Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Rio
The familiar clanking of metal is the only thing holding me together right now.
I’m supposed to be recovering from the last few days, but the truth is, I can’t stop replaying every second in my mind.
The bastard’s blood on my knuckles, the flash of Liana’s terrified eyes, the way her small body trembled as I peeled her from the backseat.
The feel of her shaking in my arms and even how she asked me not to leave.
The fear in her eyes when she looked at me afterwards might have been the worst. Not because she was scared of me, but because of how hard it made me.
It took everything in my power not to bend her over that car in that dirty back alley and fuck her while covered in that man’s blood.
I wanted to show her who she belonged to.
I wanted her to understand exactly who she belongs to now.
I wanted to fucking hurt her…but I wanted her to feel good too.
The weight in my hands is nothing compared to the one sitting on my chest. I rep out another set on the bench, barely feeling the burn but sweating just the same.
My wrists ache, and my split knuckles keep opening back up, leaving streaks of red on the grip tape.
I don’t give a fuck though because the pain means I’m still here.
My phone buzzes and I glare at it. I don’t want to answer it. I don’t want to talk to anyone right now. I just want to smash something else…anything. Instead, I watch as the screen lights up with Leo’s name. I sigh and answer, bracing for more bullshit.
“Yeah?”
“It’s handled, hermano,” Leo says, ignoring my short answer. He’s not one to waste time on small talk anyway. I don’t respond so he continues to speak.
“The guy from the alley…he wasn’t just some random person. He was MC, Rio.”
“Whose?” I growl out
“A Rebel. No one high up but that isn’t the point. They sent him there after the wedding hit failed.” Leo’s quiet for a second. “Word is, they were working with another gang and now they’ve got a bounty out for the both of you.”
I grunt, setting the bar back with a loud clang. “Let them come, then. It won’t be the first time someone tries to come for me, brother.”
Leo ignores that, or maybe he’s used to my posturing by now, but it’s the truth. I’ve lived my whole life being a target. That’s what happens when you’re the eldest son. An heir to the cartel.
“We’re putting extra men on your house. Nobody leaves unless you say so. Rio…” he hesitates, which is rare for him. “You need to lay low. This isn’t like before. Something more is happening.”
“Fine,” I reply, annoyed with the conversation. There’s always something happening. I wipe sweat and blood from my face, flicking it onto the towel like it’s just another day. “Keep me posted. If anything changes, I want to know first. Where is this guy being held anyway?”
Leo chuckles for a second before answering me.
“Our dearest sister has him.”
I don’t get a chance to respond because he hangs up without a goodbye. The poor soul is stuck with Nicci. I wonder how long he will last? I flip on the surround sound speakers before tossing my phone onto the mat and rolling my neck.
By my third set, my vision is tunneling and spots are floating across my eyes. I should probably hydrate but the rush is addicting. I’m about to push through one more when I hear footsteps behind me.
“Do you ever take a break?” Liana’s voice cuts through the air.
I turn around and, fuck me, she’s standing in the doorway in nothing but those tiny black yoga shorts and a white crop top.
The shirt barely hits her ribs, the hint of her tattoo peaking out from beneath it.
Her skin is glowing, and her hair is up in some messy bun that makes her look sexy as fuck.
My cock stirs instantly, screaming to be buried deep inside something wet and warm.
“I don’t get breaks.” I say, dropping the weights. They hit the mat with a dull thud. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”
She shrugs, stepping inside, eyes looking everywhere around the room except my face.
“Not really. Couldn’t stop thinking.” She hovers near the wall, gripping her elbows. “About the other night. About…everything.”
I study her for a minute. She’s been so damn stubborn recently, I almost forgot how innocent and vulnerable she was before I got ahold of her.
“You wanna talk about it?”
She shakes her head quickly.
“No. I want to do something about it.” She meets my eyes finally, and there’s something in her stare I don’t quite recognize. “Teach me.”
It takes me a second to process.
“Teach you what?”
She walks forward, close enough that I can smell her. It takes everything in me to hold back the groan when her sweet scent envelopes me.
“To fight,” she says. “I don’t want to be helpless anymore. I want to know how to protect myself if I have to.”
The words hit me hard because why the fuck didn’t I think of that? I stare at her, unsure if she’s joking. Her hands are clenched tightly and the look on her face tells me that she’s dead serious.
“You sure?” I ask. “It’s not exactly…”
“Yes,” she says, cutting me off quickly.
I grin despite myself.
“Alright, princess. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
She watches as I clear a space in the center of the room on the mats.
She doesn’t hesitate when I toss her a pair of grappling gloves.
She pulls them on, flexing her hands experimentally, and I’m hit with a flash of something like pride…
or maybe it’s lust. Hard to tell the difference at this point.
My dick has been hard since she walked in.
I run her through the basics. Different stances to take up, how to guard herself and how to throw a proper punch without damaging herself in the process.
She learns fast…almost too fast. She’s so fucking eager, it almost makes teaching her that much more enjoyable.
