Hell's Kitchen (8 page)

“I told you. After shift, Shan.” I apply a little pressure to her wrists—a warning. I should know better than to expect her to take heed of it. Instead, she smiles, licking her lips and then biting down on the bottom one. She should have worked in porn. Who the fuck knows? She probably has at some point. “Baby, you’re making me angry,” she says in the same childish whimper she uses on my father when she wants to finish a shift early. “You don’t want to make me angry, do you? I run my mouth when I get angry. Say things I shouldn’t. I let things slip.”

My grip on her wrists tightens. “Don’t fuck around. If you’re trying to bribe me into sticking my dick into you, say it plainly. I don’t like fucking games.”

“Okay,” she says, a serious look marshaling her features. I can still feel the lust boiling underneath the surface, but she seems cooler now. More focused. “If you don’t screw me right now, I’ll tell Roberto about Clara.”

“Clara?” It feels like a stone weight is pulling at my insides, pulling me down, down, down. “What the fuck you mean, you’ll tell him about
Clara
?” Clara is the thirty-eight-year-old woman my sixty-seven-year-old father has been fucking the past few months. He’s obsessed with her, and Clara is obsessed with money. Their arrangement seems to work quite well, since Clara gives up her pussy at the very first sign of a dollar bill, and my father is rich as fuck. The woman is a viper, pure and simple. Both Sal and I steer well clear of her. Shan gives me a tease of a smile and I can practically hear the slow grind of the cogs turning in her head.

“Well, I’ll tell him you’ve been fucking her, of course.”

“I haven’t even looked sideways at Clara.”

“
I
know that, and
you
know that. But planting that seed in Roberto’s head? That might be a bad thing, don’t you think?” Shan laughs, like she’s insanely pleased with herself for coming up with this foolproof plan to bend me to her will. If there’s one thing she should have learned about me by now, though, it’s that I don’t bend to anybody’s will. Not without a fight. I take a step toward her, glaring at her from under drawn brows. The laughter dies on her lips.

“What do you say, baby? You gonna give in and play with me now?” she asks, though she looks doubtful, as though she’s suddenly realized what she’s done.

I’m still glaring at her, fury in my eyes, as I walk her backward toward the oil drum. Spinning her around so I can sit down, I realize that she might end up seeing Gracie after all—she’s to my right, still mostly hidden in the shadows—but I don’t care anymore. I won’t be blackmailed. Especially by Shandi. No fucking way. I’m gripping her wrists hard enough that my fingers have gone white now. She’s starting to look a little concerned.

“Come here,” I say, pulling her closer. “Bend yourself over my knee.”

“What?”

“Bend yourself … over my knee,” I repeat slowly, waiting for her to oblige me. She does, slowly, eyes not leaving mine until the last second, and then her chest is pressing against my legs, her butt sticking up in the air, and I can feel her heart beat
thum, thum, thum
ming against my thighs. She’s absolutely still as she braces herself, waiting to see if this is something she will like or something she will intensely dislike. I’m a sick bastard. The more she doesn’t enjoy this, the more I’m going to.

“Theo?”

I grab the hem of her way-too-high black pencil skirt and yank it up over her ass. “I don’t wanna hear another single word come out of your mouth,” I say.

“But—” I grab hold of her panties next—surprised she’s even wearing any—and I pull on them, hard. “Ahhh! Ow!” she cries out, like she’s surprised that I’m being rough with her right after she’s just threatened to tell my father something that would most likely get me killed.

“Not another word, Shan. Shut your fucking mouth.” And she does. I think she finally,
finally
understands that her threat hasn’t been received the way she was hoping. She goes still, as though she’s weighing up her options: whether she should stay bent double over my legs with her naked ass in the air, or whether she should bolt. I look up and I catch Gracie staring at me … at the hand I’m raising … bringing down on Shan’s bare backside. The tiny storeroom fills with the cracking sound of my palm meeting her flesh, and then her strangled, startled cry. Leaning down, I’m still staring Gracie in the eye as I whisper to Shan, “You should know better than to threaten me, sweetheart.”

I spank her again, just as hard, still watching Gracie. The other woman just stands there with her back to the wall, watching, a blank look on her face. Her features are completely flat, but there’s something there … a light in her eyes that makes me want to smile like a maniac. She’s not as disapproving as I thought she would be. In fact, I’m pretty sure, despite how badly she doesn’t want me to know it, Gracie might actually be a little fascinated by what I’m doing right now. She’s literally squirming.

