7. Mila
MILA
LA, July, 2 Years Ago
M y mother keeps trying to whore me out like a prized breeder pig.
I can’t say I’m surprised. Just pissed off.
That’s how life is for women in our world. You’re to marry who they want because it’s good for the family. Connections are formed, and business booms.
Never mind what kind of man you’re married off to. It’s your duty to obey his every command because he’s your husband. He’s in charge.
If he beats you, it’s because he’s tired or stressed, or maybe you aren’t doing enough. If he cheats, you should have been sexier. Tried harder to fulfill every one of his desires so he wouldn’t have to find someone on the side who would. Unable to bear children? You may as well be worthless.
You are to remain twenty-five until you reach the age of fifty-five. You are to always look your best but never like you’re trying too hard. You must be a five-star Michelin chef or have some other skill to make up for hiring a chef for the home. Raise his babies. Do whatever nasty, secret stuff he asks you for in the bedroom, and never, ever show your emotions. Men like softness. Men like sweetness.
It’s your job to be all those things and more.
—Sounds like a load of bullshit to me.
“Not enjoying the party?”
“I prefer séances.”
I lay back in my lounge chair on the terrace overlooking the ocean, and Christian chuckles, stepping closer, hands shoved in his pockets while I try to calm my racing heart.
“Your mother is looking for you.”
“Pity,” I grumble. “I don’t want to be found.”
“You and I both know you know where to hide if you don’t want to be found.”
He’s not wrong. I know every inch of this property. Mainly because it’s been my prison for the last eighteen years of my life. I’ve explored every secret passage. Every hidden room. Every spare nook and cranny until there’s nothing left to find anymore since I was four years old.
“I think my mother is trying to marry me off.”
I’d overheard her talking with one of her fancy Pilates friends, stating they were in the process of arranging a meeting between me and one of Marcus’s business partner’s sons. The idea that they could just sell me off sent a bout of nausea through me, and I had to escape.
“And how do you feel about that?” I don’t mistake the bite in his voice, and my heart beats just a little bit harder.
It’s useless, of course. He’s made it clear from the start he doesn’t want anything to do with me. At least not romantically.
I’ll never be anything more than a job to Christian Cross, and that is a hard pill to swallow.
“I won’t do it.”
“And what would you do, instead, little devil?”
I fix him with a look when he stands in front of me, watching me with his hands in the pockets of his suit. The familiar nickname sends a rush of heat through me, settling in my core.
At this angle, he’s daunting. I shift in my seat, and his dark blue gaze slips over me, down the soft pale gold silk of my gown. Over the light curls in my updo that fall around my shoulders. The pink lipstick on my lips. I’ve never felt so seen as I do when his jaw clenches.
I’m not crazy. This man thinks about me a lot more than he lets on.
Interesting.
“I’ll run,” I murmur.
“And what makes you think you’d get far?”
“Would you catch me?” I muse, my heartbeat strumming in my throat. “If I ran, would you find me and bring me back?”
“Find you? Yes,” he murmurs, his voice so quiet that I can barely hear it. “Bring you back?” he pauses, and my heart stalls in my chest. “Not until I’m done with you.”
It’s demeaning, the way he says it, as if I’m nothing more than a toy for him to play with until it breaks. It still doesn’t stop the warmth from gathering between my thighs.
Sliding off the lounge, his eyes catch on the silk of my dress as it cascades down my legs, and the heat hidden in his blue eyes makes my stomach dip awkwardly.
His dark gaze follows me when I saunter over to him, his eyes licking a path of fire over my skin when they slip over my hips, up my waist and breasts, before they finally meet mine. His tongue runs over his teeth, but his hands remain in his pockets.
“What would you do?” My voice is barely above a whisper. His jaw tightens, and though I step into him until my front is pressed against his, he doesn’t step back. I can feel every hard inch of him against me, his cock sitting heavily between us.
I blame the three glasses of champagne I’ve had for my boldness, but I know it’s him.
With my gaze trained on his, I down the rest of the champagne in my glass. Call it liquid courage. Call it the plain stupidity of a na?ve young girl. I know I’m playing with fire. This is farther than either of us has ever gone with one another, but now that I’ve started, I’m not sure if a nuke could get me to stop.
I place my fingers on his chest, feeling his heartbeat just a little bit faster.
The intoxicating scent of leather, whiskey, and the forest washes over me, stealing my breath and going straight to my head.
Walking my fingers upward, his eyes never leave mine, and my heart flutters with their intensity. He smirks devilishly, and for the first time since I’ve known him, I can see that carefully constructed steel control is in danger of collapsing.
