I get to work trying to fix the machine, hoping to do so before readers arrive. It’ll suck if we’re unable to ring up all the purchases we are sure to get tonight. We host these readings a few times a month and count on them to float us in between bookings. We’re a small store, with a loyal customer base, and though we’re a long way away from having to shut down, we need the business to keep the doors open.
We run on consignment, taking a percentage of every sale made tonight. For the first time since publishing his debut novel, Tatum is making an appearance and chose Ever After Books to host the signing. This is a huge deal for us, considering his releases always fly off the shelf. So it’s imperative things run smoothly.
I tap the side of the machine then force a shutdown, praying the server backed up our earlier transactions. The register boots back up without a hitch, but I say a silent prayer anyway as I log in to the system. I squeal when the software loads and those daunting zeros are no longer a problem.
Greer and Tatum stare at me as I shimmy, and I stiffen out of embarrassment. Greer isn’t the issue, she’s used to my outbursts, but Tatum isn’t. Now I’ll be viewed as the girl who blurts out and squeals in front of fine-as-heck male authors.
He smiles, which brings one of my own to my lips. I let out a huff and lower my gaze then watch him through my lashes. Tatum winks at me, and yet again another squeal bubbles in the back of my throat, but I push it away, refusing to lose my cool and start fangirling in front of him.
We’re professional here at Ever After Books. Besides, we had our celebratory dance-off when we got the email. We will not have a repeat of that with him only feet away.
The first wave of readers file in, taking seats at the front of the room. Tatum finishes his setup just in time and is sitting back on the edge of the table with one leg crossed over the other.
Soon, more attendees fill the seats, and a sense of pride runs through me. When I look over to Greer, I see that she too is excited about the turnout. We didn’t have long to get ready for this, so getting the word out to readers in the area took work. We set up a ticket system and used social media ads to find an audience.
As the crowd forms, there are no seats left unoccupied. The same sense of pride and accomplishment I felt seconds ago returns and makes its way to my face. I settle at the back of the room, enjoying the show like everyone else.
I don’t know how long it’s been since we’ve started. Somewhere along the way, I got lost in the words. I’ve read this book nearly five times, but there’s something different about hearing the words from the author.
“I push her against the wall, the steel-like erection in my pants now pressing against her ass. A soft moan escapes her at the feel of me, and it brings a groan from deep within my gut. I lift her dress, slapping her ass the moment it’s free from the confines of the fabric. Giana closes her eyes, trying to make sense of it all. A month ago she hated my guts, cursed me every day for taking her against her will. But now, all she wants is to feel me inside her, filling her up and exploding inside her wanting pussy.” Tatum reads the words from the page, seemingly unbothered to be so explicit in a room full of lust-filled women.
“You want him to fuck you, don’t you?” Easton’s voice at my back startles me, and I flinch, a yelp leaving my lungs.
His hand moves to the small of my back, and for whatever reason, every sense is heightened. His touch, his voice, the words from Tatum’s mouth. It excites and scares me all at once.
“Relax, amore, I’m not here to hurt you,” he whispers in my ear.
I swallow and straighten my spine, a part of me knowing I should do as he says and not cause a scene. He let me go last night, after witnessing what I did, but that doesn’t mean he’ll do it again. Or that he’ll extend the same courtesy to everyone in this room.
“Then what are you doing here?” I manage to get out despite the nerves racking my body.
He’s smiling, I can feel the shift of his cheeks, that’s how close he is to me. “We’re having dinner, remember.” It’s not a question but a statement—an order.
“I’m working,” I whisper with my head tilted toward him.
It’s an accident, but I guess I hadn’t realized how close he actually is. So much so our mouths are only separated by strands of my hair. I stare up at him, my breaths a shaky mess. Easton doesn’t speak, only gazes in my eyes then drops his sights to my lips.
I turn away to keep him from seeing how much he affects me. But also not wanting to admit to myself what being around him does to me.
It’s fear.
It has to be, there’s no other logical explanation to me not crying for help or going to the authorities.
I focus on Tatum who’s now looking at me as he continues to read.
“I promised I wouldn’t say anything. You don’t have to worry about me,” I plead with Easton.
My nerves bubble over while I wait for his response. The silence is daunting and deafening all at once. But this is what he wants, to mentally torture me. That’s how it works, right?
The badass crime lord finds who he wants and forces her into submission. Taking, demanding, and consuming until he’s had his fill. But in the books, they never get enough. They hold on tight, bringing the heroine just a bit further into their dark, twisted world until she’s no longer who she was when she met him.
Is that what he plans to do to me? He did ask me out, even after his brother instructed him to end me. Am I going to be his now? Do I even want to be?
“Shut down early tonight,” he finally adds. Easton moves my hair to the opposite side of my head, getting closer despite the fact there is no room left. “And, amore…stay away from him.” He tilts his head in Tatum’s direction.
“W-what are you…” My words fall short when I turn to realize he’s no longer next to me.
I glance around, quickly accepting that he’s left, and the deepest part of me knows it’s only a matter of time until he returns.
Chapter Four
Easton
As the car rolls through the iron gates of my father’s house, I straighten in my seat and button my suit jacket. This is my least favorite part of the day, having to check in with my father like I’m some inadequate kid. But it’s part of the business. He likes to stay in the loop, never mind the fact he’s not the one out there doing the shit.
It’s fucked up if you ask me. He sits within these walls, making demands, running things from the comfort of his oversized desk. Typical mob boss. We do the dirty work, and he carries all the credit. If we were a normal family by society’s standards, people would say his actions prove just how much he cares for us—his children.
We aren’t regular people, though, so family norms mean nothing to him. There’s no sensitivity, no consideration, only what needs to be done to meet the bottom line. We’re a product for him, an army he handpicked, a possession for him to control. The fucked-up part about it all is, we wouldn’t change it for the world. This is what we do: danger, corruption, and murder when necessary. We’re on the frontlines of this battle while he sits comfortably in his mansion, unscathed and unaffected with his fucking cat.
A cat I hate.