141

As we hit the wall of glass doors, I noticed a huge Suburban in black, the windows tinted so no one could see inside. I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was. The driver immediately climbed out and opened the door, ushering us inside. The guy could only be described as a brute, at least six foot four, weighing over two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle.

And I had no doubt he had a weapon tucked into a holster under his jacket.

Photographers and fans came from everywhere. I’d been an idiot to think I could go out on a date without being seen. If Christian was recognized or the vehicle which likely belonged to Clinton, the morning news should be juicy. Was that what they were trying to do? If so, why?

“Our little pet arrives,” Clinton’s deep voice rumbled in the stylized back of the SUV. His gaze was predatory with a hint of annoyance for the length of time it had taken us. The intensity lingered, the scent of testosterone thick.

“Our little star,” Weston teased.

“I can’t ignore my fans.” I eased against the plush leather seat, suddenly feeling as if I’d stepped into a lion’s den, the three beasts inside famished.

The interior had been altered significantly, now resembling the posh environment of a Limo. I wasn’t surprised that there was a bar, a bottle of champagne already on ice. Jazz music was playing from unseen speakers. And the other two men sat dressed in similar attire—trousers and an open shirt. While Weston had chosen white, accenting his rich chocolate eyes, Clinton had selected cobalt blue, the color dazzling with his long, dark curly hair.

“The photograph with the little girl will be in all the major papers tomorrow,” Christian mused.

Why did I have the distinct feeling his statement wasn’t said out of admiration or making polite conversation about their dinner guest? Both Weston and Clinton smiled, glancing from one to the other as if this was nothing but a game.

“Our popular, beautiful pet,” Clinton said as he poured a glass of champagne, leaning over and handing it to me. The immediate jolt of current created a rippling effect, my heart racing and butterflies tickling my stomach. He allowed the touch to linger, drinking in my essence before letting go. “However, from now on, you will follow the rules that we’ve established.”

“Rules?” I continued to quiver, the touch far too enigmatic. “What if I don’t follow them?”

Weston shifted towards me and slid his hand along the outside of my leg, resting his palm on my thigh. “Then, our beautiful little lamb. You will be punished.”

Christian smiled as he locked eyes with mine. “Yes, sweet Maria. As of now, you have three masters because you belong to us.”

As I lifted the glass of champagne for a sip or a gulp, a strange set of sensations surrounded me, fog drifting before my periphery of vision. Then as it cleared, a strong vision replaced reality, one so vivid that I couldn’t tell if it was a fantasy or a memory.

“That’s where you’re wrong. You have three masters now. Make no mistake that when we take you, and that will happen, you will learn what pleasure is. When you come the first time, you’ll beg for more, exhausted and overwhelmed with raw ecstasy. And I assure you that it will be the beginning of a beautiful affair. Every hole will be well used, but you’ll crave more, begging the man who owns you to continue making you weak.”

“No,” I managed, but the pleasure he was providing was already luring me into a place of surrender.

“Yes, little pet. After we’ve broken you down, we’ll put you together piece by piece. Then we’ll start all over again. As of right now, this very moment, you belong to us.”

When it faded, I lifted my head, studying the three men who’d laid claim as if I was always meant to belong to them.

And for the first time in my life, I was terrified.

Or was it the first time?

Something was off. I had to find out what.

And more importantly, why.

--

Christian

“Do you believe in love at first sight?” Maria asked, as if the question was weighing heavily on our minds.

It wasn’t.

Men like the three of us, creatures who’d been aptly called the Damned had no capacity for love. It was a foreign notion presented in a gift wrapped package by authors and musicians, filmmakers and move stars, who grit their teeth in front of the public eye while loathing the person they were in a relationship with.

“I believe in the lure of attraction,” Weston answered, always the man of reason, the one voted most likely to be able to fake a normal life.

“Hypnotic sex appeal, dangerous and provocative,” I added.

Her expression held an air of amusement. “Pheromones refusing to be denied, a burning need that can never be satisfied? Almost like the taking of a man’s life, watching as the light is vanquished from his eyes. Yes?”

Her stark wording brought a smile to my face, a twitch to my cock. It would seem our little pet had spent some time finding out who we were. I couldn’t blame her. In fact, I was surprised she didn’t have an army of security watching her every move. She was enticed by the aspect of danger, her desire swirling in a wave of uncertainty. I’d never known someone to be so turned on by the thought of three dangerous men. That made me want her that much more.

“Are you certain you want to go down the rabbit hole?” I asked, deepening my voice.

