Page 12 of The Taker

He shot him for touching me…

His warm hand squeezes the back of my neck, steering me through the alleyway and into a black car parked on the street. I space out, staring at the window, losing myself in the cars, buildings, and people we pass. I know we’re moving, but I’mnot sure where we’re going. All I can focus on are the chorus of thoughts in my mind.

It’s your fault he’s dying.

You’re a murderer.

You’re weak, you stood there and let it happen. All because you wanted a hookup.

Whore.

Rocco’s hand grabbing my thigh snaps me out of the darkness of my own mind. His grin is gone, replaced by a disappointed, cold expression.

Why is my immediate reaction to apologize? This whole thing makes no sense. I need to wake the fuck up and get out of this car, before I’m shot next.

“Please have your driver pull over, I want to get out.”

Rocco says nothing, only holds my gaze.

The car speeds up and I start to panic. Where is he taking me?

“Let me out of the car, now.” I try to sound confident, but my voice shakes.

The partition is up, but I still scream. “Pull over! Let me out!” to whoever is driving.

I try to open my door, as if I’d actually have the guts to tuck and roll out, but it’s locked. Rocco snickers, and the sound is akin to keys locking shackles around me.

I’m trapped.

He lunges across the seat, his hand snatching mine off the car door handle. He uses it to pull me into his lap, right on top of his hard dick. I thrash around, trying to break free of his hold, but he collars my throat with enough pressure to the sides to slow my breathing, pinning me still.

“Stop fighting me, because it’s only going to turn me on more,” he warns. His other hand rubs my cock over my pants,and the simple touch makes me lightheaded. “Seems like I’m not the only hard one…”

He tightens his grip around my throat, and a whine slips free from my lips. My face heats in embarrassment.

“Oh you’re a sick little fuck, aren’t you?” His insult makes me even harder, and I start to panic.

Why is this turning me on so much?

The car slows as we pull into an underground parking garage for a huge building.

Rocco runs his nose up my neck and bites me right below my jaw, sinking his teeth deep into my skin until I cry out in pain.

“My toy is so responsive,” he whispers in my ear.

He walks me through the garage to an elevator with a firm hand on the back of my neck. After using a card and punching in a code on a keypad, he presses a button with aP. His fingers dig into my skin and remind me that I’m being led to a random location by a man who just murdered someone in cold blood. He laughed about it like it was a game and left the body there.

I start to shake. Am I next? The image of him shooting the stranger in the alleyway plays in my mind again, and I can only imagine what fate awaits me when the elevator stops. Tears roll down my face, but I try to be as silent as possible. I refuse to show him any more weakness.

When the door opens, I sigh in relief.

It’s an apartment. P must mean penthouse.

He walks me through a tastefully decorated foyer and living space, down a hallway. I can’t concentrate, but I do notice how masculine the space is, with hues of blue, gold, and cream interwoven throughout. The room he takes me into is a bedroom with cream walls, oak furniture, and a bed with a navy spread. The bedframe is a mix of the same wood and wrought iron.

Rocco sets me on a plush chaise lounge in the corner. “There are towels and toiletries in the ensuite. Throw the clothingyou’re wearing away in the trash. I’ll leave you something to wear on the bed.”

“Take me home. I’m not showering here,” I ask again, my voice smaller than I’d like. An errant curl falls into my face, and he flicks it back, his knuckle brushing my forehead.

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