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.
Chapter 3
Caitlin
Sometimes it’s hard for me to distinguish fear from excitement. I have an intelligent, rational mind, but as soon as it lands on something that scares me, I leave my body. And the way I come back is through sex and pain.
So getting bound, whipped and face-fucked by the mafia kingpin who showed up to kill me? Didn’t scare me.
Talking about my dad’s death shut me down, though.
And when my hitman packs up my electronic equipment, throws me over his shoulder and carries me out of the apartment, real fear sets in.
“Mr. Tacone?” I mumble, swinging over his wide shoulder. I have a close-up view of his ass, and it’s quite impressive, I have to say. He’s definitely an Italian Stallion, this one.
Who knew?
I might have played my cards differently if I’d known skimming over a hundred thousand dollars would trigger a hitman in such a handsome, dominant package.
He slaps my ass. “Not a sound, little hacker. Do you want me to gag you?”
Ugh. Why does that turn me on? He scrambles my brain when he says things like that. I need to figure out how to escape instead of getting wet every time he says something bossy.
“No, sir,” I mutter.
“Good girl.”
There’s no elevator in my building, but he’s not even winded after carrying me down four flights of stairs and out into the parking lot. I look around, but there’s no one to hear me scream. He waited until the middle of the night to kidnap me.
I should’ve screamed back in the building. One of my neighbors might have come out or called the cops. Why didn’t I?
I swear sometimes I don’t have any sense. For a girl who got a 1410 on her SATs, I’m pretty stupid.
Or I have a deathwish.
That has a ring of truth in it. Which is why I targeted the Tacones in the first place. That, and for revenge.
They deserve to pay for what they did.
The Tacone guy—still don’t know which one he is—pops the trunk of his Porsche and cold washes through me.
Now I’m going to die. I’m definitely going to die.
I try to swing off his shoulder, even though with my ankles zip tied together I wouldn’t make it one step away. He slaps my ass but he’s careful putting me in the trunk.
Like he’s laying down a sleeping baby or something.
He stares down at me for a moment, his expression inscrutable.
I’m shaking all over. “Please,” I beg. “I don’t want to die.”
He shrugs off his jacket and lays it over me, carefully tucking the edges around my body to keep it on.