Caitlin
Mr. Tacone saunters into my kitchen and picks up the water bottle I left on the counter. When he brings it back to me to sip, my confusion is complete.
As much as I want to, I can’t believe I just softened this guy up by sucking his dick. I mean, maybe a little, but he’s still here to kill me.
Maybe he’s like the cat who likes to play with his victims first. Well, that’s good. More time for me to work out how to get myself out of this pickle. Plus, I love the way he plays. He’s better than any of the wanna-be doms at the local dungeon. Better-looking. Bossier. Handy with a belt.
He leaves me with the water bottle and walks around my apartment, picking things up and examining them. He opens my satchel-the one I always carry with me and pulls everything out. My laptop, my wallet, the workout clothes I changed out of after my shower at the rec center. He looks at the wet, sweaty clothes, then over at me, his eyes running over my outfit.
“I live in yoga pants,” I explain. “These are clean, or they were, before you made me leak all over them.”
His lips twitch. He continues his perusal of my things, scrolling through all the messages on my phone, opening the laptop and clicking buttons.
Finally, he pulls the armchair around to face me on the bed and sits down.
“So, Caitlin.”
“Yes, sir.” I’m lying on my side, ankles and wrists bound, my ass still pulsing with heat from his whipping and the taste of his cum still in my mouth. I definitely feel submissive, even as I look for some kind of escape.
He crosses his long legs and loosens his tie. I wonder if he dressed up for me or if this is what he always wears when he shows up to kill someone. Like it’s the mafia work uniform or something.
“Of all the casinos in Vegas, you picked ours. It feels a little personal, doll. Was it?”
I should’ve expected this question and had an answer, but for some reason, it takes me by surprise. I can’t hide the truth from my expression or make an answer come quickly enough to sound legit.
“No.” My voice has a warble to it.
He tips his head to the side. “There are consequences for lying to me.” The threat rolls off his tongue easily. Silkily, even. I swear, the doms at the dungeon should take lessons from this guy.
“So it was personal. You live in Chicago-our city. You have a beef with one of us?” He watches my expression, which I try very hard to keep blank. “Which one? My father? You’re a little young for that.”
His father-Don Tacone-is in jail. Has been for the last ten years or so. I know that much from my research. The truth is, I don’t know which Tacone did it or gave the order. I just know they’re responsible.
I shake my head. “No beef. I just knew of your family from living here and how you’d expanded into the casino business in Vegas.”
He doesn’t move, just watches me, and I know he knows it’s bullshit. Interesting that he doesn’t follow through on the threat of consequences.
It actually frightens me more. Another whipping I could take. A little torture.
Not knowing what he’s thinking chills me to the core.
“I have to pee.” It’s not a lie. But I also desperately need to get away from his close scrutiny.
He remains still, studying me for a moment longer, then stands up from the chair. Without a word, he scoops me into his arms, then tosses me into the air to shift me into the ignominious sack of potatoes position over his shoulder. And of course, his hand slaps down on my ass.
It does all kinds of exciting things to my body.
I channel the tingles, the kick of lust at being so easily manhandled by such a large, capable, dangerous man into figuring a way out of this. I could grab a razor from the shower to use on him.
But I know that’s stupid. A man with big ham hands like him could fight me off with his little finger, even if I did have a sharp blade. Escape would be a better option. I just need to get my ankles free to run.
Are there scissors in the bathroom? I look around desperately when he puts me down, but I already know there’s nothing there. My apartment may be messy, but I’m the type who knows exactly where everything is in the mess.
No scissors in the bathroom. Maybe nail clippers.
My hitman tucks his thumbs in the waistband of my yoga pants and drags them down my thighs. After what he’s already done, it shouldn’t make me blush, but it does. There’s something even more intimate about peeing on a toilet in front of someone than sucking his cock.
He lowers me to sit on the toilet and stands right over me, arms crossed.
Okay, getting the nail clippers out of the drawer may not be possible with this level of supervision.
Fuck!
I stare up at him for a moment. My nipples are hard.
“I thought you had to pee.” His voice is a deep, authoritative rumble.
“It’s hard when you’re staring at me! Can I have a little privacy, please?”
“No.”
Damn. I look away, finding a spot on the floor to concentrate on, because it wasn’t a lie. I can’t seem to break the seal. I inhale slowly. Hold my breath. Exhale.
Mr. Tacone doesn’t move. I draw back my bound wrists and bop him on the leg. “You’re enjoying this a little too much, don’t you think?”
I see that glimmer of a smile. “Definitely.”
I huff, but the exchange normalized things enough for me to pee. My body relaxes and I’m able to let it out.
I look up at him with a challenge. “Could you hand me some toilet paper? I can’t reach.” I twist and jerk my arms and feign pathetic.
I don’t know why I’m trying to annoy him- just to take a little power back, I guess, but he seems far more amused than annoyed. He rolls up a ball of toilet paper and presses it into my bound hands.
It’s freaking hard to wipe and takes me a few tries, but I manage and stand up.
He pulls up my pants and I fall into him, my bound hands grabbing a fistful of his crisp shirt as he bands one strong arm around me. He smells clean and masculine. I would’ve figured him for the heavy cologne type, but all I detect is the light scent of soap and the smell of his skin.
He heaves me easily over his shoulder again. “All right, Caitlin. Back to the bed for you. We have time to kill before I can move you. Time enough for you to spill all your secrets.” He dumps me back on the bed.
“Where are you moving me to?” I ask quickly, both to distract him from his questions and because, yeah. I need to know where my final resting place will be, if that’s what he’s planning.
“I ask the questions, little hacker. Why my casino?”
