Page 5 of Assassin's Obsession

An unimpressive, but intrusive hardon presses against my naked backside as the guy wraps one arm around my waist and grinds up against me. My elbow flies backward but it barely connects before sliding off his chest because of the angle.

The man laughs. "You're a feisty little bitch, aren't you?"

This time, I throw my head backward but he shifts avoiding the headbutt. I miss his chin, but I hit his neck and that at least elicits a grunt from him.

Where's the bouncer?

If Gino is watching, he'll wave security away. He wants me working the backrooms and for all I know he put this guy up to this.To break me in.

But I am not letting some disgusting perv come against my ass. Even if it means getting fired.

The angle's wrong for me to hit the guy's instep with my stiletto heel too, so I lift my foot and grab my shoe. Holding it by the toe, I bring the heel against the side of his leg as hard as I can.

He yells in pain and his grip loosens. I surge forward and land on my knees. Someone kicks me in the backside and I go sprawling, losing my grip on my makeshift weapon and getting way too close and personal with the floor. They mop every night, but in between?

The risk of coming into contact with body fluids is high enough to have me scrambling to my feet. One foot is still in its shoe and I have to cant one knee to compensate.

Before I can get away, that same meaty fist grabs my arm, fingers digging in so hard I cry out in pain.

"Let her go." The tone is deadly, the timber loud enough to be heard over the music.

I can't see who spoke, but I know it's not the bouncer. Not that voice.

Latex slides between my arm and the fingers gripping it. Then there's an audible pop and the creep who tried to use me as a living sex doll screams in pain.

When his grip loosens I jerk away and this time he lets me go.

I spin to face him and my savior.

It's Angelo, the guy who skewered the hand of the guy that tried to touch me a couple of months ago.

He has this jerk's finger bent back at an impossible angle, but his eyes aren't on the now crying man. They're on me.

His black latex covered hand is gentle when he touches my bicep and the angry red marks that reveal where my captor's hand gripped me. "You alright,dolcezza?"

I don't speak either Italian or Sicilian fluently like my bestie, Bianca, but I'm pretty sure the dangerous man just called me sweetheart.

Which doesn't mean anything. Right? Lots of people use endearments like that. Only, Angelo doesn't look like the kind of guy to throw them around. But he just did. Directed at me.

Not that I think it means sweetheart like, girlfriend material. If anything, he's using it like you would to a kid or a friend.

But we've never even met officially.

Watching him skewer a man's hand in the alley isn't like being introduced, is it?

"I'm okay." Skeeved out and shaky, and tomorrow I'll have finger shaped bruises on my arm, but I'll live.

If the creep had managed to get off while rubbing against me, I'd be crying right now though. I know I would. And that makes me furious.

Because it's taking every bit of my self-control to hold back the angry and scared tears right now. I hate that I'm this scared.

I'm not a powerless teenager living with a predator anymore. I'm a grown assed woman who supports my family.

But the man now cradling his hand against his chest while he sobs took away my sense of power in a matter of seconds.

I reach down and grab my other shoe before walloping his other leg. Hard. "No contact means no touching, asshole."

"We all got that now," the guy who offered forty for a no contact lap dance says.

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