17. Dutton
CHAPTER 17
Dutton
I ’ve been gone for almost two weeks. It’s the final evening of my trip as I bring a new business venture to a close. After taking my new business partner to the most recent gentlemen’s club I opened, he seems impressed with the opportunity to traffic drugs through it.
In Italy, I work closely within the Monti family’s reach. Although Crue and Eli are stationed in New York, business is booming here from their influence and the work my grandfather put in before them. I make these trips to ensure those we’ve put in place to run the businesses are efficient enough to maintain the family’s reign and keep the profits at an all-time high.
Realistically, I should move here to run things more personally, but I have an attachment to my family in New York, so flying here every so often will have to do.
Paulo, the man who runs everything here for us with an iron fist, stands behind me. Coming in at six foot six, he’s a tattooed Italian demon that everyone fears.
We’re in my office, which is attached to one of my three-story mansions. Although I enjoy conducting most business meetings in my clubs, this is a double-edged deal tonight.
I shake my new business partner’s hand and wait until he leaves before I pour a whiskey for myself and one for Paulo. He never drinks on the job but thanks me for it anyway.
“Are they here?” I ask, a lethal buzz cascading over my skin. One thing we take very seriously is our staff’s safety. The sex industry can be a dangerous place, and although I’m not above certain nefarious dealings, the safety of my staff is absolute. It’s the foundation of everything my father taught me. Having primarily female employees, and with a younger sister, I take all acts of misconduct seriously.
“Yes,” Paulo says as we head to one of my favorite rooms in the house. One of my other security guys opens the door expectantly. I take a sip of the whiskey as he presents the two naked men gagged and tied to chairs. Plastic tarps have been stretched out beneath them. Their eyes go wide as I enter.
“Gentlemen, it would appear we have business to conduct,” I say conversationally as I place my whiskey on the small tray to my left. Beside it are three knives of various sizes. After giving them each a moment of consideration, I choose my favorite.
Paulo places both of his hands behind his back as he stands behind the door, watching with keen interest. The men try to speak through their gags, but I don’t care for their apologies because what they did was inexcusable.
They’re both shaking with fear. One has pissed himself already.
I roll up my sleeves.
I never considered myself an artist, but I never looked back when I discovered the joy and creativity in carving messages into flesh. I was fifteen years old when I carved into the chest of an eighteen-year-old who had tried to usher my sister into his car when she was only fourteen. It was the first hunt Eli and I had done together, right before we were introduced to the twins.
While Eli enjoys outright torture, I prefer a more clinical approach to my art. I leave them with something that will shame them even after they’re dead. Not that anyone ever finds the body afterward.
“I’ve learned that you drugged one of our dancers and sold her to a client for the night.” Paulo brought it to my attention the moment the girl broke down to him about it, and we’ve been dealing with the clean-up ever since. The only reason it was able to happen in the first place was because these two were the hired security. I know this is fact because I already carved into and got rid of the client who paid them handsomely for the act. I vet all of those I hire, but sometimes cockroaches like these fall between the cracks.
I tap the edge of the knife against my chin thoughtfully. What should I carve on their chests? I begin with the letter “ R ,” carefully slicing into the first man’s flesh. He screams as I deeply carve into his chest while explaining to him how he brought this on himself.
I find this relaxing. I’m always running at high tension levels, and a release is necessary. Being in the sex industry, the act of having sex has become fundamentally not essential for me. This, however, satisfies me.
I pause on the second letter—an “ A .”
Then again, that was before a certain blonde dancer came across my stage. I try to shake off the lingering thought of Posie because she has no place in what goes on here.
After finishing the “ A ,” I start with the letter “ P .” The man is sweating and screaming, blood running down his chest.
I’m curious how she’d react if she saw this savage side of me. I wouldn’t even allow my little sister to see me like this. Although I know she suspects, she’s definitely heard rumors. She might still love me, but I can’t imagine any woman loving a monster. But it’s too much of who I am. It is too heavily ingrained in my twisted pursuit of justice.
I carve the letter “ I .”
