Chapter 12 Luca
The Maserati’s engine screams as I push it through a red light, following her taillights through Chicago’s maze of streets. She takes Lake Shore Drive—reckless at this speed—then cuts through Lower Wacker. She knows these streets better than I expected.
My phone shows her tracker moving toward the theater district. Janine. She's really going to try to save her.
Her taillights disappear into the theater's valet lane twenty seconds ahead of my Maserati. I counted while pushing the engine past safe limits, watching her tracker pulse on my phone screen. My cock has been hard since she fled her apartment in that red dress, the silk clinging to every curve.
The valet jumps back as I screech to a stop. I toss the keys without looking, my focus narrowed to one thing: Faith. My Faith, about to destroy herself for revenge while wearing the dress I chose to mark her.
The lobby parts for me. They always do when a Rosetti hunts.
I note exits and witnesses automatically, but my real attention tracks that flash of red disappearing into the theater.
The way that dress rides up her thighs when she walks, the way her hips move with desperate purpose makes me want to bend her over the concession counter and show everyone exactly who she belongs to.
Inside the theater, my eyes adjust quickly.
Third row: Neumann with his hand on the young volunteer's thigh.
Janine, the blonde Faith's been trying to protect.
Walking down the aisle: Faith, her hand buried in her purse, fingers on the trigger of her father's gun.
Her shoulders tremble with rage and adrenaline.
She's really going to do it. Step up and execute him in front of two hundred witnesses. Throw everything away for one moment of satisfaction.
Not on my watch.
I reach her just as she tenses to remove the gun from her purse. My hand clamps her wrist, controlled force, enough to dominate without damaging. Her pulse hammers against my thumb.
"Not. Here." The growl against her ear makes her shiver. I feel it through our connected hands, that involuntary response her body always has to me.
"Let go!" Her desperate whisper goes straight to my cock.
I don't respond, just apply pressure that forces her around and out. She fights beautifully: clawing, twisting, all while trying not to attract attention. Each struggle presses her body against mine, and I have to focus on not throwing her down right here in the aisle.
The hallway's fluorescent lights reveal everything the darkness hid. Her pupils blown wide with fury, lips parted, chest heaving in that red dress that fits like I painted it on her skin. The outline of her hardened nipples shows through the silk.
"Janine is in there with him!" She yanks against my grip, and the movement makes her breasts bounce. "He has her right now!"
"Your mother is dead." The brutal truth stops her cold. "And you were about to join her."
I drag her to the coat room, shoving her inside and locking us in. She backs against the hanging coats, designer wool and fur creating an expensive cage around her.
"You don't understand!"
"I know exactly who Trent Neumann is." I step closer, watching her body respond despite her anger.
The way her nipples peak harder, visible through red silk.
The way her thighs shift. "I know everything about you, little faith.
Every secret you think you've hidden. Every time you've touched that pretty pussy thinking about violence.
" My smile goes wrong. "Every time you've touched it thinking about me. "
I pull the gun from her purse, emptying the bullets onto the floor. They scatter like promises, five chances at revenge she'll never get to take.
"All that planning to throw it away?"
"He has Janine NOW!"
"And your corpse would save her?" I cage her against the wall, close enough that she feels my erection pressing against her stomach. Her breath catches, that little gasp that makes me want to force those lips open and fuck her mouth until she understands who owns her.
"Your pupils dilate when I'm near."
"That's fear."
"Your pulse jumps here." My finger grazes her throat, feeling her carotid race. "The same rate as when you come. I've watched you, Faith. Counted every breath, every moan when you fuck yourself with those delicate fingers."
"Stop."
But she's already leaning toward me, hips tilting forward until there's more pressure where my cock meets her body. The heat between us could melt steel.
"You're already ready for me." Not a question. I can smell her arousal, that sweet musk that's been driving me insane for weeks. "Ready for the monster who kills for you."
"I need to save her!"
"I'll handle Neumann. After you admit the truth."
"What truth?" Her voice breaks on the words.
"That you've been mine since that first photograph I took of you. The first one I left for you."
