Page 22 of Chicago Sin

“What?” She searches my face in surprise. “Oh, um, at least a hundred, maybe more.”

I flip through my cash the don set me up with when I renewed my oaths to him and the Outfit, or as the don likes to call it, la Cosa Nostra. I shove another six hundred in her money pouch. “That cover it?”

Her eyes round, and she nods, breath erratic.

“Good. Here’s what’s going to happen. You play it cool—real cool—and I’ll untie you and let you ride up front in the passenger seat. We’ll make your deposit.” I smack her ass with the money pouch. “Then we’ll go to your place. Capisce?”

She nods quickly. “I’ll be cool. I promise.”

When she licks her lips, I’m overcome with the sudden urge to claim that mouth again. Because I have never kissed a girl like I just kissed her. So full of passion and heat and raw desperate need. I want to get another taste.

And then I want to see those lips stretched around my cock. Working my length with the same receptivity she showed me bent over her workbench earlier. I want to see the pleasure in her eyes when I make her come, feel her body tremble and shake with a pleasure that only I can give her. I move closer to her, my hands sliding up her arms as I press my hips against hers, not leaving any room for doubts as to what I want or where I want it.

I swear to Christ, she must read my thoughts because when I look down, I see her nipples protruding beneath her layers.

And I’ve lost my mind because all I can think is maybe I should fuck her again before we leave.

Instead, I tug her toward the back and out the door to the alley where Marco and I loaded the body into his trunk forty-five minutes ago. I stop at the back door and use the teeth of one of her keys to rip the tape off her wrists.

Before I release her, I wrap my hand in her hair and tug her head back. “Don’t make me sorry, Hannah.” My body’s right up against hers. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, drawing my gaze to her delectable cleavage. I trace my thumb across the line of her jaw.

“I won’t. I’ll be cool. Promise.”

“Good girl.” I release her in degrees, not wanting to separate my body from hers. Not sure I can trust her outside this shop. She could scream. Or run. Or grab for her phone.

But I guess this is how I find out. If she misbehaves, I’ll deal with it. And then I’ll know I can’t trust her.

Which means...fuck, I don’t want to think what that would mean because I don’t hurt women. And I definitely don’t hurt the innocent.

And she’s both.

Chapter Eleven

Armando

I open the back door and push her out then pull it shut behind us and test the lock. “Show me you can be trusted.” I smack her ass again.

I’m not usually the ass-smacking type. At least I wasn’t before prison. Sure, I gave my fiancée a spank or two during sex, but Hannah is a different story altogether.

Her ass is juicy. Round, plump. Firm. I don’t just want to bend her over and fuck her again, I want to spank her brown cheeks rosy and own that ass with my cock.

Jesus, fuck.

I’m a feral animal.

A wild beast rutting.

And Hannah is my prey.

I want to throw her in the back of the van and have another go at that lush body of hers right here, right now.

I almost wish she’d give me a reason to keep manhandling her, but she behaves herself, strutting straight to the passenger side of the beat up, rust-covered, 1970s Dodge Ram van with a flower decal on the side and waiting for me to unlock it. The paint of the aging van is peeling and chipping off, the rust eating at the edges. The lettering of Garden of Eden Florists on the side is blistered, peeled, faded and flaking, leaving yellow paint behind.

“Does this heap even run?” I say the words out loud as I open the door for her. I don’t mean to shame the girl, but Jesus, this tin can is a dinosaur that has truly seen its day.

“Are you even allowed to drive?” she snarks back as she climbs in.

“No.” I slam her door and walk around, keeping an eye on her through the windows. She sits down and folds her hands in her lap, perfectly behaved.