Page 21 of Make Me Hunt
“You fucking bitch,” Rocco lunges at me, in a lame attempt to defend the piece of crap still screaming in pain, his hand still clutched between his legs, trying to deal with the anguish.
I dodge, grab the back of his neck, and slam his face into the wall beside him. “I don’t have time for your shit. Ares is waiting,” I grunt, leaving one on the verge of tears, and the other one unconscious.
I’m not the defenseless girl Ares probably takes me for. I’ve just made some really bad decisions lately.
I enter Elysium, reminding myself that things always get heated around here during the weekend. There are no limits when it comes to decency or what his men should or shouldn't do in his club—mostly because he doesn’t care, as long as business goes on as usual.
No outsiders ever come here, except for the occasional member of different mafia families running business in the city… and lap dancers, strippers, or whatever women his men bring in for entertainment. There’s only one rule: they have to stay far away from his table. He only handles business here, never pleasure.
I make my way between the tables and almost bump into a woman wearing nothing but panties, stuffed with more than a few twenties. Actually, the place is crawling with them… and with plenty of other girls who also seem eager to lose their clothes.
I ignore everyone. They can just fuck whoever and wherever they want. That’s actually happened here on more than one occasion. Everyone can do whatever they want with their lives, I don’t care. I just care about keeping mine.
And by the look on Ares's face, my chances aren’t great.
I’m starting to think I drag out the worst in him, the black in his eyes extended so far, it almost swallows the white. I thought I was hallucinating that day at his house, but I see it clearly now. It’s like he’s morphing into something else, something that scares the hell out of me. There’s a nervous tap of his hands, the veins in his neck pulsing so strongly I can see them against his shirt. And his full lips, a thin line now, as if he’s fighting to bite back his words.
“Little Curse, you managed to fuck things up again, haven’t you?” he asks, and his hand suddenly stops that rhythm.
“I can fix it,” I say, my tone low, careful not to anger him any further. This time, I don’t pull up a chair, just stand in front of him.
“We’ll see,” he smirks, and for a moment, there’s a glimmer of hope that maybe he’ll still keep me around. “Come closer.” His words, so crisp that it makes it more of an order than a request.
I step closer to him, and he crooks his index finger, beckoning me to lean in.
My instincts fight me so that I won’t do it, but I don’t really have a choice, do I?
I slowly lean in to hear what he has to say, his lips closing in next to my ear. “Do you know what might just save your life tonight?”
I don’t answer, but a stuttered breath escapes me.
“The fact that you’re wearing my mark,” he snaps, his hand, grabbing the back of my head, pulling me on top of him in the armchair. “The fact that you are mine,aren’t you?”
“Y… yes,” I whisper, unwilling to admit it to myself as fear sneaks into my veins like a drug.
I don’t fear people, not anymore.
But I fear him.
He carries a kind of madness no one can predict or control. And as calculated as he may seem, I feel he’s unpredictable underneath all of that.
“Good, Little Curse,” his lips brush the side of my face, marking me as his property once again. “Now you will show me how much you’d like to be mine. How hard you’llcomefor me.”
“What?” I breathe, unable to control myself, my eyes raise to stare up into his for a split second, before he flips me around, my back slamming into his chest, my ass pressed against his cock in the armchair.
I want to fight him, but I don’t. I just obey as he pulls me in so close to him that there’s no distance between us. He’s so large that I fit flush against his chest, my body molding to his like he’s my damn shadow. And in this madness, I dare to imagine how it feels to lose myself in his darkness.
Everyone in the club seems to be minding their own business, but I can still feel all the curious eyes running our way.
What the fuck is he planning to do with me? To me?
For a few moments, he doesn’t react, and all I can feel is his hard cock nudging against my ass.
Fuck, he feels big.
But then his hands run up my waist and under my top until they reach the mark—hismark. I draw in a breath, feeling his lips press to the side of my neck. “Does it hurt to be mine, Little Curse?” he asks, his fingers dragging over the flesh that’s still hurting.
I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of saying anything, but he presses harder against the skin. “Yes,” I mutter through gritted teeth, knowing that he won’t stop until he hears it.