Oh, really? Well, aren’t you just one surprise after another, Miss O’Connor?
I can barely fight the grim smile that spreads across my face as I raise my hand and bring it down on Shan’s ass again. She cries out, her voice a mixture of outrage and frustrated pleasure. She digs her fingernails into my thigh, sharp enough to sting a little, and so I slap her again, this time a little lower. This time in between her legs, on the exposed flesh of her pussy. She’s wet, of course. No surprises there. The girl doesn’t even have the common sense not to be turned on while I’m reprimanding her. She yelps, her surprise catching in her throat and sticking there, cutting off as she holds her breath. I’m transfixed by Gracie—by the blush I can just about see building in her cheeks. By the way she’s balled her hands into fists. By the cool yet very interested curiosity in those dark eyes of hers.

I can’t resist it. I spank Shan again, eliciting the same response from her, but this time I leave my hand in place, fingers teasing over the slick, swollen flesh between her legs. Shan’s anger quickly dissipates as I move my fingers, sliding them over her pussy, upward until I find the tight, firm bud of her clit. After that, she’s back to purring again, annoyance forgotten as I work my middle finger in a tight circle over her pleasure center.

And Gracie watches.

Never in a million years did I expect this to happen. Today has been a hell of a day and it’s not even mid-morning yet. And now this chick is actually watching me tease Shandi-with-a-fucking-I, like … like she’s wishing it was
her
over my knee? No. No way. Can’t be.

“Oh my god. Fuck, Theo. I knew you wouldn’t hold out on me.” Shan squirms, reminding me of her presence, of what my hands are automatically doing to her. I smack her left butt cheek, making her squeak. I don’t want to make her come. She doesn’t fucking deserve it. But when I catch sight of Gracie’s lips parting, her tongue slowly wetting them, I’m gripped by an overwhelming desire to know what she’ll do if Shan
does
come. I’m beginning to think she’d enjoy it.

I have to find out. Pushing at the insides of her thighs, I make Shan spread her legs a little so I have better access to her … and so Gracie can see what I’m doing. Slowly, so slowly, I slide my index and middle finger inside. She shivers, her body trembling. She makes a sound I’m more than used to—a stuttering sigh that means she’s really enjoying herself now. But is Gracie?

Hard to tell. Her eyes are locked on my hand, on Shan’s naked skin, but it looks like her chest is rising and falling a little faster. I see her hand twitch, a slight inward motion, and then she’s uncurling her fist. She presses her open palm against the top of her thigh, wiping it, as though she’s suffering from sweaty palms. She shifts it sideways, tips of her fingers digging into her pants, and I know it. I fucking
know
it. She wants to touch herself. She wants to slip her hand down the front of her pants, and she wants to run her fingers over her pussy the same way I’m running mine over Shan’s. My dick was hard before, but all of a sudden it’s made out of fucking granite. I can’t think of anything I want to see more than that right now.

Gracie’s eyes flicker up to mine, irritation clear as day in her expression, as though she knows she’s been busted and she’s mad about it. I smile a smile that feels about as wicked as they come. She looks away, closes her eyes, but I can tell that it takes effort.

“Do it,” I say out loud.

Shan twists her head, trying to look over her shoulder. “Do what?” she pants. Without looking at her I grab hold of the back of her head and turn it away from me. I don’t want to look at her and I sure as shit don’t want her looking at me. I don’t want her finally noticing Gracie, either. That would ruin the fun.

“
Do it
,” I repeat, my voice low. “You know you want to.” Gracie opens her eyes and looks at me, and I can see immediately that I’m right. She
does
want to.

“Okay. Okay, I’ll come,” Shan pants. “I’ll come just for you, baby.”

Better make it a good one, bitch. It’s gonna be the last fucking time,
I tell her in my head. I move my fingers quicker, plunging them inside her while reaching down with my thumb so I can rub her clit at the same time. That does the trick. Shan starts grinding her hips, rocking against my hand, her breathing becoming more and more labored as she draws closer to coming.

Gracie watches all of this without blinking. Her hand’s right where she left it, fingers just shy of touching herself. I can’t look away from her. I haven’t touched my cock once and I think that can only be a good thing. If I were to take myself in my palm and stroke, I’d be fucked. And I pride myself on my staying power. I can hold off as long as I want to normally, but watching this woman on the brink of giving in and doing something seriously crazy is enough to destroy any hope I’d have of lasting more than five seconds.

