“You mean, outside?” she asked suspiciously.
“Yes, outside. Unless you prefer to ride my cock, then we’ll need to stay indoors. I don’t need any spectators posting my shit on social media,” I quipped. “As I said, it’s quite impressive, or so I’ve been told.”
“I…um…”
She chewed on her bottom lip, wringing her hands together. I had the sudden craving to draw it into my own mouth and suck on it until her pussy quivered with need. That was exactly why we needed to get the fuck out of here for a few hours. I was this close to doing something I couldn’t take back.
“If you’d rather we stayed here…”
“No, no. It’s just…I am coming back, right?”
I let the question hang in the air between us. Her fear I could accept, her contempt? Not so much. She could stew in it as long as it kept her mouth shut. She said it herself, I had a pitch-black heart, so why not let her see it firsthand?
CHAPTER 10
Otelia
MAC HUSTLED THE two of us away in his fancy sports car minus the slew of bodyguards. I had no idea where we were going. I was just happy to be away from that suffocating penthouse. Five thousand square feet or more, and it felt as if I were stuck in an ice box, the air too thick to stay rooted, the walls closing in on me. If I had access to my cell phone, I might’ve been able to fake it until I made it, but that wasn’t the case. I was naked without my armor while a deadly scorpion was crawling up my leg, ready to sting me. Dramatic as fuck, nonetheless, still true. I reached the census that the mob boss and I would remain enemies until this thing was over, yet he somehow managed to check off a few more boxes on my “Things Odie looks for in a man” column with this impromptu ride, much to my dismay.
Aston Martin was my dream car, no, scratch that. It was the epitome of class and style in my book—sleek, beautiful lines, impressive speed. I’d wanted one since the age of sixteen and first got my driver’s license. Mac, the lucky bastard, had two at his disposal parked in the underground garage—one black and one red. He gave me the choice of which one I wanted us to take. Without hesitation, I chose the black. When I slid into those buttery leather seats all nice and cushy, I groaned in appreciation of her beauty. That gleeful feeling of contentment didn’t last very long. Memories had a way of doing that to a person when they least expected it, and this car brought back too many to count.
Mac slid behind the wheel muscled and confident. He had no idea the chaos running through my head as we sped along the streets of Remington. I could’ve throttled him for bringing up my past, a personal treasure I’d hidden from the world, never to be spoken of until the day my promise was fulfilled. He thought me stupid—I saw it on his condescending face when he asked about high school graduation. I could guarantee that whatever he thought he knew about me barely scratched the surface. He didn’t get to have that part of me. No one did. His need for information struck me as odd and unnecessary considering we were only meant to spend a few more hours together. Why would he bother?
“You seem awfully quiet over there, a first for your rambling ass,” he interrupted my thoughts. “If I had known ahead of time a car ride would get you to shut up, I would’ve suggested it earlier.”
“Just wondering where you’re taking me,” I lied. “Unless it’s somewhere near a deserted airstrip where a private jet is waiting to whisk me away to Argentina.” His hands gripped the steering wheel tighter as I reminded him of the threat he’d made to Marcus.
“No jets,” he replied, impassive. “That said…I may need to hire one if this shit goes bad tonight. You better pray your boy comes through, or else…”
I let that ominous retort die in the air while Mac continued to drive along the highway. We came upon a structure I recognized immediately; as a matter of fact, I’d just recently visited there in search of a new couch. The store, Tugboat Furniture, was still due to the early hour and wouldn’t open until eleven. We pulled around back, where we were greeted by three gray metal bay doors at the bottom of a landing. A sign posted read Deliveries Only, which Mac ignored and kept right on driving.
What the fuck is he doing?
Almost as if by magic, the minute we reached the bottom of the concrete hill, the door furthest to the right opened of its own accord. I sat up straighter in my seat, trying to get a better look at things as we eased inside. After a series of dips, dives, and turns, we came to an open space similar to an outdoor parking lot of sorts. There was a VIP section cordoned off from the rest facing a huge black door. A ginormous man wearing a dark suit and, weirdly, a pair of sunglasses stood guard outside the entrance. I turned to Mac, who was busy slamming the gears before removing his keys.
“What the hell is this place, Mac?” My voice was strained with panic.
He flashed a sideways grin. “Come, I’ll show you.”
Reluctantly, I unhooked my seatbelt in time to watch him round the hood of the car and open the door for me like a true gentleman. He helped me from my seat by extending a hand, which I reached for without hesitation. It was warm and calloused. The feel of it caused an automatic zing to shoot up my arm while taking my breath. All things being equal, I much preferred to stay in the car at that point. Shit was straight up creepy. This didn’t make a lick of sense. We were underground in some secret caldron surrounded by macabre darkness and dread, and he wanted me to go inside? Hell to the no, fuck that shit. The big man with the shades proceeded to call him sir with a dip of his chin. His meaty paws grabbed the handle of the heavy door and wrenched it open. I pulled up short before we entered.
“Mac?” I whispered his name like a prayer. “Please…”
“It’s safe, Otelia. I promise nothing will happen to you as long as you’re with me. You’re my guest, remember? I always take care of my guests.”
“Still, I think we should talk about this for a minute,” I implored him. “What if the boogie man is down there…or up there…or where ever the fuck? What if the ghost of Lizzy Borden is lying in wait for us to walk through those doors so she can chop our heads off with her ax? I really don’t think you’ve thought this through, Mac.”
The bastard smiled.
Then he shook his head.
Then he smiled again. Fucker.
“Relax, take a deep breath. You’re getting all worked up for nothing.”
Easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one pissing in their pants, or in my case, their skirt. I thought about running, but where would that get me? Surely, Mac would follow, or worse yet, send that mountain of a man to tackle me to the ground similar to what happened last night. I could do without another knock to the head, thank you very much. Fear caused my eyes to water. I didn’t want to go in, yet I didn’t really have a choice.
“Otelia, look at me.” Mac drew me towards him with a tug, deep within his body. His deft fingers tunneled into my scalp, where his palm massaged the strands of hair closest to the nape. My eyelids closed to half-mast. Tumbling swiftly, I descended further and further into his masculine glamour. Ignoring my earlier premonitions of misgivings, I fell over the cliff into paradise. His spine-tingling smell intoxicated my senses, overpowered the lingering nerves that locked my knees in place. I wanted to cling to him until this nightmare was over; maybe then I’d feel safe instead of what I felt at that moment.