suede couches face each other, and between them sits a large coffee table in dark distressed wood. Okay, I need to focus. Coffee is the only thing I should be looking for.

The dining room is the next room over and opens into the kitchen. Damn, this man has amazing taste. His clothes and his home are impressive. He has every conceivable appliance, except a coffee pot. No coffeepot, but I find a Keurig with the most amazing little cups of coffee in them.

I walk over to it and get it ready, and now all I need is a cup. I open the first cabinet and voilà. It’s starting off to be a good day, minus the hangover shit. I make my coffee, add some milk from the fridge and I’m in coffee heaven. I sit at the table, drinking it ‘til I’m finished and put the cup into the sink. It’s time to go hunt down Dante and get the hell out of here.

Walking back into the living room, I find him. Well that was easy. There he is, asleep on the couch that faces away from the hall. Walking a little closer, I peek over it at him. He is a sight.

I got a tiny glimpse of it last night, but his hard, menacing face looks so relaxed and peaceful. He looks normal. His lips are parted slightly and his eyelashes leave shadows on his cheeks. A long arm is thrown carelessly over his head while the other is draped off the side of the couch. He looks beautiful and handsome. He also looks uncomfortable. His body is too long and muscular to be squished into the couch. Why the fuck didn’t he lay on one of those big ass suede couches?

On one shoulder and over to his back I see a black wing. It almost looks like feathers wrapping around to his shoulder and up to his neck. Shifting, he moves and the couch creeks in the silent room and I damn near have a heart attack.

As much as I’d love to stand here all morning and into the early afternoon staring at him, I’ve got to find a bathroom. With a final look, I leave him be and wander my ass back to his room to get to the bathroom.

Just like the rest of his home, the bathroom is large and opulent. What really draws my eyes, besides the toilet, is the beautiful oval claw foot tub in the middle of the room. It’s calling to me, begging me to get in.

I'll gladly give the tub what it wants. Who am I to deny it? I’m hung over and grubby, so I could use a good soak. Dante won’t mind. Hell, he’s still sleeping anyways. I need him awake to get me out of here so this will kill some time.

I can’t imagine a man like Dante taking baths. He’s a shower man all the way. I’m only showing this beautiful tub the love it deserves. I do my thing and run the water, letting the beautiful tub fill up.

Sinking into the hot water, I shutter and damn near groan. It’s deep, long, wide, and the rounded sides make for a perfect place to rest your head and feet. I think I just found a little slice of heaven here on Earth.

~~~~~~

I stay in the tub so long that I’m starting to wrinkle, and I’m pretty sure I nodded off a few times. My headache has turned into a dull throb and my need for more coffee has marginally subsided. I’m relaxed until I feel the air shift. The skin on the back of my neck prickles and my heart begins to hammer in my chest.

Whipping my head around, there stands Dante, only a foot behind me. He’s leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed and an eyebrow quirked up. “Fuck, Dante! How long have you been there?” I shout.

“Have you always had such a dirty mouth?” He retorts, giving me a wicked glare.

“Have you always been so fucking creepy?” I fire back immediately. My question makes him laugh. That wasn’t meant to be a joke.

Shrugging a shoulder, he answers, “Since meeting you, yes. And fifteen minutes.” He’s been watching me since I got in? Now he’s just a pervert.

“You’ve been watching me for fifteen minutes?” He simply nods. “Jerk. You’ve gone from stalker to pervert. Congratulations.”

“I’m not going to disagree there.”

“Why are you watching me?”

“Why not? And why can’t you ever just answer a question with an answer?”

“Don’t have a good answer for your there, but why on earth wouldn’t I watch you? I have a hot, naked woman in my bathtub and I’m a man. What else would I be doing?” Fair enough.

“So why not knock or something?”

“It’s my bathroom, is it not? I didn’t know I had to knock to come into my own bathroom.” Asshole.

“Well when someone you’re not sleeping with is in here, you do.”

“No, I don’t think so.”

Walking further into the bathroom, he casually leans himself against the counter. His hair is a mess this morning in that mad scientist style and he needs a good shave. He looks disheveled, messy, and sexy. Legs crossed at the ankles, he starts twisting that watch while he looks at me. Around and around it goes, but he looks relaxed instead of nervous, so I won’t complain about the watch bullshit.

“I can see your tits, London.” His deep voice informs me, catching me off guard. Looking down, I can see them just below the water. Taking a page from his book, I go with uncaring.

“I’m sure you got an eyeful during the fifteen minutes you stared at me in here so what should I do, hide ‘em?”

“No, don’t hide them from me, but damn, I’m thinking of a lot of things I’d love to do you’re your tits.”

“Good.” He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.

“Good? Why would you say that’s good?”

“It’s payback.” Now he really looks confused. This is kind of fun.

“Payback?” Again I play from his playbook, a question for a question.

“Are you gonna keep repeating everything I say?” He rolls his eyes and I almost jump for joy. I got to him so I win this round, but really, that was too easy. For such a hard man, he sure breaks easily.

“London,” He mutters impatiently. Fine.

“For our dance last night, remember? You were touching me, licking me, and kissing me, so this is payback. It’s a bitch, I hear.” He laughs, and it’s a deep, genuine laugh.

“Baby, I’ll pay up and then some. I’m not in the business of leaving beautiful women hanging.” I’m sure he’s not.

This is kind of exciting. A little dirty flirting while naked is a turn on, so why not have a little fun. “Promise?” Licking his bottom lip he nods once.

“I promise.”

A loud voice startles us both.

“Boss?” A man calls from the bedroom, and the bathroom door is wide open. Oh shit. “Boss?” The voice repeats.

“Put a foot in this bathroom and I’ll blow that motherfucker off, do you hear me?” Dante growls as he heads to the door.

“Ah, I see. You got a bitch in there, don’t’ ya.” The voice teases.

“Out.” Dante looks thoroughly pissed.

“Alright, Capo.” A different voice says. Fuck, how many are out there? Looking back at me, Dante’s face softens.

“I set something for you to wear on the bed. Let me get these dipshits downstairs. I’ll only be a few minute.” As he turns to leave, I do something I shouldn’t do. I say something that I know I’ll regret in the near future.

“Dante?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m holding you to that promise.” I hear him growl in frustration before the door closes a little too hard against the frame. Now I can’t help but laugh.

~~~~~~

I look like I stepped right out of rap video. I’m wearing way too big baggy sweats and a white tee. Dante’s stuff is about three sizes too big, but it’s comfy and smells like him. I’ve wrapped my wet hair into a messy bun on the top of my head since I have no hairbrush. I’m as ready as I’m gonna be.

Five pairs of eyes swing in my direction as soon as I set one bare foot into the kitchen. I know only one of them, and that’s Dante. The other four are men of varying ages who continue to stare at me.

“Holy shit,” one mutters, catching a smack to the back of the head. Another man openly gapes at me with his mouth opening and closing, reminding me of my old goldfish. It’s name was Shiny because it was. One grins like the joker and the other is busy stuffing food into his face.

“Who’s she, Boss?” The goldfish asks. Dante seems a bit smug.

“London, come here.” I don’t know why, but I do as he says.

“London, these are some of my employees. Meet Vinn, Rocco, Geo, and Pete. Boys, this is my London. Say hello and be respectful or I’ll kick your asses.” They all say their hello’s at the same time, and I wave and say hello back.

“Alright boys, you gotta go. Handle business in a timely manner and for fucks sake, don’t make a mess of it.”

The guys all get up and walk out the kitchen door. The tension in the room skyrockets the second the front door latches closed. Shit. Standing by the kitchen island, I glance up at Dante who is, as usual, staring holes through me from the other side of the room. “Yes?” I inquire, but I know what he wants.

“Are you looking to cash in on that promise now?” He asks softly. His eyes are dark and intimidating when he licks his lips. Yes! Hell yes!

“No.” I scoff in a lame attempt to seem uninterested, but I’m very interested.

Shaking his head slowly in mild amusement, he tsks me. “London, you’re a terrible liar. I think you do want me to fuck you, and I think you want me to do it now.” Oh I do, but I’m not letting him know that.

“That was some friendly banter, that’s all.” I inform him.

“It was so much more than that, so why are you lying to me?”

“I’m not,” I assure him. His lip curves into a painfully slow salacious smile.

“Baby, you’re awfully fucking beautiful when you lie to me.”

Pushing away from the counter, he drags his eyes over my body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He looks hungry. He looks feral, and he looks like he’s ready to get wild. Taking a step toward me, I instinctively step back. “London,” he drawls arrogantly, summoning me with a crooked finger.

“I don’t want you to fuck me.” Why am I acting immature and lying? We’re both adults. This could go one of two ways: We fuck and walk away, getting what we feel we need from each other, or this could turn nasty. Is it worth giving it a try and see what happens? Yes.

“If you’re going to lie to me, at least be convincing.”

“Bastard.”

He’s on me in an instant. I have no time to move and there’s no chance for me to run. His overpowering body is flush with mine, pinning me back. “You want me to fuck you. I can smell it on you. I could bend you over the kitchen island and stick it to you good and proper, or I could fuck you right here against the fridge, but either way, you’ll take it any way I give it to you.” I’ll take both. Fuck, I’ll take it all.

“I wouldn’t fuck you―”

“If I were the last man alive,” He finishes for me with a deep laugh.

He runs a hand under the shirt I’m wearing and works his fingers over my stomach and up to my tits. My head falls against the fridge in defeat. I don’t want to fight this anymore. A finger trails around my nipple before wrapping his full hand around it, kneading it slowly. He groans as I shove my chest into it.

He begins kissing up my neck to my jaw. Dragging his lips against my skin, he tells me the dirty things he wants to do to my body. Big, deft fingers pinch and roll my nipple as his lips work their way to my ear and I almost come. “So beautiful, so smart, and so goddamn mean.”

That big hand of his opens and drags down my stomach to the waist of my pants. They’re two too big, leaving no room for much of a fight. He pushes them down my legs, then shoves his own down where they fall to his feet. His hands curve around my ass and move to the back of my legs, lifting them up around his waist and with no hesitation, he shoves his dick inside of me. “But you’re a horrible fucking liar, baby.”

Once he’s in, he doesn’t move and it’s beautiful torture. “Please move,” I moan into his neck. He pulls back just a little and with one hard thrust, he buries himself deep and growls, “If you want me to fuck you, let me savor it. I’ve wanted this for a long fucking time, London, and I’m gonna enjoy every goddamn second of it.”

My back hits the fridge in jarring thuds, but I could care less. My thighs and ass are a wet mess and I can barely hold on, but it’s just too good to stop. Dante is relentless as he pounds into me. This man is not overcompensating for a fucking thing. His dick fills me, stretches me, and then some. I’m a fucking mess.

When I come, I come hard. He keeps thrusting, letting me ride out my orgasm and I finally hear him grunt, right before he pulls out. I watch as cum shoots out of his slit and all over my stomach, all the way up my chest while he groans and shudders. Holy shit.

I lost my shirt at some point so he could suck on me, and now I watch him do something I would never expect, but Dante doesn’t do anything I expect. He runs his hand through his wet, sticky cum and rubs it all over my belly and around my tits while he watches himself do it, looking fascinated. It reminds me of a caveman, but it’s so fucking hot.

“You made a mess, London,” he whispers against my mouth, running the tip of his tongue over my lips. I watch him glance between my face and the lovely mess he’s made on my body. I see pride glowing in his black eyes when I look down too.

“I need a shower.”

“The fuck you do. I like you covered in me.”

“You’re fucking disgusting.”

“Yeah, but I can see it in your eyes that you love it.”

No truer words have ever been spoken.

Dante

My chest heaves and my legs feel fucking weak, but my dick is still hard and throbbing. All I can smell is London all over my skin; coconut and sex. I feel complacent and satisfied, which is an awful combination of lethal emotions.

Taking a deep breath, I try to hold it off. I try to push back the need to fuck her again. I got a taste and the opposite of what I thought would happen, happened. I’ve lost all my goddamn sense with her, and now I’m mess of disturbing emotions.

Looking over my shoulder, I see her spread out on my bed. Her naked backside with that perfectly round ass has me wanting to go again, especially when I see that messy hair that I held in my fist just moments ago.

After I fucked her in the kitchen, we brought it to the bedroom where I could spread her out and feast on every inch of her. Just like I got myself all over London, I’ve got London all over me and I love it.

“That was … that was intense,” she says with a satisfied sigh. Yeah, that shit was definitely something.

She touches my shoulder blade and traces my skin―her soft hands make me tense. “You have tattoos.” She states.

“I do.” Do they bother her? Does she hate them? Does she not like mine? Fuck, someone just shoot me already.

“But you wear suits,” She says, sounding amused.

“And you’re college student with one.” Turning my head slightly, I catch that rosary snaking around her ankle with the cross resting on the top of her foot.

“Good point. Well, I like them,” She muses softly. Good.

The bed dips behind me and the sheet around my waist pulls away as she sits up, “I should go.” That’s not gonna happen, at least not yet.

“You’re staying.”

“I am?” I can hear the challenge in those two words and the answer is yes, she is. After having the hottest, most amazing fuck of my life, I want more. Plus I’m hungry. I worked up an appetite and need fuel to keep going.

“I ordered food when I got up to go to the bathroom, so you’ll stay and eat with me.” Getting off the bed, I grab another pair of sweats and leave her in the bed. If I stay in here with her any longer, looking freshly fucked, neither one of us will be eating food any time soon.

~~~~~~

She sways her hips when she walks into the room and I almost choke on my coffee. I thank God that she takes the seat at the breakfast bar across from me because if she were closer, I couldn’t promise I’d keep my hands to myself. For just having sex with a complete stranger, she’s not the least bit nervous or self-conscious around me.

I’ve never done the after sex thing ... ever. I take them to a hotel and when I’m finished, I escort them to the door and slam it in their faces, yet here I am now, feeding one. What’s the rule? Don’t feed them or they’ll come back? I push a few plates toward her. “Hungry?”

I ordered one of everything in hopes I’d find something she likes, and she goes straight for the muffin. She doesn’t pick at it or pop dainty little bites into her mouth like other women do. No, London takes a hearty bite.

So she’s not one of those women who won’t eat in front of people. I’m a fan of appetites. It’s a quality I appreciate.

I’m glad she eats, really, because she’s gonna need the energy if she keeps wearing what she is around me. “Will you stop fucking staring at me? You’re creeping me out.”

“Do I really creep you out?” Creepy is one of those words that you don’t want yourself described as. It’s sort of like the word cute―a little offensive, and a whole lot of annoying. I’m neither creepy nor cute, but I’ll be whatever she wants me to be as long as she stays.

“Yes.”

“Why am I creepy?”

“You follow me around, show up wherever I seem to be, and you look at me like you wanna kill me sometimes.”

“I don’t want to kill you, haven’t I already covered that?” There are a lot of people floating around this world I’d like to kill, or have killed, but London isn’t one of them.

“I don’t know if I believe you.” Well at least she’s honest. It’s probably a good thing she doesn’t.

“Fair enough.”

Her eyes are still smudged in black, her lips are bruised red, and her hair’s a wet tangled mess on top of her head, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen a woman so perfect. She’s beautiful just the way she is.

“Still being creepy, Dante.” I’m not gonna apologize for it. I do love when she says my name, though. Not many people in my life call me that and hearing her say it does bad shit to me.

“Do you care?”

“No, not really. It’s just you, I guess.”

“Get used to it.” I tell her plainly.

“Why? Do you plan to stalk me after today?” I do. I don’t plan to stop. It’s become a cruel compulsion I can’t just kick.

“Yes.” She licks her lips and gives me a slow, seductive smile.

“I would expect nothing less from you.”

For a while she eats and stares out the window absentmindedly. I hold my post across the island, trying desperately to keep my composure reeled in. After a long silent moment, she speaks.

“Can I use your phone to call Matt?” I use this as my one and only opportunity

“Only if you’ll finally have dinner with me tonight.” For a moment she’s silent. I know she’s thinking through her options here and she also knows she has none. She’s gonna finally have that dinner I’ve asked for twice now.

“So if I say no, then I can’t use your phone?”

“Exactly.”

“Well then. I’ll assume that I have no choice in the matter, is that correct?” Right again. She makes it sound like I’m putting her out or something, but I call it making her choices easier for her to make.

“Correct.”

Sticking a hand out, she grins. “Phone, please.”

I give her my phone and watch her wander over to the window. She talks with her hands and speaks loudly. She smiles and giggles throughout their conversation, and I can truly see that Matt means a great deal to her. She seems to light up anytime he’s around. If I’m going to continue this with her, I had better get used to their relationship because clearly, he’s not going anywhere.

“I can’t go with you tonight, Matt. I’m being forced to have dinner with a creep.” She smiles sweetly at me while listening for a moment and then she laughs. “Yes, he’s a very handsome creep.” She’s killing me here. “Sure, you can come,” she says and lifts an eyebrow, begging me to challenge her, but I don’t. I’m not a stupid man. I can give in a little to get what I want.

She hangs up and hands the phone to me, “So I’m a handsome creep?”

Cocking her head to the side, she levels me with a serious look. “Who said I was talking about you?”

She’s not like anyone I’ve met before. She keeps me on my toes and questioning everything. “You know, London, I’ve met so many people and most I don’t remember. I’ve been everywhere there is to go and done everything there is to do, and not once in my thirty-three years have I met someone like you.” I tell her sincerely.

“You’re thirty-three?” She yells at me. Out of all the shit I just said, that’s what she caught? “Seriously, London?”

“It’s a valid concern.” She points out. I have no idea what I’ve gotten myself into with this girl. “Yes, I am. Does it bother you?” She looks a little embarrassed suddenly.

“No … and Dante?”

“Yes?” I counter hesitantly. I’ve no clue what’s about to pop out of her mouth. She smiles and wrinkles up her nose in a cute way I hate to love.

“You’re definitely not like anyone I’ve ever met before, either. As much as you scare me sometimes, I’ll admit that I like it, more than I probably should.”

Eleven

Mr. Stylist As A Personalities

London

My car rolls to a stop in front of his building as I wait on the sidewalk. A very tiny part of me wants to stay, but my sensible side knows better. Nothing good would come of it if I walked back in there, into his arms and into his bed.

Opening the car door, I look over my shoulder one last time at the strangest, most insanely unnerving man I’ve ever met. I can’t stop the smile on my face because for some fucked up reason, I like all his creepy, stalker tendencies. It’s just like me to pick the unstable one. Of course I can’t be drawn to a grocer or a lawyer, someone with a stable, sound life. No, I have to pick the odd one.

Giving him a final look, I see him standing just inside the double doors to his building, watching me with his hawk-like gaze and unreadable expression. He’s beautiful―so insanely beautiful.

~~~~~~

Standing in the kitchen, I whip up some lunch for my grandfather, who insists he’s not coming for lunch, but I know him better than that. He’ll pillage my fridge and raid my cabinets if I don’t have something already made for him.

Tipping a can of cannellini beans into the bowl of romaine, green beans, red onions, and black olives, I go to work on pouring the olive oil over the top. Adding a little bread, it’s the perfect lunch, although I’m sure Grandfather will have something to say about not having meat.

There’s a knock on my front door before it opens, “Mia bella ragazza?”

“In the kitchen,” I call back.

My grandfather isn’t a handsome silver fox, nor is he suave and dapper. With a balding head and a rim of messy gray hair, he looks much older than his age. His face is aged and lined with creases and wrinkles that tell stories of a hard life. As I look at him today, his face is unshaven and his eyes are tired.

What he lacks in classic looks or handsome features, he makes up for in ruggedness and the personality of a saint. He’s gentle and loving, kind and caring. He’s been the only constant parent in my life.

I’ve been told that he’s a horrible man. The stories were told to me growing up, but I’ve never seen that man. I do know of him to be a businessman who’s worked hard his whole life in the Import/Export business, with ports all over the world, making him not only one of the hardest working men I know, but also a very wealthy one. He has a tough exterior and doesn’t take any shit when it comes to his business or his family. I think the stories were drawn out by people he may have fired or was less than gracious with. He’s been nothing but loving with me, Matt, and anyone I’ve ever seen him with.

“I made lunch,” I say as he flops into a chair at the island, shaking his head.

“I do not come over for food,” he mutters in his deep accent. Sure he doesn’t. Today is only a salad, but I make the only home cooked meals he gets.

“Well you get it anyway. Matt! Come and eat.”

“You sound like your Grandmother, always yelling like a banshee.” He laughs.

“Well I’ve gotta feed my guys, and Matt needs a good yelling at every now and then.”

“You know how to take care of an old man, cara mia.”

~~~~~~

I spend the rest of my afternoon lounging by the pool and gossiping with Matt after our lunch date with my grandfather. I try hard not to think about Dante but it’s useless.

The sex was insane. If he could fuck me to death, I think he would’ve. I could tell he wanted to hurt me by the way his hands would shake and ball up into fists when he touched me. He’s a man that you just know is on the very edge of being violent at times, but he never slipped. The possibility was thrilling and scary. As wrong and disturbing as it is, I wanted him to lose control with me. I wanted to see what it would feel like for him to play out his fantasies, no matter how morbid they could be, on me. It’s thrilling to imagine how far he could go. I want to know.

Matt flops down beside me, munching loudly on some chips and taking me out of my fantasy. “What are you wearing tonight?”

“Nothing.” I say with a laugh. Crunch.

“Slut.” Crunch. I’m going to slap him if he crunches in my face one more time.

“You’re a pig. I thought gay men had better manners.”

“You thought wrong, babe.” Crunch. I can see that. Ten years and he still grosses me out. Getting up off my lounger, I head inside.

“I’m gonna leave you up here alone to eat like a pig.” He just shrugs and stuffs more chips in his mouth. “Oh, and Matt? You’re not coming tonight.” I tell him.

“It figures! Need help with your hair later?” Crunch.

“Maybe!” As long as he’s not eating.

~~~~~~

I take a long, hot shower. With a towel wrapped around me, I head to my room and to my dresser, grabbing my strapless bra and my favorite pair of lace boy short panties. Once I throw them on, I twist my wet hair into a tight bun before I turn to walk to my closet and damn near have a fucking heart attack. “H-how the fuck did you get in here?” I stutter, wondering how he got into my apartment. “Did you break into my home?” I ask. He just ignores me and continues to stare.

I should be terrified, but oddly enough, I’m not. The breaking in is a little fucked up, but I was just passed out drunk in his apartment not 24 hours ago and I woke up feeling like death, but I woke up, not dead. I think he wants to fuck me more than he wants to kill me for now. I don’t feel like he’d physically hurt me in a “beat me up” sort of way, but emotionally is completely up for debate. I need to keep my emotions out of whatever this is.

Looking me up and down, he rubs the back of his neck and starts to fidget with his jacket. “Is that what you’re wearing?” He asks as he stares at my tits. I look down at myself.

“Of course not, you idiot.”

Taking a step into my room, he smirks at me knowingly. “Do you know how to knock?” He’s jumped from the small offense of stalking to breaking and entering. This is an all-time low for him. Raising a clinched fist, he pounds hard on my door, twice.

“There, I knocked. Are you happy, Princess” I just look at him like he’s stupid. “If you plan on wearing that out, I think we should order in.” He tells me seriously.

“Nice try.” It might be fun to slip on a trench coat and go in only this. It would make for one hell of a dinner, that’s for sure.

“Can you blame a guy for wanting to eat in? Because after this morning, that―” he waves a hand up and down my body, “has been all I can think about. It’s very distracting.” I could say the same for him, considering I just scrubbed the rest of him off my body.

He looks distracting himself. He’s wearing an impeccable charcoal suit, but it’s not just any suit, it’s a full three-piece Italian cut suit with a crisp black shirt, black and white tie, cufflinks, and a pink pocket square. He’s dressed to the nines. His hair is fashioned into the usual mess that makes my panties damp. His face still needs a shave, but he still looks lickable. He’s finely crafted, psychotic perfection.

“London?” His tone is teasing. I’ve been caught staring him down too.

“What?”

“You don’t get some clothes on, we won’t be leaving.”

“Is that another promise?”

“Get ready,” He mumbles and points over my head to the bathroom, clearly not finding me funny. Digging his phone out of his pocket, he turns on his heels and intentionally starts to ignore me. Giving me a final heated glance over his shoulder he says, “Now,” and walks out of my room.

“So disappointing,” I mutter back under my breath.

Standing at the bathroom counter, I muss with my hair. Looking into the mirror I catch Dante lingering by the door

“Why did you show up so early? You didn’t give me a time so I was thinking you’d show up about seven-thirty or eight.”

“I didn’t want to give you the chance to change your mind and disappear into the night on me. I’m not in the mood to chase you, but don’t think I won’t if you get a wild hair and decide to try.”

“So your answer was to break into my apartment?”

“Yes. I was outside, taking a few calls when I saw Matt leave. I came up, I knocked, but you didn’t answer. I didn’t feel like waiting so I let myself in.”

Rolling my eyes, I finish up the task of making myself look pretty, but I go with simple makeup and my hair down.

He watches me intently until his phone rings, requiring him to leave the room. He answers as he walks out and toward my bedroom. I guess he’s ready to watch me dress now.

~~~~~~

“What the fuck are you doing?” Dante demands. Looking up from my selection, I find him standing in the doorway with his hands shoved in his pockets, looking irritated.

“Picking shoes,” I tell him.

Shaking his head, he holds a hand out to me and says, “Get up.”

“Excuse me?”

“Get. Up. You’re taking too long, and if you continue to wear what you’re in, I told you we won’t be leaving at all. I’m dead set on taking you to dinner so move, it’s my turn now.”

“Seriously?” I’m not leaving my wardrobe for the night in his hands.

“Yes, London. I’m deadly serious.” Reluctantly, I move and let him take my place. I watch as he brushes a hand through rows of clothing ‘til he gets to the dresses. There’s a contemplative scowl on his face while he moves them away, one by one. Why is he always so serious?

Pulling out a pink, cross back lace dress, he shoves it towards me. I notice that it matches his pocket square perfectly.

“This.” He demands. Not a bad choice.

Squatting down, he grabs a pair of shoes, being precise and quick with his selection. I have a nagging feeling that he’s already dug through my closet before. He looks like a man who knows where to find what he wants in there. My white Belly Nodo Christian Louboutin’s are held up and shoved at me to see.

“And these.” Reaching a hand out to take them, he shakes his head, “Get dressed, shoes after.”

“Alright, Boss.” I salute him.

“I’m not sure I feel like sharing you with the world tonight.”

“No?”

“Fuck no.” Jumping off the bed, he goes to the chair in the corner and pulls it out for me. “Sit down.”

He reaches to grab my shoes as I sit down. Crouching down in front of me, he runs a finger from my thigh to the side on my foot, giving it a tap, “Up.”

Setting my foot in his hand, he taps my painted toes one by one, a simple smile playing on his lips. “Did I tell you I have a thing for women’s feet? ” That’s a little … gross? I’m not a feet person, but to each their own fetishes.

“No, you didn’t.”

Laughing softly, he says, “Well now you know, and I think yours are my favorite.” Thanks, I guess.

Sliding my shoe on, he repeats the process with the other. He’s slow and meticulous, taking this job seriously and it doesn’t make me laugh like I usually would at such a thing. It feels endearing, like I’m important enough to take his time and appreciate the task, even if it’s just for my feet. He’s showing me that they need love too.

My skin breaks out into goose bumps as he rubs his hands up and down my calves. It’s sends shivers everywhere. He leans back and admires his job. “Perfect.” Standing up slowly, he folds himself out to his intimidating height and holds his hand out to me, “Come on, cara. It’s time to go.”

~~~~~~

I’m swept into the small Italian restaurant with Dante’s hand resting on my lower back, guiding me in as he walks damn near attached to my hip. A man greets us at the door, “Good evening, Signore. Your table is right this way.”

People stare as we walk by and floating conversations dull into hushed whispers. The room dies to only kitchen noise and scattered whispers. Men sitting at tables nod respectfully at Dante, while some raise their glasses as he walks by. It reminds me of how people act when my grandfather walks into the room. It’s fear, it’s love, it’s intimidation, but most of all, it’s respect.

Our waiter graciously pulls out my chair for me and my napkin is folded for me onto my lap before I’m smoothly and effortlessly pushed into our table. “Signore, your usual?” The waiter asks briskly.

“Yes.” Dante grunts without taking his eyes off me. The man scuttles off, leaving us alone.

“You’re beautiful, London.” He whispers softly. I can feel the light blush rise on my cheeks at his sweet words

“Thank you.”

“Maybe beautiful isn’t a strong enough word for how I see you. It doesn’t do you justice.” Oh.

The well-dressed waiter returns with a bottle of wine. Setting it on the table, he presents it like an award. He begins telling us the history of the wine before pouring it into our glasses. I’m well versed in wine. I drink expensive, I drink it cheap, I’ve even been known to drink it from a box. Hell, I might drink it wrapped in a bag outside of a Seven-Eleven. I’m not picky.

“What would you like this evening, Signore?”

“The usual for me. London?”

“I get to order?” I feign surprise. Lifting a brow at me, he purses those yummy lips and gives me a look that says he doesn’t find me funny in the least. Good thing I find myself hilarious.

“Of course,” he growls.

He’s only being accommodating because we have an audience. “The salad with bocconcini and green-olive tapenade is lovely this evening.” I stare with wide, incredulous eyes at our waiter. Is he offering me salad options for my dinner?

“The salad?” Dante asks me, looking a tad amused.

“Do I look like a rabbit?” I fire right back at him. Shaking his head mildly, he chuckles to himself.

“You most certainly do not.” I’m not eating a salad unless we’re going to swing through a burger place after this.

“I would like a giant heaping bowl of Orecchiette with a light cream sauce. I would also like bread. Lots of bread.”

Folding my menu up, I hand it back to the waiter who thinks I need to eat a damn salad. I’d eat it as an appetizer, but not for dinner, asshole. The waiter stands and stares at me like I’ve lost it. Does he think I’m joking? “Oh and parmesan on top,” I add just for fun.

The waiter looks over at Dante, waiting for the go ahead. He just shrugs and says, “She’s hungry.” Damn right I am.

Dante takes a hearty drink of wine while watching me over the rim of his wine glass. I’m more aware of myself when he’s watching me.

“I think you may have scared the waiter,” He says around another swallow of his red wine. Amusement dances in his eyes over the soft glow of the candlelit table.

“He wanted me to eat a fucking salad.” What the hell? I’m not skinny, but I’m not fat. I’m not sure what part of me screamed salad to him.

“Do you do that to drive me crazy?” He asks with mild irritation.

“Do what?” I’m sure I do a lot of things subconsciously to drive him crazy.

“Curse all the goddamn time. I love it in the bedroom, baby, but do you have to do it in places like this?”

“Why, does it bother you?” I don’t really care. I do and say whatever I want, wherever I want. I don’t need him telling me how I need to talk in public. Fuck that.

