Owned by the Mob Boss Page 16

  “Are you gonna be here soon?” I ask loudly. “You better not be lost again!”

  I try for a laugh. It comes out sounding nervous in the extreme, but it’s enough to give the men pause.

  They glance at each other as though deciding whether or not to pounce.

  “Lost?” He pauses. “Camille, are you okay?”

  “No!” I giggle, as though he asked something else. “Are you serious?”

  “Wait … Camille, are you alone?”

  “No!” I cry again.

  “How many?” he asks, his voice getting dark. “Are they Italian?”

  “What? No. I can’t …”

  “You can’t say how many?”

  “Yes.”

  “More than one?” he growls.

  I let out a breath; the men are inching closer. “Yes.”

  “Stay there. Do not move. But get somewhere safe if you can.”

  For once, I’m glad he can read me so well.

  When he hangs up I carry on talking, babbling as though giving him directions. These men are cowards, I guess, because they keep their distance when they think help is on the way.

  But after about five minutes, the leader’s eyes get narrow. He glances at his friends.

  “Bring the car around,” he grunts. “This bitch is playin’ us for fools, fellas.” Then he dives for me.

  I don’t have time to think, not really, but thoughts of Mom and Rob and Erik flash like a flipbook through my mind. My life flashing before my eyes, or something like that.

  I’m not about to go quietly, though.

  I lash out wildly, catching him on the cheek with my nails. He recoils for just a moment. I see blood spotting on his cheek.

  “Whore!” he roars, making to grab me in a bear hug.

  I make a run for it, breath loud in my ears, adrenaline coursing like lightning through my body. I scream when he tightens his hand around my wrist, tugging.

  Then the car pulls up.

  Another man grabs my other wrist.

  I kick my legs out, my mind tossing up headlines. Woman Abducted from Night School Parking Lot. They’ll have the security camera footage, of course. Maybe they can find me that way.

  Or maybe they’ll find me at the bottom of a ditch—bloody, broken, and used.

  “No!” I’m panting as he tries to shove my head into the car, a sick parody of a cop putting a criminal into the back seat. “Fuck off!”

  “We got a wild one here, fellas,” a man chuckles.

  They almost have me in the car when another screech sounds.

  Erik’s sports car swings around, blocking the hood of their piece-of-shit Civic—always a damn Civic pulling me back, a detached part of me notes—and the door swings up.

  Erik leaps from the car like I have never seen him before, possessed with rage. He reaches down to the seat and comes out with a thick blade, jogging over to us.

  “How do you want to play this?” he says, giving the knife a casual spin. His eyes are burning, his shirt seeming to expand with tensed muscles.

  The man lets me go just long enough for me to scramble to the floor. I crawl across the cold concrete, clambering to my feet as Erik steps between us.

  The men are transformed, literally quaking like they’re in a cartoon. The leader eyes his two friends, his lips trembling.

  “Listen here …”

  “Listen?” Erik growls, taking a step forward. He hefts the knife. “Your mother will never know where you are buried. There will be nowhere to lay flowers. I’m going to send a piece of you to every fucking state. Do you understand me? Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with, motherfuckers?”

  “Fuck this!” the scrawniest man whines, a vicious gleam to his eyes … and a vicious gleam to the pocketknife he whips out.

  I leap back as the fight ensues.

  I can’t watch, yet I can’t tear my eyes away, either. Erik ducks aside and shoves his shoulder into the man’s chest, winding him, not even flinching when the blade nicks him in the shoulder.

  “Erik!” I cry, looking around for something to use as a weapon. But there is nothing.

  The men leap on him as a single unit, all punches and kicks.

  For a second, it looks like Erik is going to collapse under the weight, but then he lets out a primal roar and shucks them all off. He kicks one man in the mouth and swiftly elbows another.

  The runt with the blade dives at his neck.

  Cling!

  Erik knocks it aside with his knife. He grabs the man by the shirt, lifts him off his feet, and headbutts him twice. I hear bone crunch.

  When he drops him, the man falls in a puddle.

  A moment later, they scramble toward the car, panting and whining. I take a grim satisfaction in the bloody trail that drips from the little bastard’s nose, following him all the way to the back seat.

  The violence should shock me, surely. I should be disgusted.

  But when their car coughs its way out of the parking lot, I find myself intertwined with Erik, kissing him more forcefully than I ever have before. He grabs me with blood-smeared hands, our bodies so close I can feel the tension corded all through him.

  Then I step back, panting. “Your arm …”

  He gives a savage shrug.

  “It is nothing,” he says. “Are you okay?”

  “Don’t be silly. Let me take a look at it.”

  “It can wait until you are safe,” he says, taking my hand and leading me to the car.

  As if life couldn’t get any more bizarre, here we are spooning on the couch.

  We’ve been lying like this for hours, talking little, just sinking deeper into the embrace.

  If somebody was sitting on the other side of the room they’d be forgiven for thinking: “Oh, look, there’s a happy couple, completely in love. Maybe they’ll turn on The Notebook soon.”

  And I don’t even know if I could deny it.

  “Thank you for patching me up,” Erik whispers, tracing his fingers along my jawline.

