Page 123 of Kneeling to Candy

Oh, Leslie. I’ve got you now.

This time, I won’t let her slip through my fingers. If I have to cut the throats of every man in that suite to take back what was mine all along, so be it. Blood on my hands never stopped me.

The conversation Leslie and I shared minutes ago runs through my head. I’m annoyed I never considered Lorenzo hid her from me. When I went to his brothel, my preference for Leslie was as obvious as a braless chick nipping out in a thin shirt. The mafia prick never was good at sharing his best toys. Figures he’d fabricate a story about Leslie running away, only to hoard her for himself. It’s something I’d do had I been in his place.

Lorenzo’s decision to pull Leslie into the business makes sense. Aside from being phenomenal with the patrons, all the other sex workers looked at her for direction. They relied on Leslie’s experience and knowledge of the clientele, anything to make the job go smoother. She was their mentor, in a sense. I’m irritated with myself for never considering Leslie for the position. She could’ve worked under me in this business—in more ways than one.

The day Lorenzo told me Leslie ran, something inside of me detonated. I got into a verbal altercation with the don, irate he had not monitored her closer, nearly ruining the business arrangement we had. It was one of the few moments Duffy came to the rescue and smoothed things out between our two organizations, also part of the reason I’ve continued a close partnership with the tool. For all his failures, he occasionally comes through.

For months, I searched the streets and dark underbelly of Denver for Leslie. There wasn’t a trace of her, no eyewitnesses, nothing. She was gone.

Imagine my dumb luck while monitoring the arriving guests through the property cameras when my eyes landed on the backside of a tall, slender form with a small heart-shaped bottom. I did a double-take, not wanting to get my hopes up. Yet my hands twitched, muscle memory recognizing the ass it punished more than any other. I needed my eyes on her, to see for myself she was here. Never has anything felt so relieving and devastating in the same blow coming to find she was here and possibly under my nose this entire time.

Now that I know where she is, I will not lose her again—unbridled or not.

She’s different, my Leslie, more confident, bolder than she has a right to be. It thrills me as much as infuriates me.

Time apart without discipline has made her forget her place when in my presence. And yet I like her flexing her muscles, ordering those around her to do her bidding. I wouldn’t mind her behaving like that to others, everyone except for me.

Leslie can rule like a queen. But a queen must bow to her king.

Staring at the wood grain of the door, I press my palm flat against it, like I’m laying claim on the woman housed beyond the barrier.

“Soon, Leslie,” I vow under my breath, pushing away from the door.

“Finn! Have you lost your mind?!” Duffy snaps, panting as he rushes toward me on his stubby legs.

The nerve of this imbecile calling me by my first name. I make one stupid mistake, barging into the don’s suite to confront Leslie, and this tool thinks he can get lippy? Not a fucking chance.

My gun is out of its holster and pointed at Duffy’s forehead in a nanosecond. “Shut that hole in your face before I feed you a full magazine.”

“Jesus!” Duffy’s hands fly up in front of him, a poor attempt to shield himself. “Alright, I’m sorry. Calm down, Cú Sidhe.”

Calm down? As if I could relax. Leslie has returned, and she brought a boy toy. Fuck calm down! I press the barrel of my Glock hard against Duffy’s forehead.

Duffy swallows loudly. His hands are still up in front of him. “Sir, you’re acting irrational.”

He’s right, but I’ll never admit it. Leslie’s sudden return has thrown me off my game. I don’t normally act out—not unless I’m truly and deeply pissed. I keep my head until I’m in a position to unload my frustration, usually by beating the shit out of a piece of ass before fucking her bloody.

This auction already had me on edge with Piero’s attendance. Finding Leslie in his company has set the neurons in my brain into overdrive, causing me to react in reckless ways. If I stand a chance of taking back what belongs to me, I need to get my head on straight.

Grinding my molars, I re-holster my Glock. “I’m fine.”

“Sure,” Duffy huffs in annoyance, not letting down his guard. “Fine if you consider acting like a jealous ex at the sight of seeing Leslie with another dude.”

I raise my hand to smack Duffy across his red face, but the fucker is already hiding behind his hands, peeking out at me between his fingers.

Seeing Duffy cower, it’s sad I considered him partner material. Everything about my business associate is pathetic, from his industry fuck-ups to his less than visually appealing looks. I internally curse myself for not broadening my horizons years ago, for not buying Leslie off Lorenzo and making her my partner in crime when I had the chance. My poor choices make Duffy my burden to bear.

Sighing, I lower my hand. Smacking the shite out of Duffy will do me no good when he needs to start the auction. If I had a replacement for him, I’d be tempted to follow through.

Glowering, I move past Duffy to the stairs. “Don’t bother yourself with matters that have no bearing on you.”

Failing to understand basic social cues, Duffy scampers after me. “If the matter involves swiping Leslie from the head of the Denver mob, then yes. It affects me and our business. You think I can’t see the cog wheels turning in your brain? I bet my last dollar you’re planning on grabbing her.”

“Of course I’m taking her. Leslie is mine!” I rage, turning to face Duffy. He bounces off my chest, unable to break fast enough.

“You mean ours?” Duff challenges, his barrel chest puffed out to look intimidating.

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