“It does. You’re a beautiful, smart woman and that foul language is distasteful.” I’m not sure I believe that’s why it bothers him so much. I think he just likes any reason to boss me around.

“Well get used to it. It’s what I do and I have no intentions of changing shit about myself for anyone. If it bothers you, we can get up and leave right now. You can drop me off and we can go our separate ways. It’s up to you.” He glares at me, but doesn’t say another word.

Our food arrives and it’s to die for. It’s very possible that I’ve slipped into a mild food coma. We’ve drank, we’ve eaten, and we’ve talked. Dante’s kept the conversation light and entertaining. Looking at him, you wouldn’t think he could be funny and charming, but tonight I’m seeing a whole different side to the man I’ve come to know as arrogant and cocky. He’s been very much the gentleman that he seems to hide so well from the world.

I hear someone behind me speaking loudly, and when I turn to be nosy, I see the man who was at Dante’s earlier, the one who looked like my goldfish, Shiny. “Are we being watched for any particular reason?” I ask. Setting down his fork, he looks around the restaurant and nods.

“We are.” Oh, okay, that sums it up for me. “Care to elaborate?”

“Geo over there,” he nods at goldfish guy, “is just watching my back. Pretend he’s not even here because there’s nothing for you to worry about.” Bullshit. You don’t have someone “Watching your back” if there’s nothing to worry about.

“That’s a lie. I don’t like being lied to, in case that’s something you need to know about me. So tell me, why’s he here?” Shrugging a shoulder, he pops a piece of steak into his mouth. I won’t let this go without some sort of explanation, “Well?”

“I don’t have many friends and there are people out there who’d love to see me… incapacitated.”

“Oh.” Again, why not a doctor?

“So is this the part where you warn me away? You didn’t need to bring me to a nice dinner to do it.”

The look that falls across his face is almost comical. He looks disgusted and self-assured, all at the same time. Jerking on the lapels of his jacket, he straightens his back and stares me down. “Of course not.”

“Oh?”

“Why would I go through all this trouble just to warn you off? I need you to see that I’m perfect for you, London.” Where the fuck did that come from, unless he’s talking about sex because yes, he’s perfect for fucking me.

“You are?”

“I sure the fuck am. I’m everything you need, cara. I’ll take care of you the way you deserve.”

“Wow. You do know that you sound conceited and a little bit delusional, don’t you?” I tell him seriously, but I can’t help the crazy laugh that bubbles up from my lips. He is most certainly the strangest man I’ve ever met.

“You’ll see, beautiful girl. I’ll take good care of you.” Awe, he’s a little sweet, but a lot of crazy.

“You’re nuts. I can see why Goldfish has to watch your back for you.”

“Goldfish?” He bursts out with his own laugh. “Why do you call him that?”

“He looks at me like my old goldfish used to look, with his mouth opening and closing like that.” Throwing his head back, Dante laughs boisterously. Damn, I didn’t know he could laugh like that. He’s really letting himself out of his cage tonight.

Giving a discreet chin lift, Goldfish hustles over to us. “Boss?” He nods back at Dante and smiles at me.

“Make yourself a little less noticeable, and stop fucking staring at London.”

“Sorry, boss. It’s just that I don’t usually get to enjoy looking at such a beautiful woman.”

God, I’m such an asshole. “Thanks, Goldfish.” I mutter into my glass.

“Goldfish?” He looks between a chuckling Dante and me, his brows drawn in confusion.

“I understand, but make yourself scarce and stop staring. I don’t pay you to eye fuck my girlfriend.”

WHAT?

I almost spit my wine all over the table. Whoa, someone needs to back the fuck up. “Tell me you did not just call me your girlfriend. We’ve had sex once … well, three times, and that was just today. That doesn’t make me your girlfriend. People work their way up to that, and we are nowhere close, nor do I want that.”

“Technicalities, London.” He answers coolly, waving Goldfish away. Technicalities? I don’t know why this pisses me off. I don’t like to be told what to do or who I’m going to be. I see I’ve made a mistake giving into this man, and now it’s time to end it.

Dante

The word slipped before I registered what the hell I was saying. I was to goddamn busy laying claim to the woman Geo admitted to checking out, which was ballsy on his part, but I marked my territory with a word that neither one of us expected. Now she’s sitting in front of me downing wine like a fucking alcoholic. As if stalking wasn’t enough, I threw in the girlfriend bit. I’m sure if she wasn’t already scared and ready to run for the hills, she sure the hell is now.

“Relax, London. You’re going to drink the place dry at the pace you’re going. You need to relax, baby. It’s just a word.”

I know such a simple word holds a lot of power and meaning behind it for a woman, but I said it, and now I need make it sound less than what it should be, even though in my mind, it’s more also.

“Are you not a girl? And are we not friends?” She snorts a humorless laugh at that. She’s not buying it. Hell, even I don’t buy the shit I’m selling.

“Friends?” She shakes her head no and rolls her eyes. “Stalker”, she points to me, “Stalkee”, she says, pointing to herself. Women, something I will never fully understand. No amount of Ivy League education will bring me closer to cracking that code.

“Dramatic”, I point right back at her, “Amused”, I point back at myself. She’s fun to rile up. She’s so goddamn adorable when she’s pissed that it’s sickening.

I let her stew for a while. She might hate me at times, but she hasn’t gotten up and left, either.

Watching her across from me at the table, I’m still a little shocked she agreed to have dinner with me so easily in the first place. I was prepared for kidnapping, lying, extortion, blackmail, whatever I had to do to get her here, and I did it.

“Come on, let’s go home.” Standing up, I hold my hand out to her, but little Miss Difficult bats it away. This woman is not easily broken because she’s so goddamn stubborn.

“I’m not going home with you,” she growls.

“I bought you dinner. Isn’t that how it works? You repay me with hot, sweaty sex in my apartment?” I joke. Okay, I half joke. Who am I kidding? I’m not joking at all.

I know I’m pushing my luck, but that’s what I do―I push until I get what I want, and what I want is to fuck her ‘til her legs give out.

“I’m not going home with you, and I’m not having sex with you again.” She hisses. Can’t blame a guy for trying. I got it once and I’ll get it again, that’s a fucking promise.

London lets me escort her out to the sidewalk towards the car, but she makes sure to stay two paces ahead of me, swishing her ass from side to side like a tease. She’s good. Keeping right out of arms length with just enough distance to give the vying eyes question as to whether or not she’s with me. If it weren’t for the law and all that bullshit, I’d consider fucking her right here at the hostess’s station, bent over with her ass in the air and her mouth stuffed full of those cute little panties she’s wearing. But alas, it’s just a fantasy, but the car is still a possibility.

Leaning into the car, I follow behind her. Like the perfect lady, she slides in gracefully at my silent encouragement and lucky for me, it’s without argument.

The car jerks and pulls into the late evening traffic. I stare out the window and shove my hands in my pockets to keep them to myself, but all I can see is London in my peripheral vision and it’s killing me.

My will lasts only a moment. Looking from the window to London, she shifts the moment my eyes land on her. Throwing a smooth leg over the other, I watch as her dress hikes up on the side and I’m done for. I have no control left so fuck it, I’m going for it.

~~~~~~

She doesn’t even put up a fight. She can give me all the shit she wants, but she wants me, and this proves it. I have both of her hands strung above her head, fastened around the headrest of the seat with my tie. Never before have I given my tie much thought. If it matched and was picked for the suit, it worked. Now the blacks and whites stand out starkly against her beautiful tanned skin and I think I like this tie a lot fucking more than I did fifteen minutes ago.

“So what are your plans for me, Dante?

“I’m collecting on that dinner debt, London, and you’ll see soon enough.” I tell her calmly, admiring my handy work. I’ve even impressed myself.

“Fuck you.” She says with a sweet, sweet smile. She loves to hate me a little and that’s alright, I might hate her a little too. I hate how much she ties me up in knots. I hate how much control this little monster has over me. I hate how much I want her when I shouldn’t want her at all. But wanting her far outweighs my hate for what she makes me feel. I’m not willing to give her up, especially not now. I need her to see and understand this. I’ll get my shit under control, eventually, but she’s a force that will always have a hold on me. This wasn’t meant to happen, but happen it did. She’s mine, whether she likes it or not. This goes well beyond what I plan to take from her, and she may hate me for it, but my agenda is the same, she’s just become a part of that agenda.

Reaching a hand behind me, I press a small button. “Drive until I tell you to stop, Branson.” I love that look of surprise in those green eyes. She’d better be dripping wet for me.

“Dante?” She says, tugging against the tie holding her hands in place. Nothing is going to save her now.

“I suggest you shut up, unless you’d like me to stuff those pretty little panties of yours into your mouth. If that’s what you want, say something … anything.” Normally I wouldn’t be so mean to her, but I’ve already seen first-hand that she likes it, even though she bitches about it. It turns her on as much as it does me when she curses while I fuck her.

She keeps her mouth shut like a good girl. I begin running my hands up and down her legs as she starts to squirm under my touch, then I spread her legs and bend down to run my tongue up the inside of her thigh, making her whole body shiver.

“Shit,” She pants. She doesn’t beg. She’s too fucking proud for that.

“That’s all I get?”

I undo the zipper to my pants and pull out my dick, fisting myself up and down, watching her eyes go wide with lust. “I’d much rather it be your hand, but I like you just the way you are right now―completely at my mercy.”

“Dante,” she whines softly. I continue to stroke myself and all she can do is watch. I want some effort from her. I want her to tell me what she wants and how bad she wants it.

“Do something now!” she demands. That’s not what I’m looking for, but realistically, I’m not sure how much longer I can play this game. I want to taste her and sink my dick into that warm, wet pussy that now belongs to me.

“Try again, baby.” She grumbles and glares, but I see that tough resolve melting away. I win.

“Please. Please touch me. Please fuck me. Do whatever it is you want to do to me, just don’t stop. Please fuck me, Dante.” That’s all I fucking needed.

I don’t waste any time as I bury my face between her thighs. Pulling those alluring panties to the side with the hand that’s not holding my dick, I shove my tongue deep into her wet pussy. There’s a fine art to eating pussy, and I consider myself the motherfucking Picasso. I’m going to make her toes curl, her back bow, and her eyes roll. I plan on fucking her with my tongue, drowning in her.

“Fuck, don’t stop.” Digging her heels into my back, she starts to shake.

Tearing her panties off, I don’t give her soft. I don’t do sweet. Sinking into that exquisite tight body, I can’t fight the groan as I shudder when she tightens around my dick. I hold off for a moment and marvel in the tightness of the best pussy I’ve ever fucked.

Running my hands up her body, I begin moving, slamming in and out of her as I wrap my hands around her neck. “Is this what you want? Tell me what the fuck you want, London.”

“More. I want you rough, I want it hard, and I want you to fuck me like you hate me, you motherfucker.” I squeeze tighter. I love that excited fear and lust in her eyes.

I give her what she wants. With her hands bound and my hand around her neck, I’m violent in the way I fuck her. I’m ruthless and determined, squeezing her tit so hard she almost screams and it makes me want to hurt her more. I’ll stop at nothing to make sure that no one will ever fuck her like this, and she’ll come to realize that no one can give her this pleasure, or this pain, like I can. She’ll crave me. God, I’ve wanted to do this to her for so long.

“Oh shit. I’m about to come, Dante, all over you’re…” And she does. Her walls tighten and I find myself losing my mind.

It only takes a few more thrusts before I yell out her name. I pull out and I watch her as she immediately grabs my dick and pumps it up and down ferociously while I come, and keeps pumping ‘til every last drop leaves my body. I never once take my eyes off of her as she pumps my dick in her hand, licking those fuckable lips of hers as she watches me cum everywhere. She wants to taste me too, and I intend to make that happen very soon. There’s nothing I would deny this woman.

~~~~~~

Work is a stress inducing task toward the afternoon. Leaning back in my chair, I reach a hand up to my chest and touch the small piece of soft lace safely tucked away inside my breast pocket, and I can’t stop the deranged smile it brings to my lips. A beautiful memory slips into my mind but is marred by the bunch of assholes that surround me. I can’t stop myself from reminiscing just a little. It’s twisted, but I’ve never pretended to be anything but.

Sliding into my car this morning, I found that sweet little surprise lying on the floor. The virginal white lace of her panties reminded me of how I moved them to the side to taste her, or how I tore them in half just to get the access to her that I needed. She was perfection. She let me fuck her just the way I wanted to and enjoyed it.

After fucking her tied up, I let her loose and she went wild. She rode my dick like a pro, taking what she needed from me with no apologies. There were teeth and tongues everywhere as our sweaty bodies fucked until we couldn’t take anymore. The car ride alone took three hours. She was like a version of me. She was so goddamn greedy with what she wanted and how she wanted it. She was screaming my name and begging me for more, and I gave it to her. I did all the dirty things she wanted me to do to her, but next time, I’m taking charge. I wanted to see how far she would go, and now I know. I thought our first time was intense, but if it keeps going this way, I may just fuck her to death, or we’ll end up killing each other. I’ve never met a woman who could match her, nor be a match for me in bed.

I’m sitting here trying to hatch a multi-million dollar deal, but I can’t concentrate because I’m being ignored by the little monster. If she thinks ignoring me will stop me, then she’s sorely mistaken.

“Pete. Geo.” They both hustle into the room with Geo shoving the food Betty brought in into his mouth. “Have you swung by London’s place?” I’ve been reduced to sending the goons her way. I hope she understands she’s left me little choice. There’s no way in hell I can get shit done not knowing what the fuck is going on with her.

“Yes.” Pete answers, chewing on a chicken wing. If he drops that on my sixteenth century rug, I’m cleaning it up with his face. Fucking degenerates.

“And?” I wave them on.

“And I knocked, but she screamed through the door, “Go the hell away, Goldfish!” So we know she’s alive.” Well that’s something. I can’t help but to laugh. Goldfish.

A fifteen million dollar payout at closing in three hundred and sixty-five days for fifty-one percent holding interests for one year or until they see a fifty percent earnings increase, whatever comes first. That’s the deal we’ve hammered out. I have other plans, but those are unimportant at the moment.

I’ll receive seventy percent of all earnings for the next year in exchange for fifteen million invested up front to bring in new business, update old business, and various other ventures to reestablish better financial standings within the company. I stopped listening once my side was done. Everything else is just the small print on the legal documents to me.

It’s starting to get late. We’ve been at it for hours and things are finally winding down. I get the spiel of processes and procedures as documents and contracts are passed around the table, but now it’s time to find out what wild hair London has up her ass today.

To: London

What the fuck is wrong with you today?

From: D

To: D

How the fuck did you get my number? Oh, never mind.

From: London

By now there should be no question as to my abilities to find out what I want. Her phone number was cake work. Does she honestly think I wouldn’t be able to find it? She’s so goddamn naive at times.

To: London

Never underestimate my ability to find shit out. If I want it, I’ll find it. I’m on my way. See you soon.

From: D

To: D

I’ve been busy studying for finals, so I’ll call you soon.

From: London

Hell no. That doesn’t work for me at all.

~~~~~~

My car idles at the curb. That very small part of my conscience that still fires at a normal level tells me this is probably a bad idea, but here I am anyways. I can’t back out now.

I’m about to go up there and pick her locks and walk right on in. If I knock, she’s not gonna let me in. If I call, she’ll ignore it like she has my last ten calls since her last text. Really, if you look at it from my point of view, this is her fault. She drove me to this. I told her I don’t give up. Well this is me not giving up on something I want. There’s no extreme I won’t go to. She better get fucking used to it.

Twelve

Mr. Twelve Personalities

London

I’ve been studying like a madwoman because my finals are close. I’m a nervous wreck. Matt actually left, calling me crazy and psychotic. Dante’s goons have been here, banging down my door. If they come back I’m calling the cops. I haven’t even had the patience to talk to Dante because I can’t focus when I’m thinking about him, which is a lot.

I turn from the fridge and there he is, Dante in the flesh, leaning against the kitchen island. I think the fucker is more comfortable with B&E than he is knocking, and he’s looking quite pleased with himself.

“What the fuck. Dante. You have to stop doing that!” I whine.

“I told you I was coming over,” he says, pushing away from the island. I swear, the nerve of this asshole.

“How the fuck do you keep getting in here, anyway?”

“Your front door, of course. I’m not Spiderman.” I’m definitely worried about security at this point. This is the second time he’s gotten up to my floor and inside my apartment, and he was not invited up or in either time. “Since you won’t answer that question, then answer me this. Why?”

“I told you I was coming over before you tried to blow me off. I didn’t take it very well and thought I would come see what’s got you so busy today that you can’t be bothered.”

“I wasn’t in the mood to talk to you.” I protest. I’m not sure why I bother.

“Well I wanted to talk to you.” He counters, giving me a charmingly dimpled smile. Apparently it was worth breaking in over.

“Next time you break in here, I’m gonna shoot you.” That Castle Law would apply to me, right? I should check it out.

“I seriously doubt that, London.” Okay, but I’m investing in a very protective guard dog.

“Did I tell you how beautiful you look today, cara.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Why?” He asks, looking truly perplexed.

“Because you’re the player type and I’m not in the business of being played. I’d much rather be the coach.”

“If you haven’t noticed, London, this has been your game the entire time. I’ve been chasing you, not the other way around.”

“I’m pretty sure once you started breaking in you got the upper hand.”

“Maybe so, but if you really wanted me to stop, I would.”

“Sure,” I mutter doubtfully.

“Do you really want me to leave you alone?” Yes. No. Sometimes. Oh hell, not really. What is it about this guy?

“Sometimes, but most of the time, not really.”

“That’s good to hear, because I really don’t want to leave you alone.”

“London!” Matt’s clipped voice fills the room. “Oh, hey,” He tips his chin at Dante but keeps his eyes on me.

“Sure, what’s goin’ on?”

“Sit down.” I do. “Perry’s been coming around work, asking questions about you.” I’ve been expecting this since the night of the charity function. We’d been so careful. Matt and I had changed our last names and moved around from place to place after I left Perry, trying to throw them off my trail with Grandfather’s help. After a few years went by, he said it was safe to come back to New York, so we did. I was close to graduating, so he wanted me here, ready to learn the ins and outs of the company so he could prepare me to take over. Therefore, I went back to using my families last name, DeLacourt. Grandfather insisted that he had handled the situation and made it clear not to question him on any of it, so I didn’t. I have no reason not to trust him. He’s always loved and protected me, and that’s enough for me.

“What has he been asking?” Dante asks, looking pissed off, but Matt continues to address me.

“He asked about how long you worked there, who your friends were, where you lived, where you hung out. He knows it all now. He can find all that shit on the web, but he’s snooping for more personal shit about you. Kendra was more than happy to tell him everything she knew after I talked to her. He also knows you’re about to graduate, and you know what that means. ”

“I do. He and my father are planning something.” That’s the only reason they’d be asking about me. Anything they need to know can be looked up, but they need something else. They’re planning something, and I have to find out what it is.

“I’ll figure this shit out.” Dante’s voice booms through the room. God, I almost forgot he was even here.

“What?”

“I’ve got calls to make, so just stay quiet and I’ll take care of it.” Dante grumbles as he walks away. I don’t know what he thinks he’s gonna do.

My stomach hurts and my heart feels like I’ve run a marathon Matt rests his head on my shoulder and squeezes my hand. “It’ll be okay. Your grandfather … hell, even Dante, are on it.” Reaching into his pocket, he hands me my phone.

There’s nothing that can fix this. It’s been a lifelong problem, starting from the moment I was born. “I hope so, Matt.” But I’m doubtful.

I start to dial, “Grandfather?” He picks up on the second ring.

“London, Matt called and told me everything. I want you to stay calm, cara mia. It’s being handled,” he says on the inhale of what I’m sure is a Cuban cigar. He’s quick with the calm.

“Should I leave?” A deep exhale is followed by a rustling of papers.

“No. I will never see you run again. I’ve got guys on it. Don’t wander out, especially alone, and all should be okay.”

“Okay.” But I don’t feel very convinced.

“London, I’ve got to go. Things are fine. Ring me if there’s an issue.”

“I will. Love you,” but the phone clicks off before I can finish.

~~~~~~

“Where did Matt just run off to like a bat out of hell?” Dante asks from the front door.

“Man candy’s house.”

“Man candy?” He asks, sounding confused.

“His boyfriend.” I clarify.

Sitting down on the coffee table in front of me, I notice he’s lost his jacket and his black button up shirt is missing the tie and a few buttons. He leans in and places a hand on my thigh, looking at me with those stormy, foreboding eyes. His hair is in its constant messy state and his suit is wrinkled.

“You look handsome like this, “ I tell him softly.

“Coming from you, I’ll take it.” He leans back to take a long look at me. “Are you scared?”

“No.” I lie.

“You’re lying to me.” Sometimes I wonder why I even try. He can obviously see right through me. “If you know then why ask?” He only shrugs.

Standing up, he holds his hand out to me. “Lets go home.”

“I am home.” I point out.

“Up.” He demands quietly.

“Where are we going?”

“My place.” For the first time since meeting Dante, I don’t argue. I’m too tired. “Go grab some things and we’ll be on our way. Don’t worry, London. I’ll take care of you.” It’s nice to hear, at least.

~~~~~~

Dante’s been gone an hour now. God knows what he’s doing. My phone died on me and I’m all out of energy for stressing out. What’s truly unsettling is that he’s one of those rare freaks with no cable, therefore I have nothing to do now. What does he do with all his free time if he’s not watching TV. He probably draws up maps of where I go every day, maybe even the layout of my apartment since he seems to know where to find shit. Maybe he prowls the Internet for weapons of mass destruction? Who knows with that man.

The moment we walked through the door he left me with, “I’ve got things to handle, but make yourself at home.” He placed a rough kiss to my lips before disappearing down the hall, so what does a girl with no cable or entertainment do with her time? She digs. Yes, I’m digging through his shit. Tit for tat, so I’m snooping.

His kitchen provided nothing good except for a well-stocked fridge with everything you could ever want, and a wine fridge that is abundantly stocked. But there’s no secret trap door to his lair hiding behind a cabinet.

The bathroom off of the pristine laundry room was nothing but a bathroom. Not a damn thing in it. The laundry room was more of the same. Boring. I haven’t wandered down the hall yet because that’s where he disappeared to, so I’m stuck snooping in the main living area.

Now my ass is planted on the living room floor, digging through his TV stand. He has a TV to rival all TV’s, but no goddamn cable. What a waste. In one drawer I find seven million remote controls. The second one is locked. I’ve got a kitchen knife in hand and I’ve been picking at it for the last five minutes. I’m not making much progress. He can do it to my house, so I’m doing it to his.

A loud throat clears behind me and I almost chop my finger off. “Will you stop sneaking up on me? Shit, I almost lost a finger.”

Lifting one dark brow at me he asks, “Having fun?”

“I am.” Shaking his head, he chuckles and sits himself on the couch. I don’t stop on his account. I keep going.

“What are you looking for, London?” That’s a good question. I have no clue.

“Your stash of porn, or maybe your books about how to become a stalker.” I tell him truthfully.

“Porn isn’t needed, and why would you think I’d lock stalker books in my TV cabinet?” So maybe I hadn’t thought it through.

“Who knows with you? You’re a bit of an odd duck.”

“You think I’m odd?”

“Stupid question.” I retort quickly. He’s the oddest of odd. Mr. King of the Oddballs.

“You do have a point,” he muses softly.

Pushing himself off of the couch, he puts his hands on this narrow hips and stares down at me, “Are you hungry?”

“If I say yes, are you going to drug my food?” He laughs and it makes me smile. I think I really like his laugh.

“Probably not. You shower and get comfortable while I cook.”

“You cook?” I can’t keep the surprise off of my face and shock out of my voice. He just rolls his eyes and holds a hand out to help me off the floor.

“Shower, you fucking snoop.”

No shower for this girl. His tub is where it’s at, so I leave and do as he says.

~~~~~~

I’ve been soaking and relaxing in his bathtub, all the while listening to the banging of pots and pans, the water running, and his occasional shit or fuck when I’m guessing he burns or cuts himself, but the sounds are comforting and the smells are divine.

The door cracks open and Dante’s handsome face appears, “Thought I sent you in for a shower?”

“As long as I’m here and you have this tub, this is where you’ll find me.”

“So you’re using me for my tub?” He muses.

“Yes”

“I’m okay with that since you’re naked.”

“Pervert.”

“I know. Get out, the food’s done.”

~~~~~~

Twirling my fork, I wrap the yummy sauce covered noodles around it and pop it into my mouth. We’ve been talking and it’s kinda nice getting to know the man who’s barreled his way into my life.

“What do you do for work?” I ask him casually. I know little to nothing about this strange, yet intriguing man.

“I buy companies.” He says easily enough. That doesn’t explain a whole lot.

“And?”

“A little bit of this and a little bit of that. Nothing much.”

“So you do nothing?”

“I do a lot of different things, and someday I’ll tell you all about it, but for now, I don’t feel like discussing my boring work.” That’s alright … for now, anyways.

“So, my beautiful London. What are you going to school for?” He asks, sounding genuinely interested. I’m not sure why, maybe I was born this way or it just could be him, but I can’t keep the sarcasm to myself.

“To be a ninja.” I deadpan.

Without missing a beat, he responds with, “That’s what I thought. Great career choice― comfortable uniform and a wonderful benefits package.” I lose it. I laugh so hard my sides hurt and tears fall down my cheeks. Snark does wonderful things for his handsome features. He’s laughing and looking relaxed.

“You leave me little choice but to feed into your strange imagination.”

“Imagination? So are you implying that I’m not a ninja?”

“Of course not. You most certainly are a ninja.” I give him my best eye roll, but it’s impossible to hold back the smile. Mr. Creepy has a funny side.

“Maybe if you’re lucky, tomorrow I’ll show my ninja kicks and throwing stars.”

~~~~~~

After dinner, we watch movies. I get to pick so I grab Goodfellas. Dante’s not a fan, yet it’s in his DVD collection. He grumbles and complains about everything from how wrong they are about the depth of how far down to dig to bury a body, to the way they make their pasta.

“You know how to bury a body?” I ask him after he starts his complaining again.

“It’s only logic. That hole can’t be deeper than four feet. Look at him standing in it. It’s only to his hip, if that. He needs to bury it at least six feet.” Okay then. He knows an awful lot about burying bodies.

“And you know this how?”

“It’s just simple knowledge.” The fuck it is, but I don’t have it in me to argue. I look at his hand and see the fading scars running across his knuckles like an old map. Was he a boxer? His hands are rough, making me think he’s more of a middle class worker than a privileged businessman.

“Dante?”

“Hmm.” He mumbles around a yawn. Urging me on, he pushes his hand further into mine. His hand’s so large that it dwarfs my small one. The skin of his hands are rough and rugged, but still there’s something every elegant about them. Could be the way he uses them.

“Why are your hands so scarred?” I only get a shrug.

We lay together and watch the movie, comfortable and peaceful in each other’s arms, and then I’m out like a light.

Dante

I sleep hard on most occasions. There are no dreams. I don’t need to drink or pop any sedatives. There are usually no bodies haunting me, but that’s not the case tonight. One small, soft body has me restless and anxious.

Sitting against my headboard, I nurse my Grappa. The cold glass rests on my knee and the condensation wets my hand. Staring out of my floor to ceiling windows, I wonder if I threw myself out of them if it would stop the madness. It’s doubtful. Even in death, I’ll wreak havoc on this fucking city―everyone I’ve ever touched, and myself.

Looking back at London sleeping peacefully and soundly in my bed, an unsettling feeling crawls over me. I feel guilt for dragging her here with me. I set out for exactly this and now I’m second-guessing myself. I need to grow a pair and stop letting a woman I hardly know control so goddamn much of my self-control, and my mind.

She’s a need I’m not familiar with, yet over these past few weeks, I’ve become well acquainted with these strange emotions. No matter what I do, I feel like I can’t get close enough. It’s a demand I can’t feed enough to satisfy. It’s insatiable, and it’s beginning to drive me insane.

“You’re staring at me again,” London grumbles from under the pillow. She shifts and one smooth leg snakes out from under the comforter.

“How the hell do you know?” I laugh. Her head is under a pillow. She can’t see me.

“My ninja instincts.” For as smart-mouthed as she is, she’s damn funny too.

“I’m staring.” I concede. Why hide it? It’s only becoming obvious that staring is all I ever do when she’s around.

A head of messy dark hair pops out from under the pillow and blinks up at me. Rolling over, she throws her hands above her head and stretches. She’s long and lean, and sexy as fuck. “Am I keeping you awake?” She asks with a smirk.

“Yes.” It’s it the truth. I’ve never had an issue with sleeping until meeting this woman.

“Should I go? You’ve got work and you really need to sleep.” Whether she goes or stays, I’m not sleeping tonight.

“No, stay.”

~~~~~~

I’m pulled from sleep by my phones incessant ringing. I finally fall asleep, only to be woken up by my cell. From now on, as long as London’s here, that shit is going on vibrate at night. Looking down, London’s head is resting on my shoulder. She’s sleeping soundly, which I can’t understand, but I leave her be.

“What?” I snap into the phone. I listen to Josh as he runs off a list of all the things my incompetent guys were unable to handle on their own last night.

“We need you, Boss.” I don’t give them much, yet they still manage to fuck it up royally. How does anything ever get done? How can my businesses run with such idiots at my side. I need to look into better, more competent workers.

“Yeah, I’ll be there.”

Tossing my phone back on the nightstand, I turn towards London. I stare down at her and consider how terribly wrong this could all go. It could end in blood, so do I really want that for her? Picking up a piece of soft hair, I run my fingers through it. Looking at her sweet face pressed into my skin, I can’t help but want to worship every inch of perfection laying against me, danger or not.

I know she’s more than most. London is like no other woman. Sitting up, London rolls away and turns onto her side while the blanket tangles around her. Reaching a hand out, I touch her leg carefully. “London?” Of course she doesn’t move. I didn’t expect that she would. “Come on, beautiful. You’ve got to get up.”

~~~~~~

I get London into her car and on her way home as quickly as possible without being completely obvious. I hate to see her go, but business is my number one priority.

She doesn’t buy my work emergency excuse. Pouting, she stomps her way to the elevator and then to the car. If I wasn’t in such a shit mood myself, I might find it cute. Being woken up by Josh’s irritating voice, rushed out the door without having morning sex with London, and no goddamn breakfast, doesn’t provide for a good start to my morning.

Opening her car door for her, I usher her inside. Shutting the door, she rolls down the window and leans out, giving me the best scowl I’ve seen from her yet. “You owe me sleepy morning sex … and breakfast,” she grumbles. Blowing me a quick kiss, she rolls her window up before I can formulate a response. Confusing fucking woman.

