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The moment her body relaxes, melting into the bed once more, I pull my cock from her warmth. Gripping it in my fist, I knock her legs apart and they fall to either side of me, displaying her pretty little cunt. I don’t even need to pump my cock, it’s already spraying my load from the sight of her alone.
A shot lands right against her scar, a second directly above it, and with a tilt of my cock, the rest of them land below her cleavage. She watches me, exhaustion in her gaze mixed with utter appreciation that quickly morphs into a pout.
“I wanted you to cum inside me,” she whines, the tone coming across as one of her attempts at faking emotions, but I know there’s truth behind her words.
“That can be arranged, amante,” I mumble, knowing it was my plan all along.
Running my hand up her thigh, still not past the point of wanting to touch her as much as possible, I reach her lower abdomen. I rub in my cum where it rests over her scar, a silent promise she’ll probably never know about… that I’ll never let anything like that happen to her ever again. She sucks in a surprised breath, and before she can voice any thoughts, I lean forward and lick the puddle of cum resting below her cleavage, holding it in my mouth.
She carefully follows my movements, her eyes flashing with surprise when I grasp her head between my palms, angling it to the side. Shifting my grip, my thumb on either side of her cheeks, I open her mouth and slip her my cum, feeding it to her as our tongues tangle. Something I’d never in a million years thought I’d do, but there’s no length I wouldn’t go to turn her on. She greedily sucks at my tongue, letting out a whimper after she swallows the salty liquid.
Fucking hell… if her passion doesn’t threaten to make me hard again. If she wasn’t so exhausted, I’d keep kissing her until my cock was ready, but instead, I roll to the side, pulling her into me so we both can get some sleep.
“You’re mine, Reginetta. Never forget it.”
Chapter 7
Vander
“The boy collapsed due to exhaustion, we’re lucky one of our guys found him in the middle of the road before he was run over,” a deep, sharp voice says, pulling me back to consciousness.
Where am I?
I blink my eyes open to find I’m in the underground medical room at the club. How did I get here? The doctor notices I’ve woken and holds a glass to my lips with a straw in it. “Drink,” he orders.
I do as he says, trying to figure out why I’m here. I was doing something… something important. Suddenly the doctor is pushed aside and the Don is standing in his place. He leans over me, his face inches from mine with anger etched across his features. “Where’s my figlia? Who took her?”
“Sir, he needs to rest. Riling him up right now isn’t the—“ The doctor cuts off when the Don flashes a glare in his direction and reaches for his gun.
One second everything is all a blank—trying to remember the last thing I was doing and there’s a solid black wall, but then it comes back with a flash of clarity. My Reginetta was kidnapped. She was stolen right in front of me and there was nothing I could do to save her.
“Vander,” the Don calls sharply, pulling my attention back to him. “I need you to tell me everything that happened. We need to find my figlia. Now.”
Panic crashes in my chest, ripping my heart apart, but he’s right, we need to get her back. I tell him every little detail I can remember. What the men looked like, along with the details about the car, and most of all, I tell him about how Frank did nothing at all.
When I’m done, he turns sharply, striding quickly for the door. I move to follow him, but a hand is pressed to my chest, halting my movement. “You need to rest. I have to do an examination now that you’re awake,” the doctor tells me.
“That shit can wait! My Reginetta comes first. Always,“ I spit out, pissed as fuck he would try to stop me. There’s more important things to do right now than fuck around with my health. Dashing from the room, I quickly catch up to the Don. He’s already snapping out orders for the men waiting in the hallway.
“Get me Kneecap Frank and bring him to interrogation. I need answers.” He storms past the men heading for the security room where our tech guy would be standing by. I know he’ll pass on the information I gave him. Ordering them to search for camera footage that can hint to where the car went or give a shot of the men who took her.
Instead of following, I head for the interrogation room. I’ve already been training to take over as an enforcer in the future. But my training hasn’t only focused on the skills needed to torture and kill. I’ve also been taught how to make sure there’s no trace of the body left afterward. There’s no such thing as a childhood in the mafia. They exposed me to the violence years ago. Had me watching them torture people from the age of five. I killed my first man at eight, and now they have me honing my skills at torture and assassinations.
Reginetta has been the only happiness in my life for years now. It’s no wonder it feels as if a black hole is closing in on me. I’m drowning in fear, and the ability to fear was beat out of me long ago. Only that sweet little girl could inspire my dead heart to feel anything at all.
There’s a permanent display of tools to use, all cleaned and lined up to be ready at a moment’s notice. That’s typically how these things go. It’s not like we can plan out exactly when someone will be stupid enough to try and betray us. When the wrong person will cross into our territory and can offer information. I mean… sometimes we can plan it out, but nine times out of ten, we don’t. It’s all spur of the moment, a twenty-four hour, seven days a week job.
I stare at the tools, trying to put together a plan. Most tactics take time. A careful balance of sleep deprivation, beatings, a hood… it all takes time. Time we don’t have. They could be doing anything to her right now, and I can’t stand the thoughts of all the depraved things that could happen to her. I know too much about the tactics we use on our enemies. Image after image of her hurt, bleeding, assaulted, and even worse, dead, flash through my mind.
The trash can is only a few feet away, and yet I barely make it in time before I’m spewing what little contents are in my stomach. Please let her make it out of this alive.
I’m not sure how long I’m lost to the fear and agony ripping me apart, but I’m startled out of it when the Don and his men drag Kneecap Frank into the room. There’s a bag over his head keeping him from seeing anything. Good. It will already have been stroking his fear to higher levels. They shove him in the chair and tie his arms and legs with coarse rope. Any attempts to free himself will shred at his skin.
Someone turns off the main overhead lights, leaving a single bulb shining over his head, like a spotlight pointing out all of his sins. It throws the rest of the room in shadows, making it infinitely harder for him to see who’s doing the torturing. Anything to add more fear to the situation. Something had to break inside me before I realized it’s one of the best parts of what I do. The fear feeds me, makes me strong enough to make it in this world. And I need some of that strength right about now.
“Move, kid,” my father—the top enforcer—orders, shoving me in the chest.
The action draws the attention of the Don. “Leave him be. He’ll prove his worth and exactly how far his devotion for my daughter goes.”
