16. Dante
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
DANTE
Shaw had made it halfway down the stairs before I grabbed his wrist. He yanked free with surprising strength, his green eyes burning.
“What the hell is your problem?” I demanded.
Instead of answering, he stormed down the rest of the way.
No one walked away from me, especially not after I’d been on my knees for them. I followed, taking the stairs two at a time, the taste of him still lingering on my tongue.
He reached the bottom of the stairwell before I caught him. My fingers dug into his bicep as I dragged him behind the staircase where the institutional lighting didn’t reach. I slammed him against the brick wall. His back hit with a satisfying thud.
“Explain yourself,” I said, crowding him deeper into the shadows.
“Let go of me!” His voice cracked.
“After you tell me what the fuck is going on.” I tightened my grip, pinning his wrists against the rough brick. The skin there was delicate, already reddening under my fingers.
“Let. Go,” he hissed.
“Not until you answer me.”
He used the wall for leverage, pushing off with enough force to break my hold. His hands connected with my chest in a hard shove. “Fuck you!”
“You’re more than welcome to.”
“Stop it,” he snapped.
My forearm pressed against the brick beside his head, closing off his escape path. “I could say the same to you. My patience is wearing thin.”
“Your patience?” His laugh sounded bitter.
“Is this about the librarian?”
His gaze dropped. “We’re all the same to you, aren’t we?”
The hurt in his eyes made honesty spill from my lips before I could stop it. “You’re not.”
I leaned in, but he turned his face away.
“We all pay you,” he muttered.
“You’re not paying me now.” I redirected to his neck, finding the spot below his ear. My teeth grazed his skin.
“Neither was she.”
I straightened. “You know I was covering for you, right?”
“What difference does that make?”
“She doesn’t matter.” I traced the line of his jaw with my thumb. His rough stubble rasped against my skin. “No one else does.”
“What are you saying?”
Too damn much. If Salvatore ever discovered I had genuine feelings for a client, Shaw would become a target. “If you can’t figure it out, you’ve been around that moron too long.”
His eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t understand.”
“You don’t need to. Just accept it.” I crushed my mouth against his before he could ask more questions I couldn’t afford to answer.
He didn’t resist. His hands fisted in my shirt to pull me closer as he opened for me. The quiet submission stirred my arousal.
Footsteps clattered above us as a group of students descended the stairs. We froze. If word reached Salvatore that I was meeting a client outside the brothel, the exposure would be lethal.
Yet I couldn’t make myself pull away. I leaned forward and kissed him again to impart sentiments unspoken, perhaps even unspeakable. The danger of the moment only heightened the sensation of his soft lips.
I brushed his cheek with the back of my fingers, following the path of heat down to his lips. They parted under my touch, and I ran my thumb along the plump lower one, transfixed by how it yielded to even gentle pressure.
The voices grew louder. “I’ll see you in our next class,” I said, forcing myself to step away, “provided you can wait until then.”
He swatted my hand. “You’re so arrogant.”
I smirked. “And you fucking love it.”
Walking away from him required more willpower than I wanted to admit.
Shaw was becoming a liability I couldn’t afford, the kind of weakness men like Salvatore exploited until there was nothing left but a corpse and a cautionary tale.
Every soft moment between us was another bullet loaded into a gun I’d eventually have to face.
The smart play would be to cut our attachment before it grew any deeper. Guys like Shaw always landed on their feet, eventually finding someone uncomplicated to love them properly.
Renato understood the game. He knew the rules of Salvatore’s world, the price of every glance and touch. A man like Renato wouldn’t fall in love with me because men like us didn’t get the luxury of romance.
I glanced back once before I forced myself to leave. Shaw stood where I’d left him in the shadows, his fingers pressed to his lips like he was trying to hold the kiss there. His green eyes followed me with something far more dangerous than lust.
He was already falling.
And God help me, the part of me Salvatore hadn’t yet managed to break yet wanted to catch him.