  I giggle, turning my head away.

  “Wait a second …” Erik props himself up on one elbow. “Are you ticklish, Camille?”

  I crane my neck, pouting at him dangerously.

  “You better not,” I warn.

  “Or what?”

  His hand creeps onto my belly. The twisted, smirking sadist…

  “Just because I didn’t go all kung fu on those assholes like you, don’t think I can’t defend myself.”

  I mean it as a joke, but a troubled look passes across his face at the reminder.

  “They are lucky they’re alive,” he says seriously.

  “Erik, you wouldn’t …”

  I can’t finish the sentence, because I know the answer.

  Of course he’d kill them. That’s what hardened criminals do. But, lying here with him, it’s hard to convince myself that these gentle hands belong to the same man who wielded the knife earlier this evening.

  “They would have deserved it,” he says. “A teenage girl, you said …” He shakes his head. “Men like that do not deserve mercy.”

  “Did you see how scared they were? I know I shouldn’t laugh.”

  But I do. I can’t help it.

  Erik is waking things up inside me I never guessed at. This newfound emotion is one thing, but taking pleasure in fear? Even if they’re the biggest assholes in the universe, surely I shouldn’t be able to make light of it so quickly. But then I bring that train of thought to a crashing stop. I can’t keep judging myself, criticizing myself.

  I’ll drive myself insane.

  “What are you thinking?” he asks.

  “Who says I’m thinking anything?” I counter.

  “You get a dreamy look in your eyes.”

  I shut my eyes.

  “Well, now you’ll have no idea.”

  He hugs me closer. I grab onto his arm, burying my face in it, smelling his cologne and shower gel and his musky natural scent.

  “Why did you call me?” he
asks a moment later.

  “What’d you mean?” I mutter.

  “Why not call the police? That would have been the smart choice.”

  “Hmm.”

  I haven’t given it any thought, in truth, which is itself a sign. He’s right. It was just an instinct.

  “I don’t know,” I say after a long pause. “I guess it just felt right.”

  “I am glad.”

  He pulls me closer, his crotch pressing against my ass. I give my hips a shake, loving the feeling of making him hard, loving how responsive his body is to me.

  “You can always call me for help, no matter what. I hope you know that.”

  We lie in silence for a few minutes. Then I stretch my arms out, yawning.

  “Bed in five?”

  He laughs deeply. It must be the fifth time I’ve said that.

  “Sure,” he says, as he did before.

  But this time he smooths his hand down my body, massaging my breasts and my belly and finally my thighs. I push back with my ass, grinding it against his manhood. This isn’t the wild letting-go, though. He moves slower as he unbuttons my pants. I don’t look at him, instead closing my eyes and focusing on the sensation.

  “Erik,” I whisper, just like I always do when he starts to touch me. Half warning, half invitation.

  He hugs me closer.

  I kiss his tattooed hands, the same ones that nearly committed a cold-blooded quintuple homicide just hours ago. I pry them open and kiss the palms, tracing the lines with my lips. He tugs my pants down to around my knees. I hear the sound of his belt unbuckling.

  His manhood brushes up against my inner thigh, slick with pre-come, getting close to my sex and then shifting down.

  “Don’t you think I’ve suffered enough for one night? Stop teasing me.”

  He kisses the back of my neck and then moves his hand through my hair. His fingers graze my scalp. I crane my neck like a cat, nuzzling against him. A warm feeling moves through me at the closeness, all the while my sex screams for his cock to move just an inch higher.

  I reach back and clutch onto his face.

  “Erik, please …”

  He bites my neck softly as he slides his cock up between my thighs. It’s like the head of it kisses my center.

  I coil my ankles around his leg, twisting myself so that it’s like we’re becoming one person, dissolving into each other.

  I expect him to grab me and fuck me hard, but instead he slides up in small, prolonged movements, making me feel every inch of him. I let out a hollow gasp when he drives firmly against my sweet spot. Pressing my mouth into his arm, I let out a muffled scream.

  He holds himself there, both of us fused, as his teeth make shallow imprints on my skin.

  “Camille,” he whispers, breath so warm I can hardly stand it.

  I love you.

  The sex-fueled words rise in my mind. I beat them down before they become real.

  What happened to reining this shit in? This evening has been a whirlwind and then some.

  I put it down to that and bite onto his arm to stop myself from spontaneously crying out the three little words that will ruin everything.

  I can’t take it anymore. It’s like standing on top of a diving board just waiting to jump.

  But I have to leap—now.

  I pull my hips away and then force myself backward so that I can feel the puncturing pleasure. He lets out a growl that spurs me on. I can’t stop, the friction grinding hotly between my legs.

  He follows my pace and we fall into each other like we’ve been doing this dance forever. That’s one thing I don’t think I’ll ever understand about us: how quickly we have found our rhythm, especially since I was a virgin before. I’d always imagined my first steps into the world of sex would be nervous and tentative.

  But now I feel unleashed.

  He smooths his hands down my body and tightens them around my waist, throwing me against him. His growls fill the room, mixing with the pounding of our bodies. And yet somehow there is affection there, too, an intoxicating mix I can’t quite figure out.

