Page 112 of Dance of Devils
“Well, you’re bringing some of the things,” I murmur with a glint of satisfaction.
Shehas towear a few of the gifts I got her. She doesn’t have a choice.
I checked her car last night, which is how I realized the Hermes bag and everything I’d bought for her were gone. Part of me wondered if she’d sold them, but the state of the rest of her wardrobe painted the picture: she was robbed.
All the more reason I’m keeping her here, safe with me.
But that also means she doesn’t reallyhaveanything to wear to rehearsal today other than the dance gear I bought her.
Good. I want her in the finery and elegance I've chosen to drape her in.
When she’s packed up for work, Brooklyn insists on taking the subway. Obviously, that isn’t going to happen. One of my men will drive her. But when I tell her that, she argues with me in a way that makes me want to take her over my knee and then fuck her while she's tied to my desk.
I restrain myself on that last part. But Idospank her ass while she's bent over my lap before I finger her greedy pussy into another orgasm.
In the end, I tell her I’ve called her an Uber Black, which I promise will drop her off a few blocks from the Mercury Theater so no one asks any awkward questions.
In reality, the Range Rover that drives her into the city is driven by one of my men,pretendingto be an Uber.
It’s also worth mentioning that the upgraded new phone I gave her to use instead of the shitty, cracked one she had before has a tracking chip in it.
Sorry-not-sorry. I won’t apologize for my protective feelings for this woman.
When she’s gone, I smile widely as I take a seat at my desk and click on the email I’ve purposefully delayed opening.
I had a private detective hunt down this fucking James shithead . Now comes the fun part: finding out who he is, dragging him into a hole somewhere, and inflicting every single thing he did to her onhimbefore I cut his throat.
When I open the email, though, my whole mood shifts.
Shit.
Son of a fucking BITCH.
James Lucareli started today as a dead man walking. But that sentence has just been put on hold. Apparently James is the nephew ofGiovaniLucareli.
AKA, the president of the longshoremen’s union.
AKA, the man who facilitatesallmy imports and exports through New York harbor.
It doesn’t change the fact that James is a dead man. Hewillbe answering for what he did to Brooklyn. His death sentence has just been…delayed, while I find a tactful way of telling Giovani I’m going to be dismembering his nephew.
No one fucks with what’s mine.
No one.
26
BROOKLYN
“You need ice on that.”
I pull my gaze from the gorgeous painting leaning against the wall—an explosion of heavy blacks and bright pinks—to glance at Dove.
Enigmatic and a little standoffish at times as she can be, it turns out Dove is pretty awesome. So when she invited me over to her carriage house/art studio again today after rehearsal, I gladly said yes.
It’s been two days since I moved into Kir’s house, and I’m still waiting to wake up in the back seat of Pearl and realize it's all been a dream.
I begin every morning in that gorgeous new room, in the bed I can scarcely bear to leave. Then I have my morning coffee with Kir—which always includes him putting me on the kitchen counter, spreading my legs, and going down on me until I’m screaming.
