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He held me down in front of his father and I held a gun to his head.
It was a tiny sliver of retaliation he'd allowed me to have.
Because I knew Trigger had given me that – he had allowed me to take revenge on him – and that infuriated me the most.
He never brought it up again, though. He never mentioned what I did to him that night – not even when he made me mad, taunting me with his mind games of other whores, and I poked him in his Ashton-inflicted cut.
He was a clever wolf.
Now, we were living side by side, not as man and wife like I had always hoped.
No, now we were mobster and whore.
I had his protection and he had my body. It was a decent exchange given the world I had been born into.
Most women in my position would be eternally grateful to be claimed by a man that didn’t beat or loan their bodies out.
Most women would be grateful for the sanctuary of a safe haven with their own guard.
I wasnotmost women.
I was not satisfied with being his live-in whore when I had once been his equal.
"Your doing, not mine…"
Today was Saturday, and like every other Saturday that had passed since we met nine years ago, Trigger dressed in his finest suit, ready for confession.
Concealing his gun holster, he combed his black hair into slick, sexy-as-hell submission, placed an ancient set of rosary beads in his shirt pocket, and grabbed his prayer book from the drawer of his nightstand.
Trig offered me a devilish wink and, without another word, moved for the door, leaving me on his bed, staring after him.
"Wait!" I called out, scrambling off the bed and hurrying after him. "I want to come with you."
Not bothering to answer me, he snatched a set of keys from Patrice and continued a conversation with him in the doorway of the bedroom.
"Yo sabes lo que tienes que hacer. No dejes a nadie a dentro o afuera de esta habitación. Si él viene, envíalo lejos. Si él persiste, llámame."
"You already know what to do. Do not let anyone in or out of this room. If he comes, send him away. If he persists, call me," I parroted their conversation back to them in English, word for word. "Fools, why bother speaking in a different language when youknowI can translate?"
"Ella es un dolor en el culo," Patrice grumbled.
I rolled my eyes.
"Sí," Trig chuckled. "Ella es."
"Tell this asshole that I can understand every word he says. Tell him that his preciousjefetaught me," I growled, vibrating with frustration, as I tugged on his arm like a freaking toddler demanding attention. "And maybe I wouldn't be such apain in the ass– as he so-kindly put it – if you stopped ignoring me!"
Trig's lips twitched and I could tell that he was fighting a smile. Finally, he turned his attention to me. "Yes,corderito?" His eyes twinkled with amusement. "How can I please you today?"
"Take me with you," I whined, craning my neck back to look up at his sickeningly handsome face. The instant his dark eyes locked on mine, my clit throbbed with excitement. I was disgusting. "Please," I added, tightening my hold on his arm. "I'm bored."
"You do not pray," he stated, watching me with an amused expression. "Why do you wish to come to mass?"
"Because I want to come, that's why," I huffed, folding my arms across my chest. "Can I come or not?"
He smirked down at me. "Not."
Irritation rose to life inside of me. "I'm not a dog, Trig. You can't just leave me here in this room all day and come home to pet me at night."