Every time I correct her form, she adjusts, absorbing everything I say.
I walk her through a wrist grab, and she flips my grip with barely any coaching like she’s done it before.
“Who taught you that?” I ask, genuinely impressed.
She gives a tiny, bitter smile.
“My cousin Andre. He used to practice with me when I was much younger, back before…” She stops and shakes her head. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Before what?” I ask, curiously.
“Before my uncle decided I needed to be trained to be the proper wife, not to protect myself.” She blows out a breath and rolls her eyes.
“A wife is to be seen and not heard. She is to obey her husband at all times.” She says it with such disdain that I laugh out loud making her head snap towards me.
“Someone should let the Italians know that their wifely training sucks because you don’t obey for shit, Datura.”
She doesn’t respond but I see the ghost of a smile slide over her lips before she schools her features and we continue grappling.
For an hour, we drill. She gets more and more into it, her body loosening and her punches harder with every set.
I watch as sweat beads on her collarbone, her thighs flexing with every move.
I can’t stop my eyes from tracing every inch over her body as I adjust her stance, my hand on her lower back.
I feel her shiver, but doesn’t pull away from my touch.
“You’re doing good,” I say, my voice coming out rough. “But you tense up right before you strike. Try to relax so you don’t give yourself away.”
“Okay.” She’s out of breath and her cheeks are flushed. “Show me something else.”
So I do. I teach her a few holds. How to break out of a choke and how to reverse a takedown. Every time our bodies collide, the tension in the room gets heavier. I pin her to the mat, showing her how to roll me off, and she manages to throw me on her second try.
She sits up, grinning, breathless and fucking beautiful.
“Again.”
I can’t help but laugh at her determination.
“You’re going to kill me,” I respond as I get up. I don’t mean it the way she thinks though.
I’m so hard it hurts right now and there’s no way to hide it beneath my sweats either. I see her eyes flicking down when she thinks I’m not paying attention.
“Maybe that’s the idea,” she shoots back, but her smile is real this time.
We reset, and I go slower, letting her feel every step…or maybe I just want to feel her.
Every. Single. Part.
This time, she lands on top of me, knees around my waist and hair falling loose around her face as she leans forward.
For a second, she doesn’t move and I can feel the heat of her through the thin fabric.
Her core is pressed right up against my hard length, the feel of her warmth making my head spin.
She freezes, eyes closed and lips parted. Her breathing is ragged, and I know exactly what’s happening because it’s happening to me too. I’m rock hard, pinned under her, and for a moment neither of us moves.
Then she rocks her hips, just barely. I’m not sure if it's on purpose or not. Maybe just a natural reaction. It’s barely anything at all but I feel it everywhere. I groan, grabbing her hips lightly with both hands.
“Don’t…don’t stop,” I say quietly, gritting my teeth. I can hear it in my voice. I’m practically begging her. “Use me, Datura. Take what you want from me. If it makes you feel better, if it helps you hate me less…do it.”
She opens her eyes, and for a moment I think she’s going to hit me or tell me off. Instead, she grinds down again. She stares right down at me going slow at first as she builds up a rhythm. Her hands go to my chest and I grip her hips tighter, guiding her against me desperately.
Music is playing in the background but all I can hear is the sound of our breathing as I watch her.
Her head is thrown back, skin slick with sweat and teeth biting into her bottom lip to keep from crying out.
I want to say something…anything. I want to tell her how sexy she looks riding me like she owns me. I know better than to ruin this though.
Her body moves faster, chasing the high.
The mat is damp beneath us and her thighs are trembling on either side of my waist. I can feel every hot, wet grind of her pussy and it makes my vision blur.
The familiar tightening in my balls shoots through me, surprising me for a second.
This shouldn’t be enough. Dry humping like a teenager shouldn’t feel this damn good and yet here I am about to jizz in my pants like I’m fourteen years old again.
She comes first, the sound of her moan is music to my ears as I follow, my hips jerking up involuntarily.
The release as I come is explosive and a little humiliating all at once.
I collapse back against the mat and for a second, I think she might do the same.
Instead, she stands up abruptly, smoothing her shorts down with her hands. Her face is unreadable.
“Where are you going?” I ask, still flat on my back as I stare up at her. Surely she doesn’t think we are done here? She doesn’t even look at me when she speaks as she turns to walk away.
“I think I need some space,” she replies in a low tone.
I prop myself up on my elbows, watching her retreat. I want to be angry. I could force her to stay. I could make her do whatever I want but for some reason, that thought doesn’t do it for me.
“Are you ever going to forgive me?”
I’m not even sure why I ask. It just comes out. Like I give a fuck if she does or doesn’t. She’s stuck with me anyway, whether she likes it or not.
‘You do give a fuck,’ a little voice whispers in the back of my head.
She stops at the doorway without turning around.
“I don’t even know who I’m supposed to forgive, Rio. I don’t know who you are, what you do, or where you go when you leave here. How am I supposed to forgive someone who made me open up to them and never gave me the same in return?”
She’s gone before I can think of a response.