Page 44 of Vengeful Rotten Casualties

“Mr. Bennington?” Gingerly, I reach up and graze the fingers on my arm. He jerks and releases me. Absently, I rub the area he’d held. It’s sore.

“Who brought you here?” he demands.

“A boy,” I say, dipping my head as if ashamed. “I met him at Club Urban and he’s letting me stay with him for now…” I drift off as if there’s more that hasn’t been said.

With my head turned down, I’m able to watch the way Andrew’s hands clench into fists at his sides. “Is he fucking you?” he growls.

Forcing a blush is easy. All I have to do is think about something that pisses me off. It’s not hard when one of the most repulsive human beings on the planet is standing right in front of me. All I have to do is think of the vile things he’s done to me and my body. The collars. The leashes. The whips. The pain. I breathe through my nose.

When I look up at him again, I know my face is red—though the way he’ll perceive it is different than the truth, it works in my favor. “I-I…” I stutter out. “Well, h-he said if I wanted a place to stay…” I suck in a breath. “But he left me for his friends. I don’t know where I’m going to go tonight.”

Andrew’s eyelids lower and he steps closer. Automatically, I step back until my spine is against the cool metal of a car door. The two of us are situated between twin Suburbans. I hadn’t planned on this exactly, but they’re the perfect setting for a kidnapping—blocking out most of the parking lot and certainly cutting off every escape route save for two.

For a man so wealthy, he certainly is a fucking idiot. Guess that’s what happens when you’re born with a silver spoon in your mouth and never have to work or think for yourself.

“What can that boy provide for you, MiKayla?” Andrew asks. “You don’t need him and his piddling little trust fund. I’m sure you know I was always fond of you.” He presses forward until I can feel the hard ridge of his erection in his slacks against my stomach. “If you’re in need of a new owner…” His thumb strokes my jaw.

Vomit threatens to arch up my throat. I shove it down and lower my lashes. I don’t have to force myself to shake; I’m already trembling with barely repressed rage. My head tips back and I lift my hands, running them up his chest.

“I’m scared, Mr. Bennington,” I confess. “I don’t know what to do. Mr. Osman didn’t leave me anything, and Mr. Kincaid won’t answer my calls.”

Andrew’s thumb moves across my cheek to my lips. He presses down on the lower one and I let my mouth drop open as he pushes it inside. His eyes take on a faraway look as I suck his thumb into my mouth, lapping at his flesh when really what I want to do is bite down and rip it clean off.

“Kincaid has been absent as of late,” he says absently. I perk up.

“Do you know where I can find him?” I ask pleadingly, releasing his thumb from my mouth. “I don’t have any other skills, Mr. Bennington. All I know is what I was taught. I’m all alone.”

“I suppose I could … take care of you until Kincaid is back,” Andrew says.

“How long would that be?” I ask innocently. I shove my breasts against his chest, running a finger down his open collar as his eyes dip once more. Easy as fucking cake. He licks his lips.

“A few weeks,” Andrew replies. “He’ll be back by the end of the month, but…” His words are like drugs—each one gets me higher and higher. My information was correct. They’ve been in contact. If he knows when Kincaid will be back then he’ll know more, and I intend to get every morsel of information out of him before I dispose of him. It’s only right. He owes me far more than information. He owes me his fucking life.

Suddenly, as if recalling where we are, Andrew’s head jerks up and he looks around. A bolt of anxiety shoots through me, but Andrew isn’t a professional killer. He’s not nearly as aware as Luc or myself. He won’t see the men I’ve hired, not until I want him to. Not until it’s too late.

“Perhaps we should take this somewhere else,” he says quickly.

I latch onto him, digging my nails into his chest and drawing his attention back to me. “Thank you, Mr. Bennington,” I say. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you so much.” I sidle up closer, pressing my cheek against him as I rub my tits across his front. “I didn’t know what I’d do. I’m so lucky to have you looking out for me.”

Andrew Bennington hums in the back of his throat. “Osman must have trained you well,” he says. The muscles against my back contract. Shit.Have I overplayed it?

My hands on his chest become softer. I pet the fabric of his button-up suit shirt with careful strokes. “I was taught many lessons by Mr. Osman,” I say quietly. “He made me realize that I need to be good to the men who are good to me. Men like you, Mr. Bennington.”

“Is that so?” My stomach drops at his tone and then I freeze when a masculine hand pushes me back. My spine hits the Suburban with one of Andrew’s hands planted firmly between my breasts, molding the thin t-shirt to my frame. He eyes me like a cat might a mouse. Predator and prey. I lower my lashes.

Slowly—ever so slowly—his fingers trail down until he reaches the top of my jeans. “I don’t like pants,” he says with a scowl. “Women should know better. They should always be ready. While you’re staying with me, I expect you to wear only skirts.”

“Y-yes, s-sir—”

He cuts me off. “That is … if I allow you to wear clothes.” Andrew’s attention is fully focused on my body. My shirt is pushed up slightly. When his skin touches mine, I want to throw him into the opposite car and stomp on his hand, but I resist.

“Osman was old,” Andrew says casually. “I bet his dick was tiny, wasn’t it?” He doesn’t give me time to answer as his fingers quickly unbutton the top of my jeans and he slips his hand inside.

Invisible fire ants crawl up my arms and down my legs. They bite into me, eating me alive as I shut my eyes tight. Think of something, I urge myself. Quickly. He can’t find me dry as the Sahara desert. If he does, he’ll know.

In my mind’s eye, I call up the only man capable of turning me on in a split second. Luc’s face hovers over me and suddenly the fingers in my pants become his. They slip past the band of my thong and move further down. I flower open for him. My pussy softens and grows damp. I’m panting, sweating.

At least, I am, until Andrew’s groan cuts off the image. “You dirty little whore,” he says, his breathing heavy as he shoves two fingers into my cunt. I wince and squirm against him. “You’re just as tight as ever.”

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