If I would’ve known I wouldn’t see her again for a solid, crippling week, I would’ve kept her locked away in my apartment. I certainly wouldn’t have let her drive off with a goddamn unsatisfied pout on those sweet lips. What the fuck can I do? I don’t fucking know.

~~~~~~

Work is work. My week’s been shit. I cleaned up messes I didn’t make. Did a little destroying and a little rebuilding. Conference calls, meetings, and paperwork wrap up my days. I texted London a few times but she said she had studying for finals to do, and as much as it pains me to leave her alone, I figure there are more productive things I could be doing in life other than stalking her. Work might be one of those things. I’ve also got the weekly card night at my place tonight, so that could be a good distraction since she’s made it clear she’s not interested in seeing me. She drove it home with her text,

To: D

Go away, stalker. I have finals.

From: London

Of course her text means shit to me. Her text doesn’t deter me one single bit. If that itch comes back, I’ll need it scratched and a text won’t stop me from finding her whether she wants me to or not. But for right now, I’m coping … but just barely. I’ll try to leave her alone because I know how busy she is and she doesn’t need distractions from me. She’s worked hard, and even I’ve seen that, but I make absolutely no promises if the urge begins to drive me crazy.

~~~~~~

Sitting around the table, the teammates sit across from one another. Cam sits across from me, Pete’s across from Josh, and Geo is across from Vinn. This is how the game is played. Drinks and cigars in hand, we’re three hours into a game of Scopa. Carmine is three sheets to the wind and it was his choice of game tonight. Leave it to him to pick the rowdiest game.

Bets are placed on the highest scorer. “Thousand,” Josh throws down.

“Two,” I counter. We both look at Cam and wait for his bet.

“She still doesn’t know?” Cam slurs at me. I let my head sag. He’s been at it for a while now, and this shit is wearing me thin.

“Bet.” I urge him, hoping he’ll shut the fuck up.

“She’ll find out soon enough.” He adds. Yeah, I have no doubt she will, just not from my mouth. “Shut the fuck up and place your bet.”

“Asshole.” He grumbles back, slapping a crumpled up stack of twenties on the table.

“Did someone just knock?” Pete stands up and turns to look toward the door, hand on his gun.

“I don’t know, but sit the fuck down and put that thing away, would ya.” Walking to the door, I look through the peephole to find a head full of brown hair and big green eyes staring back at me.

Pulling open the door, London almost looks shocked to see me. “What’s wrong?” She stands in front of me, shifting around. For this first time since meeting this woman, she looks unsure and uncomfortable, and it’s not because of me.

“I-uh … I …”

“You what? Just say what you have to say,” I demand in a threatening tone, losing my patience.

She’s actually starting to scare me.

“I’m scared.” She whispers and thrusts a piece of paper at me. Through blurry, watery eyes, she looks up at me, waiting.

I stare between her and the piece of paper in my hand, wondering what the fuck she wants me to do with it. She doesn’t offer an explanation.

Don’t you think for a second that we’re done, amore mia. You have something that we want, and we’ll do what we have to do to get it, understand? We’re always watching, and we’re waiting. See you soon.

Instantly my blood boils. No one, and I mean no one, uses those precious words for her but me. NO ONE!

Thirteen

Mr. Car Aficionado

London

Six men openly gape at me while I stand here and suck back tears at his front door. I’ve no clue why I thought coming here was a good idea, but here I am. I guess a small part of me feels safe when Dante’s around, but there’s also something comforting about being near him, even when he’s being a creep.

I came home from my last day of school to find that disturbing little piece of paper tacked to my door―a door that requires you to pass a doorman and security to get to it. But Dante’s able to get past it easily, so Perry could too.

Why couldn’t I just celebrate my last day of educational hell like any regular person? I just wanted to come home and throw on nasty sweats and drink a bottle of wine or two. Why did that stupid fucking piece of paper have to be tacked to my door?

“How do you do it?” Looking from me to the paper, he seems confused.

“I didn’t leave this note, London.”

“I know that, but how do you do it? How do you get into my apartment? How do you get past security and the doorman?’

For the first time he blanches and looks embarrassed. If I wasn’t having a mini panic attack, I may actually celebrate it. “London, you honestly don’t want to hear the answer, but I see where you’re going with this. I’ll remedy the situation.”

“You’ll remedy what? How do you plan to fix it.

“I’ll fix it, I said.” Maybe that strong, self-assurance and that unaffected attitude of his is what drew me here tonight.

“How, Dante?”

“That’s another question you really don’t want answered, just like the others. I have my ways, so don’t question me.” That doesn’t make me feel better. I’m just supposed to rely on him? A man I really only know in the biblical sense?

“Easy? I’m just supposed to trust you?” But I do, don’t I? That’s why I’m here.

“Yes. You need to trust me.”

Sadly, there’s no remedy or quick fix for this situation. If there were, I would’ve tried to find a way to handle it years ago.

I moved back to New York six months ago. I hadn’t been here in years. When Grandfather gave us the okay, we packed up and hurried back here. I was hoping and praying I wouldn’t have to deal with this shit again, but apparently all that hoping and praying was for naught, because they’ve tracked me down, again. I really thought that seeing Perry at the charity event was a fluke, but I don’t believe that’s the case now. He had to have known somehow that I would be there. They must be stalking me too.

I’ve ran from Perry and my father for years, hoping they wouldn’t bother with me again. There are two people I’m scared of―Perry and my father. The man who helped give me life terrifies me to no end. It’s sick.

To my father, I’m a pawn. He doesn’t want me, he wants what I stand to gain. He wants to take something that never would’ve belonged to him. It’s something he’ll get over my dead body.

“Get in here. I’m not heating the entire building.” Dante’s fingers latch around my wrist and pull me inside, shutting the door behind me.

“I can go if you’re busy.” Looking over at the table of men, they’re all still staring at me like I may bust out into song at any moment.

“You’re fine.” He assures me softly.

I’m lead to the couch and handed a glass of red wine. “Am I interrupting your game with your friends?”

“You’ve met Pete, Vinn, Cam, and Geo,” he laughs when he says Geo’s name, “and this is Josh.”

“Hey guys.” They all say hello or nod their heads in my direction.

Vinn, the short round man, stands up and looks me over, “Would you like a cannoli, little one?” He asks in broken English, scurrying off towards the kitchen in a hurry before I can answer. His returns with a Tupperware container.

“Am I not a woman? Of course I do.”

“Here, eat. My wife made.” How could I turn down a cannoli? I can’t. It would be a crime of the worst kind. Taking a bite, my mouth waters from the crisp outside shell and the fluffy smooth cream on the inside with small bits of chocolate throughout.

“So good,” I mumble around a mouth full. “You know, Vinn, I think your wife and I could be good friends.”

“I’ll tell her. She’ll be happy.” Not as happy as my mouth is right now.

Vinn insists on feeding me one right after the other while Pete starts yapping my ear off about the Yankees. The rest stare at me awkwardly, except for Goldfish. He just gapes. “That Jeter is gonna win it for us this year. You a fan?” Pete asks me.

“Shut up. She does not care about any of that shit.” Vinn barks at him from the kitchen. Goldfish grins. Good God. Looking up at Dante, he just smirks and snorts a laugh at me. Help me, I mouth at him.

“Alright, assholes. Leave my girl alone. I’m sure you all have shit to be doing anyways.”

“Come on, Dante. We’re just havin’ a little fun with princess here.” Cam says, shooting me a sly smile.

“Get the fuck out of my house.” And they do, but not before Vinn leaves me a month’s worth of cannoli’s. I think I love him.

Sipping my wine and munching on a cannoli, I tell Dante there was no need for him to kick his friends out.

“They’re a bunch of assholes who were boring me to death. It was time they cleared out anyways.” Like I said, he’s not a man you argue with.

I’m not sure what I’m going to do here. Camp out on his couch until Perry dies or until Dante gets sick of my shit. I’m sure he’s uninterested in dealing with my shit.

“Maybe I should go.”

“You’re staying.”

“Are you sure?”

“No, but I’m not letting you go. You shouldn’t be alone right now. Just make yourself comfortable and we’ll sort some of this shit out in the morning.” Standing up, he holds his hand out to me and smiles, “Take a bath since you seem to love those so much. I’ll set something out for you and we can watch a movie or whatever you want.” This is sweet … too sweet. It’s scary how much I like it.

~~~~~~

I’m bathed and dressed. Walking into his bedroom, I find him sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, watching the door. “What are you doing? Is everything alright?”

“I was just waiting for you.”

“Okay, but why are you sitting in the corner?”

“I wasn’t sure where you wanted me.”

“This is your place, so I should be asking you where you want me.”

“Yes, but I’m trying to make you comfortable.”

“I’m tired. Could we lay in here and watch a movie?”

“Yes. Go ahead and lie down,” he orders, looking at me and back to the bed.

Getting a good running start, I leap into the bed with a bounce landing in the middle. Peeling the blankets back, I burrow into the sheets and get comfortable. They smell just like Dante―clean and fresh with just the slightest hint of Armani.

“You’re strange,” he says as he kicks his shoes off.

“So what are you gonna do about it?” I ask, flopping onto my back so I can look at him. I watch in utter fascination as he unbuttons his shirt. He’s torturing me.

“I’m not gonna do anything about your weirdness. I like you just the way you are,” he says while undoing the last button.

“You like me?” I feign shock. With a casual flick of his eyes, he appraises me from head to toe. “Oh, I like you,” he growls.

“Hmm. I kinda like you too,” I tell him as I watch him pull down the zipper of his pants.

“Only kinda?”

“Yeah, just kinda.”

“London?”

“Yes?”

“I’m gonna fuck the kinda right out of you.” That’s what I was hoping he’d say.

~~~~~~

A few hours later I feel the bed dip, rousing me from my sex induced sleep. Lifting my head up, I see Dante sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor. I don’t move, I just watch him with his elbows resting on his knees, rubbing his hand across his scruffy beard. He doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t move, but after a few minutes, I hear his phone vibrate on the table next to the bed. He must have turned the ringer off for the night. He picks it up and answers, but sits there quietly listening before he says “Fuck,” gets up and leaves the room.

I wait a few moments before slipping out of bed to follow him. I watch him walk into a room at the end of the hallway so I quietly make my way to the open door and peek inside The room looks like an office. A large desk sits in the middle, facing the door and a large window sits behind it. Rows of bookshelves line one wall, filled with books.

Walking right up to one of the shelves, he starts pulling out books, setting them on his desk as he goes. He continues to stack them one on top of the other from the same shelf until it’s cleared, at which point he pulls out what looks like one of those false backs, and places it by his feet. What the fuck is he doing, and what could he have in there?

Reaching in, he pulls out a stack of papers and begins rifling through them. With a satisfied nod, he turns back to his desk and sets them down next to the books.

He reaches inside again and this time, he pulls out a gun. I’m not shocked that he has a gun in his home. Hell, I’ve shot them before at shooting ranges and I’m not too bad, if I say so myself, but I don’t understand why he would have it hidden in a place that would be hard to get to.

Turning it over a few times, he examines it closely and cocks it. The click of a bullet falling into the chamber rings around the quiet room. With a scary, sadistic looking smile on his face, he tucks it neatly into the waistband of his pants at his back. A shiver of fear tickles my skin, but maybe he’s putting it in a better place to get to it like I just thought he should.

His phone buzzes again. Jerking it off of his desk, he snaps at the caller, “What?” Stalking to a door at the other end of the room, I can hear him say, “I’m fucking trying. Give me some goddamn credit. I can’t do it to her, not yet.” Her? As in me her? What can’t he do yet? Is he even talking about me?

With his phone cradled in his hand, he disappears out the other door. Holy shit, is he gonna kill me? Had I misjudged this whole situation? Have I been blind to him all along? It sure as hell wouldn’t be the first time.

But why would he want to kill me? What would he stand to gain, unless Perry or my father got to him? No, that doesn’t make any sense. Dante doesn’t seem like a man that can be bribed into anything. He can’t be bought, or maybe he can. Maybe he’s more than just a mergers & acquisitions guy like he says he is. Grandfather had told me once that everyone can be bought, you just have to find their price.

Shit. Perry couldn’t buy him off because he doesn’t have enough money, or at least I fucking hope not. Shit, shit and double shit.

Taking a step back from the door, I turn and run into Dante. Tipping my head back, I look up at him as he stares down at me with his phone still clutched in his hand and his eyes dance with amusement. “What are you doing, London?” He asks and I can hear the suspicion laced in his voice. Lie. Lie, bitch, Lie.

“I woke up alone and came looking for you.” I’m a shit liar and he’s made that clear on many occasions. He lifts a suspicious eyebrow and I know he doesn’t believe me.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” To my surprise, he lets it go at that. He doesn’t push or prod and I couldn’t be more thankful.

“Well head back to bed and get some sleep. We’ve got things to do this weekend.” We’ve got shit to do this weekend?

“What are we doing?” A firm hand urges me down the hall while he keeps silent. I fight the questions bubbling up. What about the gun? What can’t he do to me, or her, yet? But even I know not to mess with a man with a gun, so I stuff it.

Digging in my heels, I tip my head back and look at him, waiting for a response. “What are we doing this weekend?”

“You’re going to happily and compliantly accompany me to a function.” He answers me with a soft smile. Oh I am, am I?

“Compliantly?” I’m not a slave.

“Yes, London. Complying, conforming, adhere to.” Is he serious? Did he hit his head on his way back in here?

“Are you fucking with me?”

“I most certainly am not fucking with you. You’ll come. You’ll drink, dance, and be fucking merry. You’ll behave, and if you’re a good girl, I’ll show you, in so many ways, how grateful I can be.”

We get to the bedroom and he nods toward the bed, “Get in.”

“And if I don’t?” Sighing deeply, he places his hands on his hips and looks annoyed. “Then you stand here all night or sleep on the floor. Whatever makes you happy, London.” Yeah, I’m not sleeping on the floor.

“You’re not going to force me?”

“Do you want me to?”

“No.”

Putting two large hands on my shoulders, he spins me towards the bed. Leaning into my back, he buries his face in my neck, wrapping and arm around my waist. “London, do you always have to be so fucking difficult?”

“Eh.” I shrug. A soft raspy chuckle tickles my neck when he laughs.

Placing a soft kiss behind my ear, he whispers, “Get some sleep, beautiful girl. We’ve got a busy weekend.” Crawling into bed, a shudder wracks my body. Part of me thinks I should go home, but the other part of me just can’t seem to stay away from him. Settling into the soft sheets, the other, less wiser part of me wins. I stay because deep down inside I don’t think Dante will hurt.

~~~~~~

Standing in Dante’s bathroom, I smile at myself in the mirror. I look damn good this afternoon in a small black dress that falls to just above my knees, hugging my body perfectly. It’s fitted with a neckline that skims my neck and a skirt that flares out slightly at mid-thigh. From the front, it’s very modest, but when I turn around, I peek over my shoulder and giggle an evil little laugh. My entire back is exposed to my waist. It’s business in the front and party in the back.

My hair is in a hot mess on my head. My makeup is a little heavy and dramatic for this evening, an evening I’ve been told to attend. At least it gives me an excuse to wear my blood red peep toe cross ankle Kuki Jimmy Choo pumps.

I hadn’t slept much last night after what I heard in Dante’s office, but my makeup does a nice job of hiding the bags under my eyes. Dante, on the other hand, was all sunshine and smiles this morning.

“We’re going to the Hampton’s. I’ve got an obligation there this weekend and I want you with me.” And that was all I was offered.

Rushed to my place for clothes, I had enough time to gab to Matt about the gun situation and the weekend away and pack a small bag before I was back at Dante’s. I was given two hours to get ready.

Giving myself a final once over, I take a deep breath. Snatching my lipstick from the counter, I shove it into my purse on my way to find the Boss.

~~~~~~

Once in the parking garage, I’m eased toward the prettiest car I’ve ever seen. It’s a shiny gunmetal gray, super dark tinted windows, and industrial, yet sleek, rims. “Is this your car? It’s beautiful,” I marvel, running my hand along the hood.

Looking up from his phone, he actually scoffs at me, acting annoyed. I hate it when he makes me feel like I’m stupid. He opens my door, “Get in, and London?” Sliding into the body hugging, drool worthy seat, I look up at Dante leaning against the door with an arm slung over the roof.

“Yes?”

“It’s not a car.” Of course it’s not. Mr. Car Aficionado is ready to set me straight. “It’s a Bentley Continental SuperSport.” Go figure. It’s something godly expensive and expertly foreign made.

“Why is the window tint so dark? Even the windows seem extremely thick.”

“So no one can see in and the windows are thick because they’re bulletproof.” He says easily enough. I shouldn’t expect anything less from Mr. Personality.

“Bulletproof? That seems a bit over the top. Are you paranoid.”

“Yes, I am. It’s a precaution in case someone gets brave and fires a round or two at me.”

“Well what if the bullet comes from inside the car? Not so safe then, huh.” I point out helpfully. Yeah, that shut him up. He stares, but it doesn’t last long.

“Well then the Captain will go down with the ship.”

Whatever. It’s a car. “Can I do something?”

“Anything, beautiful.”

“Can I drive?” I can’t help myself. I really can’t. His face pales like he might actually throw up. Men and their cars. There is no greater bond.

“Seriously?”

“Yes.” Shifting around he looks panicked. This is priceless.

“Are you sure?” He questions me again, like I’ll change my mind.

“Absolutely.” He pales even more.

Opening his door, he hesitates for a moment. He turns like he’s ready to get out, but he looks back at me, waiting for me to stop him, but I give him nothing but an encouraging smile. Shaking his head ever so slightly, he heaves himself from the car, but he does it with an exaggerated sigh. He’s seriously gonna let me drive? He’s actually going to relinquish driving duties to me? This is too good.

“Dante?” Leaning back down, he looks back in at me with a squeamish pout. “I was just kidding.”

I’ve never seen such relief cross someone’s face. “When you asked if you could do something, I figured you’d like me to bend you over the hood and fuck you, or give me road head, not drive the goddamn car.” Well now there’s a thought.

“Maybe next time.” I offer, giving his thigh a little placating pat.

Raising an eyebrow at me he smirks. “On the fucking or head?”

“On all three.” I correct him. Starting the car, he throws it into drive.

“London?”

“Hmm?”

“I don’t want you to drive my car … Ever. But I will fuck you on it and in it, anytime you’d like.”

“I don’t know about that.” I’ll drive it someday, and that’s a promise. And a yes to the fucking too.

~~~~~~

A daunting black gate swings open upon our arrival. Off in the distance, I can see the top of what I can only assume is the biggest fucking house on Earth.

The closer we get, the bigger and more beautiful the house becomes. Pulling into a circular drive, we stop out front of a grand staircase that does indeed lead to an extravagant house.

With practiced elegance, Dante unfolds himself out of the car. Wearing one of his many flawless suits, along with a knee length trench coat, he’s the picture of casual high fashion. I watch him smooth his shirt, fix his jacket, and twist his watch for good measure.

Walking around to my side, he opens my door and offers me his hand. Like always, I hesitate a moment, but place my hand in his after a second of thought. Curling his hand around mine, he tugs on my arm lightly.

Once I’m out of the car, he pulls me against his side and places a hand on the exposed skin of my lower back. “I love these dresses, London.” He whispers softly.

“Only because you can touch my skin.” I whisper back.

“Yes, and because you look perfect, and you’re right; I do enjoy touching your skin.” Giving me a small push of encouragement, he urges me forward. “Are you ready for this?” Probably not, but it’s too late to run now.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

We’re swept inside in a whirlwind of greetings, air kisses, and toasts. The inside is just as perfect as the outside with two sweeping staircases that flow into the grand entrance area. This is wealth. Yeah, I’m definitely in way over my head here.

“Lets get this over with, shall we?” Dante speaks into my ear. His lips graze my neck when he speaks, causing me to shiver.

Following dutifully beside Dante, he’s greeted by everyone. Everyone he crosses paths with seem genuinely happy to see him. He’s polite, but guarded. He seems cordial, but uninterested. He never lets me go. He never leaves my side and is all too happy to show me off.

All the women are of super model beauty, and the men are beyond handsome. The odd things is that a majority of the women here are dressed more in lingerie type clothing, or less, showing lots and lots of skin. The house is filled with the beautiful elite, and I can’t help but think I may be at some sort of sex/swingers party. Oh hell.

Powerful men sit around the room with women hanging off them in various stages of undress. Some look to be chatting, while others look close to fucking right here in front of everyone. All the women prance around in little to nothing and suddenly I feel extremely overdressed. The men seem to be outnumbered by all the beautiful women, and none seem to care. What the fuck has Dante brought me to?

Finally pulled away from everyone, he seems to relax. With a hand to my back, Dante guides me into an opulent living room. A grand piano sits in the corner near a mammoth fireplace that dominates the space.

“You look … thirsty,” Dante muses before snagging a flute of something I hope is alcoholic for me from a passing waiter. It looks bubbly, fruity, and hopefully strong.

I begin sipping my drink when a man in linen pants and a loud printed shirt strolls purposefully toward us. Slicked back black hair with spots of gray, dark eyes, and a ruggedly handsome, yet hardened face, heads right for me.

“Dante,” The man booms loudly. It’s friendly to the outside world, but I catch the cold undertone in his voice. I know I’m right when I feel Dante stiffen next to me.

“London,” The hand resting on my back tenses when the man runs his eyes over my body, “This is my father, Angelo. Father, this is London DeLacourt..” I watch familiar dark eyes take me in. Where Dante’s eyes are dark and mean, this man’s are cold and calculating.

“London, a very beautiful name for a very beautiful girl. I hope I’m not being presumptuous,” He starts to say and I know that whatever is about to come out of his mouth will most likely be offensive. It’s like starting out a sentence with, no offense, but… “Your skin is as dark as mine. May I ask, are you Italian?”

So not nearly as offensive as I would have assumed, but it’s not an average question, either. “You’re correct.” I offer him a smile out of sheer politeness. “Are you Italian American or are you from Italy?”

“I was born there, but I only lived there until I was six, then we moved to Paris for a year or two, and on from there.” Tapping a finger on his lips thoughtfully, he grins at me. “So, Ms. Beautiful London from Italy, what is your last name again?”

“DeLacourt.” Dante’s father beams, as if my last name is the best news. Why? Looking up at Dante, he notices and seems irritated.

“You don’t say,” Angelo muses and claps his hands together.

“Leave it alone, father. Look, there’s Carmine. I need to speak with him so have a good night.” Dante grumbles.

“Yes, I shall. It was a pleasure to meet you, London. A lovely surprise you are. When you get a free moment from my son, come find me so we may be able to chat. I’d love to learn more about you.”

“That’s not gonna happen,” Dante growls at his father.

“I understand the possessiveness of something so lovely. I see why you wouldn’t want to share her, but I’d only like to get to know her better. I’m sure you could spare her for a moment.”

“No, I won’t.” Angelo throws his head back and laughs at his son’s shortness.

“Well, London, I hope you enjoy your evening, and welcome to my home.” His home? Shit.

That wasn’t the most uncomfortable situation I’ve ever been in or anything. Christ. The tension between father and son is thick. Dante was short and rude, but I’m not mad. I’m not sure I would ever want to spend any time alone with that man. There’s something about him, something wrong and off. You know when you just know someone is up to no good? Well that’s the vibe I got from Angelo.

“Would you like another drink? I know I need one.” Waving over a woman with a tray, Dante takes two and hands me another glass filled with shit that isn’t getting me drunk enough.

“What was that all about?” I ask, waving a hand toward his father whose back is to us now, talking with a woman in a small dress.

“What was what?” He repeats, avoiding my eyes.

“That shit with your dad.”

“I’m a little crazy when it comes to you. I don’t want to share you with him.”

“There’s more to it than that. Even I can see …”

“Enough.” He cuts me off. For as much as I don’t know about Dante, I’ve learned some of his mannerisms and his “tells”. He’s hiding something. Taking a deep breath, he collects himself.

“Just enjoy the party with me, beautiful.” His voice softens and he forces a smile down at me.

I gulp my drink down quickly and wave to a woman with a tray full of drinks. Tonight seems like the perfect night to bring on the liquid courage.

Dante

I love to watch her. The haunting sound of Take Me to Church plays softly through the room. This song was written for her. I have no coherent words for whatever it is that fuels me and this twisted compulsion for her. It’s turned into something I can’t seem to control.

I love the way she smiles. I love how she covers her mouth when she laughs, how she loves to eat, how she sleeps, and even how she sighs when she’s soaking in the bathtub.

Then there’s that hard side of her that I crave. It’s the way her eyes flare when she’s mad at me, the way she fights hard and how she does it at every turn. How she makes a mess of everything she touches makes me smile. Her independence is infectious.

“You put it together, figlio?” He asks from behind me, but he hangs back. He came to taunt me. He enjoys games as much as I do. Hell, I learned my cruel ways and ruthless instincts from this man. He knows I know. I wouldn’t be who I am if I didn’t already know.

I wish I hadn’t, but he can’t stop himself from trying to play me like a fool with his pathetic mind games about London. I’ve known from the beginning and it still doesn’t change a thing about her. It does complicate things, but a challenge is not something I’d ever back down from, especially one I want so goddamn bad. She’s a challenge most men would throw everything away for but I can’t. I can’t afford to let London become more important than business and family. She’ll suffer because of me, I know this. “Yes, and it wouldn’t change a goddamn thing, father.”

“Ci sarà un momento in cui si imparerà la verità.” He spits spitefully. She’ll never find out the truth, not from me, but she will eventually. She’s safer sleeping with my lies and living oblivious to her own. “You can’t keep her, son. She’ll never be one of us.” The fuck I can’t. She’ll be whatever I want her to be.

“You don’t need to worry. I’ll fucking handle my own shit, truth or not. Just keep the fuck out of my business. You may know what goes on, but this isn’t your business anymore, so stay the fuck out of it.”

~~~~~~

Sitting in a terrible Asian printed wingback chair, I gulp back my Scotch and watch her dance. It’s foreplay to me. My second favorite thing to do, aside from making money, is watching her. I love to watch her.

She’s smiling now, dancing with Mr. Rossi. He looks proud. He looks satisfied. He looks like a dead man. He looks exactly how I look when I’m with her―bewitched. Her bleary eyes stare into mine as she dances with another man. It’s me she wants. Her dance? It’s all for me. She never looks away from me or stops smiling at me.

Throwing back the rest of my drink, I push myself out of my seat. I’ve had enough. Stalking over to London, she smiles and turns into Mr. Rossi. She can challenge me. She can push and she can fight, but it only makes this that much more fun for me. I love the fight and she knows it.

Wrapping an arm around her waist, I jerk her to me. Mr. Rossi looks ready to protest until he sees me. She belongs to me, asshole … Me!

From side to side her hips flow, rocking into mine. “Are you having fun, London?”

“Yes,” she whispers softly. I know she is. As much as she hates it, she wants me. I always knew that once she gave up the fight, I would become just as much an obsession for her as she is to me. She won’t fight it any longer, and that’s how I know I’ve won.

~~~~~~

The heels on those fucking shoes dig into my ass and the bite hurts. Her fingernails dig into my shoulders as I pound into her sweet, willing body. I’m sweating and my fucking legs ache. For the briefest of moments, I consider wrapping my hands around that delicate neck and giving a little squeeze for fun, and for the fear.

Thinking about all those men staring at her, thinking about doing this to her makes me fuck her relentlessly. I can’t get enough of her. The thought of never being able to fuck her like this is unbearable.

Her face is pressed into my neck, licking away the sweat. She’s so goddamn wet I can feel it on my thighs, and all I can think is that it’s a waste. I should be licking that shit from her pussy, but I couldn’t wait to shove my dick inside of her, so I dragged her to the bathroom, not even bothering to lock the damn door.

“Fuck, I’m so close. Keep doing it just like that… Oh, Fuck, Dante! ” She screams. I love to hear her dirty mouth when she comes for me. I hope the whole fucking house heard it.

I slow my pace, never pulling out, but I continue to thrust my hips up so I can watch her ride out her orgasm. Her face is pure fucking bliss. It’s killing me to feel all that wetness being pumped out of her and all over my dick. If I can’t have it, then I’ll get so much pleasure out of watching her lick me clean.

“Now I wanna fuck your mouth, London. I want you on your goddamn knees, licking off every fucking drop of what I just gave to you.” She doesn’t even hesitate. I watch as she gets on her knees and see that beautiful dress of hers pulled up around her waist. Those tits are spilling over the top so I can see them as she wraps her luscious lips around the head of my dick and starts licking around it, teasing the fuck out of me. I don’t want to be teased, so I grab her head with both hands and begin pushing myself into her mouth. This woman was made for me. She likes it rough and kinky, just as much as I do.

I watch her eyes look up at me as she begins sucking and taking as much of my dick as she can, but I try to make her take more. She surprises me when she wraps both hands around my hips and tries to force more in. Fuck me. She sucks my dick like no woman ever has.

We never break eye contact as I finally lose it. She sucks harder, if that’s even possible, swallowing my cum down her throat and moaning like it’s the best shit in the world. When I watched her drop to her knees, I knew. This shit between us is no longer one sided. She’s mine.

Fourteen

Mr. Boundaries

London

I’ve been roughly, thoroughly, and satisfyingly fucked. My dress is now situated and my hair is smoothed back into place. I run my finger under my bottom lip, sweeping away my smeared red lipstick, and knowing that some of it’s still on his dick makes me want to suck him off again.

Glancing in the mirror over my shoulder, I see him watching me, paying very close attention to my finger, cleaning up the smudged lines.

“Dante?” Pulling his eyes away from my lips, he doesn’t look embarrassed for staring.

“Yes?”

“Enjoying the show?” He looks completely confused by my question. He has no clue he does it. No idea that he stares with an intensity that’d make the most composed person fidget and feel self-conscious around him.

“What show?”

“Never mind.” Walking up to him, I notice the lipstick on his neck, right by his collar. “Bend down a little.” I motion with my fingers. He takes a step towards me and leans down. Placing a hand on his shoulder, I use my other to clean away the lip print with my thumb. “There.”

One side of those lips tip into a soft smile. Grabbing my chin, he pulls my face within inches of his. “Thank you.” He whispers against my lips.

“You’re welcome,” I stutter helplessly. He turns me into a mess―a stupid fucking mess.

~~~~~~

Sitting at a bar I drink and watch Dante continue to schmooze and rub elbows with the people here. I’m thinking of how I’m so ready to get out of here and go a few more rounds with Dante when I hear, “He’s quite captivating, isn’t he?” Turning in my seat, I find a leggy blonde sitting close to me, leaning into the bar.

“Yes, he is. And you are?” I faintly recognize her, but from where, I can’t recall.

“Victoria.” She says and bats her eyelashes. Is she trying to pick me up?

“Yes, well. Nice name, I guess.” I have nothing more to say, so I start to turn back around.

“He’s quite captivated by you, I see.”

“Okay.” I agree half-heartedly.

“Don’t get used to it, though.”

“Thank you for your ill-placed concern, but I didn’t ask for any advice on dealing with Mr. Marx. If you feel I’m standing in your way, then I suggest you find something else to do. Plenty of fish and all that.”

“Honey, I’ve already been there. Just a little friendly female advice, eh?” She’s not gonna leave until she’s said her peace.

