Page 40 of A Debt So Ruthless

I stare at his profile, dumfounded.

“Free?” I echo in disbelief. The diamond collar around my neck tingles. I want to rip it off, dangle it in front of his face and ask him, Does this look like free to you?

Neither of us speak for a while. There’s no music on in the car, and the only sound is the bleating of my broken heart in my chest. I watch the lights of downtown Toronto pass the window like fallen stars and wonder how the rest of the world can just keep on turning, just keep on being beautiful, when mine has entirely collapsed.

When we get close to the AGO, Elio finally speaks again. A sudden, casual declaration.

“You can always put a bullet in his head. That’s what I did.”

My hands squeeze into fists in my lap.

“You killed your own father?” I shouldn’t be surprised by that. Elio’s ruthless. It’s what he’s known for.

He laughs, but the sound is dark and brittle.

“Trust me, he deserved it.”

“Trust you?” I respond with my own bitter laugh. The laughter dies in my throat when leather brushes the back of my neck. Elio fists the chain of the beautiful collar beneath my hair.

We’re at the AGO now, and he stops the car. Outside, a young valet jogs through lightly falling snow towards us.

Elio leans in at the same time he tugs the chain, forcing me sideways towards him. He speaks close to my ear, not touching it, but even so a shameful shiver runs through me, zinging in my nipples and my clit, rekindling the earlier arousal.

“You’re going to have to trust me, Songbird.”

His breath is the barest brush of sensation on my skin, but it explodes through me. His leather-bound knuckles rest against the top of my spine, prickling and hard and soft all at once.

“This city is a snake pit. And the only one who can keep you safe here now is me.”

Chapter 18

Deirdre

The cold air feels good on my skin when I step out of the car. Elio holds the door for me, his gaze a hot contrast to the winter night. Plump snowflakes hit my shoulders and hair, and I know if I’m out here too long I’ll freeze my ass off. But for now, it’s heaven.

Curse appears seemingly out of nowhere, startling me as the valet drives the car away. The two brothers bracket my body, both of them keenly alert, like bodyguards, reminding me of the other dangers that still lie in wait for me.

Elio’s gloved hand finds the back of the necklace again, and I buck against his touch.

“No way. You’re not walking me in there like a dog,” I say. Elio doesn’t look at me, his gaze sweeping back and forth over the snowy street. But shockingly he releases the chain.

Only to settle his hand on my lower back. My bare lower back. So low his fingertips dip beneath the fabric of the dress and settle on my hip.

“Better?” he asks as we enter the art gallery.

No. It’s ten times fucking worse. Because instead of just humiliation, now I’m once again feeling the electric bite of arousal. The surface of his glove is cool at first, but the longer his hand is on my skin, the more heat I feel penetrating the leather. Seeping into me. Branding me. This is insane, getting turned on solely from his hand on my back. His hand! The man who took me, who caged me, who claims he owns me. But though I try to fight the sensations, I can’t deny them. It feels like his hand is sinking right through my spine and into my pelvis, stirring and squeezing inside with cruelly expert precision. With the mere press of his palm, the claim of his fingers, he’s playing my body with a mastery I could never hope to achieve at the violin. Not in a hundred fucking years.

We head towards the entrance tables, and the brothers don’t even toss a glance at the two young women collecting tickets. There’s a line-up of attendees waiting to hand over their tickets, and I burn with their gazes as we pass right by the line. I wonder which of the dazzling women and men in suits are part of Elio’s world, and which are just regular rich people out for a night on the town. Do they know who Elio is? Do they know who I am?

Can any of them help me now?

I think about twisting and looking back at those people, waiting so patiently in line. The people following the rules while Elio ploughs right through them, dragging me along with him. I think about calling out to them, begging them to save me. But I don’t, because maybe I’m a coward like my father has turned out to be.

Or maybe I’m weak in other ways. Worse ways. Because Elio’s hand is still there on my back, and it’s like he’s bound me with that simple touch. It’s like I can’t speak, can’t even breathe if he doesn’t allow it. I let him guide me further into the building, and I want to pretend I walk numbly, like an automaton. But I’m not numb. Every nerve is ragged and raw. My whole body in turmoil. Tumultuous waves of quivering heat rise, fall, crash. I hate it, and hate him for making me feel it.

But even the hate doesn’t ease my aching clit. My over-sensitive nipples.

I wonder if the hate makes it worse.

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