Dirty Revenge (Dirty 3)

“Yes, hire me the best you can find. No women, though.”

I snigger. I wouldn’t expect anything less from a chauvinist like him.

“It’s not good for the business I run. Women bodyguards are too emotional to handle the work I require.”

I nod. I don’t doubt women get too emotional when they realize he smuggles women like drugs. Although, I bet most women, if they worked with Dante, wouldn’t say anything. They’d be too afraid they might face the same fate if they told anyone.

“No women. Got it.”

Dante scowls as he looks at his men with his hands folded on the table like this is a simple business meeting, and we aren’t talking about men’s lives. “No need to fire them. I’ll take care of it.”

A chill creeps down my spine at his words. I know how he will ‘handle it.’ They will all be dead by morning. Not that they don’t deserve it, or that I disagree with his tactics. I would do the same if he left the firing to me.

His phone buzzes, and he pulls it out. “One moment, Mr. Conti. I need to take this. Then, we can discuss your price.”

I nod as he stands, leaving me alone at the small table on the edge of the sidewalk. I sip more of my coffee as a black Escalade pulls up outside. The man in the driver’s seat rolls down his window as he speaks with the man on the sidewalk.

I narrow my eyes. These men aren’t part of Dante’s security team. They do other work for him. I don’t have time to deduce precisely what work, before the back door is thrust open and a beautiful woman falls to the stone drive.

I can’t take my eyes off of her as she pulls herself to a standing position. Her arms are tied behind her back, and I have no doubt what she was doing in the back of the SUV or who she belongs to. She’s one of Dante’s women. He hasn’t touched her yet, that much is clear. She has fight and determination in her piercing green eyes, visible even though we are several feet apart.

Her eyes shine brightly beneath her black hair that cascades down the sides of her face. When my eyes find her breasts, I bite my lip and groan. Perfectly round mounds spill out over the top of her shirt. And I don’t even dare let my eyes travel down her long, lean legs or heels I want digging into my back as my cock slams inside her.

I don’t know who this woman is. But I will. My cock aches at the sight of her. I have to have her. I have to know her. Go near her. Touch her. Taste her. Fuck her.

It’s clear from her designer outfit and the way she holds her head high that she comes from money. Old wealth, no doubt. I don’t know how Dante got her. Is she payment for an old debt? Did he steal her?

I would understand the urge if he stole her. I’m very much feeling the same, and I’ve only just seen her.

The dark beauty considers her next move. I see it in her eyes. She wants to run. Is desperate to. But she glances down at her spiky heels and the men who are slowly becoming aware she is no longer in the back of the car. Amateurs. How hard is it to keep a woman retained in a car? It’s clear the ropes will do nothing to contain a fire like her.

Her eyes search quickly for any chance at escape. For freedom. For help.

Her eyes stop when they find mine. For a flicker of a second, I think I see lust in her eyes as she checks me out. But realize it is most likely my own lust reflected in her eyes. No woman in her predicament would think about such silly things as lust at a moment like this.

She runs toward me. She’s choosing me. Thinking I’ll be her salvation.

She’s wrong.

She may think she sees some kindness in my blue eyes, but there isn’t any caring left. Any kindness I once had was taken from me years ago, as easily as her freedom is being ripped from her now.

She stumbles, approaching me. My arms go out automatically, catching her as she falls into my aching lap.

She smiles, catching her breath. She thinks she’s safe in my arms.

I smirk. She couldn’t be more unsafe.

“Help. Please.”

I raise an eyebrow as I get a whiff of her shampoo and perfume. It’s strong, just like her. But not overwhelming. Just strong enough. Not overly flowery, but feminine nonetheless.

I stroke her hair, resisting my urge to grab the long strands roughly and drag her to my car waiting on the next block so I can fuck her in my bed.

What the hell?

I shouldn’t want to fuck her. She’s Dante’s. Fucking her would ruin everything I’ve planned and worked on for years.

I push her up until she’s standing again. Hoping that some distance between us will ease my discomfort and need for her. My cock only strains harder in my jeans.