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.”

“He’s a liar and a con man. He’ll do and say whatever he needs to just to get what he wants. He’ll ruin anyone and anything in his path, so be smart and don’t trust him, or he’ll ruin you. He’s not a good man, dear.”

“Alright.” It’s all I have for her. I don’t like being confronted this way by someone who obviously wants him for herself. I remember her now from his office. Yeah, she also seems the type to try and ruin anyone and anything in her path to get what she wants too.

“He’ll take from you until you have nothing left. Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” She says as she tips the rest of her drink back. Before she gets up and walks away, she gives me a sad, but hateful smile. It’s not as though I hadn’t gathered some of this information about him already. There’s no way he isn’t those things to others, but why would he do it to me? What would he have to gain from trying to ruin me? Throwing back the rest of my drink, I go in search of a little quiet time, away from this fucking house.

I make my way outside and to the cold waves of the Atlantic Ocean. With shoes in hand, I feel the bite of the cold on my toes as I let the water wash over them. The alcohol haze has been fucked right out of me. I sit down and drag my toes back and forth through the water, letting my legs swing and my thoughts drift away with that haze.

Victoria’s words replay in my mind. I know I should’ve ran the moment I knew he was stalking me, but I didn’t. At this point, I’m too far gone to walk away. For all those terrible qualities he exhibits, there are also promising ones in there somewhere, buried deep, and I intend to find them. I need to find them. I’ll let him break me, but I’ll break him too. There’s no other way.

“I know you’re watching me,” I say into the darkness. I take a quick look around me, but no one’s there. I may not be able to see him, but I know he’s standing close enough to hear me. He’d never just let me go.

Turning back towards the water, I continue to kick my feet and look out at the endless ocean before me. “I know.” He answers. “What are you doing out here, London?” Enjoying the quiet solitude of the Ocean. Spending a few needed minutes alone. Watching the world go by. Relaxing.

“Fishing.”

“You won’t catch anything besides a cold from being out here with your feet in the ice cold water.” Dante being funny makes me smile, but I know he’s not trying to make me laugh.

Looking over my shoulder again, I can finally see him standing at the end of the dock, rocking on his heels anxiously. He’s dying to get his hands on me again and he’s fighting it. It’s written all over his face.

“Come back inside. You’ll freeze to death out here.” He sounds irritated now, but what’s new? “No thanks, I’m getting some fresh air.”

I hear his footsteps coming toward me then I feel him crouch down behind me, but he doesn’t touch me. He sits his glass on the dock next to me. “What are you doing, Dante?”

“I’m here to ask you to please come inside with me.” Wow, that was completely unexpected. He never asks, he just does, so how can I say no to him when he asks instead of demands?

I reach my hand out and Dante takes it, helping me up. He grabs his glass and my shoes in one hand, and places the other firmly on my back, leading me back into the house.

As we walk through a living room of sorts, little Miss Victoria appears out of nowhere. “Dante, darling. Can I have a moment of your time?” She attaches herself as close as possible to Dante’s side.

“No.” He moves away and pushes me along, dismissing her. She doesn’t even bat an eye.

“It’s important.” She pushes.

“No. I’m here with my beautiful girl, and she’s the only thing I want my thoughts on for the rest of the evening. No more business. Why don’t you go off and give father a blowjob or fuck him on his desk. At least you’d earn your paycheck for once.”

I can’t control the laugh that bubbles up and out of my mouth.

Turning those dark eyes on me, I can see the humor there, but I know he’s trying to tell me it’s enough. “London―” he begins to say more, but I stop him.

“I’ll find my own way. See what she wants and come find me so we can do what we did earlier again, and again, and again,” I say with laughter in my voice. He gives me a genuine smile before reaching into his pocket and handing me a key.

“Here, take this. The elevator is in the foyer and it’ll take you to the third floor. It’s completely private, and your things are already up there. I’ll be up in a moment.” My things? I don’t bother asking, but I do reach up and kiss him, and there’s nothing chaste about it. He kisses me with just as much hunger and I hate to even stop him, but I pull away and look over at Victoria, who’s wearing a very ugly sneer. She really shouldn’t do that. It makes her face really ugly.

I turn on my heel and start to make my way to the foyer when Dante stops me. “London?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t wander.” I wouldn’t dream of it.

~~~~~~

I find the elevator with no problem, and also the room. It’s a dream, but what catches my eye is the giant white bed that sits in the middle of the room, surrounded by floor to ceiling windows, bathed in sheer curtains.

Walking over to a closet, I pull it open and I find nothing. Pulling dresser drawers open, I still find nothing. Onto the large wood armoire I go with fingers crossed, open it and there are my things. I wonder if he broke into my place and stole this shit himself or put one of his employees up to it? I hope I’m not missing my underwear. Men wouldn’t think about those sorts of things.

My long sleeved black and white maxi dress hangs all alone on the metal bar with a pair of lace up gladiator sandals sitting beneath it. Folded up on a shelf is a white cami and a pair of lace PJ shorts. A small bag sits beside the PJ’s, containing all my beauty crap. This is all from Matt. Dante would’ve chosen something more sophisticated or sexy, not any of this. He would have opted out of the PJ’s, preferring me in the nude and he’d definitely forgotten the hairbrush and such. Thank God for Matt.

I’m not alone more than five minutes before Dante walks in. Standing in the doorway, he smiles at me. Quick business or is it just that impossible to stay away from me?

“That was fast.” Shrugging a shoulder he shuts the door behind him, locking it.

“I missed you.” Good God, we were apart for five fucking minutes. He’s a crazy person.

“Did you break in and get this stuff yourself, or did you break in and have Matt do it?”

“Is it gonna work for you?” He asks hopefully. I don’t miss the proud note in his voice.

“Yes.” He’s thought of everything, but then again, when doesn’t he?

“Then I got it.” He nods. Liar, liar pants on fire.

“You’re a liar.”

“Maybe.”

“Why’d you want to leave the party?”

“I’d rather be with you.” He states as he pours a drink and downs it.

“You were with me at the party.” I point out.

“No, I wasn’t. I was sharing you and I’m done with that now.”

“You don’t say,” I mutter sarcastically.

“I do say.”

Grabbing my PJ’s from the shelf, I head towards the bathroom. I’m in need of a shower. “Dante?”

“Yes, beautiful?”

“I’m starving.” I inform him as I peel my dress from my body. Letting it fall to the floor, I step out of it and my heels. A single dimple pops out when he gives me a smile.

“What do you want?” He asks, running his eyes the length of my body.

“Cheese fries with bacon on top, deep fried zucchini with ranch, and something sweet.” Laughing deeply, he just shakes his head. “Anything else?”

“Yes. I want to eat it all on that giant ass bed.”

“Watch your mouth,” he gripes at me. Yeah, yeah no cursing. I haven’t forgotten his unusual grievance. I just don’t care. “Alright, take a shower and then we can eat, amore mio.” Wow, that’s a new one.

~~~~~~

Standing in the shower, I let the water wash away the day. I brush my teeth and hair, smear on some lotion and tie my hair into a messy ponytail.

Coming out of the bathroom, I find plates of food scattered all over the coffee table. “Did you request everything from the kitchen?”

“Is this not right?” Dante asks from the doorway to the balcony.

“No, it’s great.” And it is. I’m fucking starving.

We settle in with my back resting against the couch and my feet in Dante’s lap. He’s rubbing my feet and it feels so good.

“Black toe nails and finger nails,” Dante muses, tapping my toes.

“The color of my heart,” I mumble around a fry. Running deft fingers up my foot to my ankle, he traces my tattoo.

“My sexy Catholic school girl with the black heart of a monster.” Yeah, something like that.

“I think I may have the skirt to my old uniform around somewhere.” Lifting my eyes from my plate, he’s staring at me with an evil smile.

“Let’s hope you do.”

“Dante?” I’m nosey and I have to ask.

“London?” he says slowly.

“Why did your father seem interested in where I’m from and my name?”

Staring past me and out the window, he shrugs, “He’s interested in travel and other cultures.”

“I’m other cultures?” Christ, he makes me sound like I’m from the Moon.

“Are you not from Italy?” He counters quickly.

“Well yeah, but I was born there. I couldn’t tell you a lot about it.”

“Then you’re another culture, per se.”

Wait a minute. He’s just as dark, if not darker, than I am. He speaks Italian fluently. He has a slight accent. He’s not just a good ol’ American boy. “And where would you be from?” Some dark cavernous cave somewhere would be my guess.

“New York,” he answers me easily enough. Right. “Not where you live. Where were you born? What’s your ethnicity?” I hit the nail on the head. I know he’s uncomfortable and he’s evading. I know because of his tells. He’s looking anywhere but me and twisting that damn watch.

“Why does it matter?” His voice deepens and his eyes narrow. I’ve poked the snake.

“It mattered to your father. You won’t answer a simple question? I do remember you saying we’re friends. Well, friend, I’m getting to know you too.” Barking out a laugh, he takes a deep breath he looks at me when he speaks.

“I’m from Italy just like you, amore mio. Calabria, to be precise.” And that means absolutely nothing to me. Why he thought it would matter is beyond me.

“See, was that so hard? I’ve never been and I know nothing about it.”

“You will someday soon.”

“Nope. No plans to go there.”

“Will you behave yourself?” I don’t know why he keeps asking me that.

“No.” I never behave, unless Grandfather tells me to, and not even he bothers anymore.

Eating my fries, I have more unanswered questions in my head, ones I will see answered.

“Was your father interested in my last name because of my culture?”

“London―” He starts to say when there’s a loud knock on the door. It looks like your lucky night, Mr. Evasive as Fuck.

Getting off the couch, he walks to the door and pulls it open enough for only him to see out. “Boss, we’ve got a small issue.” A voice says from the other side of the door. An issue? Scooting to the end of the couch, I listen intently. I can’t help it. Why is work stuff following him here? Besides, I’m nosey as shit.

“And?”

“And we need you for a moment.” The voice answers back.

“Is this not a party?” Dante growls at the man on the other side of the door. Why does he always answer a question with a question? It’s not that difficult to just answer a simple question.

“It is and I apologize, but there’s nothing I can do.”

“You’re cutting into my time with London.”

“I’m sorry, Signore.”

“Not as sorry as I am.” Dante fires back.

Without a word or a look, Dante flings the door open and storms through it, letting it slam behind him. I probably should stay in here, but he didn’t tell me to. Plus, what’s the fun in that? I’ve never done what I’m supposed to do, so why start now?

I open it and peek my head out, seeing nothing, so I sneak my way down the long hall until I hear raised voices. “What do you mean you didn’t see him?” Dante asks incredulously. Oh shit, he’s gone from slightly irritated to extremely pissed.

“I-I must have m-missed him.” My curiosity gets the better of me and I peek around the corner.

Dante’s back is to me. Standing next to him is Cam, Josh, and Goldfish. A man in a shabby suit stands across from the four opposing men. “You missed your mark? How is that possible? Is that not what I pay you for? To find the target each and every fucking time, Antony?” What the fuck are they talking about. Target? Like shooting? Is it a company he’s trying to take over or what?

“Please accept my apology. I’ll do better. I will finish the job,” the man grovels. His eyes are wide and weary as he stares between the men.

In a flash, Dante pins the man to the wall by his neck. The man’s face pales and his eyes bug out of his head. His fingers claw at Dante’s as he tries to suck in air. His feet are literally dangling above the wood floor.

Dante doesn’t break a sweat. He doesn’t look like he’s exuding much effort holding up this grown man. Leaning into the man, he brings his other hand up and cups the back to the man’s neck. It’s a comforting, yet extremely threatening gesture.

Dante’s face is one of deadly composure as he speaks low to the man. “You will. You fucking will. You fucked up, pulling me away from my girl. Wasting my time―time I don’t get a whole lot of with her. Would you like to explain to her why I’m out here dealing with your incompetence while she’s alone in bed without me? I need my time with her.”

My head spins and my heart beats a little faster. He needs time with me? “N-no, Signore. Please accept my sincerest apologies.”

“Would you like me to ruin your time with your wife? Maybe I should pay her a little friendly visit. She seemed like a smart woman. Maybe she could finish what you could not?” He’s threatening this man’s wife for what? What could be so bad that Dante would threaten to do such a thing. Jesus Christ. I can’t stand here and not do anything.

“Dante!” Five pairs of eyes swing in my direction and Dante has the grace to look embarrassed. Goldfish stares, Cam smirks, and Josh shakes his head.

“London, go back to bed.” He flicks a hand at me. Not happening.

“Fuck no.”

Josh’s eyes widen, looking between the two of us while Cam laughs, “Apparently, she still doesn’t know.” Know what? What am I missing here.

Dropping the man to his feet, Dante turns his attention to me. Walking straight to me, his dark eyes are narrowed and I suddenly feel like prey. Bending down slightly, he’s nose to nose with me. Bringing his hands up to touch me, I flinch like a chicken shit and back away a small step. Resting his palms flat on both sides of my neck, he rubs light circles with his thumbs. “First, London, never flinch when I touch you. Second, go to the room. I tell you to go, you go. I’ll be right in.” Never flinch? I thought he scared me before, but now he scares the living shit out of me.

“You don’t threaten people and their families, Dante. What the hell could he have done that was so wrong that you would threaten him?” I counter bravely. I’m not sure where this bravery is coming from, but suddenly I’m full of it. Maybe a little bit of that liquid courage is still floating around in there.

“It wasn’t a threat.”

“So it’s a promise? You’re really going to hurt his wife over what, a deal gone bad?” I feel the bile rise. He is. He truly plans to hurt her just to hurt this man. It’s all right there for me to see. He’s not a good man. He is so far from the man I thought he may be. He’s more than a businessman, he ruins lives. He’ll ruin my life. That’s what she said.

Scrubbing a hand down his face, he lets out a deep annoyed breath. “London, what I do is none of your goddamn business.” He’s made every goddamn thing about me his business, but he’s out here openly threatening someone’s innocent wife and it’s none of my business? He made me part of his business the moment he dragged me into his life.

“I’m pretty sure it became my business when you stalked me for weeks to get my attention. You brought me into your life and into your bed, so yes, it is my goddamn business, you son-of-a-bitch.” Every eye in the room widens in shock.

His face is red and his fists are clenched at his sides. “Watch what you fucking say to me.”

“Fuck you. From this moment on, you, or anything remotely associated with you, are none of my business. That also means that I’m no longer any of yours. This,” I wave between the two of us, “is finished. I want you gone. I want you out of my fucking life and I never want to see you again, do you understand?” He takes a step and I back up into the wall with a thud. Shit.

“Don’t you ever touch me again, Dante. I never want your filthy fucking hands on me again.”

“You might want to be careful, Dante. I mean, she is an amico. She is about to be connected to us, if you recall. Work mixed with sex always makes for strange bedfellows, don’t you think?” Cam says. I’m what? Is he calling me names? There’s no way in hell I would ever connect myself with his business, which obviously goes beyond just mergers & acquisitions. There’s so much more going on here but I don’t give a shit. I’m over it. Fuck him for threatening innocent people and fuck him for treating me like I’m his property.

“Excuse me?”

“Shut the fuck up.” Dante shoots Cam a murderous stare.

“I want to go,” I tell him plainly. I’ve had all I can handle of him.

“London,” his voice takes on a pleading tone.

Holding my hands up, I tell him, “No, I’m done. I don’t know what you’re into, but there’s obviously more that you’re not telling me and I hate to be fucking lied to. I will never put up with any man thinking he can tell me what I will or will not do. You’ve crossed a line with me tonight that I’ve made myself blind to, but it’s done. I’m going home and you’re going to let me.” I turn and leave, sucking up my feelings and walking away.

I leave him standing in the hall looking irate. He’s mad, but he doesn’t come after me. I grab my shit and find the first ride back to the city with the first person willing to help a stranger out. I throw myself inside my apartment, lock the door and the dead bolt, and collapse into my own bed. Fuck him. I let this happen. I was so infatuated with him and the way he came for me that I deliberately blinded myself to anything else. He’s a monster, but letting him in was all my fault. I wish he’d never walked into my life.

I fall asleep to murderous thoughts and dream of hot sex in bathrooms.

Dante

Things have become a disturbing mess. Lines are becoming blurred and boundaries have been crossed. Stories are unraveling and I’ll be damned if I let them fray completely.

I just wanted to kick this obsession the only way I knew how―fuck her out of my system. Spend a little time, put in a little effort. One dinner and a fuck, then forget her. I wasn’t looking for it to snowball out of control. I wanted a momentary fix, not a fucking lifelong illness, and that’s exactly what I’ve got. She’s infected every part of me.

I told her what I do is none of her business and really it’s not. Not because she’s not worthy of the truth, but because I don’t want her to be sucked into this, and most importantly, I never wanted her to look at me like she did that night. I wanted to keep her sheltered from it all, but I was a fool. I brought her into this, knowing, but hoping, that I would have more time with the fun, innocent and amazing woman she is right now. That’s all going to change and I tried to convince myself I could hold it off, kept believing I could hide it all from her. She’s not a stupid woman by any means. Naïve maybe, but that’s truly one of those innocent things I would give my life to be able to see her keep.

This life I live will ruin her. I will ruin her. I will destroy her. These things I do would corrupt the toughest of people. I don’t want that for her. I’ll do what’s needed to keep her wrapped in her innocence for as long as I possibly can.

I’ll give her five days. She ordered me to stay away. No one orders me to do shit. It was cute really, so I honored her little threat. London was mad and I understand that, but she knows better. I gave her all the time I’m willing to give, and even that was up a few days ago. I let her work it out and calm down.

I know she meant it when she told me she didn’t want to see me, but she can’t honestly believe that those words meant shit to me. That’s just not how I work and she knows it. She could tell me to go to hell, drop fucking dead, kick rocks, and none of it would have the desired effect she’s looking for. I don’t operate that way and I know she knows that. I do whatever the fuck I want.

Sitting on the fortieth floor of my office, I watch the small specks that are other human beings living in the same world as I am, hustling and scurrying by on the sidewalk below and I wonder, what are their lives like? Their lives can’t be anything like mine. They don’t ruin lives, families, and companies on a daily basis. They can’t have responsibilities and burdens as I do. They don’t constantly have to watch their backs, wondering when that bullet will end it all for them. These people on the sidewalk don’t deal in the unsavory and scum of the earth. Those average humans down there don’t run a goddamn empire from this very seat.

I don’t blame my mother for finding other outlets to numb the pain this life brings someone on the inside. I don’t hold a grudge that she let it destroy her. I see why my cousin Cam is a hardened asshole and the reasons my sister runs off to other countries to avoid being a part of this. I’ve lost more family than I care to remember, and more friends than I can count.

I’ve lived hard, fast, and lavishly. I’ve seen bad shit done, and I’ve done bad shit. I have no regrets. I’d do it all again. There’s not a goddamn thing on this planet that would make me give any of this up. Nothing can take this away from me.

“Signore?” Vinn says before entering my office. Twisting in my seat, I look at him and he looks bored. He shouldn’t be bored. I pay him to look anything but.

“Yes?”

“She’s left her place.”

“You and Antony change career paths?” Snapping confused eyes up to mine, he has the balls to look worried. He should be worried, but not for himself. He should be worried for Antony, for shoving his duties onto others. Antony knows how this organization works.

“No, Signore. I just know your priorities lie in keeping eyes on Miss DeLacourt.” True.

“Yes, thank you. When you see Antony, please send him my way.” Opening his mouth to protest, I shut that shit down. I’m not unreasonable. I don’t fly off of the handle unnecessarily, and I’m definitely not unrealistic. In fact, I would consider myself a very reasonable and kind boss. Considering Antony’s lost London’s whereabouts twice, missed his mark, and didn’t show up this morning, he’s lucky he’s gotten this many chances thus far.

“Signore?”

“Send him my way unless you’d like to have this talk for him. If not, then leave and close the door behind you.” And he does.

~~~~~~

My car idles at the curb while I wait. Someone might say I’m sitting here working up the nerve to go up, and I wish I could say that was the case. I don’t recall if I’ve ever felt the flutter of nervousness. My stomach is never in knots over a decision. I never have to work up the nerve to do something. I’m just biding my time, waiting.

I rub the sore muscle of my right arm. Christ, I need to invest in a hammer, a crowbar, anything that isn’t my hand. Glancing down, I see the start of a very colorful bruise. Perfect.

I pull my attention away from my hand to outside of the cars window, getting the nod that everything’s clear as my man disappears around the buildings corner a few moments later.

Sliding out of my car, I straighten out my watch and pull the sleeve of my jacket back down. This new clean shirt is wrinkled and hangs haphazardly off of me, but after I made a mess of my other shirt, I had no choice but to use it. Smoothing back the hair I know I’ve destroyed with my hands, I right my tie as I walk toward the front door. Walking through the front door, no one bats an eye in my direction. Lovely security.

I know London’s not in here the second I push the door open. It’s eerily quiet. The lack of life really settles in the pit of my gut with London not being here. The silence is deafening and the stillness is unsettling. London has life pouring out of her. She’s not here and I can feel it.

Walking through the living room, I look over shelves, rummage through drawers and cabinets. What am I looking for? Anything. She has to have secrets. I want to find something that will make her the bad person for once.

Pulling open more drawers, I examine their contents, finding nothing but stuff. Closets are skeleton free. Nothing out of the ordinary lurks in the dark nooks and crannies. Nothing alarming stands out. There never is anything in the kitchens and living rooms. Most people are smarter than that.

Is it wrong to dig through her belongings? Sick to look under couches and in closets? Is it immoral of me to look through her mail and paperwork? Disgusting not to ask her permission to enter her home? Yes. Do I care? Absolutely not.

But ever since laying eyes on London, that very tiny part of me that feels remorse and regret worms it’s way into my veins and eats away at me. For the most part, I push it away and ignore its sting, but when she’s looking at me, it’s nearly impossible to ignore all the bad I am. For that I do feel sorry, but not sorry enough to stop doing it.

It would be nice to not have this compulsion to feed into. Fuck, I wish I didn’t have this never-ending appetite of unrealistic demands. What would it be like to just live. I wonder what I could accomplish if I wasn’t always thinking twelve steps ahead every moment of every day. Damn, the free time would be immeasurable. I might even be able to take up a useful hobby.

The hardest part is the trust. Learning when and who to trust is always a calculated risk in my life. I don’t give it often and it’s never without a price. I made an exception for London. What would it be like to trust and be trusted? I surmise that it might be nice, to just be us, London and Dante. If only that were a possibility. If I could only trust her completely like she deserves, things may very well work out, but I can’t. I can’t trust her because she can’t trust me. I’m the liar and the keeper of secrets, therefore I always feel that if I can do it, everyone can. It’s a way to cope with my deceit―by convincing myself she has secrets too.

I spent a small amount of time in her room prior to now. I did my normal intake of as much shit as I could without being completely obvious. Her bed, dresser, closet, and bathroom are all normal. All plain to the ordinary person, but I’m just not that person.

In her closet, at the bottom left corner, I noticed a strange cluster of shoes. Normal for any other woman, but not normal for London, not when her shoes cost, at the very least, five hundred a pair. Not when she neatly lines them along the bottom of her closet in perfect rows, and not when she treats them like precious family members.

Pushing the pile of shoes aside, I notice not a single pair is designer. Not a single pair is worn. Not a single pair is a style I know she’d let grace her feet. Decoy shoes. Nice try, beautiful.

Crouching down in the corner of her closet, I peel away the hidden panel. Normally I’d leave this for someone else to deal with. I have no fucking time for this sort of shit, but this is a special case. There’s no way in hell I’m letting one of my men in here to run amuck. Never happening. She’s my girl after all.

The panel pops open easily enough. Carefully sliding it over, I see nothing at first, but that would be too easy. Reaching a hand inside, I move over insulation and find a big metal safe.

Cracking the code within a few measly moments, I wonder why London used her damn birthdate. I know she’s smarter than that, but when I start digging through the safe, I see why. Birth certificate, fake passport, apartment title, old pictures, and a wad of cash. At least over fifty thousand. Wrapping the rubber band around it, I stuff if back in the safe and stick the safe back where I found it. The cute little fucking monster is rat-holing cash and I couldn’t be prouder. She doesn’t even trust the banks with large amounts of cash. Lord, she’s more like me than I’d like to admit.

The front door latches closed, catching me off guard, and I know I’m about to get my ass in trouble.

~~~~~~

Leaning against the wall outside her room, I listen to her move around. The rustle of bags, the scrape of hangers, and the thud of drawers being closed tells me she went shopping. I wonder if she bought anything sexy? More shoes? But all I can focus on are the sounds as she moves while I stand quietly like a goddamn freak. I don’t give a fuck. I do dumb shit but to me, it’s more like doing dumb shit with a purpose. It all makes some sort of sense to me, so fuck it, I go with it.

Next I hear a door open and close, then the grind of metal rings on a metal rod. She’s in the shower.

I know it’s wrong. I know it’s unfair, and I know it’s weird. Hell, I could go as far as to say it’s revolting, but those things don’t register. I should seek help for lack of a moral compass, but I don’t have time for that right now.

I look inside at my beautiful girl. It’s painful to watch her touch all the places my hands should be. I’ve seen my fair share of naked woman. I’ve seen them do all kinds of things from licking each other from one end to the other, shower together, and I’ve even watched while they were being fucked, but this is something completely different.

Watching her perform such a dull task such as showering has turned into something else entirely for me. It’s my own fucking brand of live porn. She’s beautiful, and nothing like I’ve ever seen before.

Lurking in the corner of her bathroom, I’m well aware of how fucking wrong it is. The total lack of remorse is what’s alarming.

I miss the noise of metal on metal and hear a breathy scream fill my ears. I’ve been caught.

“W-what … What the fuck are you doing in here?” Simply put, I’m here because I miss her.

Fifteen

Mr. Breaking And Entering

London

“Jesus Christ, Dante! Y-you have to… no, you need to stop doing this.” I huff and puff.

“In through your nose and out through your mouth,” he coaches me softly.

“Fuck you!” I spit through clenched teeth.

“Only if you’ll ask me nicely.” He counters effortlessly.

The twisted bastard is smiling, an ear-to-ear smile with dimples and perfect white teeth. He’s enjoying this. There’s something seriously wrong with him, but all my stupid, traitorous fucking heart can focus on is how much happier it is now that’s he’s here. What a traitorous piece of shit. I would have it removed if I could live without it, that’s for sure. “I told you to leave me the hell alone.” Jerking the towel off of the hook, I elbow check my way around him on my way out of the shower. “Excuse me,” I grumble at the smiling Dante. His eyes take a leisurely trip up and down my naked body. Fucking pervert. Hope he gets a good look ‘cause he’s never touching it again.

“You’re beautiful, baby.”

“Don’t.” I warn him. He’s not skating around this. What is wrong with this man? Did his mom use drugs while pregnant?

I can’t believe he’s in here again. I should’ve known he’d just pop by for a friendly, albeit, creepy visit.

I’m beyond wondering how. It’s only obvious he’s breaking in or being let in. I’m calling and complaining to the building management about this shit. I’m fucking over it. I can’t even feel safe in my own home anymore. “Why are you here?” I know he’s been snooping. Why wouldn’t he?

“I came to see you.” Fucking liar. Does he speak anything other than lies?

“No you didn’t.”

“I didn’t?” He counters, leaning coolly against my bathroom door like he’s welcome here.

“I don’t think you and I are going to work out, in case you didn’t get that hint the last time we saw each other.” I tell him plainly. It’s the truth, but it’s a painful truth. The stalking, the lies, the secrets, the aggression, and the creeping; it’s all too much. All of these things are him as a whole, and that’s too much for me to take on.

“I would agree.” He would? Great, this can finally be the beginning of the end. “You’re right, we aren’t going to work. We’ll most definitely ruin one another, but that is exactly why we should do this. This thing between us is too strong not to. We don’t work, we explode.” He can’t be serious.

“Are you high?” It’s a valid observation. There’s no other explanation for the shit that’s spewing out of his mouth. This isn’t the way he talks.

“No, are you?”

“I wish,” I mumble under my breath. It might make this a little easier. “Dante…” He stops me before I even start.

“London, whatever the fuck this is, it’s something I can’t explain. You’re not someone I would’ve pursued because I wasn’t looking for anyone, but whatever the hell it is that keeps me coming back for more is something strong enough to keep me fighting for it. It’s not just that I can’t let it go, it’s that I don’t want to. You’re what I never thought I’d ever need, but then I met you, and now I can’t imagine anyone but you in my life.”

“Try harder,” I mutter. He can’t be this goddamn interested in me. He just admitted that he wouldn’t have given me a second look, so why?

He follows me to my closet, but stands across the room. His whole demeanor looks like he’s uncomfortable and uncertain.

“I’ve tried,” he sighs tiredly. “Believe me when I tell you I’ve tried to kick you, but you are something I need. Whatever it is, you feed it. No one but you can, or ever has. I can’t walk away. You should know me enough to know I have to see this through. I can’t give it up. If I do, it’ll fucking eat at me ‘til it kills me.”

“I’d like to kill you.” I grumble under my breath, but to be honest, I couldn’t agree more. I shouldn’t want him, but I completely get it and understand it. There’s just something about him I don’t wanna give up, either. I’m sure over time I would get past it, but I would never be over it unless I let it play out the way it’s meant to. “I probably should kill you and save us both the hassle from the mess we’ll create.” I say seriously.

“I know, and things may not turn out well for us, but I’m willing to risk it.” We’re both quiet, both contemplating what the other is saying.

“You should probably go now. I need time to think about this. I can’t tell you that this will continue, so I want you to know that up front, but I’m willing to give it some serious thought.”

He’s on me before I can stop him. His large hands cup my face gently, urging me to look up at him. “No.” He growls, brushing his lips against mine. Flicking his tongue across my bottom lip I try to suck in the air he steals from me.

“Yes.” I breathe.

Biting down, he runs his teeth along my lip. “Don’t argue.” His lips crash against mine. Soft, rough, teeth, he devours me with only a kiss.

He suddenly pulls away, leaving me swaying. What just happened? Sucking in a breath, I back away, “Don’t do that again. I said I need time, so please give that to me.” With one stiff nod he turns and leaves, but not without the final word.

