Cherish: A Dark Mafia Captive Romance (Cherish Series Book 4) Page 4

  I look at him, six and a half feet of perfect olive skin and well-toned muscle. He’s all arms and abs, pecs and muscular thighs. And his face, with those angular cheekbones, icy grey eyes, and his dark eyebrows.

  Not to mention, he has the nicest cock. I don’t have much to compare it to, but when he fills me up with his cock, I almost implode every single time.

  All in all, the perfect package. He comes over to the bed, grabbing me by the ankle and pulling me to the edge of the bed. But that doesn’t shut me up. As he nuzzles my neck, the question bubbles up to my lips.

  “What do you see for us, for the future?” I ask.

  He freezes. “What did you just ask me?”

  I pull my lip between my teeth, my brow dropping. “I just… I want to know where we’re going. Like, us.”

  I gesture to our two bodies for emphasis. He scowls.

  “Just like that, you think you have a future?” he husks out.

  Monster’s big hand slides around the front of my throat, squeezing. My hands come up to pull his hand away, but he growls so loudly I can feel it where our bodies touch. The sound vibrates over my naked skin, sending out goosebumps.

  “Who put such stupid ideas in your head, hmm?” He leans close, inhaling the sudden scent of my fear. Knotting his fingers in my hair, he seems almost amused. “You’re going the regret asking me that, princess.”

  Uh oh.

  His fingers tighten in my hair, making me wince. He smashes his mouth to mine, not so much kisses me as showing his dominance. He pulls on my hair again, making me gasp, and then uses that moment to invade my mouth. He licks and rolls his tongue around the entirety of my mouth, biting my lower lip until I can taste the faint tang of my own blood.

  When he pulls his mouth away, I gasp for breath. He doesn’t let up on his grip on my hair. Instead, he sits down on the bed, forcing my head down to his lap. I can barely open my mouth before he’s shoving his cock in it, pushing my head down onto his long, thick dick.

  Monster moans a little. He immediately goes deep, so deep that I gag.

  “Take it,” he snarls when I try to resist. “You little slut, you love it. Fuck, I love giving you exactly what you need.”

  The whole time, he just bobs my head up and down on his massive cock. He forces me to take him all the way to the hilt a few times. My eyes start to water, and I gag again.

  He groans and leans back a little, watching my mouth traveling up and down his cock intently. There is so much saliva that it starts to drip down to the base of his dick.

  For some reason, that is the thing that flips a switch for me, turning me on. But before I can really do anything about it, he stops me.

  “Enough,” he grates, pulling me off of his cock. My mouth makes a satisfying pop sound as he pushes me off.

  I can’t go far though, because he moves to flip me over onto my knees. He leans down and spreads my legs, pushing my head down. As he strokes my bare inner thighs, I can feel myself grow wet.

  Fuck, when Monster teases me just like this, I can’t help it. I can feel his clever fingers skating over my pussy. I shiver.

  He surprises me by pushing his face against my pussy forcefully. He presses his hand on my lower back and puts his mouth to my pussy, his tongue finding my clit without fail.

  He circles my swollen clit a few times, then traces his tongue to my aching entrance. He delves inside. I let out a moan, pushing back against his face.

  Then he moves again, pushing me down on the bed. I feel him settle against the backs of my legs, his big cock nudges my entrance. I moan.

  “Yes,” I whisper, closing my eyes.

  He thrusts into my pussy without a second’s hesitation, filling me to the hilt, stretching my pussy out in the best way possible. We both make a sound as he drives his cock all the way home.

  Monster grips my hips, slamming himself into me, heedless of me. His touch is brutal, the swing of his hips frenzied. I can just barely hang on, riding the waves of pleasure building inside me.

  When I come, it’s sudden and unexpected and bright, a burst of magnificent color and melodious sound. Monster is right behind me, groaning his release.

  I lie still, sweat cooling on my body, struggling to pull air into my lungs. Monster flops beside me on his back, his face turned away. He’s not asleep though, his eyes still open and fixed on the wall. I wonder if he is still angry about my question, or if it’s something else that is bothering him.

