Page 36 of Queen's Move

She hadn’t been afraid like this in a long time. She could handle people shooting at her. Knives, gas canisters, whatever. She’d experienced a lot of bad stuff and caused her fair share too. But this… was different. Being intimate with a man like Sotza, it was too much. Though they’d spent a little time getting to know each other, it wasn’t nearly enough. Not enough to give her the courage to go to bed with a man like him.

She summoned up some courage and said in the coolest voice she could manage, “Please excuse me, I need to wash up.”

She didn’t give him a chance to respond. She pushed past him and slipped off the bed. Gathering her carry-all case she walked toward the washroom.

“Closet.” Sotza said as she reached for the knob.

She peeked inside. Yup, it was a closet. She felt dizzy from anxiety and reached automatically for the next door as though it were a lifeline. He didn’t say another word as she disappeared into the washroom. She let out the breath she’d been holding, slumping back against the door. She covered her eyes with shaking hands and counted, the way her addictions counsellor had taught her if she felt overwhelmed. Each number was a space in time, a pause to consider, a way of appreciating each moment of life. She whispered the numbers out loud, forcing herself to turn each one over on her tongue and in her mind. Feel the pause and appreciate her ability to have that precious time.

When she reached five, she was able to peek through her fingers and sit down on the edge of a spacious cream-coloured marble tub. At six she fully opened her eyes and looked around, taking in the gorgeous washroom. It was elegant with hints of tropical. Even nicer than Nico Graza’s washroom, which she had appreciated during their time in Mexico.

“Eight,” she said out loud, pausing to reach under her dress for her gun, which she’d strapped to her thigh. She set it on the counter, focusing on it, absorbing the control it gave her. It was the weapon Sotza had given her. He hadn’t taken it back. He wasn’t stupid enough to have forgotten about it. He allowed her to keep it for a reason. Either he trusted her not to shoot him, which was insane, or he thought he was impervious to bullets. With his reputation he might very well be bulletproof.

“Twelve.” The tightness in her chest eased and she took her first full breath since Sotza carried her into the house.

The door opened. He didn’t knock, didn’t call her name or warn her. He just walked in and looked down at her, his face as grim as ever. He’d only given her a few seconds to compose herself. She wanted to yell at him, tell him he was a pervert, a kidnapper, that he wasn’t fair. But none of it mattered. Life wasn’t fair. She’d spent decades proving that theory. Life was what you made it. Sotza had been determined to take her, and he did. Now, it was up to Vee to determine the next move.

Her throat was dry, she had to swallow before she could speak. She gave him the best piercing stare she had in her repertoire. Given the incredible make-up job Mariana, Vee’s maid, had done for the wedding, Vee knew that her pointed look was both stunning and confident.

“I need more time,” she said as steadily as she could.

“No,” he said instantly. He was standing straight and tall, filling the doorway. He’d discarded both his jacket and tie, rolled the cuffs of his shirt up his strong arms. As always, seeing The Butcher relax sent warning sparks of trepidation through her.

“Why?” she asked, standing, glad that her legs were steady enough to hold her. She was so much shorter than him that she needed every inch of height she could summon. “It makes no difference if we fuck now or later. I just… I don’t feel like it right now. If you’ll please leave, I’d like to get ready for bed.”

“More time won’t better prepare you, Vee,” he said evenly, his dark eyes sharp on her pale face. “We will consummate this marriage tonight.”

He stepped toward her. Vee stepped back, hitting the edge of the tub. She slid sideways, reaching for the sink. Reaching for her gun. “Consummation is old-fashioned garbage,” she said coldly, closing her fingers around the metal. The solid feel of the weapon in her hand calmed her. “I don’t feel like fucking right now, please go away.”

“This isn’t just fucking, Vee,” he said calmly, closing the space between them. She brought the gun between them, still holding it low. She couldn’t bring herself to raise it just yet, to actually threaten him. “That’s why you’re so scared, this is something else. Something you’ve never experienced.”

“What are we doing then, if not fucking?” she tried to sound scathing, but the words were breathless as she battled serious anxiety and the beginnings of arousal.

He moved so close the warmth of his big body touched her, wrapped around her bare arms and penetrated the thin fabric of her dress. She realized she was shaking, her hands, her arms, her legs. Everything was vibrating.

