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“What is this, Leandro?”
“Don’t say my name here. Not until we’re alone.”
“Yes, master.” I hang on his arm as instructed. His big, muscular arm. No one can hurt me anymore. Joey was rat scum. This man is a fucking enforcer.
Me, a former Lucrazi by marriage, about to have my way with the most dangerous Rigiano there is.
The Holiday Inn sign is half-broken, with only some of the letters lighting up. I notice a strip mall beyond the trees to my left, and some kind of convention center behind me. The parking lot is packed for the type of semi-rural area it is.
He holds the door for me and motions gently for me to go first. Not even a small part of me thinks about running to the man at the front desk and begging for him to call 911. That ship sailed when I refused Arnold. The girls mean too much to me. Would they do the same? I’d like to think so. Maria saved Anabel’s life. Gabby is one of my oldest friends. And a not-so-small part of me needs to see where this is leading with Leandro.
“Reservation for Landon Hutching and Elisa Hutching. I’ll be paying cash today, thank you.” Leandro has that stupid drawl again. He’s so bad at it.
Still though, he’s smart. His collar is flipped up so his tattoos are hidden, but he doesn’t understand that danger is written all over his eyes.
The clerk does a double take, but I try to disarm him with my smile.
“C’mon, hunnie, I’m tired,” I say in a similar stupid accent, pouting.
“You lovebirds here for the convention? God, can’t tell you how busy it’s been ’cause of it.” The man doesn’t let us reply, but assumes because of Leandro’s suit that there couldn’t be another reason.
I’m internally fighting a lot of questions back. Is this part of his scouting job? Or was he just prepping last night, and tonight is…
My heart pumps louder in my ears. I don’t want to be near anymore murder.
Then why is there growing heat in between my legs?
The clerk hands us our keycards and wishes us a pleasant day.
I think back to when Leandro shot Joey three times in my home. After the shock wore off, I’m not sure how I felt about it. All the times he abused me. That one time he was drunk and branded me with a damn fire-poker when I threatened to leave. He was a true piece of shit…
I stare up to his killer as we wait for the elevator.
“Not a word,” he whispers as he scopes the area for cameras.
The ride up to the room is filled with silent tension. I want to slip out of my jeans and wrap my legs around him. I note the tacky linoleum floors tarnished with scuffs and dust bunnies, the smell of lemon Pledge, and trays left out of every room on our way to ours.
I don’t care. I don’t need the Waldorf. Just fuck me in four walls.
When I scratch at his stomach to test the waters, he doesn’t pull away. Though I wonder if it’s more for the cameras.
Once we get into the room, he’s immediately running his fingers up the orange-wood panel – checking for something. Wire-taps? Bugs?
He tosses his duffel bag onto the bed and points for me to sit and be quiet. I can’t help but stare at the bulge in his pants as he stretches to his tiptoes. A patch of skin peeks through when he reaches toward the ceiling – all I notice is a set of perfect abs and a crazy indent leading to his dick.
I don’t even realize that my finger is in my mouth. A part of me wants to help him get whatever he’s doing done so I can fast-forward to whether or not he’s going to rip my clothes off.
God, am I turning into Anabel?
Would Anabel kill me in my sleep if this does happen?
My nerves pinch me all over. I kick off my flats and feel the comforter under my toes. I do the same with my fingers. The sense of touch keeps my arousal going.
Leandro stomps past me, and my eyes follow. He doesn’t even glance at me. He’s in his zone, making sure the kill is perfect. There’s something so hot about it. Knowing now for sure that he’s not going to kill me, I feel… I don’t know… like I’m on his team.
He peers out the window toward the convention center, and positions the shades just so. Then he rips open the duffel bag in a way that could easily have been him parting my legs. I’m drenched down there at this point, and the rifle he pulls out of the bag just makes it worse.
What the hell has come over me?