Goosebumps rise on my arms. I give a one shouldered shrug, because I’m lying on the other one. “I’d heard of it.”
He narrows his eyes. “You’re a smart girl, Caitlin-obviously. You’ve been stealing from us for years and you only just now got caught. It was a clever setup, too. Took skill and a lot of thought to complete. There’s no way I believe you’d pick the one casino in Vegas run by Sicilians for your scam unless you had a good reason. If you wanted any casino to skim from, there are at least a hundred better choices.”
I try to look away from his gaze, but find it impossible. Instead, my stupid face heats.
He looms over me and grips my jaw, lowering his face to mine. He really is handsome. Dark, curling lashes, chocolate brown eyes. No smile lines. This guy takes shit seriously. “So don’t fucking lie to me. I wanna know what was going through that beautiful head of yours when you picked the Bellissimo.”
I’m not going to tell him.
At least I don’t plan to.
But he’s gained such control of my body that my mind seems to follow. Or maybe I just want him to know they deserved it. If I’m going to die for this, I can at least make my point before I do.
“You killed my father,” I whisper.
Paolo
I release my hold on her face and draw back, surprised. “Oh yeah?”
It’s possible. I’ve killed a lot of men. None who didn’t deserve everything they got. I think back to what I read in her file about her father’s death. It certainly hadn’t been enough information to ring a bell with me, if there is a bell to ring.
“Me, personally, or someone in the organization?”
She looks away. She’s been trying to look away for a while now, but I had her locked into an uncomfortable stare-down. “I’m not sure who actually pulled the trigger.”
“But he was shot?”
She doesn’t answer.
“You don’t know for sure.”
Now she lifts her eyes again. She wants answers. That’s why she let me find her. It makes perfect sense. Smart girl like her wouldn’t leave me any path to her door, but she did. Course she is a bit of a trainwreck. And she has that penchant for punishment.
But no, some part of her wanted me to show up here and give her answers about her father’s death. I’ve seen this kind of obsession before. It’s damn hard when there’s no body. You never fully put the person to rest.
“He disappeared and you think we had something to do with it.”
Again, she lifts her gaze. Damn beautiful gaze, too. Those blue eyes are striking as hell. She nods.
Damn. This girl is getting under my skin. I’m already regretting shoving my cock in her mouth.
But no. She offered-I didn’t force.
And I gave her pleasure afterward. Still have the taste of her on my tongue.
I don’t show any of the sympathy she inspires in me. I just blink down at her with an authoritative, disapproving gaze.
But I almost wish I had something to tell her. Give her that closure she desires. But that’s stupid. Even if I knew what happened to her dad, I wouldn’t admit it. It’s not like I can drive her out and show her a burial site so she can leave flowers. We’d be talking about a capital offense. Murder One. Doesn’t matter how much I want to help her, it’s not something I would admit to. Not unless I planned on killing her afterward.
“What makes you think we were involved in his disappearance?”
She purses her lips and shifts her gaze to a point on the wall. “He was working for you. The police asked all about his dealings with the Tacones when he disappeared. They pretty much inferred you did it but they couldn’t prove it.”
I seriously don’t remember any guy named West working for us. We keep things tight. Sicilians only. No outsiders. I make a doubtful sound. “Cops think we committed hundreds of crimes we had no part in.”
Her eyes narrow.
“Name was West?”
“Lake West.”
“Lake.” That name does jog something. It’s a memorable name-strange I didn’t notice it when I was reading her file. But I hadn’t been looking for a connection. I seem to recall a lowlife thief by that name. Douchey type. Skinny white guy with ripped faded blue jeans and facial hair that wasn’t all the way filled in.
Well, shit. Maybe we did kill him.
“Thief like you?” I almost regret the question, because her face flushes a deep shade of pink and her jaw sets tight. But I already started this line of questioning, might as well make my point. “Yeah? Stealing from the Tacones never ends well, doll.”
I see that flash of vulnerability on her face. Grief and fear mingled with defiance. And then, just like that, her eyes go dull.
Like she checked out and no one’s home.
I push back the sympathy I feel for her. It’s because of what she already showed me. Her freaky side. The fact that she sucked my cock. Rolled around on that bed while I whipped her ass.
And fuck if I didn’t enjoy hurting her that way.
I always knew I had a sadistic streak, I just never let myself indulge. Our dad might have taught us to rule this city with brutal violence and intimidation, but he also taught us to respect women. He never took a mistress or cheated on our mother. Always treated her like she was a goddess.
And me? I’m not the dates and dancing type. I’m the fuck ’em hard and kick them out before morning type, so relationships have never been my thing.
Looking down at this wildfire of a woman beneath me-and she is all woman, despite her college student status-I wonder if maybe I just hadn’t found the right kind of woman before. I didn’t know women like Caitlin existed.
Women who like it as hard and rough as I like to give. Who don’t get offended or cry because I’m an inconsiderate stronzo who will never say he cares. She enjoyed being hurt by me.
Cristo, it gets my dick hard again thinking about whipping that girl’s ass. How she moaned and rubbed herself while I did it. Told me she could’ve taken more.
I walk away from her now, because that bright flame of hers burned out the moment I called her on her shit.
The moment I pointed out there are no innocent victims here. Her daddy probably stole from us and got what he deserved. And the same is going to happen to her, minus the killing part.
She’s going to pay every red cent back before I let her walk away from this with the threat that’ll keep her scared of me for the rest of her life.
Funny how I don’t feel much satisfaction in that at the moment.
Crazy girls fuck with your head.
That’s the only explanation I can come up with for how I’m feeling right now.