Twisted Loyalties (The Camorra Chronicles 1)

I relaxed, and he dropped his hand from my lips. I twisted in his hold, tilting my head back. Fabiano. He was dressed in his black shirt and jeans, and he was clean. The wound at his hairline was stitched up. So that was what had taken so long. I couldn’t imagine fixing myself with a needle, but as a cage fighter you probably had to suffer through worse pain than a few needle pokes.

“You scared me.”

There was a hint of amusement in his eyes. What was so funny about it?

I scared her? If this was the first time my actions had scared her, she was as crazy as she was beautiful.

“I didn’t want you to interrupt Roger with your scream,” I said. Nobody wanted to see Roger with his pants down.

Her eyes skittered to the door, and she shuddered. “I didn’t know they were a couple. They didn’t act like one.”

“They aren’t,” I said. “They fuck.”

“Oh.” A tantalizing blush colored her cheeks. “I should be going.”

“Do you want me to drive you?” I wasn’t sure why the hell I was offering her a ride – again. After all, she didn’t exactly live around the corner from my apartment.

She paused, conflict dancing in her eyes. Finally some distrust. Perhaps seeing me fight had made her realize that she should have never gotten in my car in the first place. It’s funny how differently people react to someone, depending on the outfit of the person. Suit? Trustworthy.

“I can’t let you do that again.”

“Then call a taxi. You shouldn’t be walking in this area alone at night.” I knew all the reasons why she shouldn’t by name.

“I don’t have any money,” she said, then looked like she wanted to swallow her tongue.

I reached into my bag and pulled out a roll of fifty-dollar notes.

Leona’s eyes grew wide. “Where do you get so much money?”

She didn’t look impressed, only wary. Good. There was nothing worse than women who decided you were worth their attention after they saw you had money.

“Money for winning my fight.” Which was almost the truth.

I untangled a fifty-dollar note and held it out to her.

She shook her head vehemently. “No. I really can’t take it.”

“You can give it back when Roger’s paid you.”

She shook her head again but with less conviction this time. She was tired I could tell. “Take it,” I ordered.

She blinked up at me, stunned by the command but unable to resist, so she finally took the note. “Thank you. I’ll pay you back soon.”

People always said that to me.

She hoisted her backpack up on her shoulder. “I need to go,” she said apologetically.

I walked her outside. My car was right in front of the door. She glanced at it. “Do you earn that much money with cage fighting?”

“It’s not my job. It’s a hobby.”

More curiosity on her part. No questions. A girl who had learned that curiosity killed the cat.

“Call a taxi,” I told her.

She smiled. “Don’t worry I will. You don’t have to wait.”

She wouldn’t call a taxi. I could tell. I waited patiently. If she thought she could drive me off like that, she was mistaken.

“I don’t have a phone,” she admitted reluctantly.

No money, no phone. I reached for mine in the pocket of my jeans when she sighed and shook her head.

“No, don’t. I really want to walk. I can’t afford to waste money on a taxi,” she said with blatant discomfort.

It was obvious she was poor, so it was futile of her to try to hide it from me. Stefano wouldn’t have preyed on her if she didn’t seem like an easy target. And hell, with this shabby dress, shabbier sandals, and the fucking shabbiest backpack on this planet, it took no fucking genius to see how poor she was.

“Then let me at least walk with you,” I told her to my own surprise.

I didn’t want Stefano to give her another go, or have one of the thugs put a hand on her. Something about her trustful innocence drew me in like a moth to the flame. It was the thrill of the hunt, no doubt. I’d never hunted someone like that.

“But you could drive. You don’t have to walk.”

“You can’t walk alone at night, believe me.”

Her shoulders slumped and her eyes darted to my car. “Then I’ll ride with you. I can’t let you walk with me and then back to the bar again to get your car.”

I held the door open for her and she slipped in. Too trusting. I slid into the seat beside her. She sank into the leather seat, yawning, but her arms wrapped tightly around her old backpack.

I doubted she had any treasures hidden in its depth. Perhaps she really had some sort of weapon inside to defend herself.

Knife? Pepperspray? Gun?

Nothing would have saved her if I had any intention of having my way with her. I started the engine, which came to life with a roar, and pulled out of the parking lot. In a close space like this she wouldn’t be able to get a good shot. I would have no trouble disarming her and then she’d be defenseless. Women often carried weapons because they thought they would protect them, but without the knowledge how to use them, they were only an additional risk.