Chapter 1

1

Cole

A year later…

E ven from inside the airport, the oppressive Vegas heat hits me like a slap in the face. I already miss the cooler climate of upstate New York, but since my mom controls the purse strings of her mafia father's inheritance, and refused to pay rent on an apartment near campus this summer, here I fucking am. Back in the goddamn desert where the stench of cigarette smoke will remain in the casinos long after Armageddon and my balls sweat year-round. I'm not sure which of those things is worse.

I'd rather be anywhere else in the world, but as angry as I am at her for lying to me my entire fucking life, I still love my mother. She's sacrificed so much for me that the least I can do is spend a summer living in the same city as her so we maybe, eventually, meet up once or twice in her new husband's multi-million-dollar penthouse apartment. That all depends on whether I can let go of some of my resentment.

While I'm waiting for my luggage to appear on the carousel, I turn on my cell phone and am bombarded by voicemails and messages.

Fuck.

She always chooses the worst possible times to pop back up in my life, like a bad case of herpes. And there's no point in ignoring her. She'll just double her efforts the longer I put her off. May as well get this shit over with.

With a growl of frustration, I hit her contact name to return her call.

She answers on the second ring.

"I've been calling you for hours. Where the hell are you?"

"That's none of your business, Amber."

"Let me take a guess. Since the semester just ended, I bet you're…visiting Mommy in Vegas?"

"What do you want?"

"Another twenty K," she says without any hesitation.

"You know I'm broke, right? That's the only reason we ever fucking met, and it's one of my biggest regrets."

"Oh, you know you love the attention," she replies. "And you're so freaking popular I'm surprised you haven't taken any more contracts."

"Hell, no. No more contracts."

I finally see my light gray, hard-shell suitcase in the sea of black on the carousel and grab the handle, ready to get the hell out of here and off this call. Unfortunately, Amber isn't finished running her mouth.

"I could use the cash. Unlike you. I heard you're the grandson of some Russian mobster. So, you can either get me the money or take the contract."

"A contract isn't but a quarter of what you're asking me for, and you fucking know it!" I tell her while walking toward the front doors to find a cab.

"Right, so four more contracts with me should earn us both twenty K. I'll give you…a month to decide."

"I need more time than that," I grit out between my clenched teeth, preparing myself for the heat of the Vegas sun to bear down on me like a fire-breathing dragon as soon as I step outside the airport doors.

"Send me half within a month, and I'll give you another month to get the rest. If you don't, I go public before the summer is over," Amber demands before she ends the call.

"Fucking cunt," I mutter while staring at the screen on my phone.

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?"

My head instantly lifts at the sound of his familiar voice. Dante Salvato is leaning against a concrete column in his usual custom black suit. Sunglasses cover his eyes, his arms are crossed over his chest, and two guards are flanking him on either side. If anything, the mob boss and his men deserve medals for being brave enough to walk outside wearing all black suits at high noon in Vegas.

The bastard always makes me feel like I'm underdressed, but especially today when I'm wearing wrinkled jeans, a plain white tee, and old white sneakers. Maybe when I make millions of dollars, I'll dress less casually. Until then, well, it's a good thing I'm hot enough and charming enough for women to overlook my attire. Growing up poor, I had to learn to be the fun, easygoing guy who could throw down when necessary. Standing taller than everyone else usually kept assholes away. Height that obviously came from my father since my mother stopped growing around the age of twelve. Even though I'm a foot and a half taller than her, she could always put me in my place when I was being a little shit.

In fact, my mother and I were always so close I told her almost everything about my life— from the girls I liked to the shenanigans my friends and I would get into. But this past year I've been so damn furious with her that I can barely breathe when I think about how the whole time she was demanding honesty from me, she was lying about who she really was. Who we were. I don't want to even be in the same room with her, which is why I didn't tell her I was flying into Vegas this morning to stay with Shane, a friend from high school, for the summer.

So, if her mafia king husband knows my travel plans down to the minute I would step foot out of the airport, then he could find out more than he needs to know about my previous employment in New York and tell her. Insisting on being paid in cash is the only thing that has kept it a secret this damn long. And while I'm pissed at my mother, she can never find out how I made ends meet during my first two years of college. Which means I need to figure out how to make twenty grand and fast before Amber runs her mouth.

For now, well, I don't bother trying to outrun Dante or his guards. Off to my right, there's a line of SUVs with blacked-out windows, clogging up the airport pickup lane, no doubt reinforcements of the mobster's. No, I won't be leaving until he's good and ready to let me walk away.