She licked her lips, not out of fear but out of a dark need to feast on sin that had festered inside of her for years. It was quite possible that the vulnerable woman was as insatiable as we were.

Clinton lifted his glass in a toast. “I do believe our little prey has ripped off our masks, which is no small feat.”

“And what have I found?” she cajoled, taunting us with her knowledge.

“If I told you monsters, would you run when given the chance?” I leaned closer, running my finger from one side of her jaw to the other.

She slowly turned her head in my direction, the look in her eyes almost as predatory as the one I knew I had for her. “No.”

I wasn’t certain what she was attempting to do, but I reveled in her ability to allow her inhibitions to fade away. As an electric wave pulsed through the back of the SUV, I longed to pin her to the seat, releasing the pent-up anguish of my self-proposed hell, refusing to give into my carnal needs. Now, I wanted nothing more than to cut her panties to shreds, unleashing the feral side of me.

“So be it. Be careful what you ask for around us, sweet Maria. The secrets that lie beneath the sophisticated façade could ultimately mean your demise,” Clinton told her in his cold, stark manner. Only he could turn a night of passion into foreplay for manipulation.

“Are you trying to scare or warn me?” she continued, her voice little more than a raspy purr. The woman knew exactly what she was doing to each one of us, using her feminine wiles as a mastered craft. But with her, it wasn’t merely an attempt to get what she wanted. Her reactions to us were as uncontrollable as ours were to her.

The ultimate prey.

“Both,” Clinton muttered.

“Then duly noted.” She gifted us with a laugh before settling back into the seat, sipping on her champagne like the queen she should be. “But that’s what I want.”

Jesus. The hard press of my trousers against my cock was becoming unmanageable.

I shifted in my seat, the three Damned studying each other from our respective corners. Who would be the first to claim her? That’s what we were thinking. Blood roared through my head as my pulse increased, the rush of adrenaline fueling a fire I’d put out a long time ago. Now I feared Pandora’s Box had been opened, the hinges snapped from the lid, which meant the insatiable man inside, the one labeled a savage killer, would never be locked away again.

As she gave each one of us a hated look, I could swear she was more of a manipulator than I’d originally believed. There was a crazed need building, an intense and raw sense of understanding that very few couples achieve. We were defying the odds, and I barely knew anything about her.

Sexual tension was yanking at my resolve, tearing away every possibility of self-control.

The saying ‘one kiss wasn’t enough’ continuously flowed through my mind as Clinton’s driver left the resort area bound for the suburbs of Glenco. I wouldn’t have expected Clinton to live in any other location.

As the glistening tall buildings made of steel passed, a strange dreary series of clouds formed in the distant sky, an ominous foreboding forming in the back of my mind. I sipped the smooth scotch my buddy had offered, musing over the fact that no one would ever consider me a romantic. I didn’t date women, I fucked them just to satisfy my needs. Or when spilling blood had begun to bore me. I’d turned into my father’s son, brutal and unforgiving, and during the last ten years, the Cartel lifestyle had suited me.

However, now that my father was dead, I had significantly more responsibility on my shoulders. The weight of being the Cartel leader while trying to bring my father’s corporation into the next century had taken a toll. I was tired of coming home to an empty house or waking up with a girl whose name I couldn’t remember.

I couldn’t take my eyes off Maria’s face. The fact that she was mesmerizing didn’t amaze me. What did was how down to earth she was, refusing to fall into the diva mode like so many superstars I’d met.

While I’d never seen her in concert, I had two of her CDs in my collection, the dramatic difference of her heavy metal songs compared to the subdued ballads leaving me with a haunted feeling. Her music suited my usually dark moods. To date, I’d found no other musician who could take away the ugly, burning need for violence affixing itself to my soul, a leech draining my life’s blood.

I’d seen the look of admonishment in Weston’s eyes at the news about my father. I felt no guilt, only partially because I’d freed my mother from a life of abuse and disrespect. Far too many bones had been broken by his hands. Finding him choking her had been the last straw.

What I’d also learned was that the demon plaguing him, driving him to his contorted view of humanity, had been greed. The ugly beast had twisted his blackened soul into a disfigured creature. He’d attempted to make me believe that every human had been born in the womb of violence, his lifestyle just following the example set.

Maybe I’d had far too much of his poisoned Kool-Aid, his death the antidote, but I’d been struggling with needing more for months. Five minutes spent with this sensual creature and everything about my world was about to change.

It was ironic as fuck.