Page 4 of Tilly
That’s right, asshole. You should be fucking scared.
I own most of the pigs in this city. Everyone has a price. You just have to find out what it is. And if they don’t submit to being bribed at the get-go, they will… once you dig up all of their dirty fucking laundry and hang it over their heads.
“Where the fuck is she?” I growl, causing every head in the joint to turn my way.
“W-who?” the kid stutters out.
“Matilda Valentino. One of you fuckers cuffed her and brought her in. So, like I said, where the fuck is she?”
“Ah, Murphy took a girl into interview room three,” one of the detectives speaks up from a desk on the right.
“What are the charges?” I’m curious as to what the fuck they think they have on her. That girl is pure fucking innocence.
“Prostitution…”
My eyes widen, and my fists clench at my sides. “What the fuck did you just say?” I ask through gritted teeth. “Forget it. Which way?”
He points to a closed door and I stalk over and tug it open. My glare hones in on Tilly right away. She’s seated at the table, her wrists still bound and her head down. “Remove those now.” I point at the cuffs as I step into the room.
“Who the fuck are you?” the sergeant asks.
I feel someone rush in behind me, a detective I recognize. “Do what he says, Murphy, now.”
“Why the fuck should I?”
“Because if you don’t, I’ll break your fucking hands and make you remove them with mangled fingers,” I growl out. The whole time I don’t take my eyes off Tilly’s face. She’s staring back at me, her brown eyes big and wide. There’s no fear there, though. A little bit of embarrassment maybe, but not an ounce of fucking fear.
“Are you threatening a police officer?” Murphy pushes to his feet, as if the change in position will somehow shift the power dynamic here. It won’t.
“No, not threatening, promising,” I tell him.
“Fuck. Mr. Gambino, sorry.” The detective maneuvers around me, walks over to Tilly, and uncuffs her. I reach for her arm and pull her upright. “This interview is over—scratch that. It can’t be over because it never fucking happened.”
“You can’t do that,” Murphy says.
“I already did,” I tell him. I’ll deal with his ass later. After I take Tilly home.
I turn around and walk out, tugging Tilly behind me. My fingers clench around her wrist. Fuck, I shouldn’t have touched her. Her skin is soft, smooth under my fingers. Too soft. Too smooth. And way too fucking intoxicating.
Tilly is silent. She doesn’t say a word as I open the passenger door for her and usher her inside. As I climb into the driver’s seat and pull out into the traffic. It’s not until I park in front of my house thirty minutes later that she turns to me with a questioning look on her face.
“Where are we?”
“My place,” I grunt before opening my door. Then I walk around to her side and hold out a hand.
Surprisingly, she doesn’t hesitate to take it. “Why?”
That’s a good fucking question. Why the fuck did I bring her here?
“I don’t know.” I shake my head and pull her through the house.
It’s cliché as fuck to say. But it doesn’t make it any less true. Matilda Valentino is not like most girls. She doesn’t blink an eye when we brush past the armed guards. She’s not stunned by any of the opulence. And she doesn’t question what it is I do. Because this is exactly how she grew up too.
With that mental reminder, I drop her hand like her touch alone is going to burn through me. Then I walk into my bedroom and into my closet, pulling out a t-shirt. When I turn back around, I find Tilly waiting in the middle of the room. Staring back at me.
“Put this on,” I tell her.
“Why?” she asks.
