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“I just needed to be alone for a while. I didn’t think it would matter, or that you would look for me.”
“The truth, Sasha, that’s what I want right now,” I say, knowing that this goes much more deeply and that she’s much more likely to confide in me in her medicinal haze. She doesn’t respond and instead her head bows.
“Tell me,” I say, lifting her face again with the tip of my finger.
“Nobody wants me,” she says, so softly that I barely hear her.
The fact that this beautiful woman thinks no one wants her makes my blood boil and at the same time makes me want to pummel every man that has ever made her feel that way, and right now Brian Carrington is at the top of that fucking list. “I told you to stay where you were, that I was going to get you something to wear. I was planning to dress you, feed you, and then let you get a good night’s sleep,” I say.
“That’s your job. You have to do that, but you turned me down,” Sasha says, wiping her nose on the back of her hand.
It takes an extreme amount of effort to keep my lips from turning up in a smile. Fucking adorable. My Angel thinks it’s just part of my job to take care of her, doesn’t recall me volunteering, and has no clue that I’ve thought of nothing but her, night after night, since seeing her video, but tonight is not the time to deal with this. She may not even have any recollection of what happened or even this conversation in the morning, and I want her fully conscious when we have that discussion.
“We’ll talk tomorrow. Tonight, I’m taking you back upstairs, and we’re going to get you dressed and fed. Then, Angel, you are going to sleep,” I say, wrapping the blanket around her, placing my hands under her knees and behind her back. She nuzzles into my shoulder, her blonde hair falling over my chest, and that’s all the fucking consent I need as I lift and carry her back upstairs into the guestroom.
We get to the top of the stairs, and the security team is ever present and hovering. “Sasha’s okay. Have Celia send food to her room,” I say, walking past them with her tight in my arms, ignoring the stupid fucking grins of my men as I do.
I lay her on the bed and offer her a cami I secured earlier. “Here, put this on. The material is soft, it won’t hurt your skin,” I say, turning to allow her privacy, although what I really want to do is dress her myself.
“Tell me when you’re done, Angel,” I say, allowing her time at the expense of my sanity and my dick’s raging disagreement.
“I’m finished,” she says a few moments later, and I turn around, seeing the dainty lace of the white cami peek out over the blanket just as a rap on the door lets me know our dinner has arrived.
I ignore the smirk of one of my men as he hands me the tray. I close the door in his face with the toe of my boot and place the tray on the dresser before removing the silver dome from the matching platter. The selections are perfect, including small chunks of beef, vegetables, and fruit that are cut into bite-sized pieces.
I move the tray to the bed and pick up a morsel of the marinated tip, holding it to her mouth. “You need nourishment,” I say as I watch her eyes dilate and her heart-shaped lips encompass the piece of meat I’ve offered. She takes it into her mouth and chews slowly, and fuck if that isn’t the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. Until now, I don’t know if I even knew just how much ensuring the basic needs of a submissive meant to me.
I offer her a piece of grilled sweet potato, and she shakes her head. “Take a bite,” I say.
“Too many carbs,” she replies.
“I decide what you need tonight,” I demand, raising the vegetable to her mouth again.
Her eyes widen, and the pupils in her lovely blue eyes turn dark and hazy as her naturally pink heart-shaped lips encompass my offering, taking the delicious piece of potato into her mouth. She chews leisurely and moans softly, causing my dick to instantly harden. I feed her the rest of the meal, watching intently as she drives me crazy with each piece that graces her perfectly parted lips.
“I haven’t eaten this much in a very long time. I’ll seriously need to fast for a couple weeks after all that food,” Sasha says.
I feel my eyebrows raise and my protective instincts kick in. The thought that this woman believes she needs to deprive herself of essential nutrition to meet some fucking ballet industry standard of weight pisses me off. She can barely weigh over a hundred and ten pounds soaking wet.
I realize she’s not mine, and I have no right to demand she change her eating behaviors regardless of the almost primitive desire within me to do just that. I pull the down comforter around her after she’s fed, watching as she snuggles into the softness and finally drifts to sleep in her medicinal haze. I sit by her bed, continuing to observe her for the next hour, reflecting on the night while I follow the emails and intel coming back from one of our best security agents out in the field. They believe they are close to finding Matt, one of our team members, a previous Chicago Mafia enforcer, who is now undercover, but according to our intel his cover’s been blown. If we don’t find him fast, he won’t live another day.
A message hits my cell, and I read, and then reread it, looking at the angel who has finally managed to fall asleep in front of me.
Sasha is Bernatelli’s daughter. We have an in, a way to get Matt out.
4
SASHA
I wakewith a terrible case of cotton mouth, in a strange place, hours later and all alone. I pull the covers back, grimacing as my back tightens with pain from the wounds I’ve sustained. I pad into the bathroom, taking the lilac robe from the hook. I frown realizing it must be Brian’s new girlfriend’s, but still slip it on before venturing downstairs to the kitchen.
A quick search through the mahogany cabinets finds the glasses, and I fill one with ice cold water from the stainless steel sub-zero refrigerator dispenser. A long steady drink feels refreshing against my parched lips and dry throat, and I barely take a pause before swallowing again and again, finishing the entire glass. Another quick search for Tylenol or something to keep the pain at bay comes up short. I walk down the hall toward the main bathroom, hoping to find something to take the edge off, but stop short outside the door when I hear Jay’s voice.
“You’re sure Sasha’s his daughter,” he says, and my body freezes with a gripping and unparalleled fear. They can only be talking about one person, and that sends a chill down my spine. A man who is revered by the newspapers for all of his community donations, hospital equipment contributions and charity care, a family man and do-gooder, is but a façade, because on the streets of Chicago this man’s name is feared more than anything, and as luck would have it he just happens to be my father.
“We need to find out where Matt is. Once we have the address of the warehouse, we’ll get in, we’ll find a way to get him out without sacrificing Sasha,” Jay says confidently.
I have no idea how anyone found out that I am related to Bernatelli, but just the fact that someone knows it is a possibility will bring nothing but trouble for me and most definitely for them, too. I pad back upstairs and stop by another bathroom, opening the medicine cabinet, and quickly ferret around its contents, relieved to find a half-full bottle of Tylenol. I down a couple and head back to my bedroom, knowing that I am at least safe for tonight, but that it may be short-lived. I will need to get to the bottom of this quickly. If someone knows about me, they know too much to keep my family safe, or even themselves.
