Boss: Complete Box Set: A Mob BDSM Romance

C
opyright
© 2016 by Rae Lynn Blaise

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

P
arts
of this book was previously published under the pen name Ruby Ross.

G
eorgios is a fish-faced bastard
.

He holds a package out to me with authority that terrifies and intimidates me. His icy expression has never changed in the time I’ve known him, never smiling or frowning. Always the same. He smells faintly of garlic, sour and pungent, and I now associate that scent with trembling quietly and trying not to show how the ice in his eyes has chilled my blood.

“Do you understand what I just said?” His fat lips pucker. Silently, I repeat the time and directions he gave me. I understand. Because my life depends on it.

“Yes.”

Seemingly satisfied, he thrusts the small, rectangular package into my shaking hands. He never said what’s inside and I don’t ask. I only care about one thing. After tonight, he promised me my freedom. But he’s known for changing his mind at the very last second. I’m not sure what he’s ultimately decided for me.

I open my mouth to ask, but the words stick in my dry throat. He doesn’t like to be questioned, and I’ve seen what happens to those who ask too much. He stands a good six inches taller than me, and the bulge of his weapon beneath his leather jacket is clear. If his gun doesn’t get me, his fists will. Still, I
have
to know.

“S—so, once I deliver this, the debt is paid, right?”

Georgios looks me over with watery blue eyes. My stomach rolls at the objectification in his gaze. His stare catalogues me piece by piece. The threat of his affection is there with each breath, and I’ve heard whispers of what he likes to do to girls.

“Yes, as long as you successfully deliver the package. Erica …” a vein in his forehead twitches as he draws out my name, and a suggestive gleam glosses his gaze. “It’s possible the client may want more than just the package.”

He tips his chin up like he’s daring me to protest. Of course I won’t. I can’t, even though the sick feeling inside pushes up and threatens to close my throat. A tiny bubble of relief that also floats up saves me from total panic because once this night is over, my debt will be cleared. Until then, I have no choice but to do whatever is asked of me.

“Since you look so nice, maybe he’ll overlook those little tits.” He laughs, but it’s just a noise and not mirrored in his expression. I feel demeaned and humiliated, my average chest size never having bothered me before. I try to hide my feelings, but the flash of triumph on his face tells me he noticed. Then again, he notices everything.

“Now go.” He takes out his cell phone and turns away from me. I’m dismissed and I hurry out of there like he might shoot me down any second. It’s happened before, to others, and so with every step I pray I get to take another,
pleasepleaseplease
screaming in my mind, until I’m finally outside.

Slipping the package into my leather bag, I call a cab. Night paints the city, twinkling stars brightening this otherwise drab and violent section of Detroit. I slink into the shadows to wait, trying hard not to overthink how this delivery may end. Anything could be in this package, and that uncertainty alone poses a huge risk for me.

But it’s the possibility the package won’t be enough that keeps the hairs on the back of my neck on end. Tears sting my eyes but I’ll never let them fall. I could end up another number in a growing statistic of rape victims in this city—or worse, like my sister, Nathalie.

Or, I could be free from my debt and finally able to breathe. It’s a risk worth taking.

I’m lucky even to get a cab to come to this section of the city, but one arrives faster than expected. The cabbie doesn’t come to a complete stop, but slowly rolls along while eyeing me. He’s appraising me to see if I’m safe to let in. I stumble along, jerking the door handle until he finally unlocks it. The door swings open and I jump in while the wheels are still moving.

He takes off so fast I’m thrown against the seat, my head hitting the sidewall.

“Ouch!” I cry, grabbing the back of my head.

“I ain’t getting shot for a fare. Where you goin’, anyway?”

I give him the street address and hang on for dear life.

“You sure that’s where you want to go?” He’s looking at me in the rearview mirror, one eyebrow raised. I’m not familiar with the address, and his question only makes my anxiety worse.

“I have to.”

He shakes his head and eyes me through the rearview. “You one of them high-class hookers?”

Sinking deep into my seat, I ignore him and watch the buildings glide by out my window. Putting myself in a mental bubble is the only way to get through this. The minutes stretch out until the view fades from drab to brilliant, until the buildings become shinier, the streets landscaped and pretty.

Anticipation squeezes my middle as he pulls up to the Rock City Casino, one of the most glamorous in the entire city. A hotel of the same name is connected. It’s glittery and glamorous, and a place I’ve heard about but never dared step foot in. If this is the place the package is going, it may mean more trouble than I’d bargained for. And I’d bargained for a lot of fucking trouble.

I pay the cabbie, my hands trembling, and get out before I can overthink this. Inside, I don’t pause to look around but I catch glimmers of luxury from the corner of my eye. Afraid I might be stopped, I head straight to the elevators as if I belong here and check the room number.

An attendant greets me as the elevator doors open. Unsure what to say, I blurt out the room number with as much authority as I can. He doesn’t question me, though I feel transparent and anxious.

I’m dressed nicely.
Not
like a hooker, despite what the cabbie said, and my chest is modestly covered by the cut of my dress. I pride myself on not being like that. Like them. Like
her
.

A minute later, the elevator stops.

“The Presidential Suite, Ma’am.”

