Read Salvatore: a Dark Mafia Romance Online
Authors: Natasha Knight
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: a Dark Mafia Romance. I hope you enjoyed it and would consider leaving a review at the store where you purchased the book.
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Cover Design by LJ Anderson
Mayhem Cover Creations
All Images Purchased
Editing by Ann Curtis
Print Formatting by
Champagne Formats
Slater
M
y bike’s
engine rumbled as I pulled into the parking lot of Hello Kitty Kat, a little strip club outside North Bend, Oregon. I took it all in: the old, windowless cabin-like structure; a red neon sign above the door, flashing the image of a half-naked woman wearing the predictable cat ears and a tail; the letter
O
burned out so it read HELL KITTY KAT.
Four bikes stood in a row near the entrance, but pickups took up the majority of the parking spots in the lot. For a Thursday night, the place was hopping.
I pulled my bike into line with the other four, killed the engine, and grabbed a pack of cigarettes out of my pocket. I lit one and took a long drag. I held the cigarette between thumb and forefinger, got off my bike, and headed for the entrance. Before I reached it, two men pushed the door open. Music drifted out, a slow, predictable tune to which I imagined one of the kitties stripped. I checked my watch. A little after one in the morning. This was a twenty-four-hour establishment, and I admit, the day the shit had hit the fan, I’d found myself at a strip club similar to this and hadn’t left for a full forty-eight hours.
One of the men stumbled into me. I caught and righted him. He looked up. And up.
“Oh. Sorry man,” he mumbled.
I was a big guy. Six feet six and 250 pounds of muscle covered in tats. The man stepped backward, and this time, his friend caught him.
“Lou here’s had a little too much to drink,” his friend, who seemed the less drunk of the two, said, slurring his words.
“No problem.” I tossed the butt of my cigarette on the ground.
The guy nodded and quickly took Lou toward his truck. I saw him glance back at me and pocket his keys. “I don’t think I can drive, man,” I heard him say.
“Well, I know I can’t,” Lou said.
They both apparently found that hilariously funny and, after recovering from their belly laugh, walked toward the road.
Two less drunks behind the wheel tonight. That was a good thing.
Crushing the still smoking butt under my boot, I pulled the door open and entered. The place reeked of beer, sweat, and horny men, but I didn’t care about that. I was here for one reason and one reason alone.
The woman onstage finished. The men cheered and whistled while she collected her discarded garments and, after blowing one final kiss to the audience, left the stage.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked.
“Whiskey.”
He nodded and poured out a glass of Jack. I paid the man and took my drink to find a quiet place in the back just as the music started and the lights went up on the stage. I finished my first and ordered a second while watching two more women dance before it was finally
her
turn.
The whole room went still. I leaned an elbow on the table and rested my chin on the backs of my fingers as music began to play and soft light settled on the stage. For a moment, it seemed like the whole place held its breath until she finally appeared to a round of whistles. The spotlight followed her feet, encased in strappy, high-heeled sandals, as she walked toward the center of the stage where the pole stood. There, she turned to the side, hands gripping the metal as the light slowly caressed her calf and rose up along her thigh, to her hips clad in dark lace. When she moved, it wasn’t like any other stripper I’d ever seen. There was something different about her, something just out of reach. She didn’t belong here, and that fact made her all the more desirable.
It made you want.
I watched, along with all the other hungry men in the room. Her body gyrated to the soft music, slow and dark as the spotlight finally reached her waist, where a jewel sparkled from the piercing in her belly button. She turned, the muscles in her arm tensing as she supported her weight. The light caught her breasts, small, full, and wrapped in lace. The sight of them instigated another round of whistling and catcalls from the crowd.
As the spotlight continued panning upward, she turned her head. I saw that her dark hair was confined to a tight bun on top of her head. The music suddenly changed, the beat picked up. She looked out into the audience. Everything about her, her body, her face, her eyes—even from this distance—everything screamed erotic, right down to her pink tongue licking her full crimson lips.
Then MacKayla Simone began her striptease.
