Page 42 of Salvatore

“Yeah,” Keon says, no longer appearing so tough. “I know who you are.”

“Then you know who I work for,” Sal adds, causing Keon to tighten his already rigid muscles. “These are my brothers you fucked with.”

“I didn’t know they were your brothers,” Keon says at the same moment a few from the surrounding group mumble a round of “oh, shits.”

“Now you do.” He motions to me. “Just like you know she’s also with me. This won’t happen again. Understand?” Sal’s tone is laced with so much venom, I involuntarily step back.

He lifts off Keon, dismissing him. Keon staggers to his feet only to crash to his knees, swearing in agony.

I almost go to him, but Sal’s voice keeps me in place. “Let’s go,” he tells his brothers.

All three back away and toward me, keeping Keon and his friends in their sights. They stand as a united front, waiting in silence until everyone disperses.

“Sal,” Apollo begins.

Salvatore holds his hand up, quieting him instantly. “Just get in the damn car.”

I follow them to where Sal parked across from me. “What were you thinking?”

Gianno squares his shoulders. “He challenged me when I stopped him from beating on a girl. I?”

“Not you,” Sal quips. “You, me, and Apollo are going to have a nice talk on the way back home.” His stare cuts my way. “I was talking to Aedry,” he says, stopping in front of my car.

I frown as he hits the key fob to his Range Rover and the boys edge away. “I couldn’t simply sit there and wait,” I snap, ramming my hands on my hips.

“Yeah, you could have. It’s what I told you to do. But you didn’t listen,” he says, shoving his face in mine. “You’re a woman and you were outnumbered. Do you have any idea what could have happened to you? What the hell were you thinking, charging in all defenseless?”

“I wasn’t defenseless. I had my stun gun,” I fire back, motioning to the holes seared into his shirt.

It’s as if the world stops spinning. Sal glowers at me as if I punched him in the nose. Today he’s in dark jeans, a white muscle T-shirt, and a dark suit jacket, likely clothes he yanked on in his rush to reach his brothers. On anyone else, these clothes would look ridiculous and comical. Yet the T-shirt grips the muscles of his chest like it refuses to let go and the rest resembles something a stylist at GQ would hand-pick for a photo shoot. But he doesn’t look hot. Absolutely not hot. Not even remotely sexy.

I’m such a terrible liar. Throw in his current brooding persona and I’m ready to peel my clothes off on the street.

“Get in your car,” he says, through his grinding teeth. “You’re following me back to my place.”

My emotions get the best of me and without thinking, I shove my face into his. “Don’t you think it will be a little crowded back at your place?”

His brows furrow deeper until understanding lights his stare. “You really gonna go there with me?”

I clamp my mouth shut, hating the way my blush lifts his full lips into a smirk. He steps closer, his broad chest brushing over mine. “It was Donnie and she’s already gone,” he says.

Donatella, his stunning friend, had spent the night. I shouldn’t be hurt. After all, I’m the one who rejected him and told him I didn’t want him touching me. Yet, here I am, devastated to learn how quickly he moved on without another glance back, and with whom he moved on.

I haven’t been able to rid him from my mind, but, apparently, he didn’t have that difficulty.

Sal leans in closer, his breath tickling my ear. I try to inch away, not wanting to smell another woman’s passion against his skin. But his clasp to my elbows holds me in place, forcing me to inhale his aroma.

I sigh as I exhale, then re-breathe his scent. There’s no hint of another woman. There’s only him, his deep male musk, traces of his fading cologne, and an underlying fragrance that screams of dominance.

“She doesn’t mean anything to me. Not like that,” he whispers, his lips trailing against my ear.

My heavy lids close as an army of goose bumps swarm my arms. This isn’t appropriate. We shouldn’t stand this close. I’m a guidance counselor, miles from my assigned post during school hours, with a man capable of extreme violence. I shouldn’t speak to him. I should keep quiet, climb in my car, and speed away. It’s what most intelligent women would do. Yet, I don’t, turning my head to face this man who’s ensnared me in his seductive web. “Did you tell her that before or after you bought her dinner?”

If I didn’t think his smirk would infuriate me more or grow any cockier, I’m dead wrong. “I didn’t buy her dinner,” he says, returning to speak low against my ear. “She’s a friend who needed a place to crash.”

I almost ask him if I was just a friend when he was pulling up my skirt in his car. But I’m not so brave and I’m too afraid to hear his response.

“Come back with us,” he says. “I want to try and make things right.”

My heart wants to believe and trust him, despite how my instincts warn me against either. But around Salvatore, I’m never really sure of anything except that he’s dangerous . . . and that I can no longer resist his touch.

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