“I won’t wait long, London. I won’t.”

~~~~~~

“Where is it?” A shoe sails past my head, hitting the wall with a thud.

“Matt?” I call. Another shoe passes me, followed by a pillow.

“How the fuck did I lose it?” He yells. Sitting on his bed, I wait patiently for him to calm the fuck down. How did I end up with two men who drive me crazy?

“Matt!” And there goes a t-shirt. Jesus Christ, he’s as dense as … Dante. I miss him and I hate that I do. It’s been three days since he broke in and I miss his stalking ass already. I’m a mess.

“Matt,” I all but scream at him.

“What?” Holding up the square blue little booklet, I wave it around, getting his attention.

“I have your fucking passport.”

“Why didn’t you just say that?” Men.

Standing in the hallway, I wait for crazy to get ready. “Passports? Money and cards?” He asks. I pat my purse. “Shoes? Underwear? Toothbrush?” I roll my eyes. I have no idea why he’s worried about me when he’ll be the one who forgets something.

“Come on, you drama queen.” I grab onto his arm and drag him out the door, into the car, and to the airport.

“It’s been far too long since we’ve visited London,” Matt drawls in a terrible British accent.

“Matt, your accent is offensive and shitty.” Giving me a nasty glare, he picks up his wine glass, pinky out, and throws it back like a two dollar shot, then waves his empty glass around for the flight attendant.

“I love flying private.” He carries on with his ridiculous accent. I’m sure he does, but I’m not going to lie because I like it too.

This was a graduation gift from my grandfather and boy did it come at the perfect time. I aced all my finals and I need this vacation. I need a break. I need time to breathe and think about my life without Dante hovering in every fucking corner, whether in my mind or just in my fucking space. Do I want to play ignorant and turn a blind eye to whatever he’s keeping from me? Is he really a bad person, or does he do these things to protect what’s his? I can’t imagine that he has a lot of friends in his line of work. He takes peoples livelihoods and rips them to shreds. He’s got to have more enemies than anyone could imagine. He’s getting rich while others are suffering. He’s like the devil himself.

~~~~~~

“Any jet leg this mornin’, Pippy?” Cheery Matt asks as he flips one of my braids over my shoulder.

“Nope.” Plopping down on a barstool, I watch him whisk something that better be of the waffle variety. I slept like a baby last night. We came here right from the plane and passed out.

“I’m thinking shopping this afternoon, followed by drinks?” Like he’s got to ask me that question.

Fifteen stores, nine dressing rooms, and a few miles later, we’re at one of my favorite stores, YSL. “Ew, that one makes your tits look like bananas.” Seriously? How does that happen exactly?

“You could just say pass.”

“What’s the fun in playing fashion judge and jury if I can’t make rude comments on terribly designed clothes?”

We’ve worn the strips off of my credit cards, and if I don’t get some food inside of me real soon, I might strangle Matt with those leather pants he’s insistent on getting. “I need food now!” I tell him, jerking him toward the exit.

Walking around Mayfair arm in arm, I marvel at the busy streets and sidewalks. The noise is a comfort. Cabbies honk, sports cars rev their engines as they zip by, and luxury vehicles weave in and out of traffic gracefully. I love the city.

Rounding the corner to our favorite pub, I drag Matt inside with me. Walking through the place, I find my favorite table tucked into a corner against the large window that overlooks the busy street.

“Mary!” I gush. She’s my favorite waitress here.

She rushes over and hugs me tightly, “How long has it been?”

“Close to a year, I believe.”

“Well it’s good to see your face.”

“Yours too.”

“How long are you home for?” I miss this being home.

“I’m not sure. Right now we’re taking a vacation. I graduated and this was my gift.”

“Well if you’re around for a while, we should catch up.”

“Drinks!” Matt cheers. Settling into my seat, I smile at my overly enthusiastic friend. I’m home again with my best friend at our favorite pub, and any time Dante enters my thoughts, I drown them with more drinks. “Matt, hand me another shot.”

~~~~~~

“You know we didn’t need to buy four loaves of bread,” I puff and wheeze down the sidewalk. The early morning sun beats down over us on this rare fall day. Rearranging the six grocery bags I’m hefting down the road, I try not to drop any.

“What were we going to eat then?” Matt fires back, looking light and airy with his two bags. “Not four loaves. One would’ve been plenty.”

“I wanted a sandwich and this is my favorite bread.” I swear to God if I weren’t carrying all of these bags I’d put one over his head and suffocate him.

Kicking open the front door, I wobble my way to the kitchen, toting along my mess of bags when I see him standing there. I should’ve expected it. I’m not shocked, nor am I mad. I don’t even bother wondering how or why because it was only a matter of time―five days to be exact. “Dante.”

Scowling, he starts bitching under his breathe about broken arms and not his woman, but the exhaustion from carrying too many bags up a hill in the sun has taken over. “Why are you carrying those?” Oh, I don’t know. I thought carrying groceries was the new way to work out, dumbass.

“How else was I supposed to get them here? A fucking mule?”

“London,” he says, but continues to just stare at me.

“Are you gonna stand there and lecture, or are you gonna help me?” I snap. He jerks himself away from the counter.

“Yes, of course.” Grabbing the bags from me, he gracefully and effortlessly sets them onto the counter. Show off.

He turns to me after taking my bags and cups my cheek with his hand and uses the other to gently brush the hair out of my face. His sweet gesture melts me just a little bit more, but then he opens his mouth. “I hope you’re not mad that I’m here. Are you?”

“Yes, I am, but do you honestly care how I feel about it?”

“No.” Of course he doesn’t.

“I would ask why you’re really here, but I doubt you’d tell me the truth.”

“Really? I don’t always lie to you.”

“But you do lie. A lie is a lie, Dante, whether you say it out loud or not. It’s still a lie.”

“Only to protect you.”

“The only thing I need protection from is you, but since you say you don’t always lie, do you care to feed me some truth for a change?”

“I’d like to feed you something,” he murmurs.

“And that is my cue to get the hell out of here. It’s been nice eavesdropping, and welcome to London, Mr. Stalker. I’ve got things to do so I’ll catch ya later. Call if you need me, hunny buns.” Sneaky bastard. I forgot he was even here. I need to get my shit straight.

“I will, Matt. Stay out of trouble and you call me if you need help.” It’s a high probability that I’ll receive that call.

Looking back at Dante, he’s running a nervous hand through his hair, then brings it to that watch, but today he isn’t wearing one. God, I hope he doesn’t self-combust from lack of things to fiddle with. I notice fading bruises. I start to ask but he blurts out, “I wanted to see you.”

“You did?” I don’t know why, but I feel likes he’s here for other reasons too.

“Yes. I flew across a goddamn ocean to see you.”

“Why?”

“I fucking like you. I like you more than I want to admit, but like doesn’t even begin to describe it. Why’s that so hard for you to understand? I want to spend time with you. I want to see what this is between us.”

“Okay.” He stops with his fiddling and looks at me in shock.

“Okay?” he repeats cautiously.

“Yes, okay.” He came all this way. He’s pursued me relentlessly. He’s pushed his way in so at this point, I’ll stop fighting and play along? Besides, I really don’t have much of a choice because he’s not going anywhere.

He’s challenging. There’s a mystery there―a code I’m dying to crack. He’s bossy and pushy to the point of annoying. He’s strange and I know he’s dangerous, but there’s more to him. He can even be funny and entertaining, even sweet in his own, fucked up sorta way.

“Good, because cara? I’m not going anywhere.” And if he did, I might die of shock.

Dante

I took time away from my work and my life. I dropped a pretty penny to charter the private jet on short notice, called in my pilot while he was off, and rearranged my whole fucking schedule so I could fly hours over the Atlantic to find her and here I sit, watching her talk to Matt.

I’ll never understand the things I do where she’s concerned. I can’t fathom why I put myself through this. She’s laughing uncontrollably at Matt, and he’s laughing right along with her. I missed whatever it was he said because I couldn’t rip my attention away from her long enough to catch it.

And I wouldn’t change any of it. I wouldn’t ruin this moment. I waved the waiter off as soon as I saw him approaching. I need to keep her laughing. I like her relaxed and happy because I know I’m the one causing so much stress in her life. I’d like to keep her this way forever, but I’ll take tonight if that’s what I can get.

Tonight she looks stunning―perfection in its highest form. She’s wearing a soft green dress with black heels that I want her to wear while I fuck her senseless. I sit sideways in my chair just to be able to watch her eat and laugh. Her wine glass is in one hand while the other flies around wildly as she talks to Matt. Her leg rests innocently enough against mine under the table, but for me, it’s enough to keep me unfocused all through dinner. She’s here next to me. She’s mine, and I will forever own her. She’ll see.

~~~~~~

She pulls me in every direction and I let her. Dragging me along beside her, I watch the awe in her eyes. I can see the fairytales spinning in her mind and the happiness on her sweet face when she stares out at the water below. It makes me smile. It makes me happy. She’s been here, and not too long ago she was living here, yet to see her reaction to everything you’d think it was her first time. I’d kill to see the world through her untainted eyes.

Walking along the Millennium Bridge with her, I decide I’m glad we did this. She gave me dinner, whether it was spent with me or not. She laughed and enjoyed it, and then I gave her the evening. I asked what she wanted to do and this was it. Do I mind? No. I’m beyond disliking giving into her because in all seriousness, that’s what I’ve done all along, and I even find myself enjoying it also. Things she enjoys are things I’ve never truly experienced from her views.

“Dante, tell me about you.” There’s not much to tell. I am what she sees―nothing more, nothing less.

“There isn’t much to tell.”

“Come on. What’s your life like?” It’s always a series of triumphant accomplishments that leave me unsatisfied and wanting more. My life has been a never-ending barrage of meaningless women. I was raised in an unstable, cruel family. I live in a constant cycle of insanity wrapped in a beautiful designer bow. I spend my days and nights with dark and calculating people. My life is spent looking over my shoulder. I’m untrusting and demanding of everything in my life.

My world is unforgiving, ruthless, cold, and charmed. I see things no one ever will and I do things that most people wouldn’t. “It’s pretty average by my standards.”

She laughs a humorless laugh because she knows I’m lying. “You and your life are anything but average. Tell me about your family.” Now there’s a real life soap opera for you.

“I have a half-brother, Joshua, and a half-sister, Lucianna, or Lucy for short, as you know. We have different mothers and until we got older, we didn’t spend much time together. Our relationships are strictly business now.” Frowning up at me, I can see the pity in her big green eyes.

“I’m sorry.” I’m not. You can’t miss something you never had.

“Don’t be.”

She nods her head once. “Well what about your father?” Now there’s a fucking mess.

“My father is as you saw―eccentric and heartless.”

“He can’t be that bad. Tell me about him.” She says, bumping her shoulder into me.

“He is, London.” I assure her.

“Tell me,” She asks again. Fine. Why not? Well

“My childhood was structured, loveless, and harsh. I went to school, did my homework, and worked. When I was fifteen, I starting working for him full-time. It was terrible and I hated every moment of it. All I wanted was to be a kid, but I was being groomed for bigger things since birth and I had no say. Truthfully, it’s why I was born, to follow in my fathers footsteps. He was hard, unforgiving, and mean to work for. He was abusive and not just emotionally. I busted my ass and tried to prove my worth by working my way up the proverbial ladder. Five years ago, he bowed out and I took over, but he’s still reminding me daily of my incompetence and my lack of ability in his eyes.”

“What a son-of-a-bitch!” Probably. He was cold, ruthless, cruel, and self-absorbed. He’s the reason I’m this way, a product of my environment. I let the terrible childhood I had eat me alive and instead of overcoming it, I submitted to it and let it rule me. I succumbed to who I was always going to become.

“What about your mom?” Her big green eyes are shining with interest. I can practically see the curiosity and care pouring out of her. Sometimes I forget just who she is and the tangled web I’ve fallen into. It’s all a fucking mess.

“She was sweet when I was young from what I can remember. The older I got, the more my father worked and the less he was home. The more he was gone, the less he worried about his family. She was starved for affection and love from him, but he started having an affair when I was young and became absorbed with that. She became lonely and depressed, and eventually killed herself. It was her way out, or so my father claims.”

I can truly say this is one of the few topics in my life that I avoid. I loathe the selfish man who turned my mother into the self-absorbed, sick woman who thought suicide was the only way out. “I-I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t trying to dredge up bad memories for you, I just wanted to know more about you.”

“Then enough about me. I want to hear about you.” Which is now my new favorite subject.

“Hmm. Well my mom died when I was young, so we have something in common. I don’t know a lot about her, but I do know she loved this city, hence my name.” She beams proudly looking around.

“My father wasn’t around growing up. Much like yours, he’s an asshole. He spent most of my life in trouble or in jail for one reason or another. My grandparents raised me until my grandmother died when I was fourteen, then it was just my grandfather and I. I was lashing out a lot and he didn’t know what to do with me, so he sent me off to boarding school where I met Matt. That’s pretty much it.” I know. I know it all. I’ve known this all since the moment I laid eyes on her, but hearing her tell me helps me feel closer to her. She’s freely giving this information and opening up to me, and that’s all I fucking want.

“What else.” I urge her on. She’s talking and smiling. I want as much from her as I can get. “Like what? What do you want to know?”

“What’s your favorite food?” I try. The small details are important. Everything about her is noteworthy to me. I want to hear it all, soak it up and live it.

“Cupcakes.” See? This is important shit to me.

I listen to her tell me things about herself. Some things I know and some I don’t. She loves a movie called Wong Foo. Apparently, Matt and her can recite the entire movie. She hates tomatoes. She sleeps with the lights on unless she’s with me and she’s never late for anything. She’s a terrible singer, but loves to sing anyway. To some, these things would be menial and unimportant, but to me they’re worth more than gold. They’re things I’ll remember until I die. They are all about London, and they mean more to me than she’ll ever know because this openness she’s giving to me is something I’ve never experienced before. It’s the most precious gift anyone’s ever given to me, and it’s from someone I care for deeply.

Sixteen

Mr. Accommodating Gentleman

London

Walking hand in hand, I marvel at his rough skin against mine. I’m surprised that he hasn’t pulled it away yet. He’s talking to me, and not at me for once. He’s even letting me talk. He listens carefully to everything I say and responds thoughtfully. At times like this he seems so genuine, and less of an enigma. For the first time, I begin to think that maybe there could be more for us going forward.

Tonight he’s proven to be less of an intimidating mystery and more of an accommodating gentleman than he ever has with me before. We stop at the sights I’ve seen a million times, but tonight everything looks shiny and new. We’ve spent time just getting to know each other, and that’s all I’ve wanted. Tonight’s been the happiest night I’ve had in such a long time.

We’re only a few miles from home when a big fat raindrop lands on my cheek. “It’s looks like it’s about to rain.” Another raindrop lands on my forehead and within seconds, it starts coming down hard and fast. “Come on.” I start to tug him down the sidewalk. Tugging back he stops me.

“Let’s duck inside and call for Branson.”

“Awe, is Dante Marx scared of a little rain?” I challenge.

With a challenging look, he says, “No, London. I’m not scared of a little rain.”

~~~~~~

My back meets the door of my room with a thud and my arms are pinned above my head with one solid grip while his free hand travels down my neck, slowly tracing my skin. His face is serious with intense determination as he goes to work, making his way down over my chest where he stops long enough to give my aching nipple a rough tug before continuing down to my stomach. “I like this dress on you, London. I especially love that you’re soaking wet in it. It’s fucking sexy.”

His hand makes it down past my hip to the hem of my dress. Grabbing a handful of the material, he yanks it up over my hips. “Did you forget something?” His lips brush across my cheek. I can only nod my response. There’s no need to wear panties when he’s around.

Moving his hand from my wrists, he raises my wet dress over my head, tossing it to the floor. “As much as I like this dress, I like this a whole lot better.”

He steps away from me, looking me over from head to toe as he undoes his pants and pulls out his dick. I watch in absolute fascination as he begins to stroke himself, loving the way his hand fists his himself, pumping slowly. I bring my own hand to my pussy and begin to give him the same sexy show he’s giving me.

He’s on me, lifting my legs around his hips and pushing himself inside of me, hard and deep. “London,” he taunts against my lips, “I’m going to fuck you until you’re sore, baby. I hope you’re ready.”

I grab onto his shoulders, thrusting my own hips into his to match his strokes. Pounding hard and deep, he hits every fucking angle perfectly, making me come hard and fast, making me wetter, making me crazier.

I don’t even come down from my orgasm because I swear I can already feel another one ready to come over me. “So fucking tight.” he pants, grinding into me with each word. Wrapping a big hand around my neck, he squeezes, “Scream loud for me, baby. I want the whole of London to hear you scream my name.”

I can feel the tingles in my toes, slowly working up my legs. My eyes start to roll and my stomach starts to tighten. It’s pure bliss.

“Fuck, Dante.” I scream his name over and over as I have what feels like the never ending orgasm. Oh my God, it’s so fucking intense. This man knows how to fuck me, and he’s ruined me for anyone else. I’m even sure his cocky ass already knows this, too.

~~~~~~

One arm is wrapped around my back and one of his hands is gripping my ass tightly. I keep my legs wrapped securely around his waist as the hot water beats down on my back and the steam clouds the shower. “Take two steps back for me.” I say.

“Why?” He asks as he does it. Still wrapped around him, I reach over his back for the shampoo. “Because I’m gonna wash your hair.”

He looks confused. “You’re gonna wash my hair?” He asks me skeptically.

“I am.” I tell him squeezing some shampoo into my hand.

“But why?” God, he asks a lot of questions.

“Because I want to, that’s why.”

He does as I ask. He rests his forehead against my chest and lets me have my way with him. Running my soapy fingers through his hair, I slowly rub it through his soft locks, rubbing along his head as I go.

“Fuck, that feels really good.”

“No one’s ever washed your hair before?”

“No. Who would’ve done it?”

“A wife or girlfriend?” I say, but it’s more of a careful question.

“I don’t now, nor have I ever, had a wife.” Well that’s a relief

“Girlfriend?”

“There is only one, London, and that’s you.”

“So you’re saying that I’m your girlfriend?” I laugh. I’m not going to make an issue out of a word. This time with him is just too perfect to ruin.

Nodding his head, he kisses my chest. “I would think so, although I’ve never had one. What else would you be to me?”

“A friend?”

“Try again..” The sincerity of his confession melts a little part of my heart. I may not like all the bad he is, but I love how he is when he’s with me.

“You want me as your girlfriend?” I ask running a hand through his hair.

Shrugging, he doesn’t remove his head from my chest when he speaks, “Yes, I want you in my life. Whatever you want to call it or however it is, I’ll take it. I just want you.”

~~~~~~

We spent one more wonderful, lazy day in London, mostly in bed, before I was plunked down on his plane, bound for the States. Matt stayed for the remainder of the vacation, sending me on my way with a kiss and a warning to be careful. Maybe he saw something different in me and was letting me know that he knew.

I wasn’t sure what I was going to get when we touched down in NYC. Would things change or stay the same? Do I want them to change? I’m not exactly sure what I agreed to. When I asked what he was expecting to happen once home, his response was, “You belong with me, and you always will.”

Pulled away from the routine of my life, I’ve been thrust into Dante’s strange, yet comforting one. Two weeks back from Europe and we’ve been inseparable.

He’s still all the things he was when I first met him. He still stalks me and I don’t know why. I mean, he’s got me, right? He’s still bossy, pushy, and guarded. His personalities are still very much alive. He’s exactly the same and completely different at the same time. We don’t discuss the night I left his father’s house and what went on. He only told me that he was more than upset and took it too far, and that he’d never hurt a woman or a child, but the man was another matter. I left it at that since the man and his family, according to Dante, were fine and would remain that way.

The now familiar crinkle of the newspaper pulls my attention up from my donut, mid-bite. I look and catch Dante staring at me like he always does. Licking the frosting from my finger, I smile around my finger. “Yes?” If he’s staring, there must be a reason. I’ve learned that there is always a method to his madness.

Clearing his throat and adjusting the neck of his black button up shirt, he shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “Do you have a black dress?” Well I wasn’t expecting that to come out of his mouth. I stare at him, unsure about what’s going on. “Right. Unnecessary question. Of course you do.”

“Why?”

“You’re accompanying me to a funeral.”

“Excuse me?”

“A funeral, London. You know―caskets, graves, grieving families.”

“I know what a funeral is, smartass, but why am I going? Who died?” I don’t recall him mentioning a death and he hasn’t acted like someone’s died. I would’ve thought he’d mention something like that to me.

“No one important.”

~~~~~~

The next morning, Dante leads me up the steps of a beautiful, cathedral style church. I’m not nervous, but I’m definitely hesitant. Why is he bringing me to a funeral?

We’re here and I’m still as uninformed as I was yesterday morning. After Dante’s curt invitation, I was only told that the funeral we were attending was for one of his employees. He said he needed to make an appearance, but that was all I was offered. I didn’t ask anymore because I knew that was all I was getting.

A sea of men and women dressed from head to toe in black, pack the church halls and aisles. Some are sobbing quietly into handkerchiefs, while others talk quietly to each other or are praying.

I feel out of place. I feel like I’m an intruder and I don’t like it. This is their time to grieve a loved one and I shouldn’t be here, but I know that Dante isn’t going to let me go.

Following dutifully behind him, I watch what happens everywhere we go. The room’s soft murmurs and voices die into an eerie quiet when he walks into the room. People stare, men nod in respectful bows, women smile, and some people look down, not daring to look him in the eyes. It’s so goddamn strange.

Dante makes no effort to return smiles, nods, or any other forms of acknowledgment. He doesn’t pass out condolences or offers any sympathy for the death these people are here to grieve. Dante hasn’t uttered a word or shown any sign of emotion for anyone here.

“Here,” he stops at the first row of pews. Nodding to the long wooden bench, he pushes me towards it. Is he kidding me? This is where family sits. Why the fuck are we sitting up front? He’s this dead person’s boss, so what makes him think this is okay to sit right here?

“Dante.” I protest.

“Sit down, London. Please,” He asks. Fine, fine. I sit, but feel so wrong for it.

I sit and listen to the wife of the dead man ooh and ahh over Dante as she sobs into his chest. She clutches his suit jacket, crying while thanking him repeatedly, but he’s uninterested and uncaring.

“Signore, I’m so thankful to have you here. My husband would be so honored to know you were here. He loved you very much.”

“Antony was a good husband, Maria.”

Prayers, sobs, kind words, cries of agony, poems, more sobs, and memories are shared while I try to think of anything other than the dead body a few feet away.

“… In company with Christ, who died and now lives, may they rejoice in Your kingdom, where all of our tears are wiped away. Unite us together again in one family, to sing Your praises forever and ever. Amen.” The priest finishes with a soft smile.

Finally, we’re all asked to rise. “Dante?”

“No, amore mio, go to the back of the church with Vinn. I’ll be there momentarily.” I nod and start to move, but not before he places a kiss to my forehead, lingering longer than I’d expect from him, and walks away with the family.

Leaving is the same as when we arrived. It’s the same wherever I go with Dante. Women are in awe of him and men give him looks of respect. Everyone is so fascinated by him. I know he’s not a goddamn celebrity, and he sure as shit ain’t the President, so who the hell is he to these people? Does he pay great wages and have amazing benefits packages?

“Who are you?” I watch his face pale ever so slightly when he looks down at me and immediately starts to mess with his watch.

“What are you asking me?”

“Why do people stare at you? Why do they seem intimidated, even awed by you? Hell, some even look scared shitless of you.” He almost looks relieved.

“I’m the Boss.”

“That’s not why.” He’s lying to me again.

“What do you expect? I’m rich, powerful, and I’m important. Some people don’t know how to deal with that.” Some people? Try everyone.

“I do.” He’s a lot of things to me, but someone to bow to or fall over is not one of them. Leaning into me he places his hand on the back of my neck. His fingers rub small circles on my skin and I watch as he smirks.

“I know, and that’s why you’re here with me, in my bed, and in my life, London.” Leaning closer, he puts his lips to mine. “Lets go home.”

Sliding into the limo, I take a final look at the breathtaking church across the street. Life with this insane man is anything but average. I don’t see him ever changing his ways. I’ve learned to see the positive in his peculiar traits. The stalking’s become companionable and comforting, knowing he’s always close. His life is shrouded in mystery, like on those occasions that he leaves and never tells me where he’s going, but he always comes back. He’s open about his feelings for me. Every once in a while he’s dark and scary, but I find his brooding sexy and alluring.

I get his humor and laughter often. He always gives in when I want something, even when I know he wants to argue with me. I never have to ask him for attention because he’s always there, giving it to me at every opportunity. He’s kind and caring. For all the dark in him, there’s also light. If there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that Dante adores me and makes no secret of it.

Dante

I left a sleeping London in my bed, locked away in my apartment. The doors are locked from the outside and have a guard at each entrance. I hate to hold her prisoner … shit, that’s a lie. I love the idea of her locked tightly and safely away for me. I’m not trying to keep her in as much as I’m trying to keep the bad out. I’m a paranoid asshole these days so fucking sue me.

A slightly inconvenient twist of circumstances has brought me to one of my abandoned warehouses at one in the morning on this fine night. I’m not happy that I’m here, but there’s not a whole lot I can do about that now. Of course I’d rather be at home in bed, but this is the life – the business – that I deal in.

“What do you want out of him?” Cam asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Whatever he has to offer.” Everything.

“I’m not giving you shit.” I’m gonna clean that spit up with his face if he does it again. Of course he’s not gonna give me anything. I’ll have to pry it out of him, and I’m okay with that. I don’t mind working for my information.

I’ve removed my jacket, my watch, wallet, and phone, setting them on an old desk before I roll the sleeves up on my shirt.

The familiar sound of plastic under my feet gives me the feeling of coming home. I miss the smell of gunpowder, the feeling of rubber gloves, and the sounds of screaming and begging. I’ve spent weeks trapped in an innocent bubble with London, and as much as I love being wrapped up in her, this is who I am. This is what I know. This is my very own, personal shrink, and it’s also my high.

“Boss?” Rocco says hesitantly from the other side of the room. My new little party favor whips his head up to look at me in surprise.

“You-you’re the boss?” His voice shakes on a sharp inhale of breath.

“I am.” I nod and offer him a charming smile. Might as well put my best face forward considering it’s the last face he’ll see. I’ll make it a pretty one.

“What is it, Rocco?” He looks nervous, which is never a good thing.

“Miss London rang.” Of course she did. Normally she’d sleep all night, but the first night I slip out in weeks, she wakes up. Fucking figures. She’s so fucking nosey.

“I’ll call her later.” I have shit to deal with first and my beautiful girl will just have to wait.

I hate to be this close to them, but really there’s no other choice. His arms aren’t long enough for me to have him reach, and truthfully, I don’t want him bleeding all over me anyways.

We started with the questions, which took a while. I’d ask and he’d deny, but I exercised his aversion to my questions out of him. After some strong persuasion, he gave in.

We then moved into the barter portion of my evening. He offered information willingly, offering his life and services to my cause, his first born for my mercy, and his wife to my men in return for his life, but I graciously declined his offers. Now we’re onto the root of the problem―why they want what’s mine, and this topic is a little messier.

“So what is it that they want?” I ask calmly. Losing control never served me well. I’ve broken his resolve down and now he’s seeing things my way. There’s no need to exert more energy than needed.

“Th-the business. The connection.”

“What business connection would that be exactly?” I know the answer, but what I need to find out is if their plans have changed. If this is the case, I need to know what they are. I need the information he has, and I need him to confirm it before I tear his fucking head off for poking his nose into what’s mine. I’m looking for any details I can get from him. How the fuck am I supposed to take care of London, look out for her, if I don’t know what moves are being made against her at this very moment.

I know about her father. I know about his ties with the ‘Ndrangheta, a mafia-type criminal organization based in Italy who deal in extortion, blackmail, kidnappings, and most importantly, the import and export of large amounts of cocaine. I know why he wants her in his clutches so desperately. He needs her to get to her grandfather, therefore getting that business.

I also know she has no idea that her father and I have rubbed elbows, and he’s the reason I sought her out to begin with. Those are details she doesn’t need to know.

After learning of her and the plans for her to take over her grandfather’s business months ago, my paranoia had me seeking her out to see how invested she really was in her family’s dealings, and what I found was a smart, sweet, innocent girl who was fucking clueless.

Her father wants what I want. He wants what belongs to me. Where as I’ve invested time and money, he’s invested blood, sweat, and tears, but fuck him. I don’t give a fuck what he’s done.

It makes this messier for London and I. Business is about to bleed over into my personal life, but it was only a matter of time before it all came to a head. It was gonna happen regardless. She’s more involved in the Cosa Nostra than I initially thought, but only by family, not by choice. It adds an element of difficultly to the situation, but it changes nothing of how I feel for her. In fact, it only fuels my desire to keep her clean and safe. Nothing I learn about her will change that.

Clenching the pliers tightly, I give them a good, solid tug. A scream bursts from his lips and bounces around the soundproof office.

“Dio mio, he’s a fucking screamer,” Cam complains around a yawn.

“Si.” I couldn’t agree more. “So, are you ready for a visit from the tooth fairy?”

“No! No more, please.”

“What do they want besides the business?” I scream in his face, my temper flaring.

“Please, stop!” With a quick twist of my wrist and a rough tug, the tooth pops out. “Fuuuck!”

“Let me ask you again, what the fuck do they want?” Putting the pliers on the next tooth, I twist and twist ‘til it gives way and comes out like the first. This shit is hard work, but rewarding.

“Her! The girl. They want the girl.” I was hoping he wouldn’t say that.

Setting they pliers down, I pick up my gun. Leaning in closely, I wrap a hand around his neck, pulling his dirty, bloody, tear-stained face closer to mine. This was a light lesson. Many get a far worse punishment. To some, this would be considered as too easy, but to this man, it was hell. Having each tooth removed and both hands smashed is never easy, but this is the life he chose. I didn’t force him into it, but for his choice, he’ll pay the ultimate price. “May God bless you.” The loud crack of the gun echoes around the room as his body slumps in close to mine. There’s nothing more fulfilling than eradicating a threat―nothing more enjoyable than winning this game.

“Clean this up.”

“Si, Boss.” They all say in unison. I peel off the gloves and leave them in the dead mans lap. Grabbing my phone, I find several missed calls and texts from London. Of all times to blow up my phone, it’s now. Fucking Christ.

“We good here?” Josh nods and Cam smirks.

“This is a mess, cugino.” Cam states the obvious.

“Do you think I can’t handle it? Are you second guessing me?” I yell.