  “Fuck!” I cry, almost falling off the couch as cushions go flying.

  I feel myself getting tight around him, squeezing every inch of his length. Everything becomes background noise except for the pulsating of his cock. His hands must be leaving imprints in my skin, but I don’t care.

  Let him fucking paint me red if he wants.

  “F-f-f …”

  My breath becomes ragged.

  My throat catches.

  As the orgasm hits me I let out a wordless, almost soundless cry. I’m drowning in euphoria.

  I close my eyes and see red.

  The whole couch feels like it’s shaking.

  Damn, the whole room—the whole world—feels like it’s about to explode.

  And then it does.

  For ten long, endless heartbeats, I’m coming like a thunderbolt.

  Vaguely, distantly, I feel Erik coming, too. He roars wordlessly, his teeth snagging my lip.

  Then, slowly, I come swooping back down to earth like a leaf on the wind. I coil my legs tighter around his ankles and collapse against him. His lips find mine, panting and half open.

  I open my eyes again and it’s like reality gets turned back on. I clutch onto his face.

  “Sleep with me tonight,” he whispers.

  “Didn’t we just do that?”

  He’s smiling openly now, totally not the twitching-smile Erik I’ve come to know.

  “You know what I mean,” he says.

  “Okay,” I reply. “But I’ve gotta warn you, I’m one hell of a cover thief.”

  I wake up with sunlight on my face, holding onto Erik like a life raft.

  For a few long moments, I’m happier than I’ve been in weeks. Then the sickness rises in my belly.

  I barely have time to get to the bathroom before I redecorate Erik’s fancy four-poster bed.

  Just as I’m wiping my mouth, Erik kneels down behind me, putting his hand on my shoulder. He looks at me with heavy meaning in his eyes.

  “Do you think …”

  He trails off.

  “Oh my God,” I whisper, smoothing a hand over my belly.

  “We need to get a test,” he mutters.

  I try for a smile, but nerves run through me like buzzing insects. Growing up, Rob had a phrase he’d use whenever he got himself into a messed-up situation, stolen from some movie.

  This shit just got real.

  It comes to mind now.

  15

  Erik

  I pace up and down in front of the bathroom, opening and closing my fists, my mind overflowing with images of my son, with his first words, with training him to be the man my father never took the time to make me.

  I will be like Anatoly, I decide.

  I will teach him what it takes to stay calm under pressure. I will show him what is required of a man. I will make him tough, as a Bratva man should be. I will show him how to survive in a world that is all too eager to tear a man down.

  I will …

  I stop myself, realizing I am allowing fantasy to overcome reality.

  We have not even gotten the tests results back yet and here I am letting—what? emotion?—spin out of control. How am I to teach my son to remain levelheaded when I am not doing the same?

  I curse myself, wondering when this lack of control started.

  “Are you almost done?” I ask impatiently.

  “Oh, that helps!” Camille calls. “Why don’t you come and videotape it too? Really give me some encouragement!”

  Ever since she woke up nauseous, she has been acting like this: snappish, almost aggressive. It is like she does not even want the child. But then, of course she does not. This is no labor of love; I am paying her. Somehow, I have forgotten that little detail these past few days, as though our closeness is anything but transactional.

  But is there not something else, some flicker of feeling?

  I almost laugh.
>
  I wonder what the Erik from before would make of that. He would not believe me. He would think I have gone crazy.

  Perhaps I have. Perhaps that is what it takes to fall for a woman. But I have not fallen for her, have I? I shake my head in disbelief.

  I am standing at the door when the toilet flushes, wringing my hands.

  Camille rolls her eyes as she opens it.

  “It’ll take a couple of minutes,” she says.

  “You don’t seem excited,” I note.

  She scoffs. “Maybe I just don’t want to get my hopes up.”

  “Hmm—”

  “What?” she snaps.

  “Or maybe you are just considering whether you want this child at all.”

  “Jesus Christ, what do you expect? Want me to get some pompoms and start fucking jumping around the place? I’m just …”

  “What?” I urge.

  “Nervous,” she murmurs.

  Whatever bridge we were building seems shakier now. A detached part of me notes that I shouldn’t even be noticing things like that. I have allowed myself to fall too deep. But then, she could simply be nervous, as I am.

  I start pacing up and down the room again.

  “Do you have to do that?” she jabs.

  “Yes,” I tell her. “I do.”

  She sighs shakily.

  “You’re making me even more nervous.”

  I shrug.

  “Then be nervous.”

  “Why are you being such an asshole?”

  I smile fiercely at her.

  “Because I can tell how much it bothers you, of course.”

  “Ha-fucking-ha.”

  I think about the guest bedroom, how it will look once Camille has decorated it. I wonder what my son will look like when he is born.

  What started as a quest for an heir has taken on a new significance for me.

  “Is it done?” I growl.

  “Should be,” Camille says, letting out a breath that seems like she wants it to be negative. Or perhaps I am reading too much into her.

  I only realize I am holding my breath when I let it out, looking down at the test.

  One sad little strip.

  “Negative,” I snarl.

  Camille lets out an ambiguous sigh.