Page 65 of Irish Brute

The technique is right, but my captor is simply too strong. Instead of breaking free, I’m pulled closer to his body. My ass presses against his waist. The weight of his boner, heavy through my flimsy skirt, raises acid in my throat.

Before I can swallow, before I can spit, he yanks my head back against his chest, jamming his meaty fingers against my nostrils to cut off my breathing completely. He stinks of sweat and cigarette smoke, smothered in Acqua di Parma cologne.

Don Antonio.

The fight drains out of me, like water poured onto desert sand.

“Yes,gattina,” he whispers in my ear. “Sheath your little claws.”

I’m not his kitten. He doesn’t have the right to call me that. I try to tell him to go to hell, but his hand still smothers me.

“So much spirit in you,” he says. “Much more fight than your cousin.”

My effort to bite his palm is rewarded with another yank on my arm, sharp enough to make me see stars.

“Now I will release your mouth,” he says. “But if you scream, I will break your arm. Understand?”

I manage to nod against his chest. I need to agree. I can’t breathe with his hand pressing so hard and my ears are starting to roar.

“Such a smart girl, my sweet Giovanna.” He moves his hand and I gulp in a huge breath of air. He continues with his oily compliments. “And you are so considerate as well. I hoped thatyou would be here. I hoped we could speak in person, instead of over the phone.”

“What do you want?” I spit the words, trying to ignore his numbing grip on my arm.

“It is always business with you, is it not, sweet Giovanna? You will learn better, once you come to live in my house.”

“I’ll never live with you!”

He laughs like a man plucking whiskers from puppies’ faces. “You will. But first, I have a task for you. I want information about the drugs Braiden Kelly runs through the Port of Philadelphia.”

I don’t tell him Braiden has nothing to do with drugs. I’m not that naive. My husband earns money wherever he can. “Why would I get that for you?”

He goes on as if I didn’t speak. “There is a major shipment arriving on Sunday night. I need to know who Kelly has on the inside. And exactly what leverage he holds over them.”

“Even if I knew that, I’d never tell you.”

“Oh you will, sweet Giovanna. Because if you do not, I have some very pretty pictures I will make very public. I will start by sharing them with your husband. Then your employer. Then the Delaware State Bar. By then, the media will have an interest. I will be happy to share.”

I think of all the pictures he could have. Me kneeling in front of Braiden. Me tied up in the greenhouse. Me sprawled across Braiden’s bed. I don’t know how he got them, where he hid his cameras.

A good lawyer knows never to ask a question when she doesn’t already know the answer. I have to make a statement, though, have to challenge the monster behind me. “You’re bluffing.”

Without a word, he twists my arm harder, forcing me closer to his stinking body. His free hand reaches into his pocket, whichforces his hard-on closer to my ass. Even as I try to edge away, he holds his phone in front of my face.

He’s not bluffing.

He’s got pictures. A dozen or more that he flips through with his thumb.

But they’re not pictures of Braiden and me.

They’re pictures from That Night.

“You fucking bastard,” I say, when I can breathe again.

This time when he yanks my arm, something shifts in my shoulder. “Such a mouth on you. We will have to work on that. But first, you will get my information. By Sunday. Or these pictures become public.”

“Va al—”Diavolo, I’m going to say.Go to the devil.But before I can spit out the last word, I hear thecrackof shattered glass.

“Take yer hands off m’ wife, motherfucker, or ya’ll be bleedin’ out on all these pretty flowers.”