9. Nine
Nine
Rosie
‘ D addy’s looking for you, Rosalinda.’
A single sentence from a man with the stench of cheap beer and body odor was all it took to douse my flame and leave me trembling in fear.
It serves as a stark reminder of the things I can’t escape.
My family I can’t escape.
Then, Vic came, like a dark, twisted knight in shining armor. Though he and I have been at odds, I don’t know what I would have done if he wasn’t there to save me.
This was a gigantic mistake, but I can’t tell Vic that or about the guy’s comment. He’d never let me out. I’d be under house arrest, and that’s somewhere I never want to be again.
I can’t tell him. I won’t.
But what if they come back for me? I’m sure once they run back and tell my father what happened, things will get worse.
My lips tremble, and I feel burning behind my eyes at the hopelessness of my situation. I lean against the hall outside the break room on shaky legs while trying to catch my breath. I have to get it together.
“There you are.” I lift my head and see Vic advancing on me. He can’t see me so shaken. He’ll know something’s up.
I ignore him and walk around the dark corner, heading to the bathroom to freshen up. My heart nearly flies out of my chest as I’m pulled by the arm and hit the wall with a little thud.
“What—” That’s all I get out before Vic’s hand wraps around my throat, and his forearm rests between my breasts with a firm hold to keep me from moving.
“Yes, what the fuck are you doing here?” Vic says as he puts a little more pressure on my throat. Not enough to make it difficult to inhale, but to show dominance. Which should unsettle me, but what really unsettles me is how his hand calms me.
My nerves. My anxiety. My crippling fear. The shaking in my hands. It’s all gone.
His hand anchors me to the moment and to him, and that’s the worst of all.
“Working,” I say as I will my body not to think about the newest revelation. “Let me go!”
“No.”
“You said I could leave to go to work, and that’s exactly what I’m doing. Working.”
“Never said you can work here.”
“You never said I couldn’t. The deal was I could be out when I’m working. It’s not my fault you never specified.”
“I shouldn’t have to. You have more money than all these people combined. Stop picking up stupid-ass jobs. Quit and go home.”
“No. ”
His eyes widen, and he places more pressure against my throat. “No?”
“No!” I scream in his face. I’m sick of being told what to do, and worse, I hate that he’s right. But the alcohol coursing through my system is making me bold, bitchy, and slightly tipsy.
Vic looks at me with a sinister smirk on his face that has me regretting the way I just yelled at him.
He removes his arm from against my chest and neck slowly, leaving behind a chill of goose bumps as he steps back.
I look at him, confused, as he just stands there.
In a split decision, I make a dash to the bathroom, but he grabs me by the arm and spins me before throwing me over his shoulder. The air gets knocked out of me, and I’m slightly dizzy from how quickly he threw me upside down.
“Let me down now.” Smack . The pain that stings my right ass cheek is instant, making me arch my back. “Did you just...?” Smack . “Ouch, fucking stop.”
“I’ll do it again. Stay still and shut the fuck up.”
“No, fuck you. Let me down,” I say while hitting him against his back and flailing my legs, but nothing gets him to stop walking.
The impact of his next strike lands at the apex of my thighs, eliciting a sharp intake of breath and leaving me rendered speechless as he proceeds down the alleyway.
He’s also maintaining complete silence, leaving me to wonder if he’s aware of the exact spot he just made contact with.
We stop at a bike, and he flips me over onto my feet. “Get on the bike.”
I glance at the long, sleek black bike with chrome metal demon badges near the Harley Davidson logo, then shift my gaze back to him. “No. ”
He grabs me by my arms and lifts me onto the bike before placing a helmet on my head. “Move, and I’ll bend you over my knee and spank the shit outta you.”
Did I step into some alternate universe the second I walked into the bar tonight?
This is Vic uncut. He’s on a whole other level and still obviously on a high from his fight.
I keep my mouth shut, and my eyes forward as he jumps on the bike, my self-preservation kicking in as I think about how much he seemed to enjoy the altercation and the rage he purged onto those guys.
Not that I ever doubted Vic’s capability of keeping me safe, but now I understand why Gage sent me here to him. Rage filled his eyes as he hit those guys, making him appear even darker and more dangerous than usual. He looked ready to commit murder.
I look into the mirror on his handlebars, trying to get a read of the look on his face. Yep, still irritated, but the murder is no longer there.
My fingers run against the smooth leather of the seat. I had no clue he had a bike. It’s intimidating, but beautiful.
“What about your helmet?”
“You have it on.”
“Don’t you want it?”
“It’s not required.”
“Then why do I have one on?”
“Because if you’re dead, you can’t be punished. Now, hold on,” he yells back to me as the rumble of the engine comes to life.
Did he just say punished?
