Deal with the Devil (8 page)

I squeeze one nipple hard between my fingers and whatever she was going to say next is swallowed in a loud gasp. She instinctively tries to pull away at the pain, but my arm tightens around her, stilling the movement.

Bending down so my mouth just barely touches her ear, I whisper. “I don’t come cheap. If you want my protection, then I’m gonna need something of equal value in return.”

I see the question forming on her lips, but I decide to answer it before she can ask.

“Complete control…over you.”

The reaction to my words surges through her body in a reaction so strong I can feel it. A sort of energy passes between us. That’s when I’m sure. Most women want the man to be a man, to be stronger and harsher. But then there are some women who want more than that, who want to be taken and owned.

And then consumed.

Mara is one of the latter, even if she doesn’t know it yet.

My teeth scrape against the tender skin of her neck, just before I bite down hard. She makes desperate sounds underneath me but doesn’t try to pull away. The hand in her hair slides down her neck, over the curve of her waist and down to play at the waistband of her jeans.

“What do you think I’ll find down here?”

She tries to shove me away, but I just grip her a little tighter with my free arm and squeeze. Not too hard, just enough to let her know that she can fight if she wants too. But it won’t do any good.

I know she wants this. And I only need another minute to prove it.

My hand slides under her panties as her breathing turns into frantic pants. The soft curls covering her mound catch on my fingers. She’s stopped trying to pull away and a fine tremble courses over her body.

When I find her center it’s even more soaked and molten hot than I had imagined. The momentary surge of joy that streaks through me is like clouds parting on a dark sky to reveal a blazing sun.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” I murmur as I kiss a wet trail down her throat. “Decision time, Mara — is it a yes or a no?”

“You’re sick.” She tries to drive her elbow into me, but I easily evade her and the blow glances off my side. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

That fucking mouth. 
If it’s the last thing I ever do, I will fix that fucking mouth.

“Okay, you don’t like easy. We can try hard.”

I have her face down over the back of the couch before she can react. She tries to fight. I just force her down until her face presses into the leather. Her hips thrust up in the air, the jeans pulled halfway down her ass.

“Now, we’re gonna talk about what happens to broads who come into my fucking house and refuse to remember their place.”

My hand moves over her amazing ass. I admire her curves as I pull the jeans further down her thighs, taking her panties with them. Soft, unblemished skin greets me. I take a moment to appreciate a perfect canvas for the fucking masterpiece I’m about to create.

“You keep talking to me like I’m some fucking jerk-off, Mara.” My hand strokes gently over her skin, drawing out the moment. “I’m not some asshole you can talk to however the fuck you want.”

“I’m sorry, okay. Jesus.” She squirms underneath me, but her voice hasn’t lost that insolent tone. Like she still thinks this is all just a fucking joke.

“Not sorry enough to remember to fucking call me 
sir
.”

My hand comes down hard on her ass, cutting off whatever she was going to say. She lets out a high-pitched scream that turns into a shriek when I spank her again.

I go to town, my hand making a sharp slapping sound with each strike. I’m careful to never hit the same spot twice and I don’t stop until the entirety of her backside is flaming red.

When I finally pull back to look at her face. Wide and wild eyes meet mine. They’ve gone soft and liquid, but no tears have fallen to her cheeks. Not even physical pain is enough to break through the wall that she’s built up. I will break through one day if I have to make it my personal mission in life.

“Last chance,” I say, soothing the irritated skin with the back of my hand. “Is it a yes or is it a no? I’m not going to ask again.”

She glares at me. And if looks could kill, I’d drop dead this very minute. Unfortunately for her, the tools that she has at her disposable are subtler than that.

Wetness glistens on her thighs. If anything, she’s even wetter now than she was before. If I had even a shred of doubt about what kind of a woman she is, it’s gone now.

“Yes,” she bites out finally. “Sir.”

I take a step back as she stands, frantically pulling her clothes back into place.

“I’m going out for a bit,” I say. “Don’t leave the apartment and keep the door locked.”

Mara stares at me like she’s never seen me before, hurt and betrayal shining in her eyes.

Fuck it. I never agreed to be the hero in her little story.

* * *

V
ito’s house
— probably the way I’ll always think of it — is fucking trashed. Beer cans and other debris little the front yard and there are large tracks in the grass from motorcycles peeling out.

I sit in my car, which is parked on the street outside the gate. I’ve been here for at least an hour, watching who enters and leaves the house. I’m waiting to be sure that Mack and Cecile are in there alone before I make a move.

The Devil’s Rejects have clearly been allowed to use this place as a crash pad. I don’t want to run into a bigger problem than I can handle alone.

I wonder what Mack offered them to go after Mara. Money, almost certainly, but the question is how much. The solution might be brokering our own deal, assuming Mara’s willing to pay them off. Lowlifes like this have no loyalty.

And then I remember the silken feel of her skin under my hand and the tempting little sounds she made as I spanked her ass. The current solution is working fine for me at the moment.

Plus, this way I get to go knock her parents head together which is pretty much icing on the cake at this point.

Not to mention that paying off the MC sets a dangerous precedent. What happens when someone else gets the same idea or they come back wanting more.

No, the plan we have is the best one available. And it’s not just the selfish part of me that thinks so.

Once I’m certain that there’re no MC assholes still hanging around, I get out of the car. I adjust my suit jacket over the piece strapped to my hip. I don’t think I’ll need to use it but you can never be too careful, especially around people as unpredictable as Mack and Cecile.

I ease past the open gate of the tall, wrought-iron fence surrounding the house. The yard looks even worse close up. It’s full of cigarette butts and trash like someone couldn’t distinguish manicured sod from the city dump.

