Page 99 of The Mafia Assassin's Redemption
“No.”
His lips curl upward.
The big man with the tattoos tucks himself away and comes over to us.
Torin orders drinks from a naked waitress and they discuss things that I only catch pieces of over the loud, techno beat of the music. Something aboutguns, I think.
The man frowns and the conversation gets more intense.
When the waitress comes back with the drinks, Torin turns to me. “As a good mafia wife who’s into this for me, you’ll take off your cloak and hold it as well as this bag…” He hands me the bag from the sex shop. It’s leather, almost like a satchel. “Be prepared to get down on your knees if I need you to.”
Horror hits hard. He seriously expects me to do that?
But under the watchful gaze of the massive Russian, I remove my cloak. As Torin hands me his drink to hold, I sink to my knees, sitting up, the bag stuffed with my cloak in front of me. With a shaking hand, I hold the drink up to him.
It’s the only way I won’t fall, and the Russian dismisses me as their conversation continues.
Torin doesn’t pay me so much as a sliver of attention… except for his almost subconscious toying with the choker. He pulls at it, twists it, and every time it moves, a different sensation assaults my skin. Depending on the pressure applied, it sometimes soothes in its lightness, other times it bites.
That’s all he touches, apart from the brush of his fingers against the skin at the back or side of my throat, when he isn’t taking his drink for a sip and returning it.
I’m turned on, horrified, uncomfortable, and safe, all in equal measures. Being near the man I… I have to hate, is safe. And yes, I have to hate him, I do. Anything else is betrayal of years of the truth, of what he did to my parents.
My mind randomly buzzes with conflict about my uncle.
He has to be innocent. I mean, even if he breaks rules to make money, it’s still not killing or maiming, and while we’re not super close, I do love him. He’s family.
Never once has he done something to hurt me. Even though my trust fund is something I don’t get for years, Uncle Anthony gives me a small allowance to help with the pittance the church pays me for helping out.
No, there’s only one monster to blame for the terrors my parents experienced. And it’s Torin.
I hate how my insides shred, more and more now, when I put the blame on him.
“Harry.” His voice cuts through my thoughts, and when he helps me up, I let him. “Our room is ready.”
“Room?”
“I’m going to teach you lessons. And those in this world will watch.”
The world is dark, the music sensual, the beat electric, and I can’t move.
I’m swimming in my own senses. The only thing tethering me to any bit of sanity is Torin.
I know he’s here.
“Harry,” he says finally.
I whimper.
Something soft slips over me, and in my current state, it could be a whip or a feather and I wouldn’t know the difference.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says so softly that I can barely hear him, even with the music low.
“Are people watching?” I ask, licking my lips. Trying to ground myself even though he’s the only thing I can cling to, the only other thing circling my orbit. He doesn’t answer. “What do you want from me?”
“I could be boring and say your safety and your life, but that’s a given.”
Is it?