  Hesitantly, I put my arm across his chest. My head finds a natural resting spot on his shoulder. He accommodates me, moving his arm so that it is loosely around my body.

  But still, he looks away.

  “Hey,” I say softly. He clears his throat and turns his head to me, his steely gaze probing.

  “Hmm?” is all he says.

  “I’m sorry. About before, I mean. When Dryas took me riding, he asked me what I had planned for the future. And I just thought… I thought that I don’t know.” I bite my lip.

  His brows rise slightly. “Dryas put that into your head?”

  I pause, then nod. “Yes. But he’s not wrong. I mean, if I’m not going to die, then the future is sort of inevitable for me. For both of us.”

  Monster sighs a little. “Just go to sleep, Fiore.”

  Dejected, I start to sit up, intending to go to my room. But Monster holds me tighter.

  “Stay where you are,” he says faintly. He turns his head again, so I can’t see his expression. Then, “Good night.”

  I’m floored, although I can’t let out the surprised whoop of joy that is pressing at my throat. Sinking back down, I listen to the sound of Monster’s breathing, smooth and deep and even. Listening to that, it’s hard to think about the murky future or Monster’s scheming brother.

  Before I know it, I am lulled into sleep.

  7

  Arsen

  I watch Fiore sleep against my chest, the quiet rise and fall of her chest hypnotic to watch. Her brow is pulled down, the expression on her face one of thought. What could she be she dreaming about?

  The answer comes to me easily: she is dreaming of the future. Whatever the future means to her, I suppose.

  That term is amorphous. The future. I can’t nail it down. It’s ever-shifting, ever changing.

  I think part of the reason that Fiore bringing it up made me so angry, is that I have been thinking of the future myself. And for the first time since I can remember, my vague view of the future has changed.

  Instead of just picturing myself, my shoulders set against the unknown perils that the future might bring, I see that there are two figures. Me and her.

  Where on earth did that come from? I feel like the image snuck up on me somehow, stealing into my head in the dead of night.

  The thing is, I know why I get angry when she just brings it up. The issue, of course, is trust.

  How am I supposed to trust her? She’s tried to run away before. And it’s not like she’s choosing a future with me over a future with someone else. I bought her at a damn auction. I imprisoned her in my compound in Columbia. I beat her, humiliated her, did everything but rape her.

  I did everything in my power to make her feel small.

  So, why should she choose a future with me? I mean, obviously, I can provide a level of comfort that is rare enough.

  But… that’s not a reason, not really.

  I look at her, at the way her thick dark lashes rest against her cheek, at the glorious golden waves of her hair.

  I want her. I want her to want me. That much is obvious in itself.

  But how do I just trust someone?

  Maybe I need a test, a final way to tell that she is loyal without a doubt. But what would that entail?

  I think for a few minutes, the sound of Fiore’s breathing soothing to me.

  In order to trust her, I need her to really accept who I am. Who am I?

  Aside from a mob boss, I’m one thing above all else.

  A killer.

  A sociopat
h…

  Or so I thought, until recently. When I started to feel things. Things that would make me vulnerable, give me a soft underbelly that could be exposed to my enemies.

  Maybe if I’m truly worried, I need her to watch me work someone over. A little torture, a lot of death.

  Maybe I need her to participate.

  Then I will relax.

  Right?

  Mulling the thought over, I close my eyes.

  8

  Fiore

  I wake in Monster’s bed, alone. The sun is out, but it’s still early. He’s nowhere to be seen, and he didn’t leave a note. Dragging myself from his bed, I return to my room and shower.

  The weird euphoria I felt last night when he asked me to sleep beside him has worn away. Instead, I’m left with a sense of unease.

  After all, we never really talked about the future yesterday. We had angry sex and then we passed out together. That’s all.

  I spend the morning lying in my bed, moping and reading. In the afternoon, I get dressed and take a walk in Audubon Park. The ancient oaks and Spanish moss are my only companions.