“You’re going to give your body to me tonight,” he said, leaning down, his face so close to hers she could see the tiny golden flecks in the dark drown. “And you’re terrified that if you give up your body, you’ll give up everything else. Your emotions, your control, your ability to fight. You’ve been fighting your whole life, Vee.” He reached up, slowly, and took her face in his hands. “Stop fighting me, cariño.”

And then, heedless of the gun between them, he wrapped an arm around her back, pulled her against his chest and kissed her. He kissed her with passion and longing, with the fire that’d been missing from every other kiss in her life, except her kisses with this man. She let him kiss her. Take her lips as he’d taken everything else that belonged to her. He wasn’t holding back anymore. She could feel the difference. Unlike the other times he’d kissed her, this kiss was more urgent, more desperate. It was a prelude.

One of his hands cupped the side of her head, holding her still, while the fingers of his other hand bit into her ribcage, so hard he was almost hurting her, showing her how near to the surface his savage was. As soon as he lifted his lips from hers, she opened her mouth to gasp for breath. She barely had a second and he was on her again. Vee didn’t know if she was participating or holding still for his assault. But as her passion rose to meet his, she didn’t care. She hung on tight, clinging to him with her one free hand.

He thrust his tongue into her mouth, taking everything in one sweep. He was commanding, demanding and completely unrepentant as he took her roughly. She was experiencing a new side of the Venezuelan mob boss. Passion mixed with violence. The combination of emotions was intensely heady, it called to her own savage. This was a side of Sotza that people sensed, but rarely experienced, except for those few he killed himself.

Finally, after allowing him control for a few stunned moments, she fought him for dominance, winding her arms around his neck and forcing his head down to hers. Her pulse soared, the blood pounding through her body, heating her from the inside out. Her skin felt on fire, alive and clambering for the man whose touch ignited her. She clutched his shoulders, digging her nails into his satin vest, before moving up to grip his head. She accidentally smacked him in the ear with her gun. Neither cared.

Sotza gripped her waist and lifted her onto the counter, his hands spanning her, holding her in place. Vee tried to open her legs, tried to grip him tighter between her thighs, bring him closer to the place that ached, but her skirt was too tight. She whimpered into his mouth. Understanding her dilemma, he held her in place with one arm and reached between them, reached for her skirt, thrusting it up past her thighs. She vaguely heard a seam rip as the delicate fabric gave way to his rough handling. The sound seemed to spur him on. He slammed his hips between her thighs, pressing his erection tight against her pussy. The leather of her thigh holster bit into her skin, heightening her already soaring arousal.

Vee moaned deep in her throat and tilted her head back, giving him access to her throat. She widened her legs and pulled him harder against her, tilting her hips to meet his, savouring the erotic sensations that flooded through her. Her nails scraped against his skin, her fingers desperate as she reached for the buttons on his vest, yanking at them. When they didn’t part for her, he reached impatiently between them and pulled the material apart, damaging the fabric.

Vee didn’t care, neither of them cared. She yanked his shirt up, desperately needing to feel his skin beneath her fingers. It felt so good, so right to touch him, to be touched by him. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t willingly done it before. Emotion flooded her as her seeking fingers finally touched bare skin and tears leapt to her eyes. She slid her hands across his belly and around his side, the cold metal of the gun touching his warm, smooth skin. Everywhere she touched he was hard. Skin stretched taut over muscle and bone. She felt the grooves in his belly from an intense workout regime. She wasn’t surprised. The man demanded perfection from his men. He would ask no less of himself. Age didn’t matter, nor circumstance or position. He was a born leader.

He lifted his head to look down at her, holding her tight while she dug her hands deep into his sides, anchoring herself against him. The cool mask had dropped, leaving behind lust, want, emotion, intense need. She knew her face reflected all of the same things. They were vulnerable to each other.

His lips crashed over hers and he reached between them. He dug his fingers into her lace panties, wrapping them around the soaked crotch and pulling hard. Vee gasped into his mouth as the fabric tore, marking her flesh as thread parted from the force he was exerting. Her hips stung, the tiny bite of pain only heightening her desire. She was now bare to him, vulnerable to the hand he thrust between her legs.

She was dripping for him, for this inevitable moment. Their months-long dance was going to culminate in this explosive encounter. Every move, every death, every fight, it all led to this, their wedding night.

Vee became aware of the gun in her hand, the metal heated by her tight grip. She raised it slightly, pulling it from beneath his shirt. Between kisses she glanced down at it. She could end everything now. She could kill him, kill his bodyguards, she could try to take back Miami. She could become Queen again. Find a way to rescue Raina.

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