My hand finds her thigh, sliding up slowly, giving her time to stop me. She doesn't. The red silk bunches under my palm as I push higher, finding the lace edge of her panties. They're soaked through. I can feel the heat before I even touch her properly.
"All those men, Faith." My fingers trace the edge of that drenched lace. "Dead because they dared to want what's mine."
Her legs part wider. Involuntary. Perfect.
"Tell me to stop." I slide one finger under the lace, finding her pussy dripping, swollen, ready. "Tell me you don't want this."
Instead of answering, she rocks her hips forward, seeking more contact. I give it to her: two fingers pushing inside without warning. Her pussy clenches immediately, so tight and hot I have to grit my teeth against the need to replace my fingers with my cock.
"The barista who made comments about your lips took three hours to understand his mistake." I curl my fingers forward, finding that spot that makes her whole body jerk. "I made him beg, Faith. Made him apologize to your photo while he bled."
I establish a brutal rhythm, fucking her with my fingers while my thumb finds her clit. She's so wet the sounds are obscene, that slick slide of my fingers in her pussy echoing in the small room.
"The construction worker who whistled at you?" I add a third finger, stretching her, watching her mouth fall open at the invasion. "Four hours. His hands will never touch another woman."
Her pussy clenches around my fingers, rippling with each thrust. She's close already. I can feel it in the way her walls flutter, the way her hips chase my hand desperately.
"Patterson who grabbed your wrist?" I increase the pressure on her clit, watching her climb toward orgasm. "Six hours in my basement. He screamed your name by the end, begged your forgiveness while I removed parts he'll never use again."
"Oh god!" Her head falls back against the wall.
"Not god, little faith. Me. I'm your god now. The one who answers your prayers with blood."
I press harder, faster, fucking her with my fingers until she's shaking. Her pussy is so tight, clenching rhythmically, trying to pull me deeper. The sounds of my fingers in her cunt fill the room, mixing with her desperate little moans.
"You're going to come for me." I lean down, biting her neck hard enough to mark. "Come on my fingers while you think about those men dying for you. While you understand that I'll kill a hundred more if they dare look at you."
That breaks her. Her orgasm hits hard, pussy clamping down on my fingers in waves, her whole body convulsing. I work her through it mercilessly, not letting her escape the pleasure, making her take everything I give her.
"That's it," I growl against her throat. "Come for your killer. Show me how hot you get thinking about the blood on my hands."
She screams, not loud enough for anyone outside to hear, but enough that I'll replay the sound forever. Her pussy pulses and pulses, soaking my hand, dripping down her thighs. I keep my fingers inside her, feeling every aftershock, every tremor.
When she finally stills, I pull my fingers free slowly. They're coated in her arousal, glistening in the overhead light. I maintain eye contact as I suck each finger clean, savoring her taste: sweet and addictive.
"Fuck," she breathes, still shaking against the wall.
"Next time," I promise, adjusting my painfully hard cock in my pants. "Next time I'll bend you over and fuck you properly. Make you scream so loud everyone in the city will hear."
The promise makes her clench her thighs together. I can tell her body is preparing for me even as her mind struggles to process what just happened.
"Go home, Faith. Now."
"But Janine!"
"Is under my protection because she's under yours." I unlock the door, though every instinct screams to lock it again and finish what we started. "Everything that's yours belongs to me now. Your revenge, your justice, every person you care about. All mine to protect or destroy."
She pushes off the wall on unsteady legs, the red dress wrinkled, marked with my handprints. She looks thoroughly fucked despite still having her clothes on.
As she passes me, I grab her wrist one more time, pulling her close enough to whisper: "When you get home, you're going to touch yourself thinking about this. About my fingers inside you. And you're going to come again, imagining I'm there watching. Because I'm always watching, Faith. Always."
She holds my gaze for a beat. "Don't kill him."
"Neumann?"
"I need to be the one who takes him down."
Those steel eyes hold me, stronger than any ionic bond, and I can't help it. I nod. "He won't die tonight. I'll just get the girl away."
She flees without another word, her heels unsteady on the carpet. I watch her go, my cock throbbing with every heartbeat, her taste still coating my tongue. The sight of her stumbling away in that dress makes something primal roar in my chest.
Then I turn back to the theater where my quarry awaits.