16. Chained to You
CHAPTER 16
CHAINED TO YOU
M arco
My foot taps out a beat on the old wooden floor, my knee bouncing so damned high I cross my leg over it to conceal the nervous tell. The doc sits with Guo and Jia in her bedroom, finishing up the last few stitches across the old man’s temple. I bring the bottle of water to my mouth and gulp it down, wishing it were something stronger. My damned nerves are frazzled, and there’s nothing like a good whiskey to settle the raging storm.
Fuck. I don’t remember the last time I was this worked up.
The look in Jia’s eye while that asshole held a knife to her throat would be permanently carved into my subconscious. Cazzo , I hadn’t felt fear like that in ages. I may not like the woman very much, but she is mine. Mine to claim, mine to possess, and above all, mine to protect. Engaged for less than a day and already some pezzo di merda is trying to take her away from me ?
My blood boils for retribution, for Lei Wang’s head on a fucking pike. But it’s essential the Four Seas learn to respect Jia as their leader, and it’ll never happen if I step in guns blazing. Which is exactly what I want to do right now. I want to light up the night with flames while the stench of burned bodies fills the air, their screams echoing across China Town. No one fucks with my future wife without becoming intimately acquainted with my gun.
I glance down at my hands, at the bloodied half-moons that have appeared across my palms. Damn it. Unclenching my fists, I wipe off the trickle of crimson on my slacks. Approaching footsteps lift my gaze to Dr. Pacetti and the oversized medical bag in his hand.
“Mr. Guo seems fine, but it’s likely he suffered a concussion from the blow to the head. He should be monitored for the next forty-eight hours, and if his condition worsens, he should be immediately taken to the ER.” He lifts a dark brow. “Can you do that Mr. Rossi?”
“Of course, doctor.” I offer him a pleasant smile. He’s been working for my brother and me for long enough to know we avoid hospitals like the plague.
“Very well, then, if you need anything, you know how to reach me.” He pivots toward the door and shows himself out. His generous monthly retainer keeps him at our beck and call, and the wad of cash we shell out is more than what he makes in a year at his private practice.
Jia emerges from behind the graffitied wall in a FIT sweatshirt and yoga pants. It’s the first time I’ve seen her without makeup and her hair wild and loose. Casual looks good on her, despite the pinched expression. My gaze lands on the scratch across her throat and that need for revenge bubbles up like fiery, molten lava. She must notice my reaction because her fingers come to her neck, slowly drifting across the wound.
“It’s nothing,” she murmurs.
“Did you let the doc look at it? ”
“It’s just a scratch, Marco.”
It could have been worse, so much worse. Pools of crimson seep into my vision, and I blink quickly before the past can threaten to pull me under.
“Are you really okay?” The question I’ve been meaning to ask since I put down the Four Seas bastard finally emerges.
“I already said it’s nothing.”
“That’s not what I mean. There’s more than just the physical part of the assault.”
Jia waves a nonchalant hand. “It’s nothing I can’t deal with.” A yawn parts her lips, and she claps her hand over her mouth. “I’m exhausted.” She ticks her head at the tattered couch I’m sprawled across. “And you’re sitting on my bed.”
I scoot over and toss her one of my million-dollar trademark smiles that has women consistently falling to their knees. “I’m good with sharing.”
She snorts and attempts to shoo me off, but I hold my ground. “I don’t think so.”
“If you think I’m leaving you unprotected after what just happened, you’ve got another thing coming, spitfire.”
“If you’re worried about my safety, just leave me your gun, and I’ll be fine.” She eyes my handgun, dark eyes glittering.
“Not happening.”
Jia slams her hands on her hips and glares down at me. “You are not spending the night in my apartment.”
“Yes, I am.”
She lets out a string of curses in Mandarin and damn, it’s one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen coming out of that prim and proper little mouth.
I stand and loom over her, doing my best impression of my brother. Of the two of us, he’s definitely the more intimidating one. “You better lower your voice or you’ll wake your grandfather, and I’m fairly certain he’d agree with me.”
“It’s not fair,” she hisses, crossing her arms over her chest and stomping her foot, like a petulant child. All it does is draw my gaze to her tempting cleavage.
“Life’s not fair, you might as well get used to it.”
With a final scathing glare, she plops down onto the worn cushions and stretches across the narrow couch. “Well, I hope you like the floor.”
