She takes another step back, glancing around for exits. There aren’t any, except the one I’m blocking.
Leo barks coded orders into his comms unit.
I don’t want Corey to see any more of our men implicated in this scene.
“Corey, now.” I make my voice sharp and urgent.
It works. She skitters forward, around the table she so wisely upended. Amazing reflexes.
I catch her elbow and propel her out of the suite, moving swiftly toward the elevators. I don’t really have a plan yet, other than to get Corey away from the scene of the crime.
When we get in, we both stand facing the doors, like we’re strangers. “I don’t understand why you don’t call the cops.” She’s pulled herself together enough that her voice almost sounds normal.
“And I’m not going to explain Family business to you,” I tell her curtly. Which is the only answer I have. Yeah, it was self-defense. But that stronzo who pulled a gun on me wasn’t some wacko off the street. He had a beef with the Family—probably my father. I’m not going to open that can of worms with the local cops and trust them to sort it out with me coming out on top. No fucking way.
So it turns out Corey’s not as pulled together as I thought because she suddenly lunges for the elevator control panel, smacking buttons.
I catch her wrist and wrap it around her waist, pull her back against me. “Stop. You’re panicking.”
Her body trembles against mine. “I won’t tell anyone. I know it was self-defense.” Her voice wobbles at the end and I curse, realizing she’s crying.
And of course, the elevator has to stop at that moment and let people on.
I release her wrist and cup her nape, turning her to face me, so her face is angled away from the people who get in.
She stares straight ahead at my chest, eyes still swimming with tears. I pull a silk handkerchief from my suit pocket and slip it into her hand. That’s when I notice the blood—tiny splatters stain the smooth column of her neck.
When she’s finished wiping her tears, I take the handkerchief back and dab at the stains, using the moisture of her tears to get it off. If possible, she goes even more pale, probably realizing what I’m rubbing at.
The elevator stops on the first floor and everyone gets out, but I keep my hand at Corey’s neck, not allowing her to move. I hit the button for the parking level.
I don’t know what my plan is, really. Drive her home, have a talk. Make sure she knows bad shit’s going to happen if she ever opens her mouth about what she saw. It’s not really well-formulated yet. I’m just responding to the sense of urgency to get her away from the dead guy.
When the elevator opens at the garage level, Corey panics again. She grasps the handrail inside the elevator and hangs on, digging her heels in when I try to escort her out. I tug her waist, but she doubles over. If I’m going to get her out, it’s going to take some serious manhandling.
Which under different circumstances might be appealing.
“I’m not getting in a car with you! I know what’s going to happen.”
“Calm down. What do you think is going to happen? I’m not going to kill you—is that what you think?”
“Just let me go!” she splutters, pitching away from me and then whirling and kneeing me hard in the nuts.
I’d like to say I kept my cool. I don’t hit women—ever. My ma raised me better than that.
But I’m not above spanking a girl’s ass. Especially when it belongs to a beautiful woman. I yank one of the zip-ties Leo put in my pocket out—which I’d had no intention of using. Wrangling her wrists together, I cinch the plastic strip around them and tighten it up.
“You need to calm the fuck down,” I grit through clenched teeth. I pin her hands against the elevator wall and bring my hand down to smack her ass.
I don’t hold back. My balls are throbbing and each spank satisfies the part of me she unmanned with that low blow. Of course, now my cock starts swelling, renewing the pain.
The elevator doors close and it lurches into motion. I put my keycard in the elevator and hit the floor with my suite without releasing her wrists from the wall.
Then I resume her punishment. She gasps and twists as I lay down slap after slap.
“Okay!” she cries.
“I’m sorry I kneed you in the balls, Stefano,” I prompt with another slap.
“I’m sorry I kneed you in the balls, Stefano,” she mutters.
I turn her and slam my lips down on hers.
She freezes for one moment, probably taken aback by my change in tactics, but then she responds. Her lips move against mine, body softens. I hold her nape with one hand, her ass with the other.