“Not you I’m worried about. It’s her.” Yeah, me fucking too.

~~~~~~

Stepping inside, I hear outrageous noises coming from the kitchen. Walking through the living room, I stop when get to the door and see it. My kitchen is a fucking disaster. There’s flour on every square inch of working space. Bowls, spoons, and measuring cups are stacked to the brim in my sink, baking dishes and cupcake tins are everywhere. The food network channel chatters loudly in the background and I Care flows through the sound system over the TV. She’s pissed.

I step inside and into something sticky, but I could care less. The only thing I'm concerned about is getting my hands on the little tornado in my kitchen. My little tornado.

It’s not possible for her to be any more fucking perfect than she is in my eyes, but then she goes and does this, raising that bar. She’s standing at the counter in nothing but silk and black lace, and she looks amazing. Those small panties and bra leave little to the imagination and right now, it’s running wild. My kitchen smells like a home.

I watch her for a few moments and savor the calm before the violent storm. She doesn’t know I’m even here, watching her. Scooping something from one bowl and pouring it into another, she hums softly as chocolate drips from the bowl onto the counter. Some even spills from the side when she mixes it. I could quite possibly spend the rest of my terrible life watching her just like this.

I have no more patience. I walk up behind her and wrap an arm around her, tugging that soft body against mine and for one single moment, she melts into me before she catches herself. Spinning around, she shoves me off her. “What the hell, you fucking psycho!” She hisses, slapping a hand right in the middle of my chest.

There’s that Sicilian spirit. “Excuse me?” I know what she’s carrying on about, but why not let her get it out of her system. She’s already worked up, so I may as well let that fire burn until she burns herself out. “You locked me inside your dungeon!”

“I’d hardly call it a dungeon. It’s four thousand square feet of lavishly designed prime New York real estate.” Such dramatics.

“You’ve lost your goddamn mind. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

She throws the chocolate from the cup on me, covering my shirt. “What the fuck, London? You’re the one who’s lost their goddamn mind.”

“Yes!” She screams, pointing a flour covered finger at me. “You’ve made me lose it. You drive me fucking crazy. Why did you lock me in here?”

“You were fucking sleeping! Were you planning on leaving in the middle of the goddamn night?” She was. The guilt flashes across her face immediately, before she can stop it. “Exactly. That’s why I locked you in here, so get the fuck over it.”

If she only knew about the true danger out there, a locked door wouldn’t cause her such grief. Lurking behind every corner and hiding behind every closed door there’s someone waiting―someone bigger and badder than me. To London I’m the worst bad guy she’s ever met. God, if that were only true. I’m the lesser of two evils. I lock her behind closed doors because I’m fucking scared for her. I’ll take her anger if it keeps her ass safe.

She goes on, throwing shit around the kitchen and banging bowls on the counter with vigor. She’s really going to town tonight. “Fottuto stronzo!” Now I’m a fucking asshole. I really do enjoy when she yells shit in Italian, but it’s always when she’s pissed off. Curse or not, it’s a fucking turn on.

If any other woman pulled this shit she’d be out on her ass. Actually, no other woman would ever be here in the first place doing any of this shit. “London?”

“What, ya fucker?”

“Shut up, baby.”

Seventeen

Mr. Remorseful

London

Standing in the middle of Dante’s kitchen, my chest heaves and my anger flares. I let my eyes wander the room, looking for something sharp and pointy. Where’d that knife go?

He locked me in his apartment. He literally locked me in. Who the fuck does that? I shouldn’t be surprised, but really? I wonder what personality decided it was a good idea to lock me up because that’s the one I’d like to stab first.

I woke up to a cold, empty bed, a bed that Dante was in when I feel asleep, but I woke up and the only thing I was tangled in was the sheet. I got up and searched his giant apartment and found… wait for it… no Dante. So I called him, but no answer. I texted him, and got none in return, so I waited. I waited an hour before I decided I was going home. I threw on my clothes and went for the door and found that the motherfucker was LOCKED. I tried the door again, hoping there had been an error, but no, it was still locked. That’s when my mood really went to shit.

I beat on the door, kicked it, yelled at it, and beat on it some more. Someone answered me, which should’ve been just as disturbing as the locked door, but oddly enough, it gave me hope. Maybe I could get out of here.

“Miss London?”

“Let me out.” I tried to sound pleasant, really I did, but it came out rude and demanding.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t. I have orders to keep you here.” That’s when I really lost my shit.

“I’m going to kill the both of you!” I told the voice on the other side of the door. He’s lucky the door and a wall were between us.

I spent another hour stomping around Dante’s apartment, looking for sharp and pointy things to kill him with. That didn’t last long because I got bored. I dug through his shit like again, hoping my chances would be better than the last time, but I found nothing but more locked doors, so I tried to pick them. It didn’t work in my favor because I was still sequestered to the bedroom, living room, and kitchen. Finally I showered and tried to relax, but that didn’t help either.

I succumbed to baking at one in the fucking morning. I tore through his well-stocked kitchen for all the things I needed. As I stacked all the baking stuff on his counter, I decided I was going to annihilate his kitchen. Fuck him and his pristine kitchen. I’m making the biggest mess humanly possible, hoping it will piss him off.

I baked because it’s what I do when I’m having a bad day, and I was classifying this to a bad night.

Two-dozen triple chocolate cupcakes with whipped peanut butter frosting, two loaves of French bread, and a German chocolate cake later, I was finishing up my frosting for my cake when the sick fucking psycho showed up.

“Why would you lock me in your goddamn apartment?” Taking a step toward me, I take a step back.

“Don’t do that, London. You know I’d never hurt you.”

“Does emotional hurt not count?”

Running lips across my jaw and down my neck, I can feel him smile against my skin. “I wasn’t trying to keep you in as much as I was trying to keep the bad out.” My head lulls to the side, giving him access to my neck.

“What bad?”

“The world is what’s bad, London. I’m trying to keep you safe from the world, and the bad people in it.” His words make no sense, but I understand his lips. I understand his intentions.

“Did you make me cupcakes, cara?” No I didn’t make him cupcakes. I made myself cupcakes, but with those lips on my naked skin, I’ve lost my mind, along with my anger.

Dipping a thumb into the chocolate I threw on his shirt, he sweeps it across my bottom lip and runs his tongue slowly across, then sucks it into his mouth. I’m so fucking wet I’m damn near uncomfortable. Biting down, he forces a hiss of pain from me.

“My own little London cupcake,” he whispers roughly against my lips, licking the chocolate away. He starts to kiss a path down my jaw and to my chest before the ringing of his phone cuts into the thick sexual tension. My body sags into his from relief and irritation.

Ripping it out of his pocket, he doesn’t stop his assault on my skin. Without even glancing at the phone, he smashes it on top of the counter. Fisted in his huge hand, he slams it against the counter over and over until the ringing stops. “No one’s gonna take time with you away from me.” He says against my skin.

“O-okay.”

He gets on his knees in front of me and dips his tongue into my belly button, making me moan. Working his way down, he reaches the black lace and I about die of anticipation. Running a finger under the waist of my panties, “This pussy wet and wanting me?” He breathes against the inside of my thigh. I nod stupidly, my voice stuck in my throat.

“I asked you a fucking question, London.” His hand lands on my thigh with a slap. “Yes.” I yell. He’s never done that before, but fuck, it’s hot.

“I know you are, baby.”

He lifts me up on the counter and forces my legs apart so my feet can have a place to rest. His thick fingers push aside my panties and his mouth devours me, thrusting his tongue into my pussy. I feel his tongue moving around inside of me and I immediately explode all over his tongue as he starts to suck and lick fast and hard. “Fuck!” My fingers clutch tightly around the high cabinet handles, not giving a fuck if I pull the cabinets off the goddamn walls.

He shoves my legs open as wide as they’ll go, trying to get more access to where I need him. It’s such a fucking turn-on, watching this man in his expensive designer suit on his knees, fucking me with his mouth and tongue, and watching getting to watch him as he does it. This only makes me come again, shoving my pussy harder into his face. I feel the cum as flows out of me and into his mouth. He makes it his business to lick me everywhere, not wasting a drop.

“I need to take you to the bed where you can ride my tongue like you ride my dick. I’m not even close to being done tasting you, baby.”

~~~~~~

“Just wait in the car. It’ll take me three minutes.” I hold up three fingers, hoping that will drive it home. I’m one foot in the car and one foot on the sidewalk when he starts in.

“I’ll send Branson in for it.”

“Why have Branson unbuckle and go in when I’m halfway out of the car already? I’m going up and I’ll be right back. Calm down.” I throw over my shoulder as I try to rush away before he says anything else.

Pressing the button to my floor, I lean back against the glass wall of the elevator and wait. Today is the day I finally, after what’s now been close to six long years, graduate for the last time. Although this isn’t my first graduation, it is my last, and as much as I didn’t want to attend, I’m going because of Mr. Bossy. I would’ve been happy with a diploma delivered via mail, but Dante pushed and I conceded like always.

Today is graduation day, but if I don’t stop forgetting shit, I’ll never make it on time. This time it’s that ridiculously traditional hat that screams “graduate” that I forgot. God forbid I don’t have the most important accessory.

I make a mad dash into the apartment. I toss around the mess of clothes I left on the bed until I find the buried treasure. Stuffing it under my arm for safekeeping, I make the mad dash back to the elevator, waiting those excruciating fifteen seconds as the elevator makes its decent down into the lobby. I hope they’re serving drinks at the after party, I think as the elevator doors open.

The car isn’t more than fifty feet away, idling at the curb when I push through the front doors, but in a bout of bad luck, a leather hand creeps around my mouth with force while an arm wraps around my middle, leaving my feet dangling a few inches from the pavement. I can see the car mere feet away, but I’m panicked and I lose all control.

That fight or flight instinct takes over and I struggle against the person holding me. Things blur and everything slows to a crawl while I wiggle and jerk around in his grip, but nothing I do helps. I can hear my blood pumping violently in my ears and feel the painful uneven beats of my heart against my chest. I’m pulling at the hand, struggling to breathe. The panic is overwhelming and not being able to breathe is making the panic even worse.

A black SUV jumps the curb, causing people to scream and scatter. I’m still trying to fight, but I can’t scream and my body’s giving out. Tears stream down my face because I should’ve known that it would only be a matter of time before my father and Perry stopped talking and started doing. I was stupid to think they’d give up on me, especially now that I’m so close to taking over the business they so desperately want, but now it seems they have help. They’re going to fucking use me for ransom or kill me.

The back door of the SUV flings open and I see nothing inside except an uncertain future. The moment he gets me inside, I’ll be left to the mercy of the devil, and I know in my heart it won’t end well for me. I’m not going down without a fight, though. I won’t make this easy.

Now that I’m trying to think instead of freak out, I stop fighting as the man drags me closer to the open door. I can feel him tiring so I go completely limp, letting him drag my dead weight along the sidewalk. But when he hefts me closer to the door, I get my balance quickly, raise my arms above and behind me and begin clawing at his face. He lets go of me, but not before shoving me with a solid push towards the door. It’s a shove that doesn’t quite get me there, but it does get me close enough to bash my head into the metal bumper, and then to the sidewalk.

It happened so fast, I didn’t get my hands up in time to catch myself. My fucking head hurts and I’m dizzy, but I’m able to push myself up from the ground. With my mouth finally free, I do the only thing I can think to do. “Dante!” I scream at the top of my lungs, but something hard meets the side of my head and I go back down, hard.

I hear gun shots, screeching tires, and men shouting. Now my eyes are unfocused and there’s a burning pain on the right side of my face. I open my eyes and I can’t see a fucking thing and my ears are ringing. There’s so much pain radiating behind my jaw, down into my neck. I send out a small prayer and get some relief when I finally black out.

~~~~~~

Before I crack an eye open, I can feel the pressure in my skull, along with the pain in my eye and face. My first instinct is to rub my eyes, but even half asleep I know better. This is like a hangover, only ten times worse.

I give myself a moment to figure out where I’m hurt. Everything besides my head, eye, and face feel normal, but my face feels like it met a cheese grater. I wiggle my fingers and toes, roll my shoulders and move my legs. Everything feels normal.

Lying silently for a few moments after taking inventory of my injuries, I hear voices, and one is very distinct. Slipping from the bed, I take a moment to let myself adjust. The side of my cheek throbs to the beat of my heart and I have a dull headache, but otherwise, I feel okay. I’ll survive, but I missed graduation. I would’ve rather been there than go through all of this.

Walking down the hall, the voices grow louder. I make it to the door and see Dante’s hands planted in the center of his desk with Josh on one side of him and Cam on the other.

“This will never happen again. Ever. It will never fucking happen again.” Dante’s handsome face is contorted in rage. I’ve never seen him this angry. His eyes are bloodshot and seems crazy. This man looks worn out and furious.

“I-I’m sorry,” A voice says. Taking a step closer to the door, I can see Pete standing on the other side of it. His face is filled with terror, and he’s shaking uncontrollably.

“You’re sorry?” Dante spits. “I’m sorry that I didn’t just fucking shoot you on the goddamn sidewalk with the other piece of shit. Was it her fault you weren’t paying attention? Your job was to look for her to come out of the building and get into the car, that was it.” Dante screams the last word and then goes quiet. Holy shit.

For a single moment everything is silent. I can hear my heart in my ears again. My hands are shaking and clutched in front of me, just like Pete’s. Shifting nervously, I swallow the lump in my throat. “Was it her FAULT?” he roars. In the blink of an eye, he’s around his desk with a gun in his hand, the barrel inches from Pete’s terrified face. “WAS IT?” My stomach drops.

I watch Dante’s finger on the trigger flex a fraction and I instantly feel sick. “What are you doing, Dante? What the fuck are you doing!” I scream.

Dante

I lost it. My temper, my anger, all in a blind rage. It all just took over. I almost killed someone for what I let happen. I slipped, and London almost paid for it dearly. Her green eyes are red and wet with unshed tears. She’s fucking terrified of me.

“Come on.” I urge her towards the bedroom and away from the mess in my office. The last thing I need is my inquisitive little London poking around in there.

“Were you going to shoot him?” Her voice trembles as the words leave her lips. Yes.

“No, London, I was just upset. It’s a scare tactic.” I was gonna put one between his eyes. Maybe not right at that exact moment, but it’s inevitable. I have no tolerance for stupidity and he’s full of it. He had one simple job. All he had to do was watch her go into the building and come out, making sure no one was following her. I may have fucked up by trusting him while I was making phone calls, but it was his job to follow those very simple orders. He dropped the ball and she was almost taken from me.

“But you had a gun at his head. Why?” I don’t answer her. Any other time her question would bother me, but right now, I just need her cooperation and trust.

“Get in bed, beautiful girl. Like I said, it’s a scare tactic that works.” With not so much as a look back, she crawls in, burrows herself in the comforter and gets comfortable.

Turning to leave, I take a step towards the door, “Dante?”

“Yes?”

“Please don’t kill Pete. I will beg you if I have to, but please don’t kill Pete. None of this was his fault.” It was his job to watch. He knew something was coming because that’s what he does, he gets information. We’ve had eyes on her father and his people, and Pete turned his back for a minute, letting this happen. He missed it and we could’ve been too late to get to her. “It wasn’t his fault, Dante, and you know it. It’s not his job to keep me safe, nor is it yours. This is my father’s fault, and that’s on me, not Pete.”

“Okay.” I give in. I’d tell her anything to keep that sadness out of her tone and those tears out of her eyes.

“Have you seen or heard from Matt?” She asks.

“I called him for you and he’ll be over in the morning.” She unfolds herself from the covers and reaches out to me. I go to her and sit beside her on the bed where she wraps her legs around me and sits in my lap. I’m completely shocked when she wraps her arms around my neck, giving me something that I have desperately needed from her but didn’t realize it until this very moment. She hugs me and I hug her back just as tightly. The thought of losing her today scares the fuck out of me, but she’s here in my arms, needing me to comfort her as much as I need it from her. “Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

“My head and face are sore, but I’ll be okay. Thank you for everything, Dante, especially for saving my ass. You ask if I need anything? Yes, I do. I only need you.”

Fuck, those words are music to my ears. I’m not going anywhere. I’m gonna be right here.

~~~~~~

I’m plotting retaliations, calculating expiration dates, and culminating plans, but all I can truly focus on is London. Her fucking scream is still echoing in my head.

I knew I shouldn’t have let her out of that car alone. I knew better. Lost in the fire in those defiant green eyes, I let her go by herself, throwing her out to the sharks. The one goddamn time I don’t follow her and this mess is made.

I fucking told her. She may not understand the reasons behind my decisions, but maybe she’ll see them now. Nothing I do happens without a great deal of thought and consideration, but I let that go for her. Big fucking mistake on my part.

Sitting in my car, answering emails and taking calls, it happened so fast. Tires squealing, people yelling, and her desperate scream tore through the car.

It was surreal. I fought with the car door trying desperately to get out. Standing on the sidewalk, I fumbled with my gun while my eyes were trained on the man with his hands on her. I never fumble. I never hesitate. It’s the one goddamn thing I know. I was trying to get to my gun to kill the son-of-a-bitch who was pushing her towards a van.

The sidewalk was a disaster. People were standing around watching―some screaming, while others were trying to help. I’m not sure how long it took me to get to my gun, but the moment my hand was on it, I took aim.

I knew if I shot him London would go over with him, but fuck, I didn’t have a choice. It was either shoot him and they both go down or let him take her away from me. I had no fucking choice. If only I’d made her stay in the car, she would’ve been safe.

Taking a drink of my Bourbon, my hands shake and the ice rattles against the glass. I remember the loud crack of the gun, once a favorite sound of mine, now leaves little to be desired.

It’s only minor bruising, a small concussion, a few cuts, and a little swelling, but it’s so much more than that. Once she hit the ground and tried to get up, I watched that piece of shit pull his own gun and slam down into the side of her head. He could’ve killed her right there and I was still aiming my fucking gun. She should have never been alone in the first place. No one should have touched her. And if I have my way, no one will ever fucking touch her again.

Eighteen

Mr. Unsure And Untrustworthy

London

Tearing the blankets from the side of the bed, I wrap myself up and cuddle down deeper. I can hear Dante’s loud commanding voice and Matt’s carelessly casual one working it’s way towards the bedroom. Three…two… one… the door flies open with a thud.

Matt lands on the bed next to me. “Mornin’ bitch!” He sings cheerily, smiling ear to ear as he gives me a once over. He’s been here for four days, keeping me company and driving Dante insane. We’ve played board games, watched movies, caught up on the celebrity gossip, and indulged in terrible food while we laid in Dante’s plush king size bed.

“Hey, your face looks less puffy.” It feels less puffy too. My face was fine, really. A few scrapes down the side and a bruised knot on my temple. The side of my head took the biggest hit. I’ve sustained worse injuries during high school gym class, but Dante took it to the extreme like only he can, and he’s been worrying tirelessly over me.

“Yeah, thanks.” I think. Looking up from Matt, I see Dante lingering by the bedroom door. He looks a little unsure while he gives me a thorough once over. Dante’s still treating me like cracked glass.

“You mind if I take off?” Matt asks, throwing a thumb over his shoulder.

“Nope.”

“Good, I’ve got some hair to do and a hot date.” Touching my hair he frowns. “But maybe I’ll stay and fix your hair. It really does look like shit.” Jesus.

“Go away,” I tell him.

Placing a kiss on my forehead, he leaps up, “Later, tater! Loves you.” Too gay for his own good, he blows three air kisses my way. Passing Dante on his way out the door, he touches his arm. “Catch you later, handsome,” he whispers and winks. Dante pales and takes a few steps back, which Matt only finds amusing.

“Go away, Matt. Oh, and love you too.” I call after him. Throwing up the peace sign, he disappears through the door.

I watch Mr. Personalities stare at me from the doorway, wearing a pair of black trousers and his usual white button down shirt, but he’s working on his watch in slow, measured twists. He looks insecure, tense, and sexy.

“Dante, what’s wrong?” I ask him. Pushing himself from the doorframe, he straightens.

“I made you breakfast,” he says hesitantly.

“You did?” I’m pleasantly surprised, although I would’ve loved to watch him cook it too.

“Yes.” Well now, there’s my reason to get out of bed. “But first, come here.” He summons me. I don’t challenge his bossiness today.

I’m put on the bathroom counter with little effort. Dante’s back is to me as he digs through a cabinet like a man on a mission. “What are you doing?” He doesn’t turn around and he doesn’t stop what he’s doing when he answers me.

“I’m gonna fix you,” he states. He’s going to fix me?

“How are you gonna fix me, exactly?” I ask suggestively.

Looking over his shoulder, he gives me that look, “Behave.”

“No.” Shaking his head, he goes back to what he was doing. Damn it, four fucking days and he’ll barely look at me in fear of me shattering into a million little pieces. I’m gonna kick his ass.

Sitting on the bathroom counter, He forces his way between my thighs with a handful of medical junk that he dumps next to me on the counter. “Are we gonna play doctor?”

“London, you’re very cute when you’re trying to persuade me into fucking you.”

“Is it working?”

Putting a dab of antibacterial cream on his finger, he smoothes my hair out of my face with his other hand.

“I’m not fucking you right now. I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“But you won’t, dammit!” I protest and pout. Running his finger along the cut on my hairline, his eyes blacken and his lip curls ever so slightly.

“Shh.”

I let him tend to me, taking care of my cuts, bruises, and every other need. It’s like this has become his daily mission. He cleans me up, feeds me, has me entertained, and dotes on me constantly. A girl might get used to all the adoration he’s showering on me.

Helping me off the counter, he turns me towards the door. “Now to feed you, cara.”

The breakfast bar is covered with bacon, fruits, even cereals. “You made all this?” I’m hungry, but I’m not sure I’m that hungry.

“No. I made the crepes, though.” He says proudly. Reaching for the crepes, I pull them to me. “Well then, that’s what I’m eating!”

Popping another mouthful of fruit filled, whip cream covered crepe in my mouth, I hum with appreciation.

“How are you feeling this morning?” He asks.

“Mmm, good.” I mumble with my mouth full. “Why are you all the way over there?”

“I’m letting you eat your breakfast in peace.”

“What if I don’t want you to leave me in peace?” I wink.

“Eat your food, beautiful.”

Since the day after my almost abduction, Dante’s been locked away in his office, working on “handling” the situation. I don’t ask because I’m not sure I really wanna know. He promised me no more violence and I’m holding him to it. Today is the first day he’s spent more than thirty consecutive minutes with me. He’s been taking care of me, but only for short spurts, then he gets back to his “business”.

“I think I’m going to go home today.” I tell him.

“No.”

“No? I didn’t ask you.” Pushing away from the counter, I get up. God, I’m so full.

“London, go get back in bed.” Sitting his coffee cup down, he points back down the hall.

“I need to go home. I can’t stay here forever.”

“No you don’t and yes, you can.” Here we go.

Walking down the hall I yell back over my shoulder, “I’m going home, crazy!”

“The fuck you are,” He counters, right on my heels.

“Dante, don’t be dense. I’m ready to go home. As much as I’d like to be locked in your dungeon forever, I have a life outside of your apartment, sorta, and I need to go home.”

Walking around his room, I look for my stuff. Collecting the little bit of shit I have here with me, I shove it all into my purse. I wore Dante’s shirts the entire time I’ve been here. Hmm, maybe I could just stuff one in my bag for later. “I’ll see you again. I’m just going home.”

“Put the fucking bag down and get in bed.” He orders.

“No.”

“London.” He growls. Leaping onto the bed, I run over to the other side, but he advances on me. Picking up a pillow, I toss it at Mr. Bossy Fuck.

“No!” The pillow misses him by a mile. Well there went that point.

“Back in bed, you little culo pazzesco.”

“Did you just call me a crazy ass?” Throwing his hands up in the air, he grumbles more shit in Italian under his breath. I know enough Italian, but not a lot.

“You leave me little choice.”

Scooping me up, he hauls me off the floor, throws me on the bed and crawls over me. Gathering up my hands, he holds them above my head. “Let me go right now!” I plead. “I need to go home, please.” It suddenly hit me in the kitchen that I needed a little space. I’m gonna go crazy if he continues to keep me in bed and in this apartment. I need to breathe.

“No. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“Dante.” I protest.

Watching me for a moment he looks me over. “Fine, but I’ll take you. I’ll walk you up, and you’ll call me tonight.”

“Yes Sir,” I grumble.

Kissing my lips softly, he asks, “Please don’t wander. Please be careful and for fuck’s sake, call me. It’s the only way I can function anymore.” His voice is sincere and his eyes are pleading. How am I supposed to fight with that?

“Fine.” I concede. Anything to get him to let up.

“Thank you, London.” Then he kisses me softly.

~~~~~~

I’ve called my grandfather. He’s out of the country for six weeks, which means I get six weeks to myself before he puts me to work. I wanna throw my arms out and do the Sound of Music spin. It’s been years since I’ve gotten anything longer than a week to myself, so what the hell will I do with six fucking weeks? I didn’t tell him about what happened because there’s nothing he can do from another country but rush back home. I need to find ways to protect myself, and there’s also Dante who’s probably having me watched from an apartment across the street somewhere, maybe even a rooftop. It’s a possibility.

I start my six weeks with ordinary housework and a little primping. I’ve done laundry. I cooked some lunch for Matt and myself. Hell, I even cleaned out the fridge.

Matt and I are now sitting in the living room watching a movie and munching on crap food. “Toss me the remote,” I tell lazy ass Matt, who’s currently hanging off the other side of the couch like a slouch. Picking up the remote, he doesn’t toss it, he hurls it at me. Bypassing my outstretched hand, it crashes into the bookshelf.

Books topple over and picture frames crack and fall. “What the fuck, Roger Clemens?” I look from the shelf to him.

“Who?” Matt asks from the couch. Seriously?

“He’s a pitcher―never mind. What the fuck? Were you trying to knock me the fuck out?” Laughing, he slumps further into the couch.

“Nah.” Asshole.

Picking up the remote and it’s scattered batteries, I set about cleaning up the glass and the mess. Sitting the picture frame back on the shelf, I notice a little dime sized black thingy stuck to the corner of the frame.

“What’s this?” I ask Matt, waving the frame around.

“What’s what?” Handing him the frame, I point to it. Looking at it for a few moments, he looks up to me with his eyes the size of saucers, “Is this a… oh shit, London. Check it out.” He hands it over to me and I take a closer look.

“No way. Is this one of those little hidden cameras, or some sort of bug?” Matt nods.

“Dante,” I roar, jerking my phone off the coffee table. I’m gonna kill him.

~~~~~~

“You put cameras in my apartment?” I yell and shove the picture frame at a stunned Dante. Standing at my door, he sticks a cautious hand out for the frame. He looks at me and back to the frame like it may be a bomb. Turning the frame over in his hands, he studies it carefully for a silent moment.

“London?”

“Don’t London me. Why would you put CAMERAS in my fucking house?” Screwing his eyes shut, he takes a deep breath.

“I didn’t put cameras in your apartment.” He states evenly. Liar. Liar. Liar.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Why would I put cameras in your apartment?” That’s what I’ve been asking myself. Why does he do half the strange shit he does?

“Why would you break in?” I throw in his face.

“To see you.” Ah, he’s smooth.

“That’s what cameras are for―to see me. So again, why would you put cameras in my house?”

“If I wanted to see you, I’d just break in. It’s not like I try and hide the shit I do, London. Be realistic here, will you?” He laughs. Oh yeah, he’s so funny. I wonder how funny he’ll be with the picture frame shoved up his ass.

Handing the frame to Cam, he looks it over. “Cute pic, London.” He chuckles. The picture is of Matt and me sitting on a dock on the lake a few years ago.

“Shut up, Carmine,” Dante grumbles. This is completely fucked. I’ve got my father and Perry’s bullshit to deal with. I’ve got Dante everywhere, and I never know what to expect with him. It’s all piling up. They’re all going to drive me fucking crazy.

Grabbing my arm, Dante tugs me into him. “Don’t say or do anything you don’t want recorded. If there’s one, there’ll be more, and where there are cameras, there are microphones. Out in the car we can talk.” Pulling away, he nods at the door. “Go.” He instructs tersely. I go, but not without giving him an elbow check while passing.

Sliding into the car, he’s already on the phone, talking feverishly with purpose and rage. “Sweep the entire place, top to bottom. I want you to check every square inch of her place. Find them all.” He ends the call and shoves the phone into his pocket. Leaning into his seat, he rubs the bridge of his nose and sighs. Staring straight ahead he says, “You’re coming back home with me, and before you have one of your fucking selfish tantrums, I’ll tell you that you can’t be here with cameras and God knows what else. Someone put those in your apartment to spy on you. I’ll assume Matt will have somewhere to stay, and if not, he’ll stay with us.” Well fuck. Looking out the window and up to my apartment, my stomach drops. After that little trip on the sidewalk and now this, I’m not sure I can handle much more.

He’s right. We can’t stay here, but I don’t wanna be held hostage in his apartment, either. Reluctantly Matt took off when Dante insisted that he had it under control. Matt couldn’t stay at our place and he wasn’t interested in hanging with Capitan Crazy. He headed to a friends place, but not before insisting I call him as soon as Dante knows something. Kissing his cheek, I made him the promise before sending him on his way. Lucky for me, I’m now stuck with Captain Crazy.

“I can’t be locked away, Dante.” I tell him honestly. For the first time in a while, I get what he’s saying. I’m not being mean or bitchy, I just need some space from this city and situation.

Nodding his head, he pulls his phone out again, typing roughly on the keys. “We’re going back upstairs. You’ll pack a bag full of warm weather clothes. Do not speak. Do it all without words.”

“Okay.”

“We’ll all go away, somewhere fun. How does that sound?” Shaking my head in enthusiasm, he presses his lips to my forehead and throws the door open for me. “I’ll take care of you, cara.”

At this point I’d go to hell with him just for a little peace and quiet. Stepping out of the car, I check out my surroundings. Taking careful steps towards the front door to my building, I look up into eyes that are smiling down at me and I smile. I need this.

Dante

Bugs. Goddamn surveillance equipment. For the first time in a long fucking time, it wasn’t my gear and that’s upsetting. I’m the only motherfucker that’s allowed to watch her. No one else can have that privilege. No one gets that. She belongs to me. Not only do I want them removed from her personal space, I want the goddamn footage in my possession. Anything that pertains to London belongs to me.

The flight was non-eventful, exactly how I like it. We had a light dinner and a few drinks, where London proceeded to sleep the rest of the flight away while I, on the other hand, took care of shit back home. Twenty thousand feet in the air and work still managed to find me. We landed and headed straight for the boat. I need London alone and miles away from anyone or anything but me, so a hotel wasn’t an option. She didn’t argue. She needs space, not stuck in a room, hence the boat.

Sitting on the upper deck, I bask in the sun’s rays. Taking a hearty drink of my Scotch, I try to drown out the nagging thoughts of business that have no place here, but they still seem to plague me. Even one hundred miles off of the coast of the Cayman Islands and I still can’t curb the never-ending dramatic saga that seems to be my life as of late. It’s all consuming in the worst way.

For the first time, it’s just us, and I plan to take full advantage of it before the family arrives.

“Evenin’, Captain.” Shielding my eyes from the sun, I tilt my head back to find those long legs.

Standing on the upper deck is London and everything is forgotten. Wrapped in the world’s smallest white bikini, her tan skin runs as far as the eye can see. Big black shades rest on that cute nose of hers and her long dark hair blows in the breeze. Everything I cherish and adore in one small, feisty package. “Come here.”

Sometimes it’s hard to remember what my life was like before London. In this small amount of time she’s changed everything. A life after London is not something I’m willing to tolerate. Thirty-three years I’ve spent blissfully unaware of how alone I was in this world. It was just myself and I was okay with that, but now that I know what I’ve been missing, things will never go back to what they were. I can’t picture spending the rest of my life without her in it. London’s it for me.

I don’t remember being lonely before she came into my life. Nothing felt lacking, at least. I wasn’t bereft with longing or sad with loneliness. I didn’t feel like anything was missing or I was without, but sitting here with her head resting on my chest, the idea of her not being with me leaves me feeling desperate and sick.