I leaned back, hiding my face deeper in the shadows, even though she couldn’t see me due to the distance and the bright lights trained on her. I watched, my cock hardening, the memory of her in my arms, lying beneath me, still fresh. She released the bun and sent thick, dark waves of hair cascading down her back. Her body moved as if one with the music. She closed her eyes as she stripped off her bra. The crowd went insane. She gave them one hell of a show, shaking those tits, playing with her nipples, reaching down her belly, only to stop as one fingernail grazed the top of the lace triangle over the mound of her sex.
I wondered if I were sitting closer if I’d be able to see the slit of her pussy. See if she was wet. If I’d be able to smell her sex.
I swallowed hard, my cock throbbing against my jeans, and narrowed my eyes, forcing myself to remember what this woman had done to me. How one night with her had cost me everything. Every. Fucking. Thing. My wife. My daughter. My career. My name.
One night. A moment of weakness. And I’d paid. How I’d paid.
I downed the rest of my whiskey. MacKayla turned and gave us a view of her ass, spreading her legs wide and bending deep. The string between her ass cheeks was the only barrier between her and fifty men with raging boners. I stood, knowing my time had come. It wasn’t revenge I wanted, not exactly. I only wanted what was owed me, and the way I figured it, MacKayla Simone owed.
She owed me fucking big.
Adam
F
or the sixth
day this week, I watched Elle Vega walk out of the trendy café, wave good-bye to her friends, and climb into her shiny, new VW Bug. Yellow. Compliments of Daddy, no doubt. I knew for a fact she had a Mini sitting in the garage at home, too, but she wouldn’t bring that around this group. No, she had to maintain the appearance she was like them. Like her friends. She’d then take the long way to her condo in the West Village. Tiny, charming, absurdly overpriced. Perfect for the rich little bitch.
“Mr. Smith, can I get you anything else?” Mary asked, the dark circles under her eyes betraying her fatigue. She’d been serving me the same thing every day for the past six days — a double espresso and a slice of apple pie.
I took my wallet out. “No, thank you, Mary. What’s the damage?” I already knew. It’d be less than ten bucks, but I dug out a fifty-dollar bill anyway.
“Here you go,” she said, handing me the check.
I glanced at it before slipping the fifty into the little pocket folder. “That should cover it.”
“Oh, no, sir, it’s really too much.”
I closed my hand over hers to stop her from giving it back. “How’s Kyle doing, by the way? Things settle down at school?” She was a twenty year old single mom working two jobs, one of which paid below the minimum wage. Fucking ridiculous how, here in the United States of America, one of the wealthiest fucking countries in the world, we have kids like this raising their own kids, struggling to put food on the table.
She smiled, knowing she needed the money. Knowing I knew it. “Kyle’s good, and, yes, it’s going better. The bigger kids stopped teasing him, it seems. His teacher’s pretty nice, actually.”
I smiled back at her. “Good. I’m glad to hear it,” I said, standing. “Oh, one more thing.” I took a business card out of my wallet and handed it to her. “I’ll be going out of town for a while, but if you ever need anything, don’t be a stranger.” She was a good kid. Got a shit lot in life, but a good kid.
Her nose reddened and her eyes moistened. “Thanks, Mr. Smith. You’re a great guy.”
I almost chuckled, wondering if she’d think that if she knew the reason for my daily visits.
I dug the keys out of my suit pocket and went around the corner to where I’d parked my Harley. People turned to stare as I climbed on. It was only natural, I supposed, to watch a big guy in a three-piece suit, wearing shoes costing more than most made in a month, ride a fucking Harley through town. The bike was the only part of the past I brought into my present. The rest I’d return to later, when it was done.
I followed the little yellow bug from some distance away, although I didn’t need to tail her. I knew where she lived. I knew what she ate. Where she did her dry cleaning. Who she socialized with. Who she fucked — although that was surprisingly infrequent. I knew the contents of her underwear drawer. Knew what kind of vibrator she liked and how often she used it. And, today, I’d meet Elle Vega face-to-face. I’d introduce myself as her new neighbor, and I’d steal her life, just like they’d stolen mine.