“Would you punish me?” My tongue darts out to lick my lips, and his stare follows the movement, his gaze warmer and heavier than the brush of my tongue.
For the last two years, this cat-and-mouse game has been the only thing that’s kept me sane. This innate desire to garner a reaction from him to let me know I’m not going crazy on my own. That there’s something there, despite his incessant need to fight it tooth and nail.
A twinkle of something dark and repressed flashes across his gaze before it’s replaced with a calm clarity that stirs something unsettling inside me. He steps closer until my back hits the balustrade stone behind me, arching over.
God, he’s tall.
At this angle, I’m barely grazing his collarbone as he looms over me. His gaze burns into mine, and my thighs grow slick with my own traitorous need.
Maybe I do have a death wish.
“What do you know of the world, little devil?” he asks, his voice dark and low, sending a tingle up my spine as his breath fans across my face.
“I know men like you are dangerous for girls like me,” I breathe before I can stop myself.
Carefully, he reaches up, his fingers brushing a curl off my forehead. Tingles erupt from the smallest of touches, the heat from his fingers slipping through me as he watches for my reaction.
I swallow past the lump in my throat when he leans closer, inches away from my mouth. I can taste the mint of his toothpaste and the rawness of the whiskey on his breath, and my mouth waters. I force myself to meet his gaze, the deep blue depths dragging me down into the pits of the Mariana Trench.
“Do you know what I would do to you when I caught you?”
Pressed between him and the stone railing, a dangerous heat spreads through me.
Dangerous because even if I know my fate, it’s nice to pretend that even if just for a night, I didn’t have to be Mila Carpenter, the daughter of a wealthy socialite. I could just be Mila. His.
Yep, he’s definitely the devil.
“I’d break you,” he murmurs, leaning forward until his nose is traveling up the column of my neck, his warm breath sending a shiver down my spine despite the warm May air. “Shatter you into a million little pieces, and when I put you back together, you’d be too addicted to what I can do to you to ever leave.” His lips press to the shell of my ear, and my heart beats a little faster. My body feels like it’s been dipped in lava, my core warm and my nipples straining under my dress that’s pressed against his chest. “You’d be obsessed with my fingers . . .” His fingertips trail up my forearm, over the goosebumps on my skin. “My mouth . . .” He presses a kiss so light to the side of my neck that I barely feel it. “My cock . . .” I can feel his erection digging into my stomach at this angle. “You’d be mine to do with as I please, and not even death would allow you to escape me.”
I let out a shaky breath, my eyes screwed shut as I fight the tingling sensation in my veins, begging me to move closer. Forget about the world, my mother’s plans to marry me off, and the fact that inside, dozens of million-dollar people are milling about at another one of Marcus’s parties and just feel him.
Against my own will, my head tilts to the side, granting him better access where his stubble drags against the smooth skin of my neck.
He presses the lightest of kisses to the bare skin of my throat, where it meets my shoulder. The sensation goes straight to my core, and a need unlike anything I’ve ever felt before throbs between my legs.
He chuckles darkly, lingering against my skin for a moment longer until I feel like I’m either going to spontaneously combust or faint from the electricity vibrating in the air between us.
His lips brush mine in the lightest of touches, but he doesn’t kiss me. My head spins, a quiet sigh slipping free when his tongue glides along my bottom lip.
“Remember that the day you decide to run.”
He lingers against my skin for a moment longer until I feel like I’m either going to spontaneously combust or faint from the electricity vibrating in the air between us.
And with that, he steps back, allowing a wash of cool air to meet my skin.
I shiver at the loss of him, straightening against the balustrade and glaring at him just as the door behind him opens.
“Mila,” Mom snaps, but her eyes land on Christian, and she falls silent. Then they land on me. Then on Christian again.
Busted.
My mother’s gaze is unreadable. I hug my arms around myself against a chill that seems to have slipped into the air. Christian’s eyes never leave mine.
“Dinner is about to begin.”
Christian raises a brow as if he’s giving me a choice. Follow my mother or stay here and make my own decision.
I want to stay. I want to feel that burn in my veins, I only feel when I’m with him. I want to spend the night looking at the stars while his lips cover every inch of my body.
But . . . life’s not that simple.
“Coming,” I reply to my mother and push off the railing. Christian chuckles under his breath when I walk by. The asshole thinks he won.
A shiver rolls through me, and I cross the backyard, following my mother to the house. I pause once I step inside, my hand on the door to look back at him.
You’d be too addicted to me to ever leave . . .
“Goodnight, Christian.”
