Page 108 of Bred
HER DEMON KEEPER
TL REEVE & MICHELE RYAN
PROLOGUE
ROSLIN
“Fuck!Yoursweetlittlecunt is so tight.” His gravelly voice strikes against my flesh, causing a fresh wave of arousal to swamp me. “Can’t wait to get my cock deep inside of you so you can squeeze all the cum from my balls.”
I shuddered in his arms. Tears sprang to the corners of my eyes. This was heaven and hell wrought upon me. A lump of pleasure formed in my throat, and I couldn’t speak. Or maybe it was the fact he had his rather large, furred palm wrapped around my neck, holding me in place while he fucked his thick cock into me.
Mr. Ian Bains. Bocánaigh. Assassin. Bodyguard. Shadow.
I bet you’re wondering how a girl like me, Roslin Glen, daughter of Senator Alfred Glen, got here to begin with.
Well...
“Take it, little creature... Take all of my dick into your greedy hole. Ungh...” His mouth latched onto my shoulder. The slam of his hips, pushing me deeper into the bedding. He’s a cruel monster.
The worst of the worst.
Yet...Oh God, save me. I wanted him. I wanted this so badly. Now that I’ve had a taste of the man and the beast, I’ll never be able to let either of them go...
CHAPTER ONE
ROSLIN
Four weeks ago...
“Thiswillbeyourroom, Miss Glen.” The creatin holding my arm in such a way I knew I’d be bruised when he let me go gave me a nasty smile before throwing me into the posh bedroom.
Better than I was expecting, considering the circumstances.
I tumbled to the hard floor, twisting my ankle on the way down, then smacked my hands on the cool hardwood. All of that would leave a mark. When the door closed and locked behind me, I flipped them off.
Assholes.
As bargains went, I guess I should be happy to be alive. After the little stunt my father pulled, I should be dead right now.Egotistical, narcissistic, douche bag.Alfred Glen was a made man. The mob needed a pawn in the government, and my arrogant prick of a father had been the perfect mark for the last ten years. I tried to warn him. But did he listen? Hell no. Probably because I was fourteen and too headstrong for him. (Another reason I was picking myself off the floor of this luxe bedroom)
Anyway, back then—when my father was a nobody—he had these idealistic goals. These righteous crusades no one would listen to. A narcissist to the nth degree. If everyone would just follow what my father “prescribed” society should be, we’d be better off. Poverty, homelessness, and violence would be eradicated.
Until them.
They—him—Dominic Esposito; leader of the 96thStreet Demons, or “Demons” for short, used my father as their pawn. Dominic poured millions into my father’s campaign over the last ten-plus years to secure his senate seat election wins while also feeding into my father’s over-inflated ego while silently bending the arc of my father’s prophesied future.
Obviously, at some point—reads as— “last year,” my father pissed off Dominic. He was “done” with the mob and had co-signed several anti-organized crime bills because violence begot violence, or whatever. My father even named Mr. Esposito as one of the most wanted crime lords on the upper west side.
Hence why I was sitting in a room, locked away, like a friggen prisoner, until my father either paid all the money back—which he couldn’t, or begged Dominic for forgiveness and came crawling back like the stubborn puppy Alfred Glen had always been—which he wouldn’t do.
Me?
I’ll probably die here, in this room. Probably be sold off if Dominic thought the solution would bring my father to heel. Again, it won’t. Of course, my mother will, at some point, scream and holler at my father to do the right thing. As always, he won’t listen to her. He had a clean, pious image to cement in and around the community. Kowtowing to “terrorists” even for his daughter wouldn’t happen. My father had such a high opinion of himself, he thought everyone else should bow to him. When they didn’t, they’re the enemy. Didn’t matter if it was us, his children, or his wife. The goons—Dominic—who took me as collateral for payment of funds used in opposition to their contract with my father. Yeah, they didn’t matter, either.
“Great,” I muttered. “Just great.”
I stood, testing my right ankle and grimaced. Shouldn’t have worn my favorite pair of Jimmy’s to work today. I frowned, staring at the swollen purple and red bruising pattern molting across my skin.Shit. Probably sprained it.Black and blue were never my color. The door opened moments later as I sat on the bed contemplating my choices. Not that I had many. Clearly, I didn’t want to go over the whole intimidation thing again. I didn’t need more injuries. Not that they didn’t scare me. Deep down, I didn’t care. This little stunt between my father and Dominic didn’t involve me. Nothing he did now would genuflect my father.
Yet, there he stood; Dominic Esposito, surrounded by his men.