"How did you know my flight just landed?" I lift my cheap sunglasses to the top of my head to ask the mobster, forgoing a greeting that would only be fake.

"Because it's my job to know things in this city, especially about my wife's son. Let's go."

Interesting word choice. I'm not his stepson, but his "wife's son." And fuck, I hate being ordered around by this asshole.

"No, thanks. I don't need a ride. And if I wanted to see my mom, I would've called her."

"Tough shit. She'll want to see you, you little bastard, so get in the fucking SUV before I have you thrown in the trunk with your luggage." As if on cue, a guard exits the middle SUV and opens the passenger door, then waits for Dante's next command. The mob boss has an entire army of meathead genies ready to do their master's bidding .

I don't know how they do it. I know there are some battles I can't win, but I will never bow down to any man, much less a mobster. There's nothing Dante can take from me since I'm broke as hell. He would never seriously hurt me, my friends, or my mother, because my mom would kill him or leave him for it. That's why I feel relatively safe being a dick to him.

"So where is she? Waiting in the SUV?" I ask. Dreading confronting her face to face, I slowly roll my luggage down to the tailgate where the waiting guard loads it. Going to school on the other side of the country worked out great for avoiding my mom this past year.

"No, Vanessa is having a spa day. I wanted her nice and relaxed while you and I have a little chat," Dante replies as he follows me with his four henchmen a step behind.

"Great," I huff before climbing in the backseat since it's got more leg room than the trunk.

Once we're all loaded up and pulling away from the airport, Dante sitting next to me, he says without glancing in my direction, "You have no idea how much it hurts your mother when you won't return her calls or texts."

"I don't have anything nice to say. And if you can't say anything nice…" I trail off, tapping my fingers impatiently on the armrest.

"You need to get over it."

"Get over it?" I scoff. "She's lied to me my entire life! I don't know who my fucking father is, and now I don't know who the hell I am."

"You also know she had a good reason for keeping you in the dark."

"When I was a child, sure. But by the time I was fifteen or sixteen, she could've explained everything to me. She knows I would've kept my mouth shut."

Dante snorts his objection to that statement. "Teenagers are hormonal little jackasses. If you had gotten angry at her and told the wrong person… "

"I wouldn't have told anyone," I reiterate slowly.

"That was a chance Vanessa couldn't afford to take without risking your safety and her own. Do you know what her father did to her the week she was his prisoner?"

I can't help but wince at the word prisoner. "No."

"He locked her in an outdoor storage building under guard with no food for an entire fucking week. She had to drink water out of a faucet, and it was probably a hundred and twenty degrees in there if not hotter. He also beat the shit out of her for hours every single day. And do you want to know why?"

I swallow around the knot in my throat, imagining my petite, gentle mother being hit once, much less for hours every day for a week. "No, but I bet you're going to tell me why."

"For you."

I shake my head because that doesn't make any sense.

Before I can voice my disbelief, Dante says, "Yuri wanted Vanessa to tell him where you were. You're the reason she was starved and beaten so badly, I barely recognized her face."

My fists clench, wanting to hurt the men who would hurt her so badly. I didn't know any of that shit went down. I didn't see my mother for weeks, not until Dante finally brought us back from the secluded island he'd tossed me on with my three best friends, his two daughters, three dozen guards, and a ton of beautiful women employees literally catering to our every need. My mom didn't look any different when we got home, or at least I didn't notice if she did when she finally dropped the bomb on me about who Dante had been waging war against—her father. My grandfather. The head of the Russian mafia.

"If you think that bastard wouldn't have done the exact same thing to you for any little thing you did that he didn't like, you're a fucking idiot. That's why she didn't tell you," Dante tells me. "Vanessa was abused by that son of a bitch for sixteen years, so this little existential crisis you've been having is nothing compared to what she did to protect you. You want to know who you are? You're the son of a strong, stubborn, amazing woman who loves you more than you could ever possibly imagine." Taking a deep breath as if to calm himself down, he then adds, "It's time for you to grow the fuck up and forgive her."

I stare at him a moment, my jaw clenched tight, hating that his words make me feel like a giant pile of shit, but unable to resist saying to him, "You loathe dealing with shit that's out of your all-powerful control, don't you?"

Turning his head to face me, no doubt glaring at me behind his sunglasses, he replies, "When it comes to the people I love, I will always find a way to be completely in control, no matter what it takes."