His eyes glint with dark amusement when he brushes a tattooed thumb across his lip. “Goodnight, little devil.”
The FBI agent my mother hired to bring my stepfather down is in love with my sister. I’m not surprised. Savannah is beautiful. Otherworldly beautiful. He’d be a fool not to fall for her.
I’m not jealous of her because he wants her. Just jealous because no one wants me in that way.
I can see it in his eyes, the way they follow her, watching her every move. My mother doesn’t think anyone has her figured out, but I do. She hired Logan Prince because my stepfather is part of a human trafficking ring, and this is the only way we’ll ever be free. If we bring the system down from the inside out.
Can’t say it’s going to be a whole lot of fun, but neither are boring benefits, expensive dresses, and sitting through luncheons with all the other rich women in my mother’s circle. It’s just life.
My sister Bailey is the lucky one. Out of all of us, she’s the furthest removed. She lives in New Orleans and has her own life with her fiancé, Charlie. She’s no longer required to play the perfect little doll, dressing up in expensive gowns and doing her hair in pristine curls after a blowout at Santelli’s Spa.
Mason, the oldest of us all, is so far detached in his garage, that belonged to our father, it’s like he doesn’t exist most of the time, and then . . . there’s me.
Just Mila. Always just Mila.
A hand lands on my shoulder, causing me to jump and spin around.
“Fuck, Corbin, you scared the shit out of me.”
He holds up his hands in self-defense and places a much-needed step back from me.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
He looks like shit. He’s got bags under his eyes, and I know he’s using that weird drug again. Black Dahlia or whatever it’s called. A mixture of ecstasy and absinthe that gets you so high you can’t remember that your toes aren’t little finger sausages.
“I came to chat.”
I shake my head. “I don’t have time.”
“Make time,” he demands, grabbing my hand when I move to pull away.
Are you kidding me?
Instant heat trickles through me, and I know it has nothing to do with the man standing in front of me. It’s the one watching me from a table near the back of the room with dark blue eyes that haven’t left me all night.
I resist the urge to look that way and force a smile to my face when I really want to pour my drink in Corbin’s face and storm out like every dramatic scene I’ve ever wanted to reenact from television.
“Please, Mila . . . just a couple minutes.”
“Fine. Five minutes.” I tug my hand away from him and cross my arms over my chest. I said he could have my time, not my hand. Besides, his is clammy.
“I wanted to apologize for the way things went down during spring break.”
“Oh, you mean when you tried to force me to sleep with you and got mad when I wouldn’t?”
“It wasn’t like that,” he argues, his cheeks burning red.
“It never is, is it?”
“Look, this isn’t about that. I had to have surgery on my arm from your big ass bodyguard dislocating my shoulder.”
Oh . . . oh my God.
I knew whatever Christian had done, it hadn’t been pretty, but I never knew he did . . . that.
“I guess you’ve learned a valuable lesson about keeping your hands to yourself, then?”
Corbin lets out a heavy sigh.
“Can we move on? I have to talk to you about something.”
I glance down at my phone.
“Three minutes left.”
“Listen, this is serious.”
“I’m listening.”
“Something’s coming.”
I pause, staring at him and waiting for him to continue.
When he doesn’t, I concede and take the bait.
“Summer? The election? The rapture?”
“Just . . . something,” he says, lowering his voice. “You aren’t safe. Not for long. You need to get out of LA.”
I don’t like the look in his eyes. Like he knows more about my life than I do right now.
“You’re scaring me.”
“I’m only telling you this because I care about you, but Drew overheard Marcus speaking about marrying you off a few months ago. I don’t know why or to who, but I know that Marcus is in some deep shit, and you’re on the chopping block if you don’t get the fuck away from him.”
Marriage?
Like a ring and husband and wife? Titles? Boring scheduled sex once a week while my husband goes out and fucks around with every coed under twenty-one?
No, thank you.
“I can’t just leave my family, Corbin.” I take my drink, moving to walk away from him, but again, he grabs my hand.
“I’m serious, Mila.”
“I am, too. No one’s going to force me to marry them.” I leave out the rest of the truth. That I will never marry anyone because it doesn’t matter.
Marriage is a contract, and I’m anything but willing to be a tamed show pony. I’ve spent years of my life making my mother happy, and that’s why I chose a school a thousand miles away in Texas where she couldn’t reach me. Mom may love the glitz and glam of her life, but I’d rather be completely alone in the world than marry a man simply because it’s expected of me.
“There’s something else?”
“What now?” I groan.
“Cross. He’s dangerous.”
