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With no warning, I spank her once. Twice. The third one makes a resounding crack that echoes off the alley bricks.
“Guess what I found in your office this morning? A note from someone who thinks you belong to them…”
“You fucking what. Why the fuck were you in my apartment?!” she whisper-shouts.
She tries to turn around, but I spank her a fourth time so hard that she cries out. The red hand print that blooms on her skin is a work of art. If I wasn’t punishing her right now, I’d snap a picture for later.
“Because you’re mine, and no one hurts what’s mine. You never told me someone was after you. Someone is sending you blackmail and threatening you, and you’re sneaking out at night? Do you know how dangerous that is?”
“Yes, which is why I’m using my network to find out who’s trying to fuck with me,” she spits, her voice tense with anger. “Is it you? You’re obviously stalking me.”
“Trust me, I won’t ever have to use threats to have you. You may lie to yourself and pretend you don’t want me, but your wet little pussy and moans in my ear tell me otherwise.” I pull her pants up, and the disappointment on her face makes me laugh. “Only good girls get to come, little killer. Maybe if you’re good, I can sneak back into your room tomorrow.”
Her tough girl mask slams back down as she huffs in exasperation. She checks the time on her phone. “Don’t come through my balcony again, or I’ll shoot you. Excuse me.” She walks around me, toward the alley’s exit.
I grab her arm, spinning her back around. Taking the burner phone from her pocket, I program my number into it and text myself, so I have some way to contact her. Then I pull her into me and kiss her hard and deep, like my life depends on it.
It may as well. The more I touch and taste this woman, the more addicted I become.
She relaxes into me, running her hands through my hair as she kisses me back. Now I don’t want to send her home. I want to spend more time with her, despite how late at night it is.
“Come on,” I say, taking her hand and dragging her along.
“Where are we going? I want to go home.”
“I’ll take you home later, but first I want to take you somewhere nearby.”
“Which is code for kidnapping me,” she deadpans. I don’t think she realizes how close to home her joke hits.
“You got me. I’m going to take you home by force and lock you in my finished basement. There’s a giant television, gaming systems, and a pool table we can fuck on. It’ll be a poppin’ time.”
She busts out laughing. “Wow, a whole few days of lounging around before my family finds me? That’s a vacation, not a kidnapping.”
I hail a taxi and give the driver an address about a block down from our destination. She’s quiet for the majority of the ride, but I catch her staring at me a couple of times from across the back seat. Her big blue eyes always seem to be assessing me, trying to figure me out. I’ve seen them linger on my scar a couple of times like they are now, but she hasn’t asked about it.
“French gave it to me,” I offer.
“The scar?” She reaches out and traces over it. Her fingertips are soft for such a hard woman.
“Yeah. We were on a job and it went…south,” I carefully choose my words in front of the driver. “And I had to jump out of a closed window. He pushed me too soon and the glass cut me.”
“That sounds like an epic story. I’ll have to hear the full version sometime.”
We roll to a stop and I pay the driver. We walk a block down to a nondescript laundromat.
“Lemme guess… It’s a super secret Brigade hideout where you all play cards and eat snacks. Sometimes you watch movies or torture people together for some bonding time?”
Damn, she hit the nail on the head.
“Maybe… We tend not to torture people here, though, because we just got new furniture. It’s brushed leather and stains easily.”
She laughs again, and the sound goes straight to my dick. I use my key to unlock and raise the gate. Then I key in the code for the door and let her in while I relock it again. We walk through the front room, past all the commercial washers and dryers. Then I unlock a door, take us down a staircase, and through another door to my second favorite place. The first is Maddalena’s bed.
Her eyes go wide. There’s not a washer or dryer in sight. The room has an industrial vibe, with exposed beams and brick. It’s dimly lit, cozy. There’s a projector on a blank wall instead of a television, and the aforementioned furniture surrounds the perimeter of the room. In the next room over, I can smell someone cooking something deliciously greasy.
“Maddie!” French shouts from the far end, near the corner. He makes his way over to us, with Whit in tow. A few of the guys look at us in curiosity, wondering who the new woman is.
“Hey French,” she leans in to hug him, but I pull her into my side, wrapping an arm around her to keep her in place. I think of the bikini picture and make a note to fuck with French’s knife collection later.