I don’t recall caring before her. Self-centered, single-minded, and uncaring were daily occurrences for me. I was okay with that life. I only needed myself.

Those feelings have changed drastically. Nothing was as intense or real before she came into my life. I don’t think I had it in me to be soft and caring, but here I sit, trying desperately to come up with things just to make her smile or laugh. Good or bad, she’s changed me and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to truly go back to the way things were before.

Looking around, I remember the day I bought this boat. It was the same trip when I bought the beach house a few years ago. I remember buying both and thinking how I’d finally made it. I was big enough to buy a fucking two hundred and twenty foot yacht and beach property. It wasn’t the biggest or the best by some standards, but I worked damn hard for it. I fucking earned it and everything else I’ve ever got in life. Blood, sweat, and fucking tears were what I put in. Big purchases, closing deals, speaking with my accountant filled me with a satisfied sense of accomplishment and now it’s all changed.

Her laugh when I do something to earn it, the soft glow in her eyes when I make her smile, that fire when I piss her off, and her sweet when I make her happy in return is a satisfying accomplishment. No material item or vain achievement could replace that.

“I kinda like your boat.” She tells me as she lays across me on the lounger.

“Our boat,” I correct her, and after this vacation it’ll never just be mine, either. It’ll forever remind me of her.

“Oh, please. I know you didn’t buy me … us, a boat.”

“I didn’t buy it for you, per se, but now it’s just as much yours as it is mine.” Those perfectly sculpted brows pull together while she digests my words.

“You’re insane.” Very much so. It’s all come full circle, really. I’ve gone completely insane and it all makes perfect sense now.

“And you’re not Miss DeLacourt?” So I’m not sure insane would be the choice word to describe her, but there are some precarious qualities there.

“Absolutely not,” she scoffs. She’s quiet for a few moments, like she’s waiting to ask me something, so I wait it out and let her get her words together. “Why me?”

“Why you what?” I’ve put in a few months and she’s still confusing to me. I wonder if I’ll ever figure her out.

“Why’d you pick me? Why stalk me?” Ah.

“Why not you?” I counter.

“You always answer a question with a question and it’s fucking annoying.”

“When I look at you, I see good. When I’m with you, I feel like I can do anything. But most importantly, it’s because you’re you, London.”

~~~~~~

I got one day before the family descended upon us. They’re staying for two days of “important” family bonding before I get London all to myself again. Fuck, I can’t wait for them to be gone. “Let’s go,” Matt shoots from his seat, offering his hands to London and my sister. He flew in late last night on my dime so London would feel comfortable and relaxed with someone she knew.

So far everyone is getting along. My sister’s behaving, Betty is doting. Cam is enjoying himself while Josh is plotting, and I haven’t turned to Grappa to get me through the day. No one’s killed anyone yet, and that’s a celebratory accomplishment.

Sitting on the second deck around the table, Josh, Vinn, Cam, and Geo discuss business. “You didn’t put those bugs in her place?” I wish had, but I didn’t.

“No.”

A scream and a wail startles me right the fuck out of my chair. I’m not entirely sure how I make it from inside the boat to the back without hurting myself. Skidding to a stop at the back of the boat, music blares from the onboard sound system along with racious laughter as Matt, Lucy, and London dance and yell, seeming to be having the time of their lives. I think she may have given me a mild heart attack.

I watch as they all drink, laugh and dance together. Now I’m watching her and Matt slap at each other. I’m not sure how I feel about his hands flying around at her face but she’s in hysterics so I leave it alone. Both are trying desperately to push the other overboard. I’ll never truly understand their relationship and as much as I hate the idea of it not being me making her smile, I’m just happy to get to witness the happiness their relationship brings to her.

Nineteen

Mr. Liar

London

I’ve been forced to navigate the waters of the Ocean with the false sense of help from the Captain. Dante said “Come up to the wheel house with me.” I followed him without realizing that I’d end up in complete control of a giant ass boat. I’m a nervous wreck.

“What if it sinks?”

“It won’t,” he assures me confidently. How can he be so sure?

“I could sink it.”

“London,” he groans tiredly. “we’re off the coast of The Cayman Islands. The water here is deep, the weather is beautiful, and the breeze is perfect. You have no one around and miles of ocean.” Oh.

“Still, I could hit something.”

Leaning down, nose to nose, he wraps those big hands around both sides of my neck with his fingers brushing tenderly against the skin of my neck and jaw, calming me just the tiniest bit. Smiling that soft dimpled smile, he presses a kiss to my forehead. “I trust you not to kill us, amore mio. You’ll do fine.”

“Remember that trust when we’re living Gilligan’s Island style on some remote blip of land in the middle of the ocean,” I moan. That smile spreads into a bull blown grin.

“Your imagination knows no bounds, beautiful. Just drive the goddamn boat and try to avoid nonexistent icebergs, islands, and whales.” I could hit a fucking whale?

“I didn’t even think of whales. Oh shit.” I practically shriek after him. I get nothing but a strong wide back and a laugh from a retreating Dante. I need a drink.

I manage not to kill anyone or any whales and I avoid all floating blips of land, but it’s not without a few small strokes or heart attacks. Dante leads me away from my captain duties to find me a strong drink and a paper bag to breathe into.

“We’re spending the rest of the day lounging, drinking, and soaking up the sun.” I tell him sternly as he drags me back to the deck.

“Okay.” He nods.

“We are.” Coming to a stop, he looks back to me. “I know, baby. Whatever you want. It’s your world London, I just live in it.” He holds fast to his promise. We do whatever I want, which consists of lounging and being lazy.

~~~~~~

My eyes pop open out of instinct, but it’s not without a struggle. I’m exhausted from doing squat today. I lounged, I snacked, I drank, and I lounged a little more. It was a perfectly uneventful day.

“When we get back, I want you to move in with me.” Excuse me? He wants me to live with him? I let those words sink in and marinate before I go off like I usually would.

He wants me to live in his home? I’ve known him what? Like, a little over two months? He can’t be serious. “You want me to live with you?” I ask him slowly. He only nods once like the idea is simple enough. “Like, move my stuff into your house. Share a bed, a bathroom, and a closet? Dinners together and waking up to one another?”

“Well you’d have your own closet, but yes.” Am I the only one who finds this all a bit too soon?

“I think we’re skipping a few of those all too important steps in the dating rules,” I say carefully. I watch his eyes and that face for any indication of what he might be thinking. It’s hard to tell with Mr. Twelve some of the time. I may get one of his sensible personalities or I might get an unreasonable one.

“I don’t.” He says with that steely determination of his. I get the unreasonable one. Of course he doesn’t.

“Dante, I’m not sure living together is such a good idea right now.” I tell him softly, but I can see the wheels of crazy turning up there. He’s thinking of ways to talk me into it, ways to kidnap me, ways to force me.

“You’re moving in, and that’s it.”

“I’m not,” I fire back out of instinct.

“You are, London. If I say you’re moving in, then you’re moving in.” Why? Why must everything be his way or no way at all? “Dante, we barely know each other. Let’s be reasonable and see―”

Throwing a hand up, he stops me. “You’re living with me, London.”

“No, I am not! Are you drunk?” There’s supposed to be discussions, communication, understanding, but I don’t get that with Dante.

“I just want you with me. How am I supposed to keep you safe if you’re not with me? How am I supposed to function when I’m worrying? I need you with me. I want you with me, always.” And that is why I deal with it.

“I don’t know.”

“I do. You belong with me, amore mio. Today, tomorrow, next week, and next year. You’ll

always belong with me, London. There’s no other option, and you’re it for me.”

~~~~~~

Dante’s sister Lucy is sweet and funny, absolutely nothing like Dante, and I enjoy that immensely. We’ve gotten along great.

Betty is kind. I find a calm peace when speaking with her. Motherly with a tendency to go overboard, I find her unquestionably wonderful. Betty reminds me of my grandmother.

Joshua, Dante’s brother, is very standoffish. There’s a familiar temperament there to Dante.

Carmine is someone I’ve gotten to know a little since meeting Dante. He’s everything Dante is not. Cam is goofy and over the top. He’s like a sixteen year old stuck in the body of a man. Dante’s family is a wonderful mix of personalities and I’m happy to have them here with us.

After Dante’s conclusive proposal of living together, he’s said nothing more about it. Of course he would think that his word was final and it would no longer be discussed. Oh how wrong he is. I’m not arguing or fighting him right this moment because I’m enjoying this vacation. I’m having a good time and I’d like to keep it that way, but there’s a storm that will eventually roll in.

~~~~~~

“Something smells amazing. Whatcha cookin’ there?” Cam asks, dipping a finger into the sauce. “Bolognese.” Popping his finger into his mouth he smiles.

“This is good. You always cook like this?”

“When the mood strikes, I guess.”

“Wanna marry me?” Ha, no.

“Where’s Dante?” I ask. I haven’t seen him in a while and he’s usually attached to my hip whether I want him there or not.

“Oh-uh, yeah. He’s around,” He flutters a hand around carelessly.

“Around?” I repeat. I’m not buying his bullshit. Not for a single second. He’s not nearly as good of a liar as Dante is. Jesus, I’m surrounded by liars.

“Yeah. Well, I’ll see you at dinner,” he mutters.

“Yep.” I shoot him a smile as he turns on his heels and leaves.

I give him three seconds before I follow him down the exotic wood lined wall of the lower deck. The little liar will lead me to the big liar. Winding my way through different doors and rooms, I follow his retreating back.

All day Dante’s been disappearing and reappearing out of thin air. He’s taken phone calls away from me, he’s gone on a few mysterious errands. When he’s on the boat, he’s locked in his office with one of his guys. He’s acting stranger than his usual self, which leaves an unsettled knot in my stomach and the intense urge to figure out what’s going on. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s to be lied to.

Rounding the corner, I watch Cam slink inside a door at the end of the hall. Letting it swing to a crack, he doesn’t pull it closed, giving my nosey ass just enough of a view to see what’s going on inside, but just barely. The guys are sitting around a table and my mouth drops. Dante’s back is to me and the table in front of him is loaded. “Is this what we tapped into the offshore for?” Cam spits, flicking away a small baggie as soon as he sits down. It’s everything you would imagine from a terrible gangster movie. It’s unreal.

A few rectangular packages wrapped up in brown paper and covered in cellophane sit in the middle of the table. Drugs. My eyes skip from one crazy mess to the next. “We’re not getting market for these.” Cam continues to rant. Jerking a knife from the table, he tears into a package and just like every movie I’ve ever seen, he dips a finger in a rubs the white powder on his gums. It’s fucking coke. Jesus Christ. This can’t be happening.

“We aren’t selling a goddamn thing. We employ the hustle. They’ll sell it for street and double it for us. We’ll make our money back, just like we always do,” Dante growls.

Does this shit ever end? Every bad thing I learn about him is when I sneak in through doors. Either he’s sloppy or forgets how goddamn nosey I really am. What have I gotten myself into? Is this the reason he wanted to take me on this “vacation”? I may not know a whole fuck of a lot about drugs and the game, but I do know people traffic this shit on boats. I also hear about all the shady things that happen on these Islands.

A laptop catches my attention as Dante starts to flick through it while the guys continue checking out the bags. It’s open and sitting in front of him, facing me. Four black and white screens fill the larger screen, and when he clicks a few buttons, videos pop up of…me? There are videos of me doing everything and nothing at the same time. Video of Matt and I lounging, Lucy and I laughing over something on her phone, all of us swimming, and Betty and I eating lunch. He flicks through them one by one, and all of them are of us on this trip.

It hits me while staring at those videos that those bugs in my house were his. They’d have to be. How convenient is it that he just so happens to have videos of me here too. That’s not a fucking coincidence. The sick fucking bastard’s been taping me.

The scrape of a chair startles me. “I’m done with business. I need some time with London,” Dante says. I don’t see why, considering he’s seen enough of me to last a goddamn lifetime with all the videos he has of me.

Turning on my heels, I head back up the stairs. My head’s spinning and my heart aches. This is his other business. This is what brings out the monster in him. He’s a fucking drug dealer. This is what makes people afraid of him. This is why he’s so cruel to people who “work” for him and threatening to others. Fuck him for coming into my life. I wish I’d never met him.

~~~~~~

Peeking up through my lashes at Dante, I see him reclined in his seat with a drink in hand and a simplistic smile on his face, looking like he hasn’t a care in the world. He certainly doesn’t look like a man who runs drugs. An embezzler, maybe, but not drugs.

Just when I feel like I may be figuring him out, he does something and completely flips me on my head. How can the man sitting next to me be so despicable?

I sit in silence. Everyone is oblivious to what’s going on here, or most of them, I hope. Dante squeezes my leg in a silent question. Looking at him, he’s smiling at me, but now that smile makes me sick to my stomach.

Vinn’s concerned face appears in the doorway. Dante glances at him and Vinn just raises an eyebrow back. Is this the signal for The Drug Club? “I’ll be back in a moment.” Dante says, placing a brief kiss to the top of my head before he excuses himself from the table. Pushing himself from his seat, he shoots me a look I can’t decipher before disappearing through the door. Fuck him.

I wait a few moments after he leaves before excusing myself, complaining of a headache to slip away. I can’t sit here and play pretend with Dante right now. Everything feels too real for all of it to be a lie.

~~~~~~

The warm waves of the Caribbean lap against my feet and legs. I find peace in the waves and the bottle of alcohol I’m sucking down like a woman dying of thirst. Lifting the bottle to my mouth, I let the alcohol wash over my lips and dance across my tongue. I let the liquor dull everything into something more tolerable, but I’m looking for more manageable.

There’s not a single person for miles on the private beach and I’m thankful for the solitude. Here on this beach alone with my bottle and the ocean at my feet, there’s only my gun and myself. There’s no lies, no stares, no narcotics, no bullshit and my personal favorite, NO DANTE. There’s nothing to contend with but my own thoughts.

And my own thoughts are where I am, waist deep shit. Every word that leaves Dante’s lips are lies. He lies so fluently that I became immune to it. It’s becoming hard to decipher the real from the fake, the lies from the truth.

He said those bugs weren’t his while standing in my house. A bold face lie. He said he’d never go that far, that he’d never watch me that deeply, yet I find him watching surveillance of the boat. There I was clear as day on CCTV, but those bugs weren’t his? Lies? A coincidence? Who the fuck knows at this point. I’d never get an honest answer if I tried.

Part of me wants to accept it all for what it is. These are his ways. This is Dante. The lies are his truths. He loves with lies. All of the peculiar is his idea is his truth of protecting me and caring for me. He does this for piece of mind and who am I to say how he should do things? All the watching, the following, the demanding, and the sneaking, it’s all for me. Why else would he do it? It all has to be for my benefit, or why else would he do it? He cares about me. He wants to keep me safe, right?

It’s his sick idea of protection, but it’s always a gross invasion of my privacy. Where is that line drawn from normal to unhealthy? I never have a say, but really, do I want one? Would he stop if I said so? Do I want him to stop? I don’t think I’ve known what normal is since I’ve met him.

Taking a drink, I sit the bottle next to me. Laying back into the surf and sand, the water rushes up my sides and the gun rests across my chest, away from the salty waves. I’m tired. I’m so fucking sick of feeling like I’m drowning in crazy. Two months ago, life was good. It was calm and I liked it that way, but then Dante came along and ruined it for me.

“Are you planning to kill yourself on the beach, London?” He asks unamused, standing over me.

“No, Dante. Just you.”

“Thirty-three years of dodging bullets and I’m going to die at the hands of a woman,” he mutters dryly. I could shoot him, but I’m not sure I’m capable of digging a hole big enough for his body. The sick part is that I’ve grown fond of this stupid fucking asshole, aside from all the lies he’s fed me.

“Are you done?” I hear the irritation in his voice and that’s fine with me. I could care less.

“No, Mr. Marx, I’m not even close to being done. You can go, though.” I tell him and I see the switch flip. I pushed.

“Up,” he demands in a scary flat voice. Tipping my head back, I stare up at his face. Such a beautiful monster stares back at me with rage boiling his those deep, dark eyes. “Get up. Now!” His temper’s showing. He’s slipping.

“I said no.”

“Do I look like I’m fucking asking you?” I feel oddly calm and a tad excited.

“Go away. Go play with your offshore accounts, your drugs, or perhaps watch me on a video, or whatever other weird shit you do,” I say, sounding a little incoherent.

I’m jerked to my feet and I yelp in surprise. My precious bottle of liquor clatters to the sand by my feet and the gun hits the sand with a dull thud. My arm is pulled to the point of pain, nails digging into my upper arm. “You’re fucking hurting me, you stupid fuck.” I try to jerk free. Digging my own nails into his hand, I try to pry him off but it’s pointless. He’s not letting me go.

“Good.”

Dragging me down the beach behind him, my heart hammers in my chest. He’s mad. He’s never had such anger directed at me before. I feel bad that I don’t feel bad for upsetting him. I feel like I’m losing everything, and my mind is the first thing going.

Dragging me toward a boat, he lets me go with a shove. “Get the fuck in the boat,” He demands, shoving me again. My feet catch in the lose sand and I stumble a little.

“No.” I don’t feel like giving him much more than that.

“No?” He looks murderous, and still so beautiful. In one swift move, he’s in my face.

“Get the fuck on the boat!” He yells at me. Instantly I recoil and my heart hits my feet. He’s mad, but fuck, so am I. He’s just more aggressive than I am. Plus, I’m a bit drunk.

I plop down on my ass without so much as another word. We sit in the little boat alone and in an uncomfortable silence―the tension clings to the both of us like a bad smell. Dante’s bristling with rage, twisting his watch, jerking on it violently.

The boat pulls up to the small platform of the yacht and I want to run right back to the beach. Scrambling off of the boat, I can’t get off fast enough and far enough away from Dante.

Stomping across the deck, I hear Dante on my heels. He won’t just let me go. “London,” he warns.

“What?” I shout back at him. “Sometimes I really fucking hate you.” He jerks on my arm, pulling me into his chest as he looks down at me with hateful eyes. “Ditto, baby.”

“I’d like to slap that look right off your face.”

“Would you London? Do you wanna reach that delicate little hand of yours out and slap the fuck out of me?” Yes. I want it more than I want my next breath right now.

“You make me sick. All you ever do is fuck with my mind and lie through your goddamn teeth. I wish I’d never met you, Dante. I wish you never came into my life.” He lets go of me, like I really did slap him across the face. I turn around and go on a destroying mission.

“What are you doing?” He growls at me from the doorway of his office. Ripping drawers open, I look for anything to prove I’m not crazy. I dig for some sort of proof of what I saw, but there’s nothing. No drugs anywhere to show him that I know he’s been lying to me. He’ll make me feel like I’ve lost my mind so I need to show him, prove to him what I saw so he can’t deny it. There are videos to prove I wasn’t seeing things―“Dante,” I scream as he pushes my body down onto the desk, pressing my face against the smooth surface. His fingers creep indecently close to my pussy as the other hand flexes around my neck, fingers twitching with constraint. “How am I supposed to keep you safe?” He asks with irritation.

“Fuck you,” I grumble into the desk. The only thing I need saving from is his crazy ass.

“How, London?” He asks as he grinds his dick into my ass. My legs weaken when one long finger runs along the edge of my panties. “I said, How?”

“I’ll run. I’m good at that. I’ll get so far away from you that you’ll never find me.”

“I’ll always fucking find you. Don’t you see? You’ll never get away from me, baby, no matter how far or fast you run, so try me. I’m a fast motherfucker.” I’ve no doubt the insanity he preaches is his truth. “Now say it. You’re gonna stop running and stay, aren’t you.” He demands. I don’t answer him so he slaps my ass, hard, causing me to shriek. It stings badly. “Oh, London. I think you’ll stay right here with me baby, right?”

“No.” I lie. I want to run so goddamn bad, but he’s right. If I run, I know I’ll want him to find me. I’m so fucking twisted in the head, I’m ashamed of myself for feeling this way about him.

He keeps his hand wrapped around my neck, holding me down and pulls my bathing suit bottoms down. I listen as he undoes his zipper and in seconds, he slams his dick into me.

Rough and violent is how he fucks me, fucking my resolve right out of me. My legs weaken and my determination dies.

Pumping in and out, he rams my thighs into the desk, moving it with every thrust. It’s painful, but there’s no fucking way I’d stop him. He fucks me like he hates me, and maybe he does hate me a little because I know I feel the same, so I let him continue his assault on me. I want him to hurt me. I physically want to feel what he’s feeling and drown in it.

He slaps my ass again, only this time it’s twice as hard as the first. He repeatedly smacks me in the same spot, making me scream from the pain but it makes me come so hard. I feel my inner muscles clenching tight around his dick as he continues to smack me hard and pound into me through my orgasm. “Jesus Christ, I love to watch my dick slide in and out of you, baby.” He fucks me hard and comes with a loud groan, but he doesn’t stop. He keeps going, fucking me mean. He’s being so aggressive. It’s not easy, it’s not soft, and it’s not sweet, but it’s fucking beautiful.

~~~~~~

The French doors to the deck are thrown wide open, and that’s where I find him, sitting on a lounge chair with a glass tumbler in one hand and a cigar in the other. He knows I’m here. He always knows.

Putting down his drink, he holds a hand out to me the instant my feet meet the cold wood of the deck. It’s an order―a demand.

Taking my hand in his, he pulls me gently around the front and sits me down in the lounger with him. He wraps me up in his arms and settles me under his chin. I let the silence go on for a while. I let it go until the quiet becomes too loud. “Are those your cameras in my house? How about we try some honesty this time.” In some terribly disturbing way, I hope to God they’re his, rather than my father’s. Dante, I can handle better.

“Yes.” he says, but his answer sounds forced. It’s hard to tell his truth from his lies anymore, but he’s saying that he was lying before. It’s a lie that should upset me, only it eases an added worry I’ve been carrying around with me. I wanted him to think of how pissed I was about him spying on me, but in my own home, he’s the best of the worst, I suppose.

“What about the drugs?” He stills, but says absolutely nothing. This is a question I know I won’t get an answer to.

“Why do you lie to me?”

“Do you trust me?” He asks softly into my neck. Yes. I trust him with my life, it’s my heart I don’t trust him with.

“Yes.” I don’t trust him at all.

“Then you’re gonna have to trust my lies,” he tells me plainly. He believes me naïve enough to take that answer and be okay with it, and he should because I have been, but my eyes are now open to what I’m getting myself into with him instead of feeling happy and content. He’s ruined that happy that I desperately wanted with him.

“What does that even mean?”

“It means you trust in what I tell you whether you believe it or not. It means you trust that my lies are told in your best interest.” Again he makes absolutely no sense and perfect sense, all at the same time. “Trust that everything I do, I do for you,” he whispers, placing a kiss on my neck. Easier said than done. “Trust that my love for you wins out every goddamn time and that love fuels these lies.”

My heart squeezes in pure agony and leaps for joy, bringing tears to my eyes. “You love me?” I choke out. It’s not hard to believe, it would make this all that much easier to understand, but do I believe him?

“Would you believe me if I said I’m in love with you?”

“I don’t know.” I tell him honestly.

Breathing a heavy sigh he shakes his head, “London. What the fuck else would this be? This crazy I feel over you has to be something. This intensity, this need, this insanity has to have an explanation and believe me when I say I’ve tried to work it out, but love is the only explanation I can find. I live for you and only you.”

“Oh.” I mutter, lost in his words.

“Yeah, ‘Oh’. I don’t stalk women, London. I don’t spend time with them. I don’t vacation, dine, or date women. But for you I’ve done, and will continue to do, all of this crazy shit. You have my time, my attention, my life, and my love. Only you have it, and always will, so you’re gonna have to trust in my lies.” He does love me. He loves me in a sick, sadistic, unhealthy sort of way. “This is my love. All the bad, all the wrong, and all the ugly. It’s all yours, amore mio.”

Dante

Tonight London looks heavenly sitting across from me, sipping her drink in her white dress, sweet smile, and the eyes of a demone. Her hair is long with loose curls that blow around her face from the breeze.

I wonder how much time I have left with her. It can’t be much longer. It may not be today, or next week, but it’s coming. I can feel it. What may have started out for her as attraction and the idea of being wanted, the sensible part of her is now questioning me―questioning us. I’m not stupid enough to think she’s not questioning all the shit going on. She has questions, but she knows I won’t answer if I don’t feel the need to. She wants me to tell her without having to do so. I’ve been her resident stalker, her knight in shining armor at times, and I’ve been the man who’s given her the attention that I know she’s never had. Perry did a number on her and she’s never opened herself up to anyone else. Matt has loose lips, and I appreciate the information he provides when he’s had one too many.

London’s smart, and sooner or later, her brilliant mind will catch up with me, but until then, I’ll do whatever I have to do to show her that she belongs with me, no matter the circumstances.

I’ll do whatever she wants me to do, say whatever she wants me to say. I’ll give her whatever she wants, whether they be lies or truths. I’ll fabricate stories, twist truths, bend lies, and I’ll culminate realities. I’m not above wading through the terrible shit to do whatever it is that needs to be done. From one end of the Earth to the other, I’ll go for her, but she’s not getting the truth. I love her enough to lie to her face.

There’s nothing good about me. I lie. I kill. I destroy. I’ll do right by her, but on my terms. I have to because I won’t be able to live with myself otherwise. I’ll never hurt her, not intentionally anyways. My lies are to protect her from the bad my life brings. I’ll even take the heat for the bugs in her apartment as being mine. Better her frustration comes out on me rather than know the truth of that one.

I love her. There’s no other explanation for the madness, for the constant need to lie, for the obsession. It must be love―a sick, disturbing, wrong kind of love.

“You’re staring.” Aren’t I always?

“So are you,” I tell her. She rolls her eyes but she smiles at me. It’s a smile that lights up those green eyes.

“Only because you are.”

The loud scrap of metal on concrete tears my attention from her eyes. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom.” I nod stupidly as I watch her go.

Sitting alone at the small wrought iron table, I recline in the metal chair. My back is to the terrace railing, but I’m facing the view of the ocean. I’m hot and uncomfortable in this heat. The restaurant is loud and crowded with voices and laughter swirling around the cobblestone terrace of the small island cuisine restaurant, and the Island music croons from the live band inside.

I wish I could enjoy it more, but the crowds and noise are making me nervous and uneasy with everything going on. Too much shit to contend with at once makes it hard to focus on one particular thing. London picked the restaurant so here we are, and for her I’ll try to enjoy my evening.

Throwing back the rest of my drink, my pocket vibrates. Pulling out my phone, I see Cam’s name on the screen. “Yeah?”

“They’re on the island.” That ominous they settles to the pit of my gut and it starts to churn. “How many?”

“Just the two.” Fuck. Two are still a problem. “Do you have her?” He asks. Fuck no, I don’t.

The back of my chair hits the concrete with a thud and I manage not to trip over it. It feels like wading through water trying to get through the crowd and to the restrooms. I don’t even give a fuck that I’ve knocked people over on my way to get to her. This is not fucking happening again.

Rounding the corner to the bathrooms, I skid to a stop. I can hear the blood pounding in my ears and my hands shake uncontrollably. They’re here. One sorry stronzo cocks and aims his gun just as I see London at the other end of the hall. My heart stops.

There she stands, looking like a goddamn angel in white and my forty-five in her unsteady hand. Oh fuck. Did she go back for it on the beach? She looks up from the gun and over at me. We stand staring eye to eye and I feel fear I’ve never felt before.

It feels like an eternity, but it’s mere seconds. A loud gunshot reverberates through my ears and everything dulls to muffled voices and a panic seizes my fucking lungs.

The guy drops to his side, clutching his leg, completely forgetting about his gun. A lot of groaning and whining pours from him along with a stream of blood. “Oh fuck.” My head snaps back to London.

“London.”

With unsteady steps, she walks to me, not taking her eyes, or the gun, off the man while I’m rooted to the floor, stuck taking her in. She’s still in one fucking piece. “Here! HERE!” she shouts, shoving the gun at me as soon as she’s within arms reach.

Taking the gun, I shove it into the waist of my pants and let my shirt fall over it. Jesus Christ. Wrapping an arm around her neck, I pull her close. “God dammit, London.” What a fucking mess. The man starts groaning and I know it’s only a matter of time before another shows and people come to investigate. “Lets go.”

“Do you know him?” She asks. No, I don’t. He’s not here for me, he’s here for her.

As soon as I fuck her stupid, I’m going to kill her myself. I can’t fucking handle this shit. I can’t do this caring, this worry, this love shit. I can’t. She’s going to kill me.

Her father is upping his game, but I have no idea what it is. This is not good. I know every fucking thing, but I have no idea why he would send people to kidnap, possibly even kill, his own daughter. There has to be more to the story than I know. I’ll have to get it straight from her. It’s my only option at this point.

Twenty

Mr. Bang Bang Shoot ‘Em Up

London

“London?”

“He was gonna shoot me!” I yell.

“He was aiming for you, yes, but I think you got him first.” Oh God.

The gun wielding man’s words replay in my head and I can’t work them out. “He’s the enemy, little girl. Ask him what he is. ASK HIM!”

“He had to be shot, London.” Dante’s words bounce around in my head with the man’s parting ones. I’ve never shot at anyone before.

“I- I shot him,” my voice rises to a pitch only dogs can hear and my stomach does a barrel roll straight to my ass.

“You did and I couldn’t be prouder,” Dante beams. Oh god. Oh god. That wasn’t nearly as cool as I always thought it would be. Of course he’s proud. He’s Mr. Bang Bang Shoot ‘Em Up with all his guns and shit.

“I’m serious, Dante.”

Grabbing my chin, he tips my face up to his. “I am too. You did what you had to do.” I went back for that gun. In my gut I knew I’d need it so I pocketed it. I knew I’d need it and I was right. I was right, but I’m not happy about it.

“What if he dies? What if I killed him?” I’m going to jail, and then I’m going to hell with my father.

“You didn’t,” He assures me.

“How do you know?”

“Do you trust me?” Yes, but not really.

“Yes.”

“You didn’t kill him, London, so calm down. He’ll be fine.” Easy for him to say, he wasn’t shot.

~~~~~~

The car roars down the cobbled and cracked street and my mind wanders down a dark, desolate path. The sneaking, the lying, the drugs, the guns, the crazy men, and all this mess has my mind running wild. What am I doing with this man? I don’t even know him.

Dante looks to be in deep thought so I leave him be when he runs a stop sign. We fly right past the docks and right on down the road. “Where are we going?”

“Home.” He tells the windshield. Home?

“Tonight?”

“Yes. It’s not safe here anymore.” He’s quiet and contemplating something. “London?” The hesitation in my name leaves an unsettled worry in my stomach.

“Hmm?” Slowing, Dante veers to the side of the road and my unsettled stomach hits my feet.

“What does your father want? I want a straight answer.” I knew it was only a matter of time. Twisting in his seat he drums his fingers in the steering wheel, waiting. Taking a deep breath, I dive right into my life story.