In other words, he'll figure out how to pull all my strings to make me sing or dance, anything to make my mom happy, even if it's a lie.

The extent to which he's willing to go for her is one of the few things I respect about the bastard.

"I need more time," I tell him, unable to just snap my fingers and let go of the hurt and anger. And I'm sick and tired of people giving me deadlines and ultimatums today.

"You have until the end of the day."

I snort and roll my eyes because he's an unrelenting asshole.

"Speaking of things you can't control, have you heard anything from Madison?" I ask him.

"No, I haven't." His response is sharp as a knife. Dante doesn't want to talk about his missing daughter.

"In this case, no news is probably good news, right?"

"Her ass better be alive, because I'm going to fucking kill her for putting me through this hellish year when I do find her."

"And that's exactly why she probably won't reach out," I tell him. Glancing out the window, I see the familiar sights of the strip. "Are we going to the Royal Palace?"

"No shit," he mutters, sounding just as annoyed with this conversation as I am.

Dante doesn't say anything else until we pull up to the front of the casino. A guard retrieves my luggage from the back and rolls it up beside me so I can take over.

"I'm not staying here. I've got plans to crash with a friend..."

"You mother would want you to stay here this summer," he remarks as he comes to a stop at the elevator bank. Removing his sunglasses, he tucks them inside his suit coat.

"Tough shit. I've already made plans and I'm not changing them. I'll visit for a few minutes, then I'm gone."

"No, your plans have changed. You're staying here for the entire summer and I'm assigning you guards."

"Babysitters? Awesome," I huff sarcastically. "And let me guess, you'll be putting me up in one of the hotel rooms?"

I know for a fact that there are multiple spare bedrooms in the enormous, multi-million-dollar penthouse. Dante just doesn't want me near his beautiful daughters. When my friends and I were all cooped up on a private island with Sophie and Cass for weeks, he kept guards on their doors at night to ensure neither me nor my friends tried to slip into their beds.

He didn't have to worry.

Sophie is sweeter than sugar and more innocent than a Disney princess, which means sex with her would require nothing less than a marriage proposal. And Cass, well, the feisty redhead is dangerous. Not just in the kick your ass way, either. I imagine that sex with Cass would have to take place in a dark dungeon where she wears a black leather Catwoman-style bodysuit, wields a whip, and would happily bite a chunk of a man's dick off just for shits and giggles.

"I'll allow you to use a bedroom on the second floor of the penthouse," Dante says, interrupting my fantasy of his masochist, domineering daughter. "As long as you abide by the house rules."

"Do I even have a choice in the matter?"

"Of course not. Will you abide by my rules?"

"Yes, sir," I agree with a sigh, telling him what he wants to hear. Living in the penthouse is a hundred times better than sleeping on a hotel bed where hundreds or thousands of people have fucked .

"You haven't even heard my rules yet," Dante mutters as the elevator finally arrives. He steps on first before holding up his palm to prevent his guards and any other guests from joining us. Rude, but whatever. It's his staff and his hotel.

"Right, let's hear the rules."

Dante's glacial blue eyes glare at me as the elevator doors close, clearly not in the mood for my blasé attitude. Most people would be scared shitless to be trapped in a small space with the mob boss, but I know I'm in no real danger. He wouldn't risk losing my mother because he's more than in love with her. I've known since the second I saw them together that he's obsessed with her. So, he won't ever do anything to give her a reason to leave him, like permanently maim or kill me. He might slap me around, punch me, or whatever, but I can handle anything he dishes out.

While I'm still pissed at my mom for keeping her entire identity, my identity, a secret from me, I am happy that she has the kind of fierce protection that Dante can offer now.

"You will not step foot on the third floor ever," Dante tells me. "I don't care if there's a five-alarm fire up there. You leave the saving to the professionals."

"Yes, sir." I don't point out to him that he didn't specify if he meant the third floor of the casino or penthouse. And he still hasn't pressed any buttons, so we're just standing in the stuffy, unmoving elevator cabin.

"You do not lay a finger on either of my daughters," he says. As if sensing the sarcastic question in my head, he adds, "Not even if they're hanging from the balcony by their fingernails. Leave any and all saving to the professionals."

"Got it. No laying of my fingers, even to save lives." Again, his demand is technically vague. I don't go around literally laying my fingers on anyone, ever. Not that I would touch either of his daughters, but still, he should be more specific, like not shoving my fingers, tongue, or dick inside of them. That's specific as hell.

