Page 40 of Contracted

“Move it,” Jarrod hissed, shoving me from behind as I slowed at the last step.

I stumbled, but I didn’t have time to react, not when the driver stepped aside to reveal a short, stocky man who’d been clasping the safety railing and peering down at the workers below. He pushed off the railing to turn and face me, his beady eyes raking over me as though I was a piece of succulent meat at market.

The driver nodded respectfully at him before he gestured toward me. “This is the woman you wanted, Boss.”

My stomach cramped at the vile man who was apparently the Irish don. He was so different to the tall, dangerous and sinfully handsome Agostino and Costa men. This don looked more bullfrog than man, with a personality to match.

His yellowed teeth flashed behind his thick, bulbous lips. “So this is the whore who’ll have the Agostino Muppet crying in his milk.”

I didn’t say a word. Though I was shaking inside, I managed to stay calm on the outside as he walked slowly around me, tearing away my clothes with his eyes and making me feel cheap and sullied.

My thoughts scattered, then replayed indiscriminately through my head.

I couldn’t forget that Serafino was a dangerous man who attracted other threats like a magnet.

I needed to steer clear of Serafino and his family.

Normal men didn’t do it for me anymore; they hadn’t in a long time. I needed someone who kept me walking on a tightrope. I needed excitement, I craved it.

I was about to pay a serious price for ignoring my better judgement.

I could have left my profession, left Serafino, without looking back, then worked my ass off to graduate from an interior designer and decorator degree. I could have started a whole new life.

Despite that, I knew deep down I still would have chosen Serafino for our short time together. Better to have loved and lost...

My breath suspended as my heart lurched, my skin tingling. I did love him. I’d been in love with him from the very start.

The Irish don clasped my jaw with his stubby fingers, making my eyes water. “You’re nothing special. Shite, I’ve fucked better looking monkeys from the ghetto. Except they didn’t pretend to be high class, they were cheap and nasty, expendable just like you.”

His taunts triggered something deep inside of me. My stepmother’s vile words flooded my memory, bringing with it past trauma, despair and pain. Not to mention my wrath. My laugh was caustic. “You fucked monkeys? That’s disgusting.” I hawked a globule of spittle squarely onto his face. “You’re disgusting.”

Cold fury contorted his face as he released his grip on me and used the sleeve of his jacket to wipe his face dry. Then lifting his arm, he backhanded me so hard I buckled to the floor, my ears ringing and blood pouring from my nose.

I had no doubt it’d soon be the least of my worries.

He stood over me. “I’m going to fulfill your death wish. After I’ve fucked you, my men will take turns invading your body until you’re so used and abused you’ll be begging me to end your suffering.”

Whomp. Whomp. Whomp.

The faint noise quickly escalated, and even with my ringing ears I realized it was an approaching helicopter. My insides vibrated as I swallowed down a laugh. Then spitting out some blood, I looked up at him and said with a feral smile, “Not if Serafino kills you first.”

The Irish don didn’t move for a moment, his disbelief costing him precious seconds. Jarrod had also frozen in place, his face draining of all color.

The driver was the first to move. Running to a grimy window at the end of the building, he peered through the filthy pane. “Boss, incoming.”

The window suddenly shattered as a bullet ripped through, slamming into the driver’s head. He was little more than a ragdoll as he flopped to the floor in a shower of glass and brains, his eyes staring blankly our way.

All my focus turned to Serafino as he hung from the open door of the helicopter hovering at the exposed window. He lowered his gun, his eyes locking on mine. My breath squeezed out, a rush of energy fizzing through me.

He’d come for me.

He stared for no more than a couple of seconds, but it seemed infinite, time suspended with our connection irrefutable. His eyes turned hard as he took in my bloodied nose, my bruised face and swollen eye. Raising his gun, he looked through its sight, targeting the Irish don.

Too late.

Rat-a-tat-tat.

The soldiers outside the warehouse let loose with a spray of bullets that pinged against the metal body of the bird, forcing the pilot to pull sharply away.

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