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Fine, maybe he’s handing me over to his uncle. Imagining all the ways he and his thugs will defile me sends chills down my spine. But, goddamn him, he can’t do this to Riley. Or to the girls.
You don’t throw someone a lifeline just to tow them to the sharks.
I have half a mind to tell him I’m on to him. I’m on to you, fucker. And so are the Feds.
In a huff, I stumble to the back of the plane, past the conked-out kids, frustrated that my tequila legs won’t cooperate.
I mentally will them to walk straight, and they sort of do.
I slam through the door like a bat out of hell—a bat who’s really fucked up from the booze—and crash inelegantly on the bed.
Big, bad D’Angelo looks down at me and speaks into his phone. “I’ll have to call you back.”
“Who was that?” I spit out. His mistress? Or maybe he’s cozying up to his uncle again, swapping tips on how to handle me. Bastard.
He smirks, a sinister glint in his eye. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
“When you sell me off?”
He raises one brow—the sexy one—and studies me for so long that I have to look away. I’m getting emotional again, drowning in those rich, golden eyes. “And here I thought I cured you of your fear of flying. How much have you had to drink?”
“Not enough,” I snap, glaring at him through a haze of disappointment and hurt. “Riley,” I utter.
“What about her?” he asks, his tone annoyingly calm.
“You swore you’d protect her. As well as your own sister.” My hand shakes as I point to the door. “And what about the girls? Or”—fuck. What the hell is my dog’s name again?
“I’m taking care of it,” he says so solemnly that I shiver.
“Tonight?” I utter, irritation bubbling up. “When you serve me up on a platter?” When he just sits there watching me, I blurt out, “And what if I call the cops?”
“No, Bella, you won’t. Because cops can’t help. And you’re speaking to the man with half the force in his pocket.”
God, he’s so smug. My big, fat mouth gets ahead of me, ready to teach him a lesson. “Then the Feds will save us,” I slur defiantly.
He kisses my lips. Why do his lips have to feel so good? I swear, I feel his stubble all the way between my legs. “Your only savior is me, Bella. And you will worship me,” he whispers, his fingers tracing my lower lip. “The way I will worship you.”
The world spins as he lifts me into his arms, places me in the center of the bed and begins removing my clothes. Like a total asshole. Being all nice and shit.
I want to resist, but my clothes feel like they’re burning my skin. And I just want them off.
When I’m finally naked and vulnerable, shooting daggers at him with my eyes, he begins to undress. As his shirt falls away, I’m staring straight down the barrel of chiseled abs and a sculpted chest, every muscle defined and taut.
His broad shoulders and inked skin make him a masterpiece, raw and powerful, cold and precise. He moves like hot steel yielding to an inferno. I lick my lips. “A friend of mine, Ricardo, will pick you up from the airport.”
Panic flares, my brow pinching hard. “What about the girls?”
“Dory will see to them,” he says, stroking my head as my lids grow heavy. “The only person you need to worry about is you.”
“I. Hate. You,” I remind him and myself, each word laced with venom.
“Hate?” he asks, brushing several strands of hair out of my eyes. When a tear breaks free, he kisses it. “I promise you, there’s so much more of me to hate.”
My eyes close, and I say it again, mostly in my head. “I hate you...”
“If you hate me now, Bella, you’ll hate me even more tonight.” Hot lips press against mine, and I shudder, feeling his body slide against mine, spreading my legs, his thick length gliding along my entrance.
My treacherous body wraps around him, betraying my resolve. He plunges in with such force that I gasp for air, struggling to take all of him.