Instantly, my cheeks heat, my stomach doing a backflip.
Men like you are dangerous for girls like me.
“Is this because he broke your arm? Because that’s kind of his job. Protecting me and all.”
Corbin’s jaw tightens, and he looks away. “He’s in love with you.”
Right.
“Who wouldn’t be?” I joke, but the humor is lost on him, so I let out a deep breath and swallow some of my drink. “Look, Christian’s just looking out for me. Not that it matters, but I was spiraling after what happened at the party.”
Even if the butterflies in my stomach say otherwise, there’s not a world in this Universe in which Christian Cross and I are in love. “
“I’m just looking out for you, Mila,” he says, glancing over my head. I don’t have to turn around to know Christian’s watching me. He’s been watching me all night.
“From what? The boogeyman or your bruised ego?”
He fixes me with a dark stare, and instant guilt washes through me. I’m not normally a mean girl, but there’s something about being stalked, being told your stepfather is going to marry you off to the highest bidder, and being corralled like a guinea pig your whole life that just really tests your patience after a while.
“You’re smarter than you act, Mila.”
I step back like he’d slapped me.
“Okay, wow. Fucking rude. Time’s up.”
For the third time, I turn to stalk away, but again, he catches my wrist, this time, his fingers digging in tighter. I only go because I’m not about to have him suing for another surgery because he can’t keep his hands to himself.
“I’m just telling you to be careful. He’s not who he says he is. He’s dangerous.”
Jesus Christ, if he says that one more time . . .
I yank my hand away, stepping back away from him.
“So is butter.”
I storm away before he can say anything else and search the room for my sisters.
I mean, who does he think he is? Showing up here and telling me Christian is dangerous. He’s the one that tried to force me to fuck him in a dirty, occupied bathroom.
Stay away from Christian.
As if I have that kind of choice. He’s always there. Always watching.
Right now is no different when I storm up to the table he and Logan have occupied all night. He’s watching me with a hint of amusement in his eyes while Logan is nowhere to be found.
Cocky asshole.
“Come dance with me.”
His gaze flicks up over my legs, to my thighs, then over my breasts before, finally, his eyes meet mine.
He doesn’t move.
“What did Loverboy want? Another alignment?”
“Let me rephrase,” I try again. I’m in no mood to talk about whatever he did to Corbin. “Please, come dance with me.
He chuckles as he stands to his full height in front of me.
Why does he get to be so damned tall?
My pulse flutters, my thighs clenching from the tingles that shoot through me when the familiar scent of leather, whiskey, and the forest washes over me.
—and attractive?
“I don’t dance.”
Rejection is a harsh mistress.
Of course, he doesn’t.
“Fine,” I grit, my cheeks burning hot. “Have it your way.”
I down the rest of my drink and place it on the table in front of him before sauntering back to the dance floor. I don’t see Bailey, but Savannah and Logan are in the center, doing the devil’s tango with each other.
I almost roll my eyes. I wish they’d just sleep together and get it over with.
No, scratch that. I wish I could get him out of my head so I could move on with my life and stop waiting for something that will never happen.
Looking back at the table, I see Christian there, his arms crossed over his chest and his gaze trained on me, daring me.
Fuck him. Fuck Marcus Parker. And fuck whoever unknown asshole number one is.
Shooting him a glare, I slip into the crowd.
I feel his gaze burning a hole through my back as it follows me through the room. Instantly, I’m engulfed in a sea of bodies, and someone’s hands find my hips, moving me along to the music.
Breathe. You can do this. It’s just dancing.
I suck in a deep breath past my lips, pushing those old familiar feelings of disgust to the back of my mind, and force myself to exist in the moment. No Christian. No Corbin. No masked men or scars.
I let myself get swept away, feeling the beat of the music and the shot of liquor coursing through my veins while the man slips his arms around me, our bodies moving together.
“You’re so fucking sexy,” he slurs in my ear, and I push a smile to my face when I really feel like I want to vomit.
“Thank you.”
His hips grind against mine, and people swarm around us, immersing us in a sea of bodies until there’s nowhere to go.
It’s dirty. It’s sexy. It’s also disgusting, but I don’t allow myself to think about that. I’ll worry about it later when I’m scrubbing my skin raw from the touch of this man’s hands, but right now, I need to do this.
This is what people my age do. We go out. We party. We have a good time despite the ramifications of our actions tomorrow because we’re young and have our whole lives to figure shit out.
The man’s hands on my hips venture higher, over my ribcage, and I almost pull away. Then I imagine they belong to a certain broody someone, and heat blossoms in my core, my pussy growing wet when I imagine his rough words at my ear.
