Page 67 of Dirty Mafia King

He ignores me, and half carries, half drags me across the lawn, up the stone stairs, and across the veranda. We don’t stop in the kitchen, and I’m forced down the hallway. Bastian’s office door is open, and I catch a glimpse of his face before I’m shoved forward and, as the door slams behind me, locked inside with him.

I place a hand over my racing heart.

Bastian lifts off his desk and advances.

My eyes go wide.He’s furious.

A finger curls around my bikini strap, and I jump as he snaps it like a rubber band.

“Is it … my father?” I whisper. Zoey’s warning rings out in my mind.Don’t let him drag you into the shed.

“Not.” He curls his finger beneath the material covering my right breast. “Your.” He pulls, then releases. “Father.” My top slips sideways and now barely covers my nipple.

“Tell me the truth.” His low growl shakes the room. Or is it me, who is trembling and off-center? “Did you wear this fucking tiny-ass bikini to catch my attention?” His finger graces my skin, and my quiver turns into a shiver.

“No,” I gasp. “I wasn’t thinking about you at all.”

“That right?” He cocks an eyebrow. “Then who were you hoping to attract? My men? My guards? The goddamn gardener?”

“What?” I stammer. “No.”

“Well, you succeeded. Every man with eyes will be jerking off and working over their partners with you in mind. That what you set out to do, Little Miss Not-So-Innocent?”

His blue eyes pierce into me. Assessing my reaction, ready to pounce on a lie.

I’m fascinated with him, true. But more terrified than I’ve ever felt. All week long, I’ve been reminded of who he is and what he does. Men jumping to do his bidding. Guards positioned around the estate to keep trouble at bay. Zoey, with her stories. He hurts people.

“Know what?” he snarls.

I don’t dare answer.

“It doesn’t fucking matter. Let them look.”

The air trapped inside my lungs escapes in a rush. Except his expression grows less angry and more sinister.

“Know what else?” His tone is raw and whiskey-laced.

The room spins, and I sway.

“No one can touch you but me.” He presses a hand to my shoulder. “Get on your knees.”

I drop so fast, my head spins.

Is this what he ordered the man in the shed to do before he chopped off his fingers? Is this how he’ll execute me?

“Zoey and I thought it’d be fun to buy matching bathing suits,” I explain in a rush. “No one informed me you were having meetings…” I stop talking. Because … oh, Lord … he’s unzipped his dress pants and is taking out his cock.

“Look at me.”

Our eyes connect.

“You a bad girl or a good girl?”

My voice cracks. “Good…”

“Louder.”

I inhale deeply. “I’m a good girl.”