Page 52 of Mob Boss's Second Chance

Jesus.

Father.

What other prayers can I offer? He’s going to kiss me. He’s going to freaking kiss me!

I begin to fight off as best as I can—hitting his chest and slapping his face. He’s stunned by the aggression, but it only elicits a deranged smile from him.

“You like it rough, huh?” His disgustingly gruff voice speaks. “Well, that’s good for me. I knew the boss liked his women to be feisty.”

Wait, what?

“What are you talking about?” I yell, still hitting him and almost gagging when his mouth touches my throat. “Which boss? I’m nobody’s woman!”

“Oh, come on,” he scoffs. “You must’ve gone through the others. The fact that I just got here doesn’t mean I don’t get my share.”

No. No.

I’m tiny compared to this man, and he’s determined to get his way with me. My hands are doing nothing to fight him off, and my shirt is already halfway from exposing my s.

Begging is not going to save me.

Looking down, I see my moment of glory—I rear my leg back and deliver a swift kick to his nuts. It does enough damage that he lets me down, and I scurry to the knife’s block.

My grip tightens around the handle, the weight of the knife grounding me in my stance. My legs are planted and firm, and my body tense like a spring, ready to snap. The blade gleams under the kitchen light, a silent promise of what I’m willing to do.

“You take one more step,” I warn, my voice cold, “and I swear to God, I’ll put so many holes in you they won’t even be able to tell who you used to be.”

For a second, he hesitates, his gaze flickering from my face to the weapon in my hand. Then, arrogance—or stupidity—wins out. He moves.

I lunge.

He jerks back instantly, his hands flying up in surrender, eyes wide.

“Woah, woah—okay,” he backpedals, his tone somewhere between nervous and amused. “No need for all that. You could’ve just said you weren’t in the mood. Imight’veunderstood.”

I don’t know what the hell he’s talking about, and honestly, I don’t care. My pulse is hammering in my ears, my grip unyielding. I don’t lower the knife. Not yet.

“Damn,” he shakes his head, more in disgust than anything. “Boss seriously has to consider the type of women he brings home. I swear they get crazier with each chick. I like them crazy, but when they’re like this, how are we supposed to take turns?”

Turns? My eyes widen as I realize theimplication of his words.

I’m meat.

Free meat, actually.The boss usually shares his women, and this beast naturally assumed I was there for his pleasure.

“No,” I shake my head as the knowledge sinks deeper. “He has to be talking about Anthony.” He’s already out the door, so I’m left with my thoughts, the knife, and unanswered questions.

It has to be Anthony.

Anthony hasn’t brought anyone home since I started working here, and Ethan left seconds before the brute walked in.

Ethan wouldn’t share women with her cousins.

Which means—

“Don’t think, Natalie,” I say aloud as I begin to panic. I bite my lip to keep the scream from escaping, and the knife falls to the floor with a clatter. “Don’t think, Natalie.”

I sink to the floor as my hands run through my hair, replacing panic with despair.

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