Then again, I have no idea as to where it is that we are going, and if I don’t wear the dress, he will just make me put it on anyway. Growling, I curse him and his explicit dress choice. I pull out a pair of black panties and a red strapless bra.
I slip the dress on, relishing in the softness that wraps around me. I feel as if I am wrapped in the softest blanket in the world. The dress is very similar to the other dress, except this one is tighter. My body is curved into it like a glove. My breasts are accentuated very well, and my waist line looks tiny.
“You look exceptional…” His dark voice says behind me. I hadn’t heard him slip into the room, probably because I can’t stop staring at how I look in the mirror.
“Compliments of you, of course…” I say smugly, unable to wipe the look off my face. I know if I start going soft, it will be a lost cause. I have to get out of this alive.
A smile peeks at his lips… “Who else knows your body like I do?” he questions. He is trying to make my mind drift back to the time we shared this afternoon. It had been intimate and passionate. It is something I will be thinking about for many days to come.
“You don’t have to buy me shit… I don’t need any more debt to be paid…” I trail off, my fingers fidgeting with the edge of the dress. A pair of kickass looking heels are next to my feet, but I am not sure I want to wear them. I can hardly walk in shoes, heels will kill me.
“Consider it a gift then.” His voice is cool, his face void of all emotions. He is dressed in black slacks with a red tie and a white shirt underneath. He dresses to please, just looking at him makes me want to run straight to the bed and forget about doing anything. He oozes so much sex and confidence, it consumes everything in his way.
“No, thank you,” I say as nicely as possible while gritting my teeth. I kind of hate that he has all this power. He controls people, and not only other people, but now me, too.
He smiles softly, which is surprising because nothing on him is soft… “Put your shoes on, please. We need to get going.” Those are his last words to me before slipping his hands into his pockets and leaving the room. Those hands, the very things that cause pain and pleasure in so many ways.
He is a force to be reckoned with. I just don’t know if it will be me to bring him down or himself.
Chapter Nine
Alzerro
“Go get her,” I speak firmly to Mack. His eyes bore into mine for a moment longer than I would like before he goes upstairs to my room. Bree has found a way under my skin, and each day that she is here, I feel myself losing my grip on things. I am not soft, I can’t be. In this world, there is only strength or weakness. Being weak is certain death, and strength is power, something needed when you have men breathing down your throat and people shooting at you.
Speaking of which, I am going to kill Luccio tonight if he doesn’t give me the answers I need. Someone sent one of his men to my home for something. Something which is unknown to me, but I am going to find out. When he and I had last spoken, he seemed so intent on helping me find my mother’s killer, now it seems as if he is the enemy, just wanting to weasel his way further into my life, hoping I’ll expose any and all secrets.
My fists clench with anger, isn’t that what everyone wants? Bree, too? To weasel their way into what it is that makes me tick? To break me down? I hear the faint sound of heels on the floor and avert my eyes to the stairs. The second my eyes land on Bree, I swear I want to give all the anger and madness away.
Her dress fits her just as I envisioned it would, hugging all her beautiful curves and accenting her body for what it is. Her eyes hold a secret and I can see the fear in them. Her body is bound up tight with something, and the way she pulls away from Mack has me wondering if he’s tried something on her.
She takes the steps slowly, her heels clacking along the way. I had set this dinner up in an effort for us to get to know more about one another. I had known all there is to know about her father, and her, herself. She is a college student, she is undecided in academics, and her favorite color is green. She is deathly afraid of bees, and her favorite ice cream is double fudge. My men had found all this out via the internet, among other tools that weren’t known to the public.
Her father is a farmer who had lost his wife months prior. I know that much about Bree. We both shared death, but that’s about it. Except she is living, and I am not.
I extend my hand out to her, she places her warm palm in mine and I lead us out to the waiting car. She looks beautiful, although I’m sure she already knows.
“Where are we going?” she asks urgently. She seems uneasy.