Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
Azrael
Contentment is not something I’ve felt before, but now that I have, it’s something I will forever crave. I’ve watched her sleep for hours now. She seems truly at peace in the devil’s arms, and I bask in the beauty of it. Her pouty pink lips beg to be taken; even in her sleep, she calls to me.
My arm is banded around her waist, stroking over her velvety skin while I memorize each and every feature.
“I can sense you watching me.” She rolls over to face me. “It’s kind of creepy.” She smothers her giggle by biting her lip.
“Creepy, huh?” I nip at her neck, causing her to shriek playfully.
“Very!” She squeals as I tickle her.
“Okay, so you don’t want a creepy man licking your pussy clean, do you?”
I climb on top of her and peer down at the most mesmerizing shade of blue I’ve ever witnessed.
She cocks her shoulder. “I could be persuaded.” Persuaded sounds good to me. I lick my lips, imagining her taste bursting on my tongue, setting my taste buds alight. She turns her head and kisses my fingers and over my nonna’s ring.
Afterward, she extends her hand, moving my hair away from my face. “Tell me something about you.” Her eyes shine with expectation and hope, something I have no intention of dulling. I drop beside her and swirl my finger over her bare stomach.
“This ring.” I tap with my free hand. “My nonna gave it to me the day she died.”
She watches me closely, and I’d normally hate the scrutiny, but I appreciate her attention now more than ever. “She used to call me la mia luce. It means her light.”
Hevan swallows, and her eyes fill with tears, so I avert my gaze to her stomach.
“She believed in me when nobody else did, and now I think she sent me you. Without you, I’d be the demon of my father’s creation.”
She shakes her head. “No, you wouldn’t.”
“One day I hope to believe that, la mia luce.” Then I slide down the bed before she can ask me any more questions, particularly about my nonna’s death.
A loud knock on the door interrupts my descent to my girl’s weeping pussy, and I still in anger. “Fuck off!” I bellow over my shoulder.
“Sir, it’s urgent.” Jensen’s voice rumbles through the wood, and I know it must be urgent because, frankly, the man doesn’t have a death wish.
“Fuck’s sake,” I grumble, dragging myself off the bed, and storm toward the door. “Cover yourself,” I command to Hevan.
Before opening the door, I cast her a quick glance to check she’s done as I asked, and I’m pleased to see her burrowing under the blankets.
I throw open the door, not even trying to hide my annoyance or enormous erection. Jensen’s startled gaze finds mine, and he rears back when he realizes I’m naked. “Fucking hell,” he mumbles.
“This best be worth it,” I grit out.
He clears his throat and stands taller. “Your father just arrived with three men.”
I rear back. Whatever he was going to say, I didn’t expect him to say that. No way was it that.
Like a lightning bolt has struck me, I suck in a sharp breath.
“Azrael?” He tilts his head, surveying me. “You weren’t expecting him?” he asks, but he already knows the answer. I would have informed him if I had known he was coming, and I would have hidden Hevan from him, given the chance. I shake my head.
Then I pinch the bridge of my nose to allow myself a moment of clarity to get my head on straight. He’s clearly coming here for a reason, and something unsettling flows through my veins like ice. “I’ll be out in a minute.” I close the door and head toward my discarded pants and shirt.
Hevan pops her head up out of the sheets. Jesus, she looks so small and vulnerable in this moment. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
Her eyes rake over me, searching for a lie. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
I lean over the bed and take the back of her head in my hand, pulling her closer to me. I kiss the top of her head. “Yes. Put one of my shirts on and wait here.”
“Okay,” she whispers, and I wish I could bottle the sound of her tender submissiveness up and keep it forever. Just for me.
“Good girl,” I praise, drawing back, and head out of the door.
Closing the door behind me, my focus locks on the guard. “You’re not to let anyone in that room but me or Jensen, do you understand?” My tone causes him to flinch.
“Yes, sir.”
“Nobody,” I reiterate, knowing damn well he wouldn’t have a choice if it was my father, but Vector, he could stop, and anyone else my father brought along.
He broadens his stance. “Yes, sir.”
I nod and give Jensen my attention as we head down the stairs.
“Have you any idea what he wants?” he asks.
“Not a fucking clue,” I grunt, and drag my hand through my hair.
“But he knows about Hevan?”
“He’s aware,” I seethe as we continue our descent. He just doesn’t know she means something to me, I want to say, but refrain from doing so.
“Fuck.”
“What if he asks for her?” His question sends a wave of trepidation through my veins.