RETRIBUTION is currently available only on Amazon as part of the Kindle Unlimited Program
Julien
I
'd been watching
her for the last three days.
I didn't know what it was I found so appealing about the girl. She was a sneaky little peeping Tom. Maybe it was her pretty green eyes, or how wide they grew at the things she watched us do. At the things I made the girl whose ass I was currently fucking do. Regardless, her fate was sealed the moment she pushed the curtains aside and saw my face.
No witnesses, no matter what. That was rule number one. It had to be.
She hadn't yet realized I'd seen her, that she was being watched as she herself was doing the watching. Her attention was fully absorbed by the fucking. But I studied her face, saw her mouth open, her little pink tongue dart out to lick those full lips, her throat work as she swallowed hard, her cheeks flushing a deep red.
Her face imprinted on my mind. I'd recognize her anywhere now. It was one of the things I was so good at — a blessing and a curse all at once. Never forget a face. Never forget their eyes, how they change when they realize what's happening, when terror grips them.
Forgetting was a gift. People spent their lives chasing the past, trying to hold on to something long gone. Desperate to remember. Me? I wished I could forget.
It had been three days since she'd first seen us. I was sure it was by accident, or at least it had been the first time. Her room was situated directly across the courtyard of the cheap little hotel. She'd pulled the curtains apart to open her window when she'd stumbled upon the sight of us fucking. I'd ducked my head out of sight, and wouldn't have thought much of it, but when, a moment later, the small hand pulled the curtains just a little wider, just wide enough to see, my curiosity had gotten the best of me.
It had been her face. It was just so innocent, so… corruptible. Irresistible to a man like me. I always liked to play with them first, fuck with them a little. It was cruel, reprehensible, really. I knew it, but it didn't make me enjoy it any less.
The blonde began to squirm beneath me, almost stealing my attention from the woman in the window. I glanced down at her, at the mass of dyed hair spilling over her back, mascara smeared across her face, her mouth open. I looked at her ass, at my cock disappearing inside it. She'd been a good fuck, but this would be the last time. Three days was long enough. I had a job to do, after all, and the girl in the window would already delay me. I couldn't exactly assassinate my mark in front of her. She'd freak out, and that was more attention than I needed.
Gripping the blonde's hair tightly, I tugged hard, giving her a grin she likely thought a smile before pushing her face into the mattress to shut her up. She mewled and I rubbed her clit with my free hand, turning that sound into something else. Pain and pleasure, pleasure and pain. They never knew which it was; there was never any clear line for them.
With the blonde's face buried in the blankets, I studied my little voyeur. She was still there, still watching — but her hand had disappeared into her pants. I'd make her show me just what those fingers were doing when the time came. That made me grin, but when she looked up and her green gaze met mine, I could almost hear her gasp at the shock of being caught. It was then my grin widened into something else, something meant to scare.
I gripped the blonde's hips, all while daring the woman who watched to draw the curtains closed, to turn away. I fucked the woman before me then, really fucked her, and just before I came inside that tight ass, my little voyeur blinked as if coming out of a trance, her face going bright red before she pulled the curtains tight.
My low growl made the blonde look over her shoulder. I met her gaze, my own hardening as I forced myself to remember who she was, the things she'd done, and the job I still had to do. That part always made my cock harder. Any person with morals would probably worry about that, about liking this sort of work, but I had never claimed to have any of those. Or if I had, they'd been beaten out of me years ago. That was what made me so good at my job.
I looked down at her asshole, at my cock as it plunged deep, knowing I hurt and gave pleasure at once, not caring which was the dominant of the two as I exploded inside her. But when I closed my eyes, it was the voyeur’s eyes I saw, not the woman who had my cock buried inside her.
If only the bitch before me knew how lucky she was. She'd just been granted an extra day to live.
DEVIANT is currently available only on Amazon as part of the Kindle Unlimited Program