Page 109 of Bred

Piercing, dark brown eyes stared down at me, taking in every inch of me, including my twisted ankle that continued to swell the longer I didn’t elevate it. Menace rolled off of him in sickening waves. All I wanted was to go home. The curling snarl on his full lips spiked a niggle of apprehension within me. Dominic’s black hair was slicked back, curling around his ears, and his cheeks were covered with a couple of days’ worth of scruff. He stepped into the room like he owned the place (news flash; he did), oblivious to the rules of privacy and decorum. He glanced around the sparse, though comfortable furnishings and grinned. The devious, imperialist curve of his mouth did nothing for me. He was just another city-rat asshole trying to make a buck off the backs of the working man.

“This is nice compared to where I wanted to put you.” He rolled up his sleeves, exposing sinewy forearms covered in intricate tattoos. His biceps bulged against the expensive material covering his torso. His waistcoat gave him an inflated air of authority and privilege. He was nothing more than a street urchin, like me, once upon a time.

You can put lipstick on a pig, but it’s still a pig.

“Oh? Where’s that?” I should’ve kept my mouth shut, yet the way he licked his bottom lip as his lascivious gaze swept over my body once more, I couldn’t keep silent. “No, wait, let me guess. Your bedroom?” I snorted. “Not my type.”

He chuckled. The horrid sound sent a shiver of warning down my spine. He wasn’t to be trifled with. In this arrangement, he had all the power. I was his prisoner. “Not if you were the last woman on this planet.” The words were spoken in a hushed tone, dripping with disdain and malice.

“Well, I suppose gutter always enjoys gutter. Right, Dominic?”

His hand cut through the air, striking my cheek, knocking me backwards. Stars exploded in front of me. My ears rang and my vision swam. Should have seen that coming. The trickle of warmth at the corner of my lip had me fighting the urge to touch it. I already knew I was bleeding. Not like the skeezy man in front of me made me drool. Straightening my spine, I sat taller, staring down my nose at him.

Men who use their fists instead of their words were weak.

“Pretty dolls shouldn’t speak in such derogatory ways.” He cupped my chin and smirked. His dark gaze landed on my tits. He licked his lips before dragging his full bottom lip between his teeth. My stomach flopped in disgust. Bile bit at the back of my throat. “We’d have had fun, you and me.”

Money might make the man for people like Dominic, but it couldn’t buy them class or sex appeal. I narrowed my eyes and jerked away from him, crossing my arms. Every inch of my body hurt, including my head. All I wanted was to be left alone. “If these are the last days of my life, at least allow me to have some peace.”

“Ian,” Dominic called out, “Get your ass in here,” totally ignoring me.

The man’s heavy footfalls drew my gaze to the door as Dominic’s men moved aside. Each of them looked up as the man, Ian, stepped into the room, momentarily ducking his head as he passed the threshold. My heart lodged in my throat. My mouth went dry. Ian stood a good five or six inches taller than Dominic. His hands were tattooed, so was his neck. I absently wondered if perhaps the rest of his arms and chest were as well. He had piercing blue eyes that ensnared me as the cruel expression on his chiseled face darkened. His broad shoulders gave way to a tapered waist and long, thick legs.

I knew this man.

Everybody who was anybody knew this man.

Ian Bains. The Irishman. Hired hitman. Now babysitter?My, how the mighty have fallen. He continued to stare at me with keen interest while I curled my lip, as best as I could without pulling the injured flesh, in disdain. Just another douche bro to add to the list. He even had that Jersey Shore fade haircut going on with his hair. About the only thing qualifying him as better looking than Dominic and his men was the graying at his temples.

And maybe the tattoos placement.

Better add his blue eyes too, just because.

“Watch her. If she makes a move to escape, snap her neck.” Dominic flicked a brutal look in my direction before stepping out of the room.

Guess I hurt whatever feelings he had.

Oh, well.

The minute the door shut behind us, I groaned, throwing myself back on the bed. My head officially felt as though a jackhammer was breaking through the hemispheres of my brain. My lip throbbed, as did my cheek. At least, for the moment, I forgot about my ankle.

When I opened my eyes, Ian remained where he’d been when he entered the room. He gave me a curious once over. Those hard, intense blue eyes of his swept across my body, lighting me up from the inside out. A flush stole across my skin, heating me to the point I thought I’d combust while my heart pounded. The corner of his mouth lifted in a callous smirk as he strode over to the rather large leather wingback chair, that reminded me more of a regal throne than a simple chair. I hadn’t even noticed when I stumbled into the room.

Ian sat. His long, powerful legs extended in front of him. He crossed them at the ankle while giving me a droll look. Everything about him screamed power and control. He could crush anyone who got in his way. Lucky me, I was the one person who might get in his way. Not on purpose, though. After all, I wasn’t in this fucked up situation because I wanted to be.

“Make yourself at home,” I muttered, pulling myself up onto the bed properly, so I didn’t hang off the side and cause more pressure on my ankle. Bad enough, I kept it down for longer than I should have. In the time since I’d been knocked to the floor, and Dominic left the room, my ankle had swelled to the size of an orange verging on grapefruit. “Damn it.”

Ian cocked a brow.

“Silence suits you,” I groused, rolling my eyes, then chiding myself for doing so. “Your stone aesthetic fits as well. Keep up the good work.”

Amusement glittered in his gaze, but his features remained stoic—flat. He didn’t take the bait to talk to me. Personally, I wasn’t sure I wanted him to, anyway. After Dominic’s little DV treatment, I didn’t need a matching set of bruises on both cheeks, or worse.

If the stories about Ian were true, he’d do much crueler things than Dominic had.

I grabbed a pillow from the bed and placed it under my foot before removing my shoe, sure it was the worst thing I could do. Didn’t a shoe keep swelling down while also helping stabilize the joint or whatever? Or was the rule, take the shoe off and ice it? I snorted to myself, yeah, I won’t be getting ice soon. Not in this place. Not while I was a hostage.

Nor were my thoughts rational at the moment.