Disengaged: A Dangerously Forbidden Love Affair Read online

  We squeezed by tons of people. Not one single guy bothered to touch me, if anything, they made way for me to move by, but every half-naked girl in sight reached for him, and only paused when they noticed his glare.

  At the end of the hall, another bodyguard guy gave us a once over before he let us into a room that looked like a retro office. Most of the furniture was green, plastic, and old. An older woman was sitting at the desk before another door, smoking away as she clicked her fingers across the laptop before her.

  Slayton nodded for me to sit on the couch that was just out of sight from most of the adjoining room. I did, but only on the very edge. I was ready to bolt at any second, and not fond of the obstacles in my way to do so.

  One swoop of my gaze made me cringe when I noticed that in the next room, among the room full of men, the fair-haired guy from the night before, along with the short Italian— they were not only there, but surprised to see me again. Makes two of us buddy, I thought grudgingly.

  From what I could see in the room, there was a massive desk on each side—one to the right and left. Each had stacks of cash on them and topless girls were running the bills through a machine to count them.

  There was a guy behind the desk; he had to be in his late fifties, dripping with the whole Godfather persona; overweight, a little oily, with a cigar smoking on his desk. Slayton handed his bag to the girl on the left. The man behind the desk ended his cell phone call then reclined back in his leather chair. Because he leaned back, I lost sight of him, but I could still hear him as if he were right at my side.

  “My boy, Winslow,” he rasped with absolutely no admiration.

  My gaze shifted over what I could see of Slayton, and I wondered why the man called him a different name. “I understand a Unicorn paid you last night.”

  Slayton said nothing.

  “When did Bloom say he’d have the rest?” The man behind the desk asked.

  I tensed. I couldn’t help it. I regretted it as soon as I did, though, because I could have sworn everyone but Slayton’s stare landed on me for a split second. It had to have been my imagination, true.

  “He didn’t,” Slayton said.

  The man behind the desk was quiet for long seconds; then I heard him exhale what I was sure was a cloud of smoke. “I sincerely hope the piece of ass you’ve been driving all over my town is not the reason you’ve turned down the ring lately.”

  Slayton remained stoic. I couldn’t see his expression, but I assumed he told the guy no in some way. Because the next thing he said was, “Good. You’re fighting tonight.”

  Slayton aggressively stepped forward, and as he did, men in the room reached for their guns. I heard the eerie click of each one.

  “The crowd loves you,” the man said. “Bets are high.” He chuckled. “I’m determined to find out if you’ve been exaggerated or not.”

  “I’m done,” Slayton said through gritted teeth.

  “Ah, don’t worry about your girl. Or the Unicorn. Vinnie can take her home, catch up with Bloom.” I heard him blow out a puff of smoke. “If the night goes well, then maybe I can give you a few days off, let you have a little fun. The next gladiator segments are months away, international purses.”

  “I don’t trust him,” Slayton said tossing a glare to his side at the short Italian, who I assumed was Vinnie.

  Vinnie, who looked like he had been run over by a car, narrowed his stare on Slayton but was smart enough to not make a move.

  “Two minutes of your time,” the man behind the desk said. “Fifty grand, a few days off. What exactly do you not trust?” the man asked, then laughed a cold, dark laugh. “Vinnie claims the piece of ass with you is Bloom’s girl. He said she came out of nowhere a few months ago. Then all of the sudden last night you were all about making them think you and her had a thing from day one—but he hasn’t seen you with her before.”

  I heard the man’s chair squeak forward and watched as Slayton tensed. “You walking her in here, parading her all over my territory tells me you have balls. You do give a damn about her. How long you have, I don’t know. Or care.” He sighed, almost too dramatically. “What I don’t understand is what you think she could tell us in the two minutes you’ll be in the ring that you’d rather us not know.” I heard his exhale of smoke again. “You’re not afraid you won’t walk out of the cage are you?” he finished slyly.

  “No one touches her,” Slayton said so softly I was debating if I’d imagined it. Just like I was wondering if the room had gotten colder or if I was only sensing the fierceness of Slayton’s threat.

  “Channing,” the man behind the desk said to the fair-haired guy, I assumed—he was the one who lifted his chin to answer. “Keep an eye on Winslow’s girl.”

  “I’m not in the cage yet,” Slayton—at least I was still calling him Slayton—said as he turned and moved toward the room I was in. I stood eagerly ready to bolt. Slayton nodded for me to turn then grasped the back of my arm pushing me to move faster. More than a few of the guys in the room followed us.

  It wasn’t a shocker that I was trembling, but it was that Slayton noticed. At least I assumed that was why even with his tight grip, he was grazing his thumb along my arm. The deeper we went into this place, the more crowded and sordid it became. When I heard the roar of men in the distance I stalled my pace but only found myself crashing into Slayton’s chest, he’d pull me against him then urged me on.

  Steps later we entered a massive warehouse room; thousands of people were pushing toward the center trying to see something. The brutal yells of men and the smell of the blood and sweat was nauseating.

  Slayton kept pushing me toward the back corner. Everyone in our way moved as soon as they figured out who was trying to get by. All of it was a blur for me once we stopped walking. I was still looking for an escape and feeling exceedingly claustrophobic as each second ticked by.

  I only vaguely noticed the other fight had ended, that the announcer was pumping up the crowd for the next. Or that Slayton had taped his hands—and mercy, taken his shirt off. I’d felt the boy’s chest, but laying eyes on in it in the middle of the hell we were in was an entirely new erotic experience.

  I was right about the ink. There was a massive cross above his heart, script down each of his sides, and thousands of other details I couldn’t take in because I was too taken back by how defined his chest was, and how it narrowed into his waist. I clenched my fists closed, barely stopping myself from reaching for him. I was starting to think whatever this pull I felt to him was more than attraction. But I’d be damned if I could give it a name. I couldn’t process anything right then.