Jensen knows my father likes to fuck the women after me; however, my only stipulation is he has them when I’m finished with them.
Mainly because I can’t bear a broken woman in my arms begging to be put back together when he’s finished with her, but also the thought of touching a woman he’s fucked makes my skin crawl.
“We’ve no choice but for you to bring her in,” I state.
There’s no way in hell I’d let him hurt her. If he intended to do so, I’d die trying to protect her at the very least.
We get to the last step in time for the front door opening, and I hate that his access to my home is so easy. My jaw tics at the thought.
“Ah, there you are!” He waltzes in like he owns the damn place and holds his arms out toward me like a proud father, but we both know otherwise; he loathes me as much as I do him.
“What can I help you with?” I ask, straight to the point, as we head inside my office.
He scoffs, and I eye Vector and Harrison Davis. The latter is as dirty as we are, but the man portrays himself to be a moral citizen while brushing shoulders with the crime underworld.
“I have news!” He claps his hands together while Jensen hands out drinks, and I throw my feet up on my desk and light a cigar as they all take a seat.
Just being in their presence is difficult at the best of times, but having them here in my home where Hevan is only feet away feels like the control and power I crave is being torn from me.
He’s reminding me who is in charge, who is the Mafia don, and he’s wielding it like a weapon.
Perspiration collects on my forehead as I attempt to appear indifferent at his presence in my home.
“Good news, I hope?”
“Yes. Yes.” He takes a swig of his Scotch. “The chief here has procured a shipment.”
I glance at the chief; his empty eyes are focused on mine. “A shipment of what?” I ask.
“Young women.”
“How young?” I clip back, barely giving him a chance to explain.
“Does it matter?” my father challenges.
“Yes.” I sharpen my tone. I drop my feet to the floor.
“It matters because we’re going to draw attention to us.
” I lean forward. “Attention we don’t fucking need all while your friends here”—I wave my hand in Vector’s and Harrison’s direction—“remain squeaky fucking clean and you put me in the firing line.”
“Well, these girls are worth more than drugs and weapons. That’s what I’ve been telling you. We don’t need those things anymore. We’ve upped our game, and with Harrison on board, there won’t be any firing line.”
Upped our game? Is he fucking serious? No firing line? Is he that deluded?
Not to mention, how the fuck can anyone be okay with this?
“And when can we expect the first shipment?” I direct my question toward Harrison, unable to hide my displeasure.
“I still have some loose ends to tie up. A few issues in the department I’d like to settle down before I agree to shipment.”
Issues in the department? I pretty much think that’s code for people are watching him. “And what do you get out of this?” I ask the question that would be on any businessman’s tongue.
He laughs, but I remain emotionless. “Anonymity and first pickings, of course.”
I ignore the ball of sickness growing in my stomach. These men, these monsters, repulse me. They’re not satisfied with unwilling men and women, they want children.
“I’d like to be in on the negotiations when the time comes,” I state, my throat suddenly dry while I try to remain as impassive as possible.
Because I want to know who the hell is orchestrating this shit.
Every single one of them. I am unsure how to conclude this before starting, but this is too disturbing and twisted, and that’s a significant statement.
What strikes me is my father knows what my stance is on the matter of unwilling victims. Hell, from the moment I’ve been having sex it’s never been something I can participate in.
Maybe it’s the brutal rapes I’ve witnessed or my mother’s pleas for death to claim her when multiple men violated her during punishments that created the void in my mind, but he knows I would never commission this shit. So that poses the question, why the fuck is he here telling me about it?
Is he testing my trust? It’s the only logical explanation I can think of.
“I heard you have a toy you treat different from the rest,” he says, and I battle against the overwhelming urge to jolt. “Is it the slave you took from the whorehouse?”
He knows damn well she is.
I take a slow puff of my cigar, giving my heaving chest the perfect excuse to appear like it’s naturally inhaling and exhaling. “Yes. Where else would I have claimed her from?” I quip back, unable to hide the bite in my tone.
He chuckles, and the dread inside me multiplies. He shifts his focus to Jensen, and I anticipate the question.
“Go fetch her for me. I’d like to see what’s so special about her.”
“There’s nothing special about her,” I lie, and even I hear it in my tone.
“Now!” my father barks, and Jensen nods. Then his eyes catch mine, as if seeking approval, and I dip my head, hating the fact I do.
If I don’t comply as I normally would, I run the risk of exposing how I feel about her, and the consequences will destroy us both.