  When I return, Jack the bodyguard is waiting for me outside, an idling SUV waiting. I purse my lips and get straight into the car, rather than talking about it. Jack gives me a thin smile.

  Jack and one other bodyguard drive east first, leaving behind New Orleans.

  I clear my throat, growing a little concerned. “Where are we going? I didn’t really expect to be gone for very long…”

  Jack looks back at me. “Mereaux.”

  My brows rise. The area to the southeast of New Orleans isn’t really known for anything in particular. It’s mostly run-down residential zones, with a few little pockets of old industrial buildings.

  “Why?” I ask.

  Jack sighs. “We don’t know any more than you do, ma’am.”

  I frown, pushing back into my seat. I stare out the windows as the city grows slowly seedier, the houses more run down and farther apart. We eventually reach a little cluster of industrial buildings and slow down, turning into the car park of an old rust brown factory building.

  Jack puts his phone to his ear, looking back at me. “Yeah, we’re here. Yes. Okay.”

  He hangs up and looks at me apologetically. “You’re needed inside this building. We’re not supposed to escort you. Just go up the steps in the middle there.”

  Nodding, I chew on my bottom lip, opening the car door and sliding out. My heart begins to race.

  What am I walking into, exactly?

  I head up the steps, looking at the building before me. It has obviously not been regularly used in some years. Many of the window panes that stretch across much of the front are broken or cracked. I can’t really see inside, because dust has accumulated on the windows.

  I open the heavy metal front door, hesitating when I see how dark it is inside. When I step in and the door closes behind me, it is pitch black.

  “Hello?” I call out.

  I can see that I’m in a small space, separate from whatever the windows look in on. I venture forward, reaching out to feel my way along. My hands come in contact with a wall; I feel around for the doorknob, and I am gratified to open another door.

  The pitch blackness fades away, leaving me in a hazy world of grayish light to see by. I step into the abandoned factory floor, squinting. The ceiling here soars overhead. There are a number of large boxy shapes the size of elephants. They are covered with gray sheets, dusty and old.

  I call out again. “Hello?”

  This time, Monster answers from somewhere on my left.

  “Over here,” he says. His voice doesn’t sound far away at all.

  His head appears, sticking out from behind one of the gray-sheeted boxes. His brows lift.

  “Are you coming?” he asks as if I had a choice in the matter.

  Clearing my throat, I start toward him. His head disappears, and I’m left to make my way around several of the ghostly shapes.

  Coming around one of them, I stop in my tracks. Monster is there, his sleeves rolled up, pondering a fair-haired man who is lying on the ground.

  My mouth pulls down into a frown as I look at the man. Conscious and whimpering through the duct tape covering his mouth, he’s bound with his wrists behind his back. Wrapping my arms around myself, I shiver even though it isn’t cold. He looks at me, his dark eyes bloodshot, and tries to yell through the duct tape.

  “Shut up,” Monster mutters, pointing at him. Then Monster looks at me. “This is John. John has been very, very bad. Isn’t that right, John?”

  We both look at John, who tries to yell again. Monster kicks him, the sound of his foot connecting with the flabby flesh of John’s gut a sickening thud that I’ll never forget.

  “What did I say?” Monster says, rolling his shoulders as if to release tension. “Fiore, do you know what John likes to do in his free time?”

  My eyes flick to John, who is staring at me desperately. “No, obviously not.”

  Monster walks around John’s body in slow, measured paces. “He likes to find young women. He likes to stalk them. And when they’re least expecting it, he likes to break into their homes, tie them up, rape them, and strangle them. Isn’t that right, John?”

  A shiver erupts from the base of my spine. John shakes his head emphatically, making Monster smile.

  “I have proof, of course.” Monster points to a pile of ten or so cardboard shoe boxes that are neatly stacked near one of the grey ghosts. “Open one of those, would you?”