Oh, of bloody course. Someone wealthy enough to reserve this suite is rich enough to do whatever he wants with me. Money gets away with everything in this town.

Swallowing my nerves, I focus on my dress again. I don’t look like a hooker. Not that it really matters, not if

I barely realize I’ve crossed the hall and knocked on the door when it opens and I come face-to-face with a thatch of swirling dark chest hair. Stunned, I can’t look away from the perfect chest outlined by a form-fitting dress shirt with most of the buttons undone. He’s close enough that his warmth radiates the scent of man and musk toward me.

“Come inside.”

The silky tenor draws my gaze upward, to a face as perfect as the body but not nearly as warm. If George Clooney and Henry Cavill had a love child, this guy would be him. Sharp blue eyes raze into me, the set of his dark angel features stony. A thrill races through me and heads south, as if devils and cherubs are at war inside my panties. I want to squirm. I want to run. I want to throw myself into his arms and it shocks me.

I never react to men like this—especially to those who might kill me. Damn.

Suddenly, he grips my upper arm and pulls me inside. A gasp dies on my lips as I stumble to a halt inside the foyer. He slides the deadbolt home. I’m so scared. I’m so fucked.

“Do you have it?”

My eyes stray to the expanse of bare chest but I pull them away. His shirt is completely untucked and he’s not wearing a tie … or shoes. It’s hard for me to read him because he doesn’t give off a complete thug vibe, but he’s not dressed like a strict professional either.

“Of—of course.” Slipping the satchel off my shoulder, I grab the package and hand it over to him. He doesn’t hesitate to rip off the brown paper and toss it to the floor. I watch his strong, square hands as he lifts the top of the box. His fingers are long, sculpted—the kind that can bring pain or pleasure. Or maybe both, if you’re lucky.

I know I should look away, but curiosity is a trait I have a hard time controlling. So I peek, just a little. It looks like a ring inside the box. He shifts a little and I see the ring clearly, the top set with inlaid rubies, though the wide band is a man’s style. He gives me a small glance as he takes photos from the box. My cheeks heat and a wave of dread starts in my stomach and rolls down my legs. I’m no longer sure they can support me.

Because when he glanced up, he saw me looking.

I’m as good as dead.

I can barely draw a breath as I silently curse my stupidity. The papery sound of him flipping through the photos fills the air. Determined not to show my fear, I stand straighter and wait. My eyes are cast down, but flick up again of their own accord. The backs of the photos say FOTO GOTO. I shouldn’t have looked, why did I look?

He shoves the photos back into the box and closes the lid. A small smile pulls at his firm, sculpted lips, but it disappears fast.

When he looks at me, he’s all icy coldness again. He’s gorgeous … so, so gorgeous. Women probably throw themselves at his feet to get a hard fuck before he strangles them to death.

I admit, the thought is tempting. If my world ends tonight, here, let me have one last moment of pleasure.

Taking a small step back, I clear my throat and pray for all the professionalism I can muster.

“Will that be all, sir?”

He regards me for a moment and I swear I can feel the touch of his gaze like hands on my skin. Goosebumps alight on my arms as he takes a step toward me.

“Almost. There’s one more thing I want.”

Here it comes.

Those hands—he’s either going to hold me down and rape me, or strangle me, or both.

His fingers dig into my arms, pain blossoming as he pulls me to him. My mind goes blank as he presses into me. Suddenly, he backs me into the door and his lips crash onto mine. His mouth parts and his tongue slides against mine, wrenching shivers out of me and momentarily killing my urge to fight for my life.

He feasts on my mouth, hard, the silken heat of his lips mating with mine until I’m boneless, breathless. Then, just as quickly, he pulls back and smiles at me—really smiles. The coldness of his face cracks, illuminating his beauty and stealing my breath.

I’m stunned by his expression, my nerves heating up as the shocking attraction I felt for him earlier flames to life. He’s hot … exquisitely hot. A thought flashes through my mind and I cut it off, but it comes right back.

Maybe being on my knees for a man like this wouldn’t be so bad.
I am immediately disgusted by the thought, and I hate myself for thinking it.

Shifting my weight, I look to where his hand still cups my arm and despite my still-shaking legs—perhaps even because of them—I hope that he won’t let go. I hope that he’ll grip me harder, that his hands will slide into my hair and pull as he orders me to—

“You may go.”

At first, I don’t process what he’s said. I’m reeling from how easily my lust is betraying my sense of self-preservation.
What the hell is wrong with me, thinking these thoughts? Do I actually want to die, or am I just trying to distract myself?
The adrenaline pulsing through my blood makes it too hard to think deeply.

God. I’m shaking.

“Did you hear me?”

He releases me and our eyes catch as he reaches over my shoulder and releases the deadbolt. Slowly, with catlike grace, he moves away, leaving me just enough space to get free.

I do. I yank open the door and barrel through it, racing to the elevator as tears at last begin to stream down my face. The doors open immediately, and to my relief, there’s no attendant this time. I sink down against the wall and cover my face with my hands as emotions pour of out me. His taste is full on my lips as I realize,
really
realize that it’s done.

It’s over.

And I’m finally free.