"If you break either of my rules, I'll make you wish you were dead."

"Understood." There are plenty of ways for the man to screw with me that wouldn't result in my death. Injuries that I would eventually heal from over days or weeks. I have a high pain tolerance. Not that I plan on doing anything deserving of his punishment this summer. At least nothing that doesn't have a damn good benefit to cost ratio. I really don't like being told what I can and can't do. I do whatever the fuck I'm confident that I can get away with.

"You say you understand, but I'm not sure if you actually comprehend the things I would do to you, Cole." The mafia king finally presses the bottom button on the elevator, swipes his card through the reader, and even provides a thumbprint scan, then we're going down instead of up.

Down into the pit of hell I've heard rumors about but never seen myself until today, apparently.

When the elevator doors open, I follow Dante across the concrete floor, each step of his dress shoes echoing around the wide-open space, along with the sound of the rolling wheels of my luggage. "Wait here," he says, stopping in the middle of the dark space before using the light from his cell phone screen to walk over to a nearby wall.

The scent of dirt, sweat, and copper hang heavy in the air that's thicker than in the casino, as if the basement is part of another world.

Dante flips the lights on overhead, one row at a time, until they reach and illuminate a man hanging from a giant hook dangling from the ceiling. His face is covered in blood, a rag tied around his mouth, his wrists restrained with metal cuffs draped over the hook. His toes are a good three feet off the floor, ensuring he can't touch it. I can't even decipher what sort of clothing he was wearing before his blood drenched them, thanks to the many tears and slices all over his body. The guy looks like he was attacked by Edward Scissorhands.

"This is Virgil, one of my blackjack dealers. He made the mistake of stealing from me and my customers," Dante explains. "Eli has been playing with him for three long days. I'll give you to Eli for a week if you break any of my rules."

"Understood," I assure him, while avoiding the dangling man's pleading eyes and trying to ignore his muffled pleas. As if either of those things will save him.

"Great. Go on up to the penthouse and send Eli down. I want to finish this up today." He hands me a plastic key card, then removes his suit jacket. "Use that card to get up to the penthouse. The code at the door is currently nine-four-six-two. Your thumbprint has been added to the casino's security system so the touchpads will work for you."

"How did you get my thumbprint?" I ask him curiously.

"Off something you once touched," he replies. "I'm resourceful, Cole. Remember that." Folding and hanging his jacket over an empty chair, he says, "Your mother and I will both be back for dinner at seven tonight and you will also attend."

"Yes, sir."

I gladly head back to the elevator with my suitcase and make my way up. Once I swipe the card, scanning my thumb to get up to the penthouse, I enter in the code next to the door, giving the two stony guards stationed there a nod of my head that they ignore. I roll my suitcase in behind me, letting the door slam shut, then leave it in the entryway to go search for Eli.

I find the psycho sitting in Dante's office at a small, wooden table off to the side, a casual leg crossed over his knee in one of the chairs. His blond hair that's more sandy-colored than mine is pulled back in the usual manbun as he scrolls through his cell phone. "Hey, man. Dante wanted me to tell you to come down to the basement and ‘finish this up today,' meaning the guy hanging on by a thread."

"Oh, good." He pops up and slips his phone into the front pocket of his slacks. Flashing his teeth at me, he says, "This is always my favorite part."

"No kidding?"

"Well, I do love drawing it out, too. Their fear of anticipation at the beginning is almost as fun as their terror when they know it's finally the end of their existence."

Yeah, the man is a sick fuck.

Thankfully, he doesn't say anything else as he hurries out of the office and the penthouse, humming an upbeat tune.

In the entryway, I start to pick up my luggage to begin making the trek up the stairs to the second floor when something outside catches my attention. Needing a better view of the mostly naked woman soaking up the sun from a long float in the pool, I stroll over to look out the floor- to-ceiling windows.

Cass's blue bikini barely covers any of her pale skin. Her long red waves are swept-up in a messy knot on top of her head, sunglasses concealing her eyes that are always glaring. She doesn't move a muscle, like she's napping. And speaking of muscles, unlike most women from school that are simply half-starved and scrawny, Cass is Fit , with a capital F. Her long, toned, outstretched legs and arms raised over her head are etched with the hard work of hitting the gym for hours every day.

Then there are her killer breasts that look about two sizes too big for the rest of her body. They're the heavy, natural kind that straight men are compelled to stare at. Especially when they're falling out of tiny blue triangles that barely cover her pebbled nipples.