Gracie looks at me again and I mouth it at her:
do it!
And then, in my head,
dear God, please fucking do it.

Gracie’s head tips back, her jaw angled upward, making her neck long and beautiful, and she locks a furious gaze on me. Her lips part even further and then she’s mouthing something at me.

Fuck.
 

You.

I almost laugh. So she’s not going to make herself come for me after all. That’s a crying fucking shame, but I’m digging her attitude anyway. Just the shape of the word
fuck
on her mouth is enough to drive me crazy. I have to stop myself from throwing Shan off my lap and charging straight over there so I can lick and suck at the skin of her neck.

All thoughts of my father, of Kaitlin, of Salvatore go up in smoke as I pump my fingers into Shan. As she begins to tremble even harder, so does Gracie.

Shan’s about to come. She’s always been a screamer. She starts swearing, describing in haltering detail what she wants me to do to her as her pleasure washes over her. Gracie, on the other hand, bites her lip, pressing so hard with her teeth that her skin turns white. She sags against the wall, sweat beaded on her forehead, and I can tell she’s feeling something right now. I’m not sure what, but she’s definitely feeling
something
. The moment is over almost as quickly as it started when Shan sinks back on her heels, grinning up at me. Her eyeliner is smudged, running down her face. She looks like she just got royally fucked.

“Thank you, Theo,” she says. “Started off a little weird there but I liked the end very much.”

“Leave,” I command.

She doesn’t seem fazed now that she’s gotten what she was after. She does give my dick a cursory squeeze as she gets unsteadily to her feet, though. “Damn, baby, you’re rock hard. Are you sure you don’t want me to blow you?”

I give her my shittiest, nastiest smile. “I’d rather you didn’t, actually.”

Shrugging, she pulls her skirt back down, not bothering to put her panties back on. “Whatever, baby.” Kissing me roughly on the cheek, she then heads for the door. “By the way, your dad’s looking for you.”

I barely notice her leaving. My eyes are still fixed on the woman hiding herself behind the shelving. I do hear the door close, though. As soon as Shan’s gone, I stand and face Gracie. I’m pretty sure my hard on would be visible from outer fucking space right now. She raises an eyebrow at me, lifting one shoulder.

“Oh, you wanna look at me like that, do you, sweetheart?” I growl. “You gonna tell me that didn’t get you off even just a little bit?”

“You’re fucking disgusting. Of course it didn’t,” she replies. But I can see it on her face, and I can hear it in her voice: she’s lying.

SEVEN

KAITLIN

There’s a key clutched in my hand, mascara running all over my face.
 

I’m a mess. A fucking mess! I hate crying. The first time I killed somebody, I didn’t cry. None of the times I’ve killed people have tears been part of the equation. You might say there’s something wrong with me, and you’d probably be right. But maybe there’s nothing wrong with me, and you’re the one with the problem. Because emotions are weakness, you know? Emotions are dirty, disgusting things.
 

You know what I like even less than emotions? Inconvenience. Like, right now I should be sitting down with Paddy, since I haven’t seen the old man in a year and he’s the only person I really care about impressing. Or, if he’s busy, I’d be getting my pussy eaten by one of his guys at the bar. I have needs, and they don’t discriminate particularly much. So walking through the streets of Manhattan looking like a freak has me wishing death upon several people. Most of all, Theo and Sal Barbieri. It didn’t take me too long to figure out who they were. Conniving little shitfucks. Especially since Ray, my father’s driver, has been picking me up from the airport and fucking me in secret since I was fourteen.

You grow up quick in the McLaughlin family.

But more than even Theo and Sal, who I’d really like to get my hands on and strangle is Gracie fucking O’Connor. That cunt was meant to be guarding me – so that, you know, I don’t have to be on alert – and she’s a dead woman the next time I see her. She’s fucking dead. It’s always bothered me that Daddy liked Gracie, took her in, kept her in New York while he sent me away. He said I was going to Los Angeles for my own protection after what happened with the Barbieris, but he never brought me back. Kept stringing things out, let me come home once a year to see the family for summer break, but apart from that, I’ve been stuck in a smoggy, palm-tree lined desert for five fucking years. This time, I have no intentions of going back. I’m done. I’m coming back to New York, and I don’t care what Paddy or Gracie or anyone says. If the Barbieris want me dead, well, I’ll make sure every single one of
them
is dead before I make my return permanent. Even if I have to kill them myself.