Page 35 of Trapped

The door to the ring slammed open, and Santino stormed out. He stalked over, his jaw clenched as his gaze shifted to the man on the ground.

“What’d he do now?” he demanded.

“Nothing. I was trying to see if I could help.”

Santino glanced at Vitale, who nodded. “So you think you can play the Good Samaritan?”

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. “He’s hurt.”

“He’s not your problem, principessa.”

“Santino, you’re being a prick.”

He stepped closer until he towered over me, waving Vitale aside. “Go. I’ll drive her home.”

Vitale turned around and disappeared inside the building.

My heart hammered. The wind picked up, and the first few drops of rain splattered on the pavement.

“He crossed a line,” Santino said gently. “He disrespected you, and there are consequences for that. But you’re not the one who has to deal with it.”

Drunk Guy had collapsed on the ground. Santino followed my gaze, softening. He reached out, gently taking my hand. Rain pelted my head. Santino shrugged off his jacket and draped it over my shoulders. Warmth swirled in my stomach as his scent surrounded me. I felt hot and confused.

He nudged me toward his car.

I pulled the jacket off and handed it to Santino. The rain fell harder, soaking through my clothes, but I didn’t care. “I’m not going with you.”

“Why?”

“This isn’t right. You can’t just…do this to people.”

His frown deepened. “That’s how it works in my world.”

“Well, not in mine. You don’t get to decide who gets beaten based on some twisted sense of ownership.”

“This is how things are.”

My mind flashed to the keys he’d given me earlier, the way he’d assumed that I’d fall in line like it was my only option.

“I don’t need you to protect me like this. You can’t keep treating me like I’m some possession.”

Santino’s jaw tightened. “I don’t see you as a possession. I see you as mine.”

“Same difference.”

Rain plastered hair to my face. Santino stood there, his shirt turning translucent from the downpour.

This was supposed to be simple. Money, protection, sex—nothing more. But the look in his eyes was anything but transactional. It was possessive, and that scared the hell out of me. He’d already taken control of my body. What would happen if I let him take my heart?

I gritted my teeth. “We agreed to mess around for a few months, not whatever this is becoming.”

“And what’s that?” he asked, stepping forward.

I stayed silent. I’d built walls for a reason. A nice transactional relationship. No messy emotions. No attachments. No promises that could be broken.

“Tell me. What. This. Is.”

My startled gaze crashed into his. “Friends with benefits.”

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