Merda . “Do you have a blanket or a pillow at least?”
She tosses me a lumpy cushion off the couch, then a throw-blanket. I eye both, and my mouth twists. Maybe I’ll just make some coffee instead. I doubt I’ll sleep much tonight anyway. Either way, I need out of this monkey suit.
Sliding the jacket off my shoulders, I release a faint groan as my back cracks once I’m free of the oppressive material. I must have really been out of my mind if I hadn’t even attempted to take it off hours ago. The crisp button-down shirt comes off next, and I heave out a sigh of relief as I stretch my arms and glance up at the industrial rafters. The studio may be tiny, but at least the high ceilings give it a less claustrophobic feel.
When I glance down again, I catch a pair of dark eyes raking over my bare chest, lingering on the masterful dragon tattooed into my skin. The hint of a smile curls my lips as Jia’s gaze darts away. Caught ya . “Uh, uh, uh, no peeking, Jia, not until we’re married.”
“I was not,” she hisses and rolls over, burying her head in the pillow.
I move closer, unbuckling my belt as I grow near and finally stop when my legs hit the couch. I toss my belt on the floor, and a tiny gasp escapes between the cushions. Reaching for my zipper, I draw it down ever so slowly.
Her breaths grow ragged and despite her back being toward me, I can make out the quickening tempo of her pulse by the rise and fall of her shoulder.
My slacks slough to the floor with a satisfying whoosh, and I remain rooted to the spot. The rising tension has my cock thickening, excitement rushing through my veins. If she would only turn around, she’d see exactly what sort of effect she has on me.
“Jia?” I whisper. Turn around…come on, turn around .
“What?” she mumbles into the pillow.
“I need your help with something.”
She whirls around, and I’m so damned hard now her nose nearly bumps right into my cock. She releases a gasp and a squeal, her face twisting into an expression of pure horror, and I can’t hold back the roar of laughter.
“Oh my God, you’re such an ass,” she hisses as she spins back around and covers her face with a pillow once again.
I buckle forward, the laughter a much-needed release after the tension of the day. Once the mad chuckles finally subside, I drop down between the couch and the coffee table, shoving it over for a little extra room. At least there’s a fluffy white rug that might offer a tiny bit of padding against the hard floor.
“Must you sleep right here?” she snarls.
“No, I could sleep beside you if you weren’t hogging the sofa.”
“In your dreams, Rossi.”
“Hopefully. I’ll need something to envision while I get rid of this erection.”
“You’re vile!”
“You know, you could help me out. It’s your fault I’m all worked up.”
“Me?” She flips over to face me, her annoyance clear, and I prop myself up on my elbow to glance up at her. Her gaze trails my bare torso—there’s no denying it this time—then darts to the outline of my cock. Her cheeks turn an enticing crimson before she rips her gaze away and fixes it to mine. “How is that”—she motions at my lower half—"my fault?”
“For men like me, there’s a razor thin line between rage and desire. Surely, you must have noticed as the daughter and sister of two very fucked-up males. ”
If she’s upset by my insult, she doesn’t show it. A part of me is starting to believe this hatred toward Nico and me for her brother’s demise is more for show than anything else.
“So killing that man earlier turned you on?” she hisses.
“Exacting my revenge turns me on, spitfire. The idea of snuffing out that pezzo di merda for daring to touch what’s mine, that’s what turns me on.” I drop my gaze from those piercing eyes, down to the perfect bow of her lips, to her elegant neck and to the rest of her form where it’s swallowed up by the oversized sweatshirt. I can already imagine what she looks like bare beneath…
“And I think it turned you on a little, too.”
Her pupils dilate, lips curving into an O as she regards me. “You’re wrong,” she exhales, her tone laced with desire.
“Whatever you say, spitfire.”
“And stop calling me that.”
“Would you prefer honey? Sweetheart? Babe?”
“No,” she snarls. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t call me at all.”
“That’s going to make for a very long fifty years…”
“Fifty?” Her eyes dart back to mine.
“Well, you’re in your twenties and I just turned thirty, so I figure we’ve got at least fifty good years of marriage?—”
Her dramatic groan cuts off my calculations. “I’d rather die than be chained to you for half a century.”
“Rude.”
“Ugh, just go to bed, Marco.”
“I’d be happy to?—”
“Sleep! Just sleep.”
“You’re no fun at all, spitfire.”