“True…”
Our giggles are muffled by the heavy scuff of boots moving across the floor. It’s the same man who shot up my store a few weeks ago, getting into it with Krampus.
“Hi, welcome to Mindy’s Sweets. How can I—”
“Moseley sent me over to fetch you.”
“We’re in the middle of a rush. Can I come over after?”
He shakes his head. “Your presence is requested now.” His tone comes off as a warning, and Amber looks at me with frightened eyes.
“Can you handle it here for a minute?”
She nods, but it’s a bit shaky and nervous.
For a moment, I hesitate following him, knowing damn well he’s the man that Moseley has his ‘merger’ planned with.
We barely make it out the door before my mouth starts moving.
“How are you today?” I ask, purposefully trying to sound sweet.
He tenses for a second but keeps walking, leading me towards Moseley’s den. Two men are stationed up outside like always, wearing black tailored suits and dark glasses. They open the door for us, and he doesn’t even let me walk through first, just bullies his way in like he owns the place.What a gentleman.
“So, apparently, you and I are supposed to get married. Isn’t that wild? I myself think this is a bad idea. You’re not even my type. I’m a little ole’ chatterbox, and you’re this big, gruff, dangerous man that barely speaks. If that doesn’t say a match made in H double cinnamon sticks, I don’t know what does.”
He stops abruptly just past the threshold, the door slamming behind us with a bang.
Then he whips around, his slimy hand slipping around my throat seconds before he pins me against the wall.
“Listen, bitch, I don’t give two fucks what you think about our little arrangement.” His teeth clench, the stench of his pungent cologne whipping me in the face repulsively. His grip tightens on my throat, fingers digging into my flesh until my breathing’s constricted. It’s not enough to crush my windpipe, but enough to make my pulse scream in my ears. The thunderous tone quickly increases to panicked cries of help. “You don’t get a say in what happens here. You’re just going to stand there and look pretty.”
“Don’t touch me!” I bite back, clawing at his hand still squeezing my throat as his other violently grabs my breast.
My back hits the wall hard enough to knock the breath from my lungs. Then he inches closer, his mouth covering mine before I can stop him. It’s not like when I kissed Krampus. His kiss is powerful and possessive, tasting of venom and decay. There’s nothing pleasing about it, especially when his free hand moves down my body and up into my dress.
“I’ll touch you whatever way I want to, bitch.” His fingers move between my legs, touching me somewhere he shouldn’t.
My hands fly up instinctively, fingers digging into his wrist, desperately clawing at his hand seconds before I clamp down on his lip, drawing blood.
“You little whore!” he rages, hand cracking across my face, whipping it to the side. The pain is instant, a punishing reminder that I’m legally bound to something I had no idea I signed up for.
“Rico, please.”
His fingers dig into my throat, eyes dancing wild with rage.
“That’s Mr.Nostra to you,” he snarls, leaning in so close I can feel his breath on my cheek. “Biting me was your first mistake,” he growls, wiping the blood from his lip with the back of his sleeve. “The second is thinking you can be cute and jokearound with me. I’m in charge here, little bitch, not you. When I’m done with you, the only thing sweet about you will be those damn pastries you bake. I’m gonna fucking love ruining you, stealing that smile and making it disappear, making that positive outlook you have on life turn sour. I fucking hate people like you. The ones who think you can change everything with happiness and rainbows. Well, fuck your rainbows, and fuck you too for thinking you have some say on what goes on between us.”
My heart thuds violently in my chest. Adrenaline turning to fear, his intent clear.
“I didn’t agree to any of this,” I say, my voice shaking despite my best effort. “All I wanted was to open a bakery. If I had known what was in that lease… I would never have signed it.”
His hand slides lower again, this time from my throat to the collar of my dress, fingers tugging at my cleavage just enough to make my skin crawl.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, mockingly gentle. “But you did. You signed your life over to Mr. Moseley, and in turn signed your body over to me. At first I was against touching you, but now that I’ve seen your fiery spirit, I might have a bit of fun breaking you in.”
I shove at his chest, panic taking over. “Don’t touch me.”
That’s when his smile turns ugly.