  I followed Slayton’s ferocious gaze when he indignantly looked up. On the second level, there were what I guess you would call gangster box seats. The man from the office and a handful of others in suits were all staring down at the mass of humanity. Slayton moved his stare to Channing; he didn’t say a word, but the threat was in his eyes. Channing lifted his lip in a sly grin as he gripped the back of my arm.

  I moved to protest but his grip was too fast, and I was too distracted by the fact that Slayton was walking away from me and toward the crowd that had not only parted but was cheering him on. Slayer, Slayer, Slayer!

  Channing pulled me in tight and at my ear said. “Tell me why Slayton Winslow is treating you like a crowned jewel.” I jerked away, then but my resistance was pointless. We were moving forward, following Slayton, but our path was harder because the crowd had closed in.

  Channing tightened his grip on me, looking for his answer.

  “I don’t know,” I grunted ruefully. “We clicked.”

  Clicked was the furthest thing from what I had done with Slayton but it sounded real enough to Channing. He sneered. “Not the boy to play games with,” Channing warned.

  A warning that fell on deaf ears because I was zoned in on Slayton; we’d made it to center ring. There was a guy standing opposite of him. He was a few inches taller than Slayton, thicker in the shoulders. He was just as
ripped but not nearly as healthy looking. There was something cagey and lost in his eyes that told me as much. Most of his ink was a swamp green color and looked like it was drawn on in the dark. He was missing two teeth on the right side. Which was easy to see because he was snarling at Slayton.

  Channing leaned down against my ear and spoke. “If he dies, you don’t let go of me—not if you want out of here alive.”

  Thick, sick, cold dread began at the crown of my head, slid down my body, and coiled in my gut. I felt faint for the first time in my life.

  FIVE

  Channing strengthened his grip on my arms when he felt the fight seeping out of me. “Russia’s reigning undefeated fighter. He’s deadly.”

  I never looked up at Channing. I kept my stare and my prayers locked hard and fast on Slayton. Was he being punished because of me? Tested?

  “Bets are high,” Channing said.

  “And where is yours,” I said through gritted teeth hating he had cocooned me in his arms.

  “Always with Odin’s princes.”

  I had no idea what his answer meant and didn’t care to ask him. I was warring with my thoughts. Thoughts that wanted to scream for Slayton, to run to him and feel his lips on mine, and then even more reasonable ones that told me I needed to run, and fast, from all of this.

  Angels walk with you—it was the whispered memory of my grandmother’s voice, her promise; I clung to it like the life raft that it was and begged whoever was watching over me to go to Slayton, my dark addiction. He was a new lifeline that I wasn’t ready to let go of.

  I knew it was my fault he was in this ring. I may not have known why he had defended me, or where we were going from here, but I knew I was not prepared to live the rest of my life knowing my existence had caused his death.

  The guy in the center of the ring spoke into a microphone calling for last bets as everyone watched a clock that was counting down on the wall under where the Godfather gangsters were sitting. As soon as it hit zero, Channing pulled me tighter into his vice grip, something that would have pissed me off if I hadn’t quickly figured out he was shielding me from the manic crowd who was barely being held back by the ring of armed bodyguards.

  Slayton didn’t bounce in place. He didn’t shout threats, or fake dodge to the right or left like the other guy. With lightning speed, he charged forward, threw one right hit to his opponent’s chin, ducked from a missed swing, then delivered two quick hits with his left; he leaned back then hit the guy dead center. The nasty guy went down. It was a slow fall. At least, it seemed that way to me.

  Half the crowd roared in victory, the other half cursed. They kept yelling, “Finish him! Finish him,” but Slayton did nothing but stare down at the fighter who was knocked out cold.

  “And I’m never wrong,” Channing said with a bit of humor in a crackly tone.

  My wide stare was riveted on Slayton. He wasn’t looking at his opponent on the floor anymore. He was staring at the man above, the one who had made him fight, who was sporting a smug grin as his teeth clenched around a fat cigar.

  A beat later Slayton turned and charged through the crowd. I thought he forgot me and was ready to ditch Channing and find some air and a second to think, but Channing never let me go. When he started to pull me through the crowd in the opposite direction than where Slayton had gone, every nightmarish fear I imagined exploded within me.

  When we reached the hallway, Channing loosened up his hold on me but not by much. The guys in the hall were no longer giving me a wide berth and keeping their hands to themselves. I was groped ten times in as many steps, the things they were saying were twice as sick.

  Every word, every touch halted when Slayton stepped out of a side door. His shirt was on, and most of the tape was ripped from his fingers. He reached his hand out for me as he tossed a menacing glare down the hall. Channing let me go, and I all but ran to Slayton. When I took his hand, I couldn’t figure out if he was trembling with rage or if I was with fear.

  Seconds later, we were outside and on his bike. When I wrapped by body around him tighter than I ever had before and closed my eyes, I was sure I was unconsciously trying to calm us both down. We were only on the bike for ten minutes, but I knew we could be anywhere when we stopped because his speed had well surpassed a hundred.

  I was shell-shocked to see that it was my building we were parked in front of. Slayton didn’t give me a chance to hesitate or ask why or even offer a warning that I didn’t know where my father was. After dismounting he all but carried me to the door. It took me three tries, but I managed to put in my code to open the door. Once we were in the lobby, I drew in a tight breath and grinned at the guard, and all the cameras in the lobby.

  The elevator ride was brutal. We were alone. The climb was slow. I felt rage, adrenaline...and something sinful rippling off him. My chest was heaving; my flesh was burning hot. Ten times over I stopped myself from looking right at him, even from reaching