All while I envisioned her writhing underneath me as I fucked her long and hard.
Again.
And again.
I headed back toward the warehouse where Donatello stood with his arms crossed, a look of amusement on his face. “You know her.”
“Maybe or perhaps she’s legitimately lost. Drive her to her destination. It won’t hurt to be safe instead of sorry.” As my mother would say. “Find out what you can about her. If she’s in the wrong place at the wrong time, I’ll play damage control.”
“If she’s with the Russos?”
“Then you bring her back to me. Unharmed.”
“Sure, boss. Whatever you say.”
He shifted his head so he could see around me, chuckling as he did.
“What’s so damn funny?”
“How enamored Zorrowaswith our visitor.”
“Was? Meaning what?”
“Meaning he’s waiting patiently, evidently like the mystery girl told him to do,” he said, still chuckling while I turned around. “I’d call that a longing look. Kind of like the one you had a few minutes ago.”
Goddamn it.
“She disappeared,” I finished. What the fucking hell? I headed into the street, angry with the situation and with myself. As I yanked the phone into my hand, the bad feeling I’d had before drifted into something much worse.
While shaking my head, I dialed my brother’s number, Sinclair answering on the second ring. “Are you sitting down? I hope so.”
CHAPTER 8
Anna
Someone should have told me to avoid all contact with hot, muscular men in form-fitting tuxedos. They should have gone further by warning me that they were dangerous predators.
Plus, I should have paid more attention to the city I’d committed to moving to. New Orleans was known for spirits thriving amongst the living, every cemetery haunted and half the locals knowing voodoo by the time they reached kindergarten.
Oh, what a mess.
The man I’d fucked for hours, the same man who’d carried a weapon with him to a benefit performance and who was about to drive bullets into the brains of several men had recognized me. As soon as he’d spoken, I’d known who he was. Besides, the handsome masked stranger’s scent had stripped me of every cognitive thought, every breath.
If I recognized him after hours of wild, wanton sex, he’d certainly recognized me. What in God’s name was I supposed to do now? I wasn’t honestly certain.
Go to the police? And tell them what? Besides, I was hoping he’d forget all about me. That’s what I had planned to do with him.
What if he wouldn’t allow me?
How had I fallen into yet another fire?
Maybe now was the right time to contact my father. Yet I knew what he’d do if I told him I was being chased by a horrible Russian and had maybe found myself in danger in a brand new city. He’d force me to come home. I wasn’t ready yet.
An ache had formed behind my eyes, the anxiety increasing.
Ugly faces.
Brawny men in suits.
