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She never had a chance to put them back on.
Which means there’s just a thin layer of sun-yellow fabric between me and that pussy.
And my cock knows it.
Somehow I manage to stand still, stay silent, act cool even though I’m burning up inside with conflict that roils my core. I’m a dominant beast when my cock takes over, but I’ve never been aroused by a scared woman, never been turned on by a woman’s pain, never been interested in being with anyone unless she wants it, unless she craves it, unless she fucking begs for it. But shit, I’m this close to getting my brains blown out, and as bad as this might be for Yolanda, her life gets a hundred times worse if I’m dead. Kazi’s already made fifty grand off her, and I’m pretty sure that if he kills me, he won’t bother to auction Yolanda off tonight. He’ll take her himself, his filthy cock invading her secret space even before my dead body goes cold. The monster will either fuck her to death or just execute her with a bullet once he’s had his fill.
Which means there isn’t much choice here.
Not for Yolanda, and not for me.
Either I get it up and get it on . . .
Or the next time we meet will be the Great Beyond.
But as I nod my head and feel the possessive dragon-fire flash in my dark heart, watch Kazi shut down his mother’s protests and snap his fingers for his thugs to clear the room, I realize the problem isn’t going to be passing this test.
It’s going to be holding myself back.
Because although there’s maybe a hint of a decent man in me buried under a lifetime of dark decisions, the truth is I’m more dragon than knight.
More wrong than right.
More darkness than light.
5
YOLANDA
The lights go down in the cold auction hall, but inside me everything is blazing bright and hot. All the Russian thugs have been kicked out, leaving just Kazi and his grumbling mother.
And this brooding biker who’s walking towards me now.
I back up without realizing it until my ass bumps against the blunt wooden edge of the table. It’s a heavy rectangular table, long with wooden benches on either side, the kind you see at Eastern European beer halls. My weight presses the table’s edge into the cushion of my ass, but the table doesn’t budge an inch.
The biker named Murphy stops just inches away from my body. He smells of oiled leather and strong whiskey, with hints of gasoline and gunsmoke lingering in the air around him.
“My name’s Brock,” he whispers gently, his voice barely audible, certainly low enough that Kazi and his bitch of a mommy can’t hear. “You know I have to do this, right? We’re playing this game for our lives here. I wish there was another way out, but the only alternative is a bullet in my head, which doesn’t help you much.”
“Doesn’t . . . doesn’t help me at all,” I stammer softly, my voice low and husky as my body trembles even though Brock hasn’t touched me yet. My eyelids flutter when I realize my heart is thumping like an excited rabbit beneath my boobs. It doesn’t feel like fear. God knows I’ve felt enough fear the past few days to know it pretty darned well. No, this isn’t fear at all.
It’s relief.
It’s excitement.
It’s arousal.
Now Brock touches me, his fingertips grazing my burning cheeks, tracing their way softly along the bruise where Kazi hit me. His green eyes are warm and soft, even though there’s a darkness back there which sends a tremor through me, like Brock is desperately trying to be a decent man, trying to restrain some part of himself that scares me as much as it intrigues me.
“You’re strong,” Brock whispers as he caresses my cheek, then drags his fingertips down along my neck. “You’ve survived hell to make it here, to give yourself a chance. And you saved my damn life in the process by stopping Kazi from pulling that trigger.”
My eyelids flutter again, a blush burning its way onto my cheeks as Brock teases the thin shoulder strap of my sundress. “Well, you saved my life by paying fifty thousand dollars to . . . to buy me.”
My entire body tightens as I say those words while looking into his eyes. Because in those eyes I see a flicker of possessiveness, like maybe what he said to Kazi about wanting me, about craving me, about claiming me wasn’t total bullshit.
Brock closes his eyes now, his big Adam’s apple moving as he swallows, like he’s trying damn hard to suppress something bad rising up in him. His fingers close around my shoulder-strap like he’s about to rip my dress off. But then he exhales and I feel him regain control of whatever beast in him is trying to take over.
Trying to take over and take me.
