Page 19 of Double Dare

No quicker do the words leave his mouth than a loud bang sounds, and the man’s head on his left explodes. Brain matter, pieces of his skull, and blood splatter across Adam, the other man, and Danica and puts these pussies on edge.

When Danica screams, the one holding her pulls his own knife and holds it to her neck, backing further into the alley as my dad enters from the front. “I’ll slit her throat!” he screams.

“Adam,” my dad starts. “Tell your man to drop her, or you’re next.”

He shakes his head and raises the hand holding his knife. “Not a chance.” He throws the blade at me.

It slices my bicep to where stitches will be needed and just enough to piss me off. Raising my gun, I aim it at his shoulder, mirroring where he cut me, and fire a single shot. “Shouldn’t bring a knife to a gunfight, dumbass.”

He cries out and grips the wound. “What do you want with her anyway?”

“She’s payment for a debt. Now tell him to release her,” I growl.

“Now,” my dad echoes me, pulling the hammer to his gun back, ready to fire again.

His lips curl as he shakes his head. There aren’t a lot of rules us criminals follow, but one thing we make sure of is staying in our own lane. You don’t get between a mobster and someone who owes him, and Adam knows this. “Fine. Let the bitch go,” he orders the one holding her.

The man releases her with a shove. She scrambles to me and wraps her arms around my waist, sobbing softly.

“Take her home. I’ll handle this,” my dad directs to me. “And Adam,” he says as Adam tries to sneak away. “Tell your father I’ll be in touch.”

I turn, unhooking Danica’s arms from around me. All I can think about is that man’s blood on her, along with their touch and their smell. It’s staining her body and tainting her skin. I want it off. Grabbing her by the arm, I lead her out the front of the alley and shove her into my father’s waiting car. Luckily, the driver doesn’t need instruction. He puts the SUV in drive and starts toward my house.

“Adrian,” she starts.

I cut her off by raising my hand. “Don’t. Just shut the fuck up,” I snip.

My knee bounces uncontrollably, my heart rate is unsteady, and I’m pissed.

The entire drive passes in an angry blur. It takes every ounce of strength I have not to order the driver to turn around so I can go back and murder every last one of them. They poisoned something that’smine. They touched her. They smelled her. They fucking felt her.

As we pull into my drive, I don’t even wait for the car to come to a complete stop. I open my door and barrel out, pulling Danica behind me. “They touched you!” I boom. “You let them fucking touch you!”

She folds into herself. She’s right to be scared because I’m fucking angry, and nothing good ever comes from my anger.

Instead of going to her room, I lead her to mine. I drag her past my bed and into the bathroom. I turn the water on in the shower, keeping my hand locked around her arm. When steam starts to build, I push her inside. “I want it off of you!” I yell.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry!” she cries, fumbling her hands around, splashing the hot water onto her skin.

Baring my teeth, I ignore her apology and turn toward my sink. Squatting down, I open the cabinet and grab the hard bristle brush I use to clean my shoes. With it in hand, I face her again. Stuffing the brush in my back pocket, I pull her toward me and grab each side of her cut dress.

I tear it open, shredding the fine fabric until it pools around her feet. Her pert tits stare at me, jiggling with her soft cries, but they’re smeared with that fucking man’s blood. The sight disgusts me. Retrieving the brush, I bring it to her skin and scrub. With every stroke, she cries out, but I don’t stop. I can’t stop.

Ineedtheir touch off her.

“Adrian, please.” She sobs.

I ignore her and keep going. Maybe she did learn a lesson tonight, but it won’t come without punishment.

When her skin is red and raw from my aggressive scrubbing and the hot water, I finally shake myself out of the angry fog I’ve been locked in. She sinks to the shower floor and pushes herself into the corner. Her weeping is low—almost inaudible—but her body still shakes.

“I just needed their touch off you,” I finally say, turning the shower off and dropping the brush. Seeing her skin pristine and clean again has a wave of relief washing over me that eliminates my anxiety.

I don’t like when people touch what’s mine, and even more, I don’t like when they try and use what’s mine without permission. “Your pussy—it’s mine. No one else is to touch you or even fucking look at you,” I hiss, letting the last bit of my anger roll off me with the words.

Her eyes move up, peering at me through her wet hair. Mascara runs down her face, the red lipstick she wears is smeared, and a frown replaces the hard line she normally wears. “They were going to rape me, weren’t they?”

“Yes,” I reply, looking down on her with a heaving chest.

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