47. Riley
Riley
L et’s be clear.
I’m not reckless. Or particularly spontaneous.
Fun? Sure.
Guilty of so many overdue library books I’ll never be able to pay off? Absolutely.
Pressing a knife to a lethal mobster like I’m shaking him down for lunch money?
Um, no.
Yet here I am, shoving through a throng of heat and noise, sweaty bodies packed so tightly together I can practically hear the fire code sobbing in the corner.
Most of the throng are men.
Most masked.
And every last one of them handsy as hell.
I reach the stairs, but two monstrous men block my path—scarred, tattooed, and packing more heat than SEAL Team Six. These two make the thug outside look downright cuddly.
I duck sharply to the side, ignoring every instinct screaming abort, abort, abort .
I remind myself answers wait up those stairs.
Answers and the key to setting my sister free.
I linger. Teeth punishing my lip. Then sanity fails—spectacularly—and I’m two seconds from charging the guards in a blaze of drunken glory. Likely straight into a bullet.
“Long dark hair. Pink dress. Innocence necklace. Find her!”
Shit .
I flatten against the wall as the massive guard below corrals the others. Finally, Lady Luck cuts me some slack—the guards spin on their heels and barrel away in the opposite direction.
Then I’m moving.
Up the stairs.
Down the hall.
Toward two foreboding double doors I have absolutely no business approaching.
Any fucking second now would be a perfect time to turn around.
But my feet clearly missed the memo.
When I reach the doors, both hands curl around the cold handles. Obviously, rational thought has taken a back seat to breaking and entering.
Mustering every drop of booze-soaked courage, I shove both doors open in one clumsy, graceless push—because elegance is so fucking overrated.
My foot catches, balance abandoning me entirely, and suddenly I’m stumbling headfirst into a room I have no goddamn business entering.
An office.
And him.
Dante D’Angelo. Sprawled on rich leather like the king of all he surveys, every line of his body loose and languid, as if nothing in this fucked-up world could faze him.
Not even me.
His fingers, draped carelessly over the armrest, twitch, just once, before going utterly still.
Controlled. Measured. Dangerous.
Then I see her.
Kneeling obediently between his spread thighs, palms resting possessively on his knees. His belt already undone. Her mouth—oh, for the love of God—her mouth is dragging his zipper down, teeth scraping metal like she’s done this a thousand times.
Then, steel-blue eyes land directly on mine.
Something dark flickers behind them—sharp, knowing, amused .
I stare, taking it all in.
Her mouth. Her lips.
Grazing his pants.
His dick .
And I’m no expert, but his already impressive size seems to be doubling like a goddamn inflatable.
Heat floods my cheeks, impossible to hide.
Just like the sharp pucker of my nipples—something he’s now shamelessly locked onto.
He’s enjoying this.
Every filthy second.
And it disgusts me.
Declarative statement. Exclamation fucking point.
The woman giggles, still blissfully unaware I’m standing three feet behind her. But considering she’s loudly chewing gum while on a sixty-second countdown to sucking him off, I don’t know what the hell I expect.
Smirking, he doesn’t break our stare.
In raw defiance, neither do I.
His lips stretch into a slow, lethal grin.
And then, finally, he speaks.
His smooth, gravelly voice rolls over my skin, and suddenly I’m imagining his rough stubble scraping mercilessly between my thighs.
“Are you here to watch?” He rubs his scruff, the gesture lazy, calculated, filthy. “Or to take her place?”
Okay, bucko. I’m officially done.
I shift to take a step back—but a sharp sting slices straight through my thoughts. The cold scrape of metal biting my skin.
Da’s knife.
If I want answers, now is the time. And I need him alone.
The words tumble from my lips before I can slam the brakes. “Take her place.”
The woman freezes mid-motion, gum-smacking abruptly cut short as she slowly lifts her head. “Huh?” Confusion fogs her glassy eyes. She notices me. “Who’s she?”
Dante doesn’t even spare her a glance. “Out,” he orders, voice harsh, gruff, and mercilessly direct.
“You heard him,” she snaps at me like an overzealous lap dog.
“Not her,” he growls, eyes fixed on mine. “You. Out.”
And like the feral beast he is, he snaps his fingers.
The woman blinks, pout deepening as she scrambles to her feet.
But she doesn’t argue. Doesn’t fight. Just tugs down her dress, smooths out the tattered remains of her dignity, and in a flurry of sky-high heels and billowing blonde hair, she’s gone.
The latch clicks shut.
The room shrinks around me.
He tosses a pillow onto the floor.
What the actual fuck?
I inch closer. Not close enough to kneel at his feet—because that’s not fucking happening.
I blink, defiant. “I notice you didn’t give her a pillow.”
His lips curve upward, dark and taunting. “Her knees are used to it. Yours are not.”
I stand there for a beat too long.
Da’s voice slices through my thoughts, thick with that familiar Scottish brogue. Knives only work if yer up close and personal, darlin’.
Yeah? Well, you failed to mention getting this close would turn my legs into fucking cement.
Another half-step.
Suddenly, I understand exactly how a lamb feels, staring down a lion in his own den.
“I won’t hold it against you if you run, Pom.”
My pulse slams violently against my ribs, palms slick with sweat. I force a smile, all false bravado and zero backup. “Maybe I’ll surprise you.”
“I doubt that.” His voice is low, rough silk scraping dangerously across bare skin. “Very little does.”
His gaze drags downward—my lips, my throat—lingering there long enough to brand me. Then his attention snags sharply on the necklace.
“Except for that.”
“What about it?” I whisper, pulse pounding harder.
His eyes flare, dark amusement flickering at the edges. “It means you’re either dangerously na?ve, or one hell of a tease.”
Without warning, his hand snaps out, fingers shackling my wrist like steel cuffs. One savage yank and I’m straddling his thighs, knees digging brutally into leather, his colossal dick grinding exactly where I need it most.
A moan slips out before I can chain it back.
His breath grazes mine, barbed wire brushing silk. “And you’re not leaving until I know exactly which it is.”