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“Her contract has been terminated as she is no longer a virgin,” he responded with steely resolve. The air stilled as the realization dawned upon them. Anteros had taken a woman already promised to The Institute. Not only would he have to eat the cost of her contract, he’d have to eat the cost of what she might have been worth—meaning the potential highest bidder. Also, to appease The Institute and keep them from getting pissed off that he’d canceled a contract, he would have to pay hush money. What would have been a million-dollar profit for them had turned into more than a hundred-million dollar loss.
Silence settled, awkward, thick, and nervous, until Big O grinned and rubbed his hands together. “We get to keep our own little slaves now? Awesome.”
“You know I don’t care what you do in your spare time so long as it doesn’t affect the business. Take all the women in New York, but if it gets back to me…” Anteros trailed off, his attention dissipating. He looked to Frankie again, watching as Little O stood over her and reached his hand out. Frankie pressed her body against the wall, desperately trying to get away from his groping finger.
“She’s mine,” Anteros growled, surprised at the words that came out. “Back down, Little O.”
“Are you at least going to show us how it works?” Big O asked, but the question sounded faint to him. His focus was entirely on Frankie. He knew Little O would not ignore his orders, but Frankie didn’t. She had painted herself against the wall, fear evident on her features, and in that fear, she had found an escape: him.
“Maybe,” Anteros responded, leaning back against his chair he threw his arms above his head. “Depends on what you have to show me.”
Little O gave Frankie one last calculating look and turned to walk back to the couch. He sat back down, scooching in as best as he could. Pretty Boy and Big O gave a collective groan as they all squeezed in together.
“It’s fucking bullshit that Crazy A always gets the chair,” Big O said, gesturing to a thin man shrouded by shadows in a corner. Anteros paid little attention as they bickered, for Frankie had pulled her knees to her chest, watching them talk from the corner, no doubt hoping they would forget she was there.
Just a fly on the wall.
“Sales for Beauty are great.” Pretty Boy stood up, drawing Anteros’s attention with the status of their new designer drug. There was hesitation in his voice, though. He stood up and walked over to the desk, placing his hands on the wood and leaning in. “I’m worried about Emilio. This plan…” Pretty Boy trailed off and then continued. “Look, I get it man, I do, but don’t you think you should—” Anteros reached across, grabbing Pretty Boy by the throat. None of the other men raised a brow as Anteros's fingers curled across the beautiful man’s throat and his face purpled.
A gasp sounded from the corner.
“I must be mistaken.” Anteros squeezed tighter. “Because it sounded like you were about to tell me what I should do.”
“Stop!” Frankie screamed. Anteros looked to Frankie curiously and let go of Pretty Boy, eyebrow raised.
“You have an admirer, Pretty Boy,” Anteros said with black humor. Pretty Boy sat back down, rubbing his neck silently. Unlike Little O and Big O, Pretty Boy’s name was not ironic. Nico “Pretty Boy” Genovese was beautiful and Anteros was not surprised that Frankie was taken with him. Too bad Pretty Boy was one of the cruelest, darkest among them—other than Crazy A. Frankie locked eyes with Anteros, presumably waiting for her punishment.
Anteros stood up and walked around his desk. She crouched into the shadows, as if she could hide from him. He gripped her arm and tugged her up from the floor then dragged her the few feet to the desk. He threw her on the wood and her eyes met his, hot with defiance. He trailed a finger down her proffered body, enjoying the way she shivered even though she turned her head. Taking her elbow, he held her tight.
Frankie tightened in his hold then went slack.
Defeated.
But only for a moment. She kicked his shin, taking him by surprise, then spat in his face.
“You are the devil.” Hair fell across her face with the force of her anger.
“Maybe,” he responded, pulling her by the wrist. “But you are in my hell, and in hell, the devil is among friends.” He gestured to his Wolves for emphasis then pinned her to his desk. She tried to scamper across the surface but he grabbed her by the ankle, pulling her back. He flipped her over then spread her legs, putting himself between them.
He had to punish her now; the Wolves would be expecting it and there were certain things even a Boss couldn’t deny. Though this wasn’t the first time he’d seen a punishment happen, he oddly found himself situating his body so no one could really see hers. Her naked parts were mostly shielded by him. Still, Frankie would feel exposed. She wouldn’t know he hid her.
“What do you say, boys?” Anteros dragged his fingers down her pussy, splitting her wide. “Want to hear her scream?”
“A little thing like that?” Big O scoffed from behind him. “Doubt she has much voice.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised,” Anteros said. As he caressed a finger along her pussy lips, she tried to stay still, tried not to let him affect her. Even then, she tried to be cool. He raised his brow slightly, surprised at how wet she was. She was practically leaking onto his finger. That tug inside him amplified, growing to a throb. In his life, he’d been cut, shot, stabbed—just to name a few. He had scars all along his abdomen and arms from knives and bullets. Right then, feeling how her body betrayed her, it was like he could feel a bleeding wound inside of him.
It was as if something was missing.
He looked down at her, distantly wondering if there was something in her matching the thing missing in him.
Fuck. He shook his head. What the fuck was happening to him? That sounded like some kind of pussy bullshit. Anteros pinned her harder, shaking his head out harder.
“Please,” Frankie pleaded, but Anteros could see the plea wasn’t meant for him. He followed her gaze until he met Pretty Boy’s. Ah. Beauty had tricked her, made her think she had an ally. Pretty Boy checked with Anteros to make sure it was okay, and Anteros gave him a silent nod. Standing up off the couch, Pretty Boy walked over to the side of the desk, getting down on his knees so he was eye level with Frankie.
“Shhh.” Pretty Boy lifted her chin to his. “It’s all right.” Anteros felt her slacken, felt the tension uncoil from her limbs, relief evident in every muscle and sinew. Gently, Pretty Boy put a strand of hair behind her ear. Anteros coiled his hands into fists at the gesture but exhaled. He had given Pretty Boy permission because there was no one better than Pretty Boy to teach her this lesson.
Pretty Boy put his lips to her ear. “How loud will you scream for us?”