“My patience is wearing thin,” he says.
“Where?” I blurt .
He grabs my hands and wraps them around his waist, but I remove them quickly.
“If you don’t, you’ll fall off.”
When I don’t comply, he revs the engine, the roar of power filling the air before he speeds off, leaving me gripping his waist. I’m so terrified that I keep my eyes closed the entire ride.
Rush would totally give me shit for not enjoying the moment. The thought of him leaves me feeling confused. I don’t even know if I should write him back. Shit, he barely wrote me. Do I just forgive him for dropping me?
As soon as we get home, I attempt to jump off the bike to get away from Vic, but my boot catches on the seat, and I fall to my hands and knees hard.
Despite being known as a graceful, poised dancer, I’ve been clumsy as hell lately.
I wince and suck in a breath as I survey my stinging bloody palms that took the brunt of the fall. Vic drops to his knees in front of me, and his noticeably bigger, warmer hands grasp mine.
“Shit. You okay?”
“Fine,” I say even though I want the ground to open up and swallow me whole. The pain is nothing compared to the embarrassment. I try to pull my hands away, but he holds them tighter and shakes his head.
“Let’s get you inside, and I’ll patch you up.”
Before I can object, he picks me up and cradles me against his hard chest as he walks inside.
“I said I’m fine.”
“And I said I’ll patch you up.” He carries me through the house and into his room before depositing me on his bathroom counter. He rummages through the vanity and comes back up with a first-aid kit and a smirk on his face.
“What?”
“Your helmet.”
“Oh.” I raise my hands, but he swats them away, his hands wasting no time in removing the strap. “I didn’t know you had a bike.”
“I got my first bike ten years ago. I wasn’t even old enough to ride yet, but one of the older members, Razor, gave it to me as a present. It was a fucking rust bucket,” he says with a spark of nostalgia in his eyes. He looks completely different, and I pause to admire the change. “But once I finally got it running, the feeling of the wind and freedom was incredible.”
“That was nice of him. You guys must be close.”
“Were. He died a few years back,” he says as he clears his throat. “Let me see.”
I grimace as I hold both hands, palm side up, for him to inspect. Small pieces of gravel and debris are stuck to the dried rust-brown blood. Vic takes a piece of gauze and wets it under the faucet.
“This might hurt a little.” He grabs my hand and rubs the wound gently with the gauze before moving on to the other palm. I’m surprised by his tender touch. It’s unexpected.
“Ouch,” I hiss as he pulls out a small piece of gravel.
He dips his head and blows on the wound while rubbing the side of my wrist with his thumb. The tender touch makes my heart travel to my throat and close like a vise. Why is he being so sweet all of a sudden?
“Sorry. I’m almost done.”
I keep quiet, unsure of what to say. Not wanting to lose this side of him.
While he’s engrossed in his task, I seize the opportunity and glance at him. His tongue runs along his bottom lip, just like it does while tattooing. His dark brows, which are the same color as his raven hair and lashes, push into a line as he works. I watch the veins on the top of his hands move as he applies the ointment and bandages. What is it about men and their veins?
After finishing, he raises his gaze toward me, his deep caramel eyes resembling the hue of the whiskey I had savored earlier at the bar. They, too, are smooth and give me a warm feeling in my stomach, and I can’t look away.
I’m a mess of energy—sexual energy, to be exact. Between the alcohol earlier, the spanking he gave me, his caretaking, and now the dark look in his eyes and his proximity to me, my entire body tingles with awareness and longing. I’m stuck in a daze, watching and waiting for his next move.
Only, I’m the one who makes the move as I reach my hand up and touch the hair that’s fallen into his eye. His eyes close for a fraction of a second, as if he’s enjoying my hand touching him before they open back up and blaze like an inferno.
As he leans forward, I can feel the heat of his breath against my lips, and I mirror his movement, closing the distance between us.
Our kiss is unhurried and gentle, allowing me to savor his soft lips as they move against mine. Vic pulls back after mere seconds, which prompts me to open my eyes in confusion. His thumb softly grazes my cheek, and I find myself lost in the depths of his gaze, mesmerized by the overwhelming tenderness I see and feel. With a small smile playing on his lips, he leans in and captures my lips once more in a searing kiss .
The bathroom echoes with the symphony of our moans, blending as our hands eagerly explore each other’s bodies. I run my hands along his wide back, tracing the sinewy lines of his muscles and experiencing his undeniable strength as his hands glide down my back before grabbing my ass and pulling me closer to him.
Out of nowhere, a loud crack echoes through the bathroom, causing us to freeze in our tracks. The helmet lies on the floor and brings me back to the present.
“Shit,” I say as I meet his intense dark eyes. I push him back and hop off the counter.