When I realize he’s about to pass out on me, I backhand him across the face. He keels over in the chair, blood splattering everywhere. I roll my eyes with a heavy sigh at having to pick him up from the floor and reset him. “Stay with me,” I say to him, slapping his face again.
The chest is my favorite place to write messages. The skin and muscles are thin enough for clear, detailed lacerations. I experimented with other body parts, such as faces, arms, legs, and even genitals, but the chest was the optimal location.
An “ S ” comes next.
Posie seems like a strong enough woman, but I notice the switch in her when she becomes wary of me as she should. As any sane person should, but some are too distracted by my charming personality to have such caution.
And finally, a “ T .”
I curse under my breath as I realize I’m still thinking of Posie. She’s all I’ve been thinking about since I’ve been away. And I never have hang-ups when I travel overseas.
I focus on the man’s screams, trying to drown out all things Posie. Because I don’t want to acknowledge that my deadly obsession might be shifting toward a sassy little blonde who revels in telling me no and has no interest in fucking me. My cock twitches at the thought of tasting her only weeks ago, and I curse again, knowing I’m fucking starved. But the idea of touching any other woman physically revolts me. I have no choice but to ride out this curiosity.
It’s only recently that Posie has been replying to my messages more frequently. That’s to say, she still doesn’t respond to them all. So, I’ll purposefully do things to interrupt her day. If she’s at home, I’ll send lingerie, with the knowledge that she’ll most likely give it to the girls at Pearl. Or food. I know she’ll keep that.
The one thing that’s gotten me everything I’ve wanted in life is tenacity. So I’m not going to give up.
She’s a mystery to me. I know I should hire Will Walker to do a thorough search into her background, but for some reason, it feels like I need to do this myself in the old-fashioned way. I want to figure out the woman who adamantly says no to me so much.
I just didn’t think it’d take me so long. I’ve been unsuccessful in getting her to respond to me, let alone forcing her into submission. So I send her gifts so she’s constantly thinking of me.
It’s three in the morning, and I look out at Rome from the balcony of my room as I sip whiskey. I finalized all my business endeavors and checked up on the new gentlemen’s club, which is earning me a fortune. I’ve expanded the virgin auctions here as well. While my father preferred to keep his auctions strictly in Manhattan, I’ve been focusing on branching out to other locales.
I’ve hired a select few who I can trust, or who at the very least fear the consequences of betraying me, to keep everything in order.
I should shower and get a few hours’ sleep before my flight departs, but instead, I find myself picking up my phone. As I do, the screen lights up.
Finally, she replied.
I’ve noticed that she only replies to things that are work-related, which is irritating. How am I supposed to figure out this little monster if she’s as short and curt as I usually am?
It’s about nine in the evening back in Manhattan, and she’s complained about the cold snap. She’s also sent a link to the platform she’s been working on. I scroll through it, admittedly impressed.
I didn’t care what type of role she chose for herself as long as she wasn’t dancing. I just needed her within my reach to monitor her. I throw back the whiskey and then grab my coat as I hit call.
It rings out, and I grit my teeth as I step out of the elevator and into the main lobby. It’s cold here, too, but I quite enjoy the winter months over the warmer ones.
I call again.
On the sixth ring, she finally answers.
“What?” she growls.
A sliver of amusement runs through me. “Is that how you should answer your boss’s call?”
“I’m not at work at the moment,” she replies.
“No, I suppose you’re not. So what are you doing?”
“Is this work-related?” she grumbles.
“Yes, it’s regarding the link you just sent me. I’m impressed. You’ve done well.”
She’s quiet for a moment, and I check the phone to make sure she’s still on the call. When I put it back to my ear, she says, “Thank you.”
“When does it launch?” I ask to keep her on the line. I don’t know when this unique obsession began, but from the moment I tasted her sweet pussy, I haven’t been able to get her out of my mind. And all I want is to do it again.
Money has always bought me anything I want. For the things it doesn’t, I’ve used intimidation. But this woman is different, and I refuse to pay for sex despite making my living from it.
No, Posie must come to me willingly.
A strong breeze whips by me, and I welcome its frigid touch.