“It’s simple, but I don’t know what it is you’re looking for.” I start.

“I want to hear it all.”

“My mother met my father when they were young. They fell in love and my grandfather was against it. He hated my father from the very beginning with every fiber of his being.” It’s the truth. He still hates him passionately. “At the time, my grandfather was building his business and neither my father nor my mother cared until it started to grow into something promising and worthwhile. That’s when my father started paying attention. Well, my mother got pregnant, and it wasn’t an accident. My father wanted a child for a reason―insurance. He knew how my grandfather felt about him and knew he would never have a chance to get his hands on something that was starting to turn out millions of dollars. I was the piece to his fucked up puzzle. Greed is what turned him into the man he became, but I can only imagine what it’s done to him today. My mother died and the business my grandfather built was supposed to be left to her, but after she died, it was then to be handed to me when my grandfather believed I was ready to take over. She left everything she had to me. She didn’t leave my father a single cent. My grandparent’s raised me since my father was always in and out of jail.” And that’s when my absent, uncaring father started taking a real notice in me.

“My father felt entitled. He figured I was his child and what was mine was rightfully his. He only wants me for what he thinks he can get. So far he hasn’t been successful, but he’s getting better and more determined the older my grandfather gets. All of this mess is over a business my father has absolutely no right to. All this shit is because he’s a self-centered piece of shit. I hate that I have to live in this family drama where there should be none. My father can’t just take it. I sure as fuck don’t plan to hand it over, either. I’m not giving it up. Grandfather worked day and night, putting blood, sweat, and tears into this company and I’ll be damned if I willingly give it up to anyone, especially my greedy father.”

For the longest time Dante doesn’t say anything. The car is dark and the air is stale with the humid night air. “Say something,” I urge.

“Give it up.” he suggests like it’s the easiest solution in the world.

“No, I can’t … I won’t! It means so much to my grandfather and me.”

“It’s not that hard. Nothing is worth your life, London.”

“But it is. It’s my grandfather’s life, his legacy. It’s all I’ve ever known. It’s the reason I’ve worked so hard in school and sacrificed all these years to learn how to run it. He asked this of me, and I did it. I’ve worked so hard for it. I’ve made it my life for him because he’s done everything for me. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.”

“You’re too young and stupid to know what you really want.” What the fuck? Did he just call me stupid? I fight the hatful comments working their way out of me. I’m too tired, and too stupid to do this.

“Just take me home. I’m tired of dealing with your fucked up personalities. You really make me sick.” Dante starts to drive and doesn’t speak to me again.

~~~~~~

Sitting on the plane, I decide I’m not letting his remark about me being stupid get to me. I know I’m not, so he can fuck off. Besides, I need to ask the question that’s eating me alive. “That man. He told me to ask you what you are? Why?” He doesn’t say anything. My question doesn’t even touch his unbreakable mask. “Why would he say that?”

“People say crazy shit when they’re going to die.” Lie. He said this before anything happened.

“I don’t think that’s why he said it.” Looking back down at his tablet, he shuts me out. “Dante?”

“What do you want me to say, London? He’s a fucking idiot working for your father. He’ll say whatever he has to so he can win you over.”

“Buy why that?” My anger is flaring. I’m not in the mood for his lies right now. I’m so deep in lies I can’t swim my way out. Standing up to move away from him, his arm snakes out and grabs onto me.

Pulling me into his lap he glares at me. “Believe in me. Believe the shit I tell you. His job was to get into your head and he did. Don’t ever fucking doubt me, London. No one cares about you like I do. No one will ever protect you like I do. Trust only me.”

“You’re a fucking asshole.”

“I know, but I wanna show you that I’m not always one. It’s time to fuck you, baby. Take your clothes off.” And that’s all I get. Fuck.

Twenty-One

Mr. Watchful

One Month Later …

London

Mr. Too Busy for London is testing my patience this evening. Business has kept him away and distracted. Matt and I agreed on dinner and drinks for part of the evening, but the rest of my night was supposed to be spent with him.

I got my dinner and drinks with Matt, but so far, no word from Dante. All week he’s been unattainable. Dante’s been in a mood and it happens to be a mood I’m not particularly fond of. And I swear to God, if I have to watch him slam his cell phone down one more time I’m gonna shove it up his ass. His mood has been rubbing off on me.

“I’ll be right over there,” I nod in the direction of the dance floor.

“You’ve got a death wish. Good luck, boo.” Matt laughs.

The light is dim as I wade through the smoke and bodies. Navigating the tables and chairs scattered about, my heels stick to the dingy parquet floor. The low deep base of a voiceless song croons from speakers hung from the corners of the room. Pushing past a group of couples, I find my target.

Couples cuddle in dimly lit corners in this small shit hole. Groups of men sit around yelling over card games, jeering and cheering at one another. Waitresses with subpar balancing skills pass out drinks on shaky heels with even shakier hands. A few scantily clad woman dance around a makeshift dance floor while men look on, drooling like dogs wanting a bone.

Looking over my shoulder at Matt, he shakes his head, laughing. He loves trouble so it’s a good thing he came here with me. Twisting my neck a little further, I catch Dante’s eyes. He’s watching like I knew he would be. He’s left me little choice. This was my last resort to ruffle his feathers and get his attention. I need something from him before I explode.

Surrounded by a group of men, they beg for his attention, but his attention is finally elsewhere. Smiling to myself, I turn back to my mission.

He’s five-ten, average height and looks, but my target merely serves a purpose. Invading his personal space, I push my way right up next to him, letting my tit brush his arm. A group of guys standing by him look at me like I’m a mystical unicorn and the girl hanging off of his shoulder doesn’t look like we’ll ever be friends with her severe pout. “Dance with me.” I tell him, ignoring his companions.

It’s not the dance, but the game I enjoy the most. Do I like the stranger’s hands rubbing up my thighs up to my hips? No. Do enjoy the scorching gaze of a sexy psycho currently eye fucking me from across the room. Hell yes. Dante’s eyes blaze with possessive heat. Shoulders tense, leaning forward in his chair, he stares at me. Happy with this, I grind my ass against the man’s ever growing hard-on. It’s unpleasant, but I have something to prove tonight.

Dancing to my own beat, I glide my hips from side to side. One second my guy’s there and the next I hear, “That was a lovely show, cara,” He says against my skin. He did quite well. He lasted five minutes, maybe a few more before he broke down and took over as my dance partner.

“Did you like it?”

“You fucking know I did, you little fucking tease.”

“Should I keep going then?”

“You’re the queen of idle threats, London.”

Pulling away, I leave Dante standing in the middle of the dance floor watching me walk away.

~~~~~~

It’s been dinners in, movies on the couch, cuddling in bed and gazing at the skyline. I go to bed with Dante, we shower together, and he works in his office while I lounge on the couch. I spend my days hanging around the pool, lunching and shopping with Matt, and I read. Grandfather will be back soon so I’m taking full advantage of the days I have left before I get to work.

We’ve fallen into perfectly domesticated compatibility. We spend most of our time together. Dante goes to work and I enjoy the last few weeks of vacation before I too start working. This new time together has been eye opening, challenging, and comfortable.

I was swiftly and immediately moved in the moment my feet touched American soil. It’s been thirty days. Some long, and some not long enough. We fight hard and dirty and we make up rough and heatedly. Our relationship is going how I assumed anyone’s would who’s dating someone like Dante; it’s going exactly how he deems it.

He may call the shots, but he lets me run the show. I can do no wrong. It’s amazing most of the time, but it’s also frustrating. No matter how much I fight or how hard I push, I can’t break that tough as nails resolve of his. Some days I just wanna break him, if only just a little, but Dante never seems to be anything but poised, calm, and collected on the outside.

It’s what’s on the inside that’s terrifying and thrilling. It’s the vindictive, cruel man in there lurking around. The ruthless man he masks with all his easy indifference that scares me. It’s the easy going and nice façade everyone sees and falls in love with that hides that psycho so well, but a disturbing part of me has fallen for that man too. That evil has swept me off of me feet, wrapped me up in love, and gives me everything I could ever need or want.

Everyday he wears a suit and everyday I think he looks even better in one. Today it’ll be all black. “You’re staring at me, London.” He says, shuffling through the mail.

“You do it too. Tit for tat.” I point out.

“I know, and when I do it it’s because I’m thinking of fucking you. Do you wanna fuck me?” He asks in a sexy tone.

“Maybe.”

“I’d love nothing more than to bend you over the kitchen table and give you a repeat of last night, but unfortunately, I have a meeting this morning. But make no mistake, when I get home from work, I want you naked, wet, and waiting.” No arguments here.

I help him straighten his tie, the tie he asked me to pick for him this morning. He screws with his watch and musses up his hair while he waits for Cam. He’s nervous and I don’t know why. “What’s wrong?”

Looking over his shoulder, he frowns, “Nothing.” He’s lying to me. Over time, I’ve learned to pick up on his tells. He twists that watch when he’s hiding truths. His eyes harden and his brow wrinkles when he’s spewing lies.

“Are you sure?” I ask, but it’s clear he’s not going to tell me anything.

“Yes.” Another lie. He’s not sure. Actually, he’s anything but sure.

Dante

Love is something I never sought out. I never ran from it, I just simply turned and walked casually away when presented with the idea of it. I’m wading through unchartered territory here, but now I’m about to drown in this mess I’ve created for us.

I’ve become so accustomed to having London in my life. Wherever she is, I’m never far behind. She belongs to me. Her heart belongs to me. She gives me whatever I ask of her and I gladly take it. I’m greedy where she’s concerned. Whether it’s her time, her attention, her love, or her body, she hands it over willingly and I’ve grown used to it. But there is that saying, ‘Too much of a good thing can kill you’. I’m starting to see the logic behind that statement because I have no doubt that London will be my downfall.

“Your tits,” I start to mutter when she turns towards me. She misses nothing.

“What about them?” Well they were bouncing around until she stopped stirring that shit. “You’re not wearing a bra, your shirt is white, and your stirring that shit like you hate it.”

“It’s not shit, it’s waffles, and I made you some.”

“I know, baby, and I’ll happily eat any shit you feed me.”

Watching her eat her beloved waffles, I wish I could say I regret it what I’m doing, but I don’t. I don’t regret a single fucking second with her.

Over these past three-and-a-half months, I’ve grown to need London in a way I’ve never needed anything before. She gives me purpose. She may not need me the way I need her, but she allows me to look after her. She lets me dote on her and coddle her the way I want to. London lets me have my way and somehow manages to keep me in check all with a smile on her perfect face. I feel whole when I’m with her and I’ll fight to keep that other half of me, which is her.

“Now you’re staring.” Over three months and she still complains about it. I feel like we have this conversation often.

“Get used to it,” I tell her like I do everyday. I’ve earned the privilege of staring.

“I am. I just like pointing it out.”

I spend a few extra minutes this morning committing her to memory. Her messy hair, wearing my t-shirt, and that sweet smile is burned into my subconscious. I carve the image of her perfect body onto my brain. I let myself revel in her beauty and her love for a second longer.

She’s everything I never knew I wanted until I had it. “You’re acting strange again. What’s up?”

She asks before she leans into me and smiles, “But I like you strange,” she whispers. Pushing up on her tippy toes, she gives me a long, lingering kiss. I say a prayer that it won’t be the last time I get to taste her. I beg like hell she’ll trust me enough to let me see this through and plead that she doesn’t give up on me. She has to know by now that everything I do I do for her, and only her.

Walking to the front door, I give her one final look standing in my kitchen, happy and content.

“You ready, Boss?” Cam asks as soon as the door closes behind me. Leaning against it, I nod and take a moment to pull my shit together. One year of careful planning and lots of money later, it all boils down to this.

Righting my tie and adjusting my sleeves, I compose myself and bury it all down deep in the black pit of my soul. This is what I live for. London may have me, but in my business, there’s no room for a heart. “Yes.”

“Are you sure? You look fuckin’ strung out.”

“Yes. I’ve worked for a whole year to get this together.”

Walking to the elevator, tiny pieces of my morality scream and beg to back out now. Just give up the fight and let it go, but I can’t. I have to follow through. It’s too late to grow a conscience now. My head, my logical, sensible side says this is what my family needs. It’s what we deserve. This is what I’ve worked towards since taking over my father’s position.

On the elevator ride down, I remind myself I’ve spent years getting to this point. I remind myself I don’t function on a normal level and this shit I’m feeling will pass. I remind myself she’ll love me no matter what I do.

I know I’m doing what’s right. I know I’ve made the best decision for myself, my family, and London. Once I’m settled in the car, I know I have to do it.

Love is doing something that you know deep in your gut that you’ll regret. Love is doing everything you promised, swore to God you’d never do. Love is breaking rules, bending ideals, and making changes. Love is taking a big fucking chance on something that’s not one hundred percent.

Twenty-Two

Mr. Tragic

London

“Is Mr. Man Candy treating you like a King?” I ask Matt. We’re sitting next to the window at one of our favorite little pizza places, listening to the loud street noise just on the other side of the sidewalk and enjoy lunch with my first favorite guy. I’ve missed this part of me.

Leaning on the table, his chin’s propped in his hand and he’s got that goofy smile. He’s in love.

“Oh yeah.” He grins, wiggling his eyebrows. It’s good to hear. Since “moving” into Dante’s, I haven’t seen Matt as much as I’d like to. We still get together at least twice a week, but going from every day, all day, it’s been an adjustment. He’s been staying at our apartment and I miss being there with him.

“How’s life with Mr. Bossy Boots?”

“Good, but …”

“Oh my God!” Matt squeals and almost gives the lady behind us a heart attack. He cuts me off as usual. “Guess who I ran into? Okay, you’ll never guess so I’ll just tell you. PAUL!”

“Like, crazy ex, poem writing Paul?”

“Oh yes, and we talked.”

I listen to Matt tell me all the things I’ve missed. We chat about drama and the daily gossip and we promise to spend more time together.

Walking me to the curb, Matt wraps an arm around me. “I miss your face, but I’m kinda glad you’re getting the D regularly. You’re less bitchy that way,” He says, kissing my forehead.

“I’m glad you finally stopped sleeping with every tanned, toned, and juiced man you come into contact with and settled on one. You’re less likely to get herpes that way,” I tell him back, kissing his cheek.

“Love you too, bitch!” Matt says, swatting my ass as I lean into the car.

“Love you too, slut bag. Call me tonight after your date.”

“Yeah, yeah, mother.”

~~~~~~

The elevator pings my arrival to the fourth floor. Looking at my reflection in the mirrored glass doors before I step out, I see my hair looks a bit messy, but I’ll accept a windblown look so I won’t have to worry.

Stepping off the elevator, I tuck my aviators into the neck of my cute white V-neck. I went for comfy casual this afternoon with my t-shirt and boyfriend jeans. I’m happy about my choice because if I’m going to be sitting for a long time, I’m glad it won’t be in an uncomfortable ass skirt.

Rounding the corner to the reception area, I get a bright smile and friendly wave. “London! How are you?” Jill, the receptionist beams at me from her desk.

“Hey, Jill, I’m good. How about you?”

“Good, good!” We chat for a few minutes about her kids and their extracurricular activities. We chat about the end of my studies and my new man.

“I should go in before I’m late. You know how he hates tardiness.”

“Yeah, he’s an old grump. Bye, Hun!”

I head down the long hall to the door on the end. I’ve walked this walk many times over many years. I’ve run through this hall countless times. I’ve played dolls in this hall. I’ve studied in this hall.

I give a light tap to the very last door at the end. “Entra,” A familiar deep voice booms back through the heavy wood door so I push right in. I have my eyes down, kicking my shoes off at the door when I fiddle with my purse, slinging it higher on my shoulder. The rules for the house carry on over to the office. The crazy man insists that shoes be removed.

I never thought today would be the day my heart would die. I never expected it to be trampled on and obliterated into nothing but dust. I never thought I’d see Dante sitting calmly at my grandfather’s desk with the eyes of a complete stranger staring at me.

Everything spirals into a slow torturous crawl. My head spins and my thoughts twirl. “Il mio bambino, vieni a sederti,” My grandfather’s loud voice insists I sit, but I can’t. I can’t move. I can hardly breathe.

Why is he here? What’s happening? “London, Sit. Sit.” I swallow hard and nod. I take a seat and look directly at my grandfather, waiting for some explanation. “London, I’ve called you over to inform you of a few things that have changed with the company and I wanted to inform you before you jump right in.” I nod my response and wait.

Looking over at Dante, my grandfather nods. “Dante Marcello, this is my granddaughter, London DeLacourt.” My Grandfather looks over and smiles at me proudly. “London, this is Dante Marcello.” What the fuck is Dante doing? And Marcello?

Dante reaches his hand out to me like it’s the first time we’ve met, like I haven’t spent countless hours with those hands all over my body. I feel sick. “Nice to meet you, Miss DeLacourt.” He says like I’m a stranger. I look at my grandfather for answers, anything, but he only smiles encouragingly at me. Twisting in my seat, I look at Dante.

“Dante,” I implore. “Dante Marcello?”

“Yes, that’s right.” He nods and smiles. I don’t give him my hand. I drop my stare from his. Something in the far depths of my heart knows what’s going on. I knew his secrets would eat me alive, just not like this. His lies run so deep that I’ve been buried alive by the weight of them. I swallow back the painful knot of uncertainty in my throat and wring my sweaty hands.

“W-what did you want to talk about?” I need something, anything to help clear up this mess I’m drowning in. Like a fucking idiot, I ask for the answers I already know.

Hot tears sting the corners of my eyes and a sob tears at my throat. My heart physically aches with a raw burn when both stare at me like I’m the crazy one. I’m on pure survival mode while I sit here and watch everything crumble at my feet. I give my full attention back to my grandfather.

“Anyway, as you know, London, with the tanking economy, things have been rough. I brought in Mr. Marcello to help bring our profits back up, which is his specialty. He signed on for fifty-one percent and you’ll hold forty-nine. You’ll work together to bring the company back and by next year, things will go back as planned with you at the head. Once the year is over, Mr. Marcello will move on to other things.”

No! Dante will ruin this company, just like he ruins everything. Grandfather gave it to this man―this lying, deceitful, cruel monster? Dante knew. I told him about how important this was to me and he took it. He swooped in and stole it all away. It was his plan from the beginning and I’ve been so blind to see that I’ve been used, again. My father’s shit wasn’t enough, so Dante had to bring it home. That’s all I’ve been to anyone in my life―an easy in. Get the little girl out of the way, use her, whatever angle needed and boom, they have Grandfather’s life’s work in their hands.

Digging into my bag, I tear my cell phone out. I have to get out of here now. “I need to make a call to Matt. He had an issue this morning so if we’re finished, I’d like to get back to him.” I blurt out, clambering up and out of my seat. I throw myself at the door to get away.

“Is everything okay?” My grandfather asks, sounding concerned.

“I’m sure he will be. It’s stupid man trouble. Men are real pricks, ya know?” I say quietly as I rush out the door.

I stumble on weak knees to the elevator. Why would he? How could he?

I know he’s coming. In a blind panic, I run through the lobby and I know he’s coming. I can hear his feet on the brushed concrete floors. My chest heaves as I push through the front doors and onto the sidewalk, but his hand catches my elbow, jerking me to a stop. “London, you have to let me explain.”

“Who are you? Explain this shit to me right now!” He’s played me, used me, and did nothing but lie to me since day one, and he’s never stopped. I look at him, and I mean really look at him. “Is your name even Dante?” I feel sick with the idea. This man, a man I thought I loved may not even be who I thought he was. The name I’ve called him for months may not even be real.

He actually looks offended by my question. Crossing his arms defensively he scoffs, “Of course it is.”

“Don’t fucking stand there and act like my question is fucking crazy. Your last name isn’t even Marx. You’ve lied about that. So again, who are you?” Who the hell have I been sleeping with night after night.

“You’re right. My last name isn’t Marx, it’s Marcello.” He sighs tiredly. “And I lied about it to protect my business, myself, and you.”

I don’t know him at all. “Why have you been lying to me?” A sick realization grips my heart and tears at it. Tears fall that I just can’t stop because he knew. He’s always known who I am. “You knew who I was from the beginning.” His eyes give me all the conformation I need. Running an agitated hand through his hair, he instantly goes to work on his watch.

Looking down at the sidewalk he swallows hard before he answers, “Yes.” I see no regret for the lies, only regret for being caught. God, I feel so fucking broken. “Why do you want his company? My future?” His eyes close briefly before he opens them and nothing but those mean, ruthless eyes stare back at me. He doesn’t care at all. He never did.

“Why not you? You were a way to get close, but then I fell and I was already in too deep. I’m a man of my word, London, and I had to uphold my end and you just happened to get caught in the middle. Your grandfather is competition to me and mine, London. I, my company, we do exactly what he does. He’s in my goddamn way, holding a contract I need and you were just collateral damage.” He says the last part quietly. I was collateral damage.

“I buy into this company. I get majority share and make changes. I take the contract. I take him out of the equation in the process of building up my empire. It’s all very simple.”

“You’re not even in the same business.” I scream at him. Jesus Christ, all he fucking cares about is himself. He doesn’t care who he hurts as long as he wins in the end.

Throwing his hands out to the side, he snorts a dry, humorless laugh. “Fuck. Do you not see it? Are you that goddamn naïve?” He sneers at me. “I’m the mob. I’m a boss in the goddamn motherfucking mob. You, your grandfather, your fucking father, and me. Organized crime. What the fuck do you think we do?” He yells, smacking at his chest.

Everything starts to spin slowly as the words sink in. I can’t breathe. The mob? Organized crime? I’d always knew my father was into some bad shit, but never my grandfather. Never. “No, not my grandfather.” I tell him with determination. My father, yes, but never him.

“No, he’s not in the mob, but he has worked for us for a long time now. He’s made a lot of money working with the mob, and he’s very involved. He’s in this game like the rest of us. He’s the middle man who knows a lot of shit and has done a lot of shit for us.”

“How the fuck can I ever believe anything you say? Nothing you’ve told me has been the truth.”

“Wake the fuck up, will ya! I may be a liar, but you know I’m telling you the truth about this. Things got tough for a while so we came to him and made a deal. That deal helped provide you with a driver who was about to lose his job, an apartment that you should never have been in. He made a lot of money, living a certain lifestyle, and when the money was running out, he needed us. So because of us, you got to stay in your fancy schools, you had your lavish lifestyle in London. We’re the ones who provided for you through your grandfather. He knew what he was doing. It’s a fucking import and export business, London, dealing in skin, narcotics, money, stolen goods. Fuck, anything that’s worth street value has been run through your company. That makes you a part of it now.”

“I have no part of that.” I croak out. My tears fall freely. Standing here on this sidewalk, I start to question everything I ever wanted and everything I’ve ever known. “N-not me,” I whisper around broken sob. It’s happened. I’ve been deceived by everyone, including my grandfather. I’ve lost everything.

“The fuck you don’t. The second you signed on that dotted line, baby, you became a player. You’re now the goddamn boss of this company, right alongside me. You’re now knowingly running a fucking company with ties to a crime family alongside the boss of that family. Not only am I your partner, I’m also going to be your biggest fucking competitor.” I don’t want that. I don’t want to be a part of any of it. Not him, not my father, not my grandfather, not any of them.

“No. You’re part of that.” I can’t look at him. I can’t fucking stomach the sight of this fucking piece of shit.

“Yes, I am.” I thought buying and tearing businesses down caused a lot of hatred toward him. This is my fault. I turned a blind eye and stayed because I loved him. Even knowing what I knew, I still loved him and I stayed, so I can’t blame him for that, that’s all on me. But the mob? My company? I didn’t see any of this happening. I never would’ve imagined he would do this to me.

“You’re just gonna take it all from me, aren’t you?” I say through the tears. I know him well enough to know this is it. I can’t believe that Grandfather knew this was his plan, but he put himself in this situation, which in turn, put me in this shit. He had to have known his decision would fall back on me and I can’t believe he could do this to me. Dante is gonna take this company right out from under me. The mob is going to try and take it from me.

My grandfather built this company from the ground up. He nurtured it from nothing to something, making it hugely successful. It belongs to me, my family, not Dante. I’ve spent my life preparing for this. School, summer internships, years of late nights learning and studying was all leading into this. All I ever wanted was to take over where Grandfather left off and make him proud, but he was so careless and gave it all away.

“Yes. London, I’ll take care of you. What does it matter with who owns it? Whether I tear it apart or leave it whole, you’ll never go without. You can still be a part of it. Baby, you can have everything you want, with or without the company.” He can’t be serious. Another piece of my heart dies.

“Fuck you, Dante.” I feel like he’s slapped me. Until this very moment I never understood the idea of loving and hating someone at the same time, but right now, I’ve never hated someone so fucking much. Not even my father or Perry could begin to match this hatred I have for him. I’ll die before letting my company go to him or anyone else. I earned it and it’s mine. He’s gonna have to fight me for it, or kill me.

“I don’t want your fucking help. I don’t need you to run it for me.” I say very calmly.

“Then what do you want. Do you want it all?” He yells at me. I want my company and I want him to disappear. “Do you want millions of dollars? The yachts, the expensive cars, exotic trips, million dollar homes all over the globe? Do you want the keys to a company you clearly don’t know shit about? Baby, I’ll give it all to you. I can fucking give you the world. Fuck that goddamn company.” He screams. “It’s important to me for reasons that’ll never be important to you. You can have anything on the goddamn planet, London, and I can give it all to you.” He says throwing his hands out to his sides.

He doesn’t get it. He can’t see past his own greed and selfishness to see what I need or want. The sick fucking bastard only cares about what’s going to benefit him. The idea crushes me.

“I don’t want shit from you. Nothing. I want you out of my life and my company.” Shaking his head he practically growls at me.

“That’s never gonna happen. I love you, but I love myself and my company just as much, and I’ll never let any of it go.”

I hate him. “You played me. I should’ve walked away from you in the beginning. You used me.”

“Maybe you should have, but you didn’t, and you love me as much as I love you.”

“I don’t love you, Dante. I can never love someone like you.”

His head snaps back. I can see him slipping. “Yes you do.” He counters cautiously. How wrong he is. I couldn’t love him any less than I do right at this moment.

“You’re the one who’s naïve. You’ve ruined whatever we could’ve had, which turns out, was nothing. I don’t love you. I could never love someone like you. If I could, I’d have you wiped clean from this planet and save us all the suffering. You do nothing but shit on everyone and everything you come into contact with. I may be naïve and stupid to you, but you’re a heartless, worthless human being.” Those cruel eyes close with my words.

“You’re mad and I get it, but I know you love me. You’ll get past this and everything will be fine, trust me.” He states firmly, but his voice is uncertain.

“I did love you, but I hate you more. Nothing, and I mean nothing can fix the damage you’ve done. Any love I have for you is already fading. I’ll move on from you, Dante, but you’ll be alone. You’ll have your business to keep you warm at night, and that’s all you’ll ever have.”

“London.” He reaches for me. I know deep down inside there’s something good in all that bad. But it’s the black, it’s the dark, and it’s the selfish, terrible man that shines through the brightest and burns the hottest. I won’t live with that. Somewhere deep down he meant well, but the lies killed that small, kind part of him. He’s ripped my world apart, along with his if he truly loves me. I want him to suffer. I want him to pay for the wasted months I gave him, and I want him to pay for fucking with me.

He makes a grab for my hand and I almost crack, but I look into those deceitful eyes and know he’s unfixable. I can’t save him. No one can. He’s shattered into millions of unfixable pieces, destroyed by the lies, the violence, and all the greed that keeps him going. If I give in, he’ll only devastate what little is left of me.

“Leave me alone and stay out of my life. If you ever felt anything for me, you’ll bow out and give me what’s mine. You’ll disappear and never come back. You’ll crawl into a sad, dark hole and die from my world.” The words hurt when they pass my lips.

“No.” He argues.

“Yes.” I say with certainty.

For a long moment he watches me. He doesn’t say anything, but I see the finality sink in. I can feel the acceptance of the mess he’s made. Giving a brief curt nod, he closes his eyes and sucks in a ragged breath. “Okay.” Turning to leave he makes it a few steps before he stops.

Looking back over his shoulder, I watch him swallow hard and compose himself. Smoothing a hand down his exquisite suit jacket, he rights his tie, the tie I picked this morning. Standing in front of me, he’s everything he’s always been, but I’m finally able to truly see him for the man he truly is, and has been all along; a cruel, sick bastard.

It was always there in the depths of those black eyes. All twelve of those terrible personalities flash in those soulless eyes before he schools his features into a mask of composure. I see the end when he stares into my heartbroken green ones. But I also see him.

“Remember, London, no matter where you go or what you do, I’ll be there. I’ll be watching you because I’ll never be able to let you go.”

“And you’ll live a sad life watching me from afar, because I’ll never forgive you for this.”

“But I’ll always love you. I have no intentions of giving up on you, but I will give you time to process and you’ll come to realize that I won’t allow you to love anyone else, be with anyone else, but me. You can’t run from me, London. You’re mine, and you always will be.”

“I don’t belong to anyone, Dante, and you’ve lost any right to be a part of my life. I hope someday you feel exactly the way you’ve made me feel today―destroyed. This feeling will pass and our time together will be a sick, twisted memory that I’ll forever loathe. I won’t let another person use me again. I hope you’re prepared for what’s about to come. I don’t intend to give up this company to you, my father, or anyone who thinks they can take it from me. I’m done being the blind, love sick bitch I’ve been. Don’t count me out, Dante. You’ve not seen what I’m capable of when I want something so remember, when I come for you, and I will, you’ll understand that you’re the one who created the monster I’ll become. You should’ve never underestimated me because when I’m backed into a corner, I will come out swinging, you stupid motherfucker. So let’s finish the game we started, shall we?

About the Author.

I live in a small hick town right on the coast of good Ol’ Washington State, about two hours outside of Seattle. Although I live in a small town, don’t mistake my location for my love of all things country, because I’m a city girl through and through. My heart lives in the fast paced hustle and bustle of the city. I live with or right next door to my tribe, or as most know them, my family. My lovely, but nutty mother lives right next door with my hair brained Grandma. I currently reside in my nut house with my strange, but wonderful fiancé and my wild as hell little monster boy. My biker mouthed, but funny and amazing little sister lives not too far away with my adorable nephew and hick, down to his bones, brother in law. I have an enormous love for music. I love it all. My sister and I go to as many concerts as humanly possible, but my passion is reading and writing. I have a love of all things book-related. If it has words, I’ll read it. I decided one day to write because my poor brain couldn’t take any more of the massive stories I had stored away. I figured hell, I love them, and maybe someone else will too. So I started writing and couldn’t stop. I still can’t stop. It’s now become an obsession―a lovely obsession.<3

Thank you!!

You can find updates, release dates, and information about my books and myself on:

http://www.Facebook.com/AuthorJaciJ

http://www.twitter.com@JaciJeanThBest

jaclinjean@gmail.com