  I start to tremble. There’s a lump of emotion in my throat. I take careful, precise steps as I go around Monster and John, over to the mismatched boxes. All my blood is rushing fast, the sound loud to my ears.

  Looking back at Monster, I reach out and take the top off of a box. Inside, there are six neat little manila envelopes, each stuffed to bursting. Tremulously, I pick up one of the envelopes. It’s not very heavy. The only seal is the little metal clasp.

  I look inside, seeing only papers and a few Polaroids. Curious now, I upturn the contents into my hand. I see a much-photocopied piece of paper that contains a woman’s personal details: date of birth, height, weight, eye color.

  Juanita Crillo. This woman is only a year older than me, brown hair and brown eyed.

  The next piece of paper is the certificate of death for the same woman, the cause of death listed as asphyxiation due to ligature strangulation. I feel myself go pale as a sheet when I read those words.

  I flip to the Polaroids, terror beginning to grip me. Still, I’m not prepared for the images, pictures of the last few seconds of Juanita’s life as she is strangled to death, a bright red cord around her neck.

  In the last Polaroid, John poses for a grinning selfie with Juanita’s now-lifeless corpse. It’s him, without a doubt; his hair and eyes are exactly the same, the shape of his jaw is unmistakable. My gut churn, unsettled by the way that Juanita died. I look at John, but he doesn’t look at me anymore.

  It’s no wonder if the shoe boxes are all full of the same evidence that I just saw.

  I drop the Polaroids and papers back in the shoe box, disgusted. Monster looks at me with such a smug expression of satisfaction. I want to blame him, lash out at him for bringing such a thing to my attention.

  “Are you angry?” Monster says, his tone far too light for such circumstances. “You should be, I think. Does the girl’s death make you hate him?”

  He points to John with his foot. I flush.

  “Yes,” I say, point-blank. “I’m disgusted.”

  “Good. Use that. Fill your heart with it.”

  I put my hand on my hip, narrowing my gaze. “Use it to do what?”

  Monster gives me the most wicked smile. “I brought John here for you. He awaits his justice at your hands. What will you do to him?”

  “Me?” I say, recoiling. “Nothing!”

  “Oh?” Monster says. He pulls out a switchblade, opening it to show the sharp knife to me. “Should I let h
im go, then?”

  Juanita’s frightened eyes flash in my mind, and I scowl. “No!”

  “So, what then?”

  He leans in, clearly expecting something from me.

  “What do you want?” I ask, growing distressed.

  Monster is placid. “Tell me what to do to him. Or better, do it yourself. If you don’t, I will let him go.”

  I feel distinctly threatened by Monster’s words. If he lets John go, the psychopath will be free to hunt and kill more girls. I’ve read stories about men like John.

  They don’t stop until they’re dead or in jail.

  But what Monster asks of me… to actually kill someone… it seems impossible. I swallow against the emotion that thickens my throat.

  “Kill him,” I whisper, the sound of my voice seeming loud in the silence of the old factory. “He can’t do this to anyone else.”

  John starts making noise, pleading through his gag. I have no pity for him, though. It’s all I can do not to spit on him, even though he’s trussed and at my feet.

  Monster raises his brows. “How?”

  “How?” I echo, disbelieving. “I’m sure you know how to kill someone, Monster.”

  He cocks his head. “Sure, I know a dozen ways to kill him. But I want you to pick. Think of the girls, then decide.”

  My mouth pulls down in a frown. “You think that it needs to be reminiscent of the way he killed them?”

  Monster shrugs. “Maybe. What do you think?”

  I nibble on my lower lip, nodding. He flips his switchblade closed, disappearing for a moment behind one of the big gray shapes. When he reappears, he holds a length of bright red cord. I’m wracked with a shiver because it’s clear that Monster brought it here with the intention of me choosing it as the method to kill John.

  His lips twitch. “Nice and bloodless. Is this how you want John to die?”

  I get a flash of the image of John posing with Juanita’s lifeless body. The word slips from my lips, unheeded. “Yes.”