“Where are you anyway? In a hurricane?” she asks. She must have heard the wind.
It’s the first time she’s asked about my whereabouts, and I can’t help but smile as I walk adjacent to the Colosseum that glows with light from within against the early morning darkness. There aren’t too many people out at this hour, but I spot a few restaurants across the road and notice a gelato store that’s still open with a small line. I have no doubt that the line only consists of tourists.
“Do you miss me, Posie?”
“You wish,” she bites back.
Ah, how I miss that sass.
“I’m in Rome. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Rome? What time is it there?” she asks, and I can hear rustling in the background but can’t decipher what she’s doing. At the very least, I know if she’s talking to me on a Friday evening, she’s not with anyone else. I’ve been so tempted to have her followed. For security purposes, of course, in case she is connected with the Boston Delinquents.
I try not to envision Eli rolling his eyes at me. Okay, even I acknowledge how far of a stretch it might now be that she’s associated with them. But it’s all I have to blame this obsession on.
“Three in the morning.”
“Wow, you really are a robot. Do you not sleep?”
“Not if there’s money to be made.”
“That’s so like you. I’ve never been to Rome. I’ve heard it’s pretty, and they have the best gelato,” she says. Then, there’s a clattering sound, as if she dropped the phone. “Shit.”
I look back to the gelato store, and my legs move across the road before I know it.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“I’m painting my nails. I’m not sure if I like the red, though.”
“Change it,” I immediately say, not understanding why it irritates me. Knowing that it’s my cousin’s favorite color, I suddenly can’t stand the thought of her wearing it.
“Pfft. As if I care what you think. Is the gelato good there?”
My jaw tics at her disobedience, but I swallow my pride, which is painful. “So I’ve heard.”
“You don’t eat it, do you?” I can imagine her eye roll from here. I stand in line at the gelato store with only one customer in front of me.
“No, I don’t worry about things that don’t offer nutritional value.” Unlike my mother and sister’s fascination with the culinary arts, I’ve never much cared for food. However, I only dine at the finest restaurants. I believe in good quality but have never been one to enjoy food as much as others.
“I suppose you don’t get a body like that from eating carbs all day,” she says under her breath.
“Have you been thinking of my body, Posie?” I ask, very interested in her answer.
She seems to realize her mistake as she says, “No, obviously not, because we aren’t going down that road. I just… it was an observation.”
Observation, my ass.
When it’s my turn to order, I look over the flavors. I don’t fucking know which to choose. I point to the one marked “most popular,” which happens to be pistachio.
“We can revisit the back of my car anytime you’d like, Posie. Just give me the word.” A blush crosses the server’s cheeks as I hand over cash and take the cone.
“And with that, I’m hanging up, bossman.”
“So quick to run.” The moment I realize she might hang up, I find myself adding, “Have you ever wanted to travel to Rome?”
“Get some sleep, bossman,” she says, then hangs up.
Fuck.
I stand there holding a gelato that I have no interest in eating. I look back at the Colosseum and raise the gelato in front of it. I’ve seen Billie do this on numerous occasions when the family traveled together.
I go to send the photo to Posie, and my thumb hovers over the send button. What in the ever-fucking hell am I doing? Messaging a woman when she doesn’t even want to fuck me? That’s a lie. I know she wants to fuck me. I can sense it in the way her body reacts to me. I have to treat Posie differently than any other… conquest isn’t the right word.
Fuck it. I hit send and immediately throw the gelato in the trash. The server’s jaw drops as if I’d just committed blasphemy.
But perhaps Posie was right about one thing. I should get a few hours of sleep.
I go to pocket my phone, but a new notification lights the screen.
Posie hearted my message.
I’m uncomfortable by the unfamiliar emotion that stirs within me at that.
It’s similar to the effects of being praised as a child for doing something right. I haven’t required that from people for a very long time. So why am I feeling it now?
I stuff that right down with the unknown emotions that don’t serve me. But at least I know she’s finally being more responsive to my messages, and for the first time, she actually answered a fucking call.
Hallelujah! We’re making progress.