“Wait,” Vic says as I hurry out of his room.
“I can’t talk to you right now.”
What the hell was that?
It was he who leaned in, but it was my lips that met his. Twice!
That kiss should have felt wrong, but it felt so damn right. I felt flutters of butterflies in my stomach. Flutters .
Is this what Stockholm syndrome is? I really hope not. In Baltimore, the underboss’s daughter was kidnapped and ended up falling in love with her abductor. She changed after that and even fled to be with her abductor after she was saved. I hope that’s not what this is. Although, how could it be? It’s not like he kidnapped me, but still. Vic and me? No. We can’t.
With the knowledge that Vic is likely to trail me, I forcefully shut my bedroom door and hastily lock it, praying that he interprets this as a clear indication to stay away. I strip off my shirt and skirt quickly.
The door slams against the wall, causing me to jump in surprise.
“Get out!” I say as I try to cover myself .
“No.”
“I’m naked.”
“You didn’t seem to mind at the bar.”
“Fuck you.”
“Okay,” he says as he steps forward with a twinkle in his eye that only promises trouble.
I take a step back and hold my hand up. “Don’t you dare.”
He searches my eyes, then takes another step forward, bringing his hard chest against my palm. “We can’t. We don’t even like each other,” I say, in a weak excuse to deter him. It sounds silly even to my ears.
“I don’t give a fuck.” Vic’s hands wind into my hair, pulling me to him until his lips are on mine in a crushing kiss.
Vic takes hold of my bottom lip and bites down, requesting entrance into my mouth. I open it slowly with a moan. His tongue is warm, wet, and intoxicating. I hesitantly move mine against his. A moan leaves his mouth and vibrates against my tongue.
I’m floating on a cloud as the kiss turns more urgent. It’s dizzying and blissful, stealing my breath. This isn’t like our first kiss. This kiss isn’t gentle like before; it’s consuming and claiming.
Vic picks me up, and I wrap my legs around his waist. He seamlessly continues to devour my mouth with no hesitation and complete expertise. His hand leaves a scorching trail as he rubs up my spine before wrapping his hand tightly around the back of my neck. Pinning me to him, he slowly grinds his hips against my center. My thin thong is no barrier against his hard length bulging through the rough denim of his jeans.
I’m on fire. Burning from the inside out.
I hold onto him for dear life as each grind turns into more of a thrust, each thrust more erratic, more urgent, and rougher than the last. He pushes me into the wall, making me moan louder at his rough handling of me and bringing me closer to ecstasy.
I grab the back of his head, wanting to get even closer to him. I’d be under his skin at this moment if I could.
“Look at me, baby,” Vic says breathlessly, the pet name doing strange things to my insides. “You want this. You want me. Look how you’re grinding against me. Look at how good we are together,” he says near my ear.
My eyes lock onto his as I moan again. This is the most vulnerable I’ve ever felt but also the most free.
“Tell me you want me,” he whispers in my ear as he kisses a trail along the side of my neck before biting down and sucking on the skin above my collarbone.
“I want you,” I plead as I hold him tighter. The wounds on my palms are a distant memory. I dig my nails into his back, needing more friction. My breathing becomes erratic the higher I climb. When a wildfire starts at the tips of my toes and works its way through my whole body, I cry out at the intense explosion that wracks me.
As I come down from my high, I open my eyes in shock. I just had my first orgasm ever given to me by someone else against a wall from just kissing and friction.
A couple more thrusts and he’s grunting his release and burying his head in my neck as he pants.
I remove my hands from his back that I’m sure are leaving indentions, if not blood. I caress his scalp, enjoying the way his hair feels between my fingers and the sense of calm it brings me. We stay like this for a while as our breathing evens out.
“I want to open my own art studio,” I whisper. “My father was never fond of the idea. He had a habit of ruining my paintings by throwing them into the fire if I upset him in any way. That’s why I was working at the bar tonight, to save money for a studio. I want to create a place where children can freely express themselves through art, feeling safe and supported. The money you spoke of isn’t mine. I’ll die before asking my father or even Gage for a handout.”
I don’t know why I felt compelled to share my dream with him, but as soon as I do, he turns rigid. I realize it was a misstep.
Vic pulls away and looks into my eyes. “Fuck.”
“What?” I say as he lets me down onto my very shaky legs.
“Fuck. We just...” He steps back, and his disheveled shirt catches my eye, the collar stretched out from my forceful pull, and the unmistakable large damp spot on the front of his jeans. With a defeated sigh, he lowers his head into his hands and shakes it in disbelief. “Fuck. I have to go.”
“Wait, what’s the matter?” I hold my hand out to him, only for it to drop when he walks out my door without another word. I hear a door slam, and then his bike starts up before he peels out.