Fucking human garbage, these people.

Most people wouldn’t see much difference between me and one of those assholes. But the state of this yard sums up the biggest difference between the mafia and MC. We don’t trash shit just for the hell of it. We take pride in looking like fucking professionals, not like apes that have figured out how to drive a motorcycle.

The door swings open at my touch, not just unlocked but not even latched closed. I keep my head on a swivel as I walk into the foyer, looking for movement. I know they’re here, but that doesn’t mean I have any idea where.

And I’m not in the mood for any surprises.

Mara’s gonna be pissed when she gets a look at this place. Expensive paintings have been ripped down, leaving discolored rectangles on the wall where they hung. The Tiffany lamp that used to sit on a table next to the door is gone. Glass crunches underneath my feet. I look down and realize the glass is all that’s left of the hand-blown Venetian chandelier that used to descend from the ceiling.

I don’t try to calculate the damage that I assume extends to the rest of the house, silently seething on Vito’s behalf — and Mara’s. What the fuck is Cecile thinking, letting this happen?

It’s impossible not to wonder what it must have been like for Mara growing up with a literal crazy person for a mother. Having Vito must have helped some, but the old boss had been anything but a family man. I’m sure he gave Mara money and spent a little time with her growing up, but it’s not like he would have taken her away from that crazy bitch and raised her as his own. That would have interfered too much with business.

The thump of something heavy hitting the floor comes from the second story. I move slowly up the stairs, my feet soundless on the carpeted steps. The noise is louder at the top and I follow it down the hallway to the master suite.

Mack and Cecile are on the floor of the bedroom, facing away from the door. They’re bent over something. Mack raises a hammer and then brings it down. It makes a loud banging sound as it strikes something metal.

“It won’t fucking open,” Cecile cries, hitting her hand on something metal. “Ow, fuck.”

“We just gotta keep at it.” Mack strikes again with the hammer. “How much do you think is in here? Gotta be something good.”

I slowly maneuver into the room and see that they’re huddled over a large safe. It was probably too heavy to get out of the house, which is why it hadn’t already been stolen.

And they think they can get it open with a hammer. Fucking idiots.

Moving back into the hallway, I pull my phone out and send a quick text message to Mara. She responds immediately. I memorize the brief message before slipping the phone back into my pocket. I turn back to the room just in time to see a hammer flying toward my face.

Luckily for me, whatever drug they’re on has slowed Mack’s reflexes. The hammer catches me on the edge of my shoulder instead of full in the face.

I grunt from the pain. But it doesn’t stop me from grabbing the hand holding the hammer and twisting it backward until he lets go. His wrist makes a loud cracking sound and he shrieks in pain as the hammer falls to the floor.

“What the fuck!” Mack stumbles back, cradling his hand like it’s an injured baby bird. “I think it’s broken. You broke my fucking hand.”

“Shut up.” I look around the corner to see Cecile watching me from the floor next to the safe, her eyes bloodshot and glassy. “That’s what happens when you start waving hammers around.”

“You broke into my house,” Mack whines. He clearly has no idea who I am.

“This isn’t your house, dipshit.” I shove him into the room toward Cecile. “It’s not yours either, though you seem to have no problem making yourself comfortable.”

“Who are you? What the fuck are you doing here?”

Was he so blitzed in the hospital that he doesn’t remember? Mack may not know me, but Cecile does.

“What do you want?” she asks, voice quavering.

“I want you two to stay the fuck away from Mara.”

Mack makes a rude sound through the pain. “What do you care what happens to that bitch?”

I pick him up and throw him bodily across the room. He lands hard against the safe and sits up, groaning.

“Here’s the deal, you two fucksticks are gonna stay the hell away from Mara. And you’re gonna stop trolling for help with lowlifes like the Devil’s Rejects to work her over.”

Mack glares at me as he uses the safe to lever himself back to a standing position. “You can’t protect her forever. One little accident and the money comes right to us.”

“Not exactly,” I say with a dark smile. “You didn’t hear the good news — she and I are getting married. If anything happens to her, that means the money goes to me.”

“You cocksucker.” Mack makes like he’s going to go after me. “I’ll fucking kill you.”

I pull the Glock out of its holster on my hip in one smooth movement. I aim it directly at his face. This is the gun I carry around for show because it’s big and threatening. It’s also loud as fuck. I carry it when I don’t really want to use a gun, but I still need that intimidation factor. If I actually wanted to kill them, I’d have come with a.22 and hollow points. The smaller bullets shatter on impact and make it nearly impossible for the police to do a forensics match.

I definitely floated the idea to Mara of taking both these assholes out, but for some reason she didn’t want to sign off on it. I wonder how much more damage they’ll have to inflict before she realizes she’d be better off without them around.

“You make a single move I don’t like and I’ll put one in your forehead.” I laugh and it’s mocking. “Then it’ll match your leg.” I gesture to Cecile. “You go to Mara’s room and bring me her stuff.”

I back up from the door so Cecile can scurry past me. I’m not worried about letting her at my back. She knows what will happen to them if they go after a made guy. Cecile doesn’t want my crew coming for her. But I can’t trust Mack to be that smart.

“Get that safe open,” I tell him.

“Fucking how?”

I give him the combination from Mara’s text message. He turns to the safe, but not before I see the hatred burning in his eyes. We’re just lucky that Vito probably knew for years that he was leaving all of his money to his granddaughter. All of the account numbers, his old hiding places and now the combination to the safe — it couldn’t be a coincidence.

Mack struggles with the safe, having to use his off hand to work the dial.