He cooked you dinner from scratch. That’s a love language.
The dungeon has good toilet paper, moisturizing body wash, and an area rug. Some hotels could never.
Delusion is clearly on the menu with this tasty-ass bacon.
“Don’t be mad, love.” The timbre of his voice rattles his chuckle and the Adam’s apple I’m ashamed to admit I’d sucked.Twice.
“I’m not.” I cross my legs and face a shadow. My coochie needs a blunt and a muscle relaxer, but I’m not telling him that. “Do you have an infatuation with death or vampires?”
“What?”
“Who works in an all-black office with no windows? You’re either a sadist or have a hard-on for vampirism.” There’s no way these dim lights are good for the eyes.
He considers me, his thick thumb rolling over his lip. “I enjoy torturing the people I kill, but I don’t get off on inflicting harm. Unless it’s consensual. Bondage. Biting. Spanking. Choking. I like it all. Do you enjoy getting wet for me, Trouble? When my hand wraps around your throat or when your pussy convulses around my dick? I enjoy your cries, the way your nails drag through my skin when I hit your spot.”
“Why is it hot—I mean, dark in here?” I swallow hard to tell the heaux who’d happily taken bacon that we have morals.
Benny’s lips twitch. “It serves a purpose.”
Observant prick.
Pillowy eggs coat my tongue. “Do you always work in suits on Saturdays?” Of course it’s all black.
“Business doesn’t stop because the workweek ends.”
I snort. “That’s a good recipe for burnout. Trust me, I know.” Wherever life takes me next, it will not include a work schedule at the expense of rest.
Benny’s casual demeanor melts at the knock on the door. “Enter.”
Two men in black polos and cargo pants step inside. The one with a curly ponytail looks from me to Benny. I wave, because what the hell does one do while eating breakfast in a crime boss’s office?
Benny shakes his head when I stand. “Speak,” he commands in Italian.
There are no TVs in the house, so I do what any kidnapped person would do. I turn myself and my to-go plate to watch the show.
I’ve only seen Benny in action once, with the man hooked to the ceiling. Technically, twice if he and his friend interrogating me in his kill container counts. I knew I was leaving without a scratch and didn’t evoke the menacing glare he pins on the men in his office who are seconds from shitting themselves.
What’d they do?
The man with coiled black hair clears his throat. “There was an issue with a recent shipment, but we took care of it.”
“What kind of issue?” Benny walks around his desk to sit at the front.
I fork a bite of egg.
“An unmarked car was outside the shipment yard, but I took care of it,” Ponytail says with more confidence.
Benny’s arms fold over his suit, his biceps flexing against the tailored fabric. I grab my container to sit in a chair closer to his desk. Far away from the line of fire should he pull his gun.
“How would anyone know where the shipment is, unless someone tipped them off?”
“Mhm.” I shake my head at a piece of bacon and freeze at three sets of eyes. “My bad.”
Ponytail presses a hand to his chest. “Who would tip them off?”
He’s lying.
I crunch into a piece of bacon.
