Page 51 of Gangsters and Guns


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Chapter Twenty

RORY

I’m still shaken after my meal with Rogan—Mr. Dixen. Getting the Chinese was a spur of the moment decision. I never expected it to turn into a lust filled meal, one in which my heart was pounding the entire time and my stomach was clenching so hard, I could barely eat. My pussy fluttered with each look from him, those eyes locking me in place, so intense, even with the barrier of his glasses. It was as if he could see down to my very core, and the slight smirk pulling up the corner of his plump lips only made me think of having them pressed to mine. Of them running down my body…

Fuck.

I shift on the expensive leather of the Ferrari, trying to concentrate on driving home and not the sexual frustration racing through me.

Who knew Chinese food could be so sexy? Watching the way he ate, the way his corded throat swallowed, and the pull of his shoulders and clenching of his veiny forearms as he reached across the table. And when he brushed that rice off my lip? I swear I nearly came. It was like the meal was just foreplay, and the worst part?

He knew.

He fucking knew.

I saw the knowledge in those whiskey eyes that I’m quickly becoming obsessed with.

He knows what he does to me, but I also know he isn’t unmoved by me.

He’s been watching my body all day. I caught the hunger in his gaze every time he called me into his office for a pointless task. Like emptying his trash so he could stare at my ass. Hell, I even caught the tenting of his slacks when I almost brushed against him while putting his coffee down.

And that was only Rogan. I had three brothers to deal with.

Though I didn’t see Maddox much. Just a few barked orders and snide looks that sent both fear and desire spiraling through me. Alistair was only there until midafternoon, and he mainly flirted and teased me, putting me at ease, even while he made me feel unsure how to act.

He left with a wink and a promise to see me later.

Which left me with Rogan. The genius.

The flicker of intelligence in his eyes draws me in. His office is filled with boards covered in equations that even challenge me. I overheard one of his phone calls about the coding of the website, and I never thought listening to a man explain why they were wrong and how to correct it could be so hot. He’s a perfectionist, it’s easy to see. If one of his pens moved out of line, he instantly moved it back with a narrow-eyed look at it, as if it dared to disobey him.

Gripping the wheel tighter, I weave in and out of traffic, which is still busy at this time. The streetlights shine into the interior of the car, the bright headlights reflecting on the taxi in front of me. The seat heats my ass as I lick my lips, trying to ignore my demanding pussy. She wishes I had given into my desire to beg Rogan to correct me the way he did that pen and his employee, to brush my body the way he did my lip.

These men are going to kill me.

I’ve never had a type, not really, and even though these three couldn’t be any more different, I’m attracted to all of them. Alistair is a playboy, it’s obvious, and a giant flirt, yet when he winks at me or smirks, I melt. Maddox is a controlling monster wearing a human suit, barking orders and continually glaring. Still…I want to push that, to fight back, just to see what he would do. And then the genius, the man who made my pussy quiver with just one promising look and a single grain of rice.

I’m screwed, and not in a good way. How can I work for them when I keep imagining them throwing me over a desk and just fucking me? And all day, the wire burned a hole across my chest as guilt and fear plagued me. What would they do to me if they found it?

After witnessing Maddox’s outburst this morning, I don’t know, but it wouldn’t be good. I need to talk to Bronson and find a different way, a more inconspicuous method so I don’t have to be so scared to get caught when I’m bending over. Especially since all three men seem to have an obsession with staring down my blouse, it’s only a matter of time before they see it.

Then I’m done.

It takes me twice as long to get back to the apartment building due to traffic, and all I want to do is strip off these suffocating clothes and curl into some comfy pajamas and veg on the couch, but that won’t happen. I need to walk Mischief, and I also don’t have any comfy jammies.

Fuckers.

Pulling into my designated parking spot, I kill the engine and raise the door. The sound of my heels clicking against the pavement is loud in the silent parking garage. I shiver at the feeling. It’s so quiet, so fucking big, as if anything could happen here and no one would know. Which is true, isn’t it? I haven’t seen anyone come in and out of the building or garage, which is strange, but my brain is too tired to think about it. Instead, I close the car door and click the lock, the beep following me as I walk to the bank of elevators and wait impatiently for it to reach me.

When it does, I stroll in and stab my finger into the buttons before rubbing my head. I can feel a headache coming on, no doubt from stress and the whiplash of emotions. Either way, I feel it there, the tenderness at the back of my skull. Sighing, I open my eyes as I slowly rise through the building. Pulling down my ponytail, I comb through my hair and scrub at my scalp with a happy moan before reaching down and taking off my heels again.

Fuck them, my feet are killing me, but I will be home in a minute, so I dangle them from one finger as the elevator slows to a stop. A moment later, the door slides open with a ding. I don’t even look at the floor number, too intent on getting home to my baby. Cuddles are needed for sure…and then maybe a cold shower and a glass of wine.

It’s only when I step into the hallway and turn to the right that I realize something’s off. It looks the same as the outside of my apartment, same carpet and colored walls…yet it feels wrong, empty almost, and there are more doors than on my floor. None of them have designated numbers, and the black wood is threatening, naked, and ominous.

A strange noise reaches me, a whimper of pain, before one of the doors is ripped open. I’m glued to the spot, knowing I should run before he sees me, but like prey frozen in a hungry predator’s gaze, I wait there for him to spot me.

And he does. That huge, bulky body turns, his dark hair shining under the lights as his eyes land on me and narrow.

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