Knowing Dante and Eli will be busy with the basement guy for a while, and not wanting her to burn her pretty, ivory flesh, I open the back door and pull down my sunglasses from the top of my head to keep from going blind.

I barely make it two steps away from the door when she speaks as if she wasn't napping but simply plotting mayhem with complete stillness.

"Ugh, you're back." Her scowl deepens the closer I get, which is nothing new. I think the only time I've ever seen her stop frowning was when I caught her watching me bang the brains out of a housekeeper on the island nearly a year ago. The look of longing on her face, the way she was biting her bottom lip, made it clear that she liked what she saw, every inch of me, including the long ones hanging between my legs that have been swelling since the second I saw her in her bikini.

Hell, I'm probably wearing that exact same lustful look on my face now. It's not the Vegas heat that has me on the verge of panting with my tongue hanging out of my mouth. I'm surprised Cass hasn't called me on it yet.

Getting ahead of her incoming taunt, I remove my sunglasses to blatantly study all those tiny blue triangles a little closer, including the one between her legs. The soaking wet fabric is clinging to her cunt, creating the mother of all camel toes. "Are you trying to burn up that albino skin of yours or just add a few more freckles?" I ask her. "And who the hell are you trying to tempt up here with this tiny bikini, cocktease?"

"Nobody."

Her response comes way too fast, just like I would if she ever put a hand on my dick. The only way that would ever happen is if she were trying to rip it off.

"Good, because other than me, there are no men around here stupid enough to ‘lay a finger on you.'" I intentionally use Dante's vague phrasing. "Well, except for maybe some of the neanderthal guards."

When Cass doesn't immediately respond, I reconsider my statement. It takes me longer than it should to reach the conclusion thanks to my hard cock robbing my brain of much-needed blood.

"Holy shit!" I exclaim. "You're running around in a tiny cockteasing bikini for the guards ? The same guards who would gladly get on their knees and lick every inch of Dante's shoes if he told them to?"

"It's none of your business what I wear or for whom."

Damn. She didn't even deny my accusation. Cass is actually trying to fuck one of the guards. Possibly more?

Maybe they already have .

Why does that make me want to go bash some heads together and then bury them six feet under in the middle of the desert?

"Maybe it's not my business, but you know exactly what Daddy will do when he finds out his little girl has been spreading her legs for men on his payroll. Does that make them whores if they're also getting paid to screw you?"

I wonder if Dante would let me help Eli torture them in the basement before killing them. These are men he pays to protect his family, screwing one of his daughters behind his back? It's wrong. Most of them are in their thirties or forties, married with families, while Cass is barely old enough to drink. It's fucking disgusting, like they're taking advantage of her even if she begs them for it like a little slut.

While I'm lost in those sorts of thoughts, Cass slides off her float and into the water. She's faster than she looks as she swims toward me. And stronger.

One second, I'm standing next to the pool, contemplating torturing guards, and the next, she's grabbing the back of my calves and lifting me up off my feet, tossing my ass into the pool. I sail over her head and the float before belly flopping hard. I barely remember to hold my breath in time before my face hits the water.

As I blink away the stinging chlorine from my eyes, I'm asking myself if the crazy bitch really just soaked my clothes, my shoes, and my goddamn phone. And for what? In retaliation for calling her slutty ass out?

I had assumed that ruining my clothes and phone would be the end of her temper tantrum.

But no, I'm definitely wrong about that.

As soon as my head resurfaces, I barely suck in a breath of air and shake the water out of my eyes when the homicidal redhead appears in front of me. Pressing both of her palms to the top of my head, she dunks me back down into the depths of the deep end.

It's already a pain in the ass to try and swim while fully clothed, but now I'm getting fucking pissed. Cass caught me off-guard twice. That shit won't happen again.

My feet hit the bottom, helping me surge up to the surface. The next time my head bursts out of the water, I lunge for her. Grasping her shoulders, I shove her down under the water and then grab her wrists, that are still flailing at me.

When she comes up gasping, I yell at her through the droplets of chlorinated water distorting my vision and burning my nose, "Are you fucking insane?"

The answer to that question is apparently yes, because she continues to fight me until I slam her back against the pool wall with my bigger, heavier body while pinning her hands on either side of her head.

"Let me go!" she demands through her clenched teeth, legs bicycling to try and knee me in the balls.

"Make me," I reply. "You tried to fucking drown me! And my damn phone is probably ruined."