Is it wrong? Probably. Is it creepy to picture him in another man’s place? Also probable. Do I care?
Absolutely not, because for the first time in nearly a year, I feel like a real human being and not a defective replication.
Then, the man behind me lets go completely, and before I can spin around, new hands slip into his place.
. . . Bigger, stronger hands that cover half my front. My hips are halted and I’m forcibly pulled back into the hard chest of the devil himself.
Fuck.
“You’re going to get someone killed.” His voice is darker than sin, his hands sliding down my hips to my thighs, pressing me closer against him until I feel his erection digging into my lower back.
So Christian Cross can’t ignore me, either?
His hands guide me to move, swaying against him to the slow, heavy beat of the music. It’s more like sex than dancing. My ass grazes his erection, and my body tightens with a newfound need.
“I thought you don’t dance?” I taunt over my shoulder, my voice breathy and soft. Pathetic.
I know what we’re doing is wrong. Any one of the other employees could see us. That’s all I need. More ammunition for them to say I’m getting special treatment. First William and now Christian.
—Just call me the whore of Babylon.
“What’s the matter, little devil? Afraid Corbin might catch you grinding on my cock?” he rasps in my ear.
I don’t even try to deny it. I am grinding against his cock. I suck my bottom lip between my teeth, silencing a moan when his hands slide down my front, over my thighs, and then back up to my ribs. Like he’s memorizing every curve of my body.
“He’s just a friend,” I challenge, my voice breathier than I’d like it to be.
Christian chuckles dangerously at my words, leaning down until his breath is tickling the curls at the back of my neck.
It’s a lie. Corbin maybe my friend, but he wants so much more than that.
“Does he know that?”
“Sounds like you’re jealous.” His hands slip lower, brushing over the smooth skin of my inner thighs. A shiver rolls through me when he slips even closer, his lips at my ear and his rough stubble scraping against my skin.
“Territorial.”
My heart flutters, but something hazardous lurks beneath the surface. This high I get from what I feel with him is addictive. I can’t even hug my own mother without feeling like I’m going to be sick, yet with Christian—someone I’ve never met until he rode into my life in a shining black murder machine—I want his hands on me. I want his touch. His rough words in my ear.
I want him to challenge me. In fact, I crave it.
—Just like he said I would.
“I thought you wanted Bailey?” I taunt.
He chuckles low in my ear, his lips brushing against my skin.
“Unfortunately, that spot’s reserved for her little sister.”
Against my own will, my arm comes up, wrapping around the back of his neck. His lips skate over the racing pulse in the side of my throat and I arch my neck to grant him more access, shivering when his lips brush against my skin. I find myself getting lost in the feeling of his fingers digging into my skin through my dress.
When I open my eyes, his are right there, inches away and burning with lust and something else so possessive, it steals my breath away.
As if he’s daring me to do it.
My tongue darts out to lick my bottom lip, and his eyes follow the movement, nearly black under the blue and purple lights of the club. Time hangs in the balance for a single second that seems to last a lifetime while neither of us moves.
And then, without allowing myself to think about it, I close the small distance between us, pressing my lips to his.
He doesn’t move. Even his hands stop their exploration of my body. Rejection coils through me when he doesn’t kiss me back. Swallowing, I pull away, and a low growl slips from his throat.
“Sorry,” I breathe, attempting to step away from him, but his fingers fist in my dress pinning me against him. “I—”
He pulls me back harder, locking me in place. His lips seal over mine, a rumble vibrating through his chest and into my spine. His tongue licks into my mouth, whiskey and mint on his breath.
It’s the most intoxicating thing I’ve ever tasted.
I get lost in him, letting him own me for those few brief moments. My thighs grow slick with need, my heartbeat throbbing in my core with the beat of the music. His kiss is everything I imagined it would be. Rough, consuming, demanding, and it’s with some dismay, I find, I could kiss him for hours.
His tongue dances with mine languidly. It’s as if he’s got all day when all I want to do is slip around and touch him.
With a rough noise, he nips my bottom lip, forcing our mouths apart. He leans his forehead against mine, his breathing as ragged as the heartbeat in my chest.
The sound of his darkly deranged chuckle sends a shiver down my spine.
“Mila,” he rasps, my name like a threat on his tongue.
“Christian, I—” I try to pull away from him, but his arm locks me in place. His breath is warm against my ear, and goosebumps rise on my skin.
“Good luck.”
He releases me, brushing the curl back from my forehead before he steps away.
“Be ready in half an hour. We’re going home.”