Chapter 2-1
1288 Words
Chapter 2
Sondra
Well. That was interesting. My knees wobble when I stand. What will he do now? Am I free to go? I pull on my clothes with shaking hands and zip my dress all the way up, even though he’s already seen my breasts.
The wet panties are in the trash bin, so I go commando.
I decide the best course of action is to hold my head high and march right out of there. Because there’s no way in hell I’m sticking around to finish cleaning his suite after what just went down. I grab the doorknob and take a breath. Here goes nothing.
He stands in the hallway in front of my cart, talking on his cell phone. Blocking my exit.
Damn.
I catch my breath again at how scary-sexy he looks—the delicious way he fills the expensive suit, his thick, dark hair that curled up at the edges, the penetrating dark eyes.
He ends the call and drops his phone in his suit pocket. “Your story checked out, at least for now. I’ll be digging further.” His dark eyes glitter but the menace I sensed there before has vanished.
I straighten my back, which draws his gaze down to my t**s. “You won’t find anything.”
The corners of his mouth curve faintly. He watches me like a lion watches prey. Hungry. Sure of himself. He shakes his head, almost ruefully. “Girl who looks like you…shouldn’t be cleaning rooms,” he mutters.
I march past him, giving him a wide berth. “Yeah, you said that earlier.”
The guy just totally violated me. Stripped me n***d and watched me pee on his floor. I need to get the hell out of here and never come back. Forget working for the mafia. I have a life worth living…somewhere else. Somewhere far from Vegas.
I push the cart, even though I never finished cleaning his bathroom. Just get the hell out, Sondra.
“Hold up,” he barks. “Leave the cart. Tony will take you home.”
A tap sounds at the door and a huge guy with a wire in his ear walks in. Judging by the bulge at his sides, he packs as much heat as Tacone.
Fuckity f**k f**k.
I step back, shaking my head. Oh hell, no. I’m not getting in a car with this guy so he can shoot me in the head and drop me off a pier. Okay, there are no piers in Las Vegas. The Hoover Dam, then. I’m not that stupid.
“Relax.” Tacone must’ve seen the blood drain from my face. “You’ll get home safely. You have my word. Hold up just a minute.” He walks out of the living room and into his office.
I grab my purse from the housekeeping cart. “I-I’ll just take a bus,” I call out after him and head toward the door, hoping to skirt past Tony. “That’s what I usually do.”
Tony doesn’t budge from his position in front of the door.
“You’re not taking the f*****g bus.” Tacone sounds so scary I stop in my tracks. He returns holding an envelope, which he hands to Tony and murmurs something I didn’t hear. “Go with Tony.” It’s a command, not an option. Tony’s stood there stony-faced the whole time. Now, he lifts his chin at me.
I walk to the door, trembling like a leaf. Tony opens it, ushers me through and shuts it again. I dart a glance up at the beefy man beside me. Tony drops a huge paw on my nape. “You’re okay.”
Seriously? Does this guy care about my welfare?
He ushers me forward into the elevator. “You hurt? Or just scared?”
Every bit of my body trembles. “I’m okay.” I sound sullen. I position myself as far away from him as possible, folding my arms across my chest.
Tony frowns at me. The elevator zooms down. “Boss isn’t himself. He didn’t—” The frown deepens. “Did he force you?”
Okay, that’s kinda sweet. This guy really is checking up on me. But he works for Tacone, head of the crime family, so I’m not sure why he’s even asking. “What would you do if I said yes?”
Dark fury comes over the guy’s face. He takes a step forward toward me. “Is that what happened?” Danger tinges the edges of his voice.
I shake my head. “No. Not like you’re thinking.” I look away. “Not that. Something else.” I don’t look, but I can feel his glower still resting on me.
“What would you have done if I said yes?” I ask again. I suppose my morbid curiosity about all things mafia prompts the repeated question.
He presses his lips together and resumes a soldier-like stance. His signal that he’s not going to answer.
When the elevator dings open, I dart forward, weaving into the throng of gamblers. Somehow, he stays right behind me. The meat-like hand drops on my nape again. “Slow down. I have orders to take you home.”
“I don’t need a ride. I’m going to take the bus—really.”
He doesn’t remove his hand, but uses it to direct me through the crowd, which parts for his big frame and bigger presence. “I’m not gonna whack you, if that’s what you think.”
I shake my head. I can’t believe we’re even having a conversation where whacking someone is involved.
“Good to know.” It’s all I seem capable of saying.
He takes me to another elevator—a private one he uses his keycard to get into. We arrive at the lowest floor, which appears to be the private parking area. He leads me to a limousine and opens the back door for me.
“We’re going in this?” Maybe he really isn’t going to kill me. I look around at the other cars there. Limos, Bentleys, Porsches, Ferraris. Row after row of luxury cars packed the floor. Wow.
Tony smiles like he thinks I’m cute. “Yeah. Get in.”
“You’re as bossy as your boss,” I mutter and he grins.
I do as I’m told. I’m still not a hundred percent sure if this is a death sentence or not, but I can breathe more steadily now.
He doesn’t ask for my address but he drives straight to Corey’s place and pulls up along the sidewalk in front of the townhouse. A chill runs up my spine.
Tacone had certainly checked up on me. Is this another way he throws his weight around? Showing me he knows where I live and how to find me?
Or is this really a courtesy drop off?
I push the door open the second the car stops.
“Hold up.” Tony’s deep voice doesn’t have the same effect as Tacone’s. I don’t freeze. Instead, I run for the door. “I said, hold up,” he shouts, and I hear the slam of his door. “Mr. Tacone wanted me to give you something.”
Hopefully not a bullet between the eyes. I fumble for my keys.
No, I’m being stupid. He drove me home. The guy isn’t going to kill me. I turn around and watch him jog up the walk. He pulls the envelope Tacone handed him out of his jacket pocket and gives it to me. My name scrawls across the front in a thin, neat print. For some reason, I’m surprised at how beautiful Tacone’s handwriting is.
I draw a shaky breath. “Is that it?”
Tony’s eyes crinkle. “Yeah, that’s it.”
I swallow. “‘Kay. Thanks.”
He smirks and turns away without another word.
My hands shake as I work the key into the lock.
It’s over. A bad day, nothing more. I never have to go back there again. Yes, they know where I live, but they took me home safe and sound. Nothing more will come of this. I had my little taste of the mafia, just like I wanted. Tomorrow I’ll start applying for a normal job. One that doesn’t involve shady underground characters with huge, hot hands and piercing dark eyes. One without guns, or the jingle of coins in slot machines.
One without Tacone.
- Writer