I'm happy to see her makeup is running in black streaks down her cheeks and that strands of her soggy crimson hair are hanging limply in front of her face, having come loose from her bun. I hate that the freckles over her nose and cheeks are sort of adorable.

" Poor baby." She pokes her bottom lip out, making me want to bite a chunk out of it.

Somehow, she knows the exact words to say to piss me off. I'm not ashamed of growing up poor. It's just infuriating that she doesn't know or care about how many people have to struggle to scrape by in life while she's always had anything and everything she's ever wanted.

Since I have her firmly in my grasp, I expect her to surrender, knowing that she's not going anywhere until I let her.

I'm so fucking wrong yet again.

The little bitch headbutts me, her forehead colliding with my own, stunning me into letting her hands go so I can focus on not sinking underneath the depths of water again or going unconscious as the patio spins around me in a circle.

By the time I've recovered, Cass is swimming over to the ladder on the side of the pool to climb out.

"Oh, hell no." I surge up, still dizzy, grabbing her hips and pulling her back down into the water. "This isn't fucking over," I warn her.

That's when shit gets crazy.

The demented redhead spins around with a wild, manic look in her pale green eyes, making me think she's about to claw my eyeballs out of my skull.

Before I can blink or retreat, her fingernails dig into my scalp. I immediately return the favor, jerking on the remains of her bun. Our faces are less than an inch apart, both of us gasping for air, trying to rip each other's hair out when I ask her, "What the hell is wrong with you?"

A second later, our heads collide again.

This time it's not a headbutt that stuns me. It's our lips crashing together, and we're...kissing? Biting? It's hard to tell what's happening at first until Cass shoves her tongue into my mouth like she's trying to choke me with it.

I give as good as I get, wanting to shove my tongue even deeper into her mouth. The clash of our tongues sliding over each other feels so damn good. Cass must think the same thing. With a low moan, her legs stop trying to kick me and wrap around my waist. Her fists tighten in my hair, but she's no longer trying to drown me.

My hands immediately stop trying to rip out her hair and lower to grab her perfect, bare, round ass cheeks, squeezing them, pressing her lower body closer to mine while still treading water. Cass doesn't need any further encouragement from me to grind against the hard bulge in the front of my soggy jeans. She nearly drowns me again during her enthusiastic pursuit of impaling herself on my dick. Her bikini bottoms are thin enough that I swear the fly of my jeans is penetrating her far enough to pop her cherry if she still had one .

It's fucking amazing.

My cock enjoys the warmth and friction from her pussy for all of about sixty seconds before I remember the warning Dante gave me less than five minutes ago. Even if I would heal from whatever damage he caused me, I'm not angry enough at my mother to ruin her marriage when he retaliates against me for screwing his daughter.

Not to mention the fact that Cass is most likely fucking one of the guards. Possibly more than one, as if she doesn't care about the fate that awaits them when Dante catches them. And he will catch on, eventually.

Ripping my mouth away from hers, I say between gasps of breath, "You'll just jump on any dick, won't you, cocktease?" She blinks as if waking up from a dream. Or nightmare. "How often do you think about my cock? Every time you fuck a guard with a tiny pencil dick?"

Cass's hands and legs instantly peel away from mine, putting five feet between us before I get a face full of water.

"You fucking wish," she says as she swims back to the ladder and climbs out, swaying her spectacular ass that's in a thong, a fucking thong, as if it's just another ordinary day in her spoiled rich girl life. Like we didn't just try to kill each other and then make out in broad daylight. Hell, if I'd had on boardshorts, they would've been shoved off the first second and I would have been inside her pussy the next. Foreplay and protection didn't even occur to me until, well, now.

What the hell was I thinking messing with that crazy bitch?

What the fuck was Cass thinking? She was definitely into it, humping me like a dog in heat.

Whatever it was, both of us are obviously over it now.

It's impossible to forget about the man hanging in the basement, and all he did was steal from Dante. No pussy is worth the trouble just to be one of her many fuck boys. Cass is obviously not picky about who she humps if she's screwing some guards. Is it some sort of game for her to see how many men she'll lure to their deaths like some psycho siren ?

I'm not sure if I pity the men or envy them. Maybe a little of both.

I decide to make it my life's mission to not only find out how many guards Cass is screwing, but who they are. I want to know their names and to see their faces.

I don't even know why I care. I won't go to Dante and have their blood on my hands. I just...I don't like the thought of Cass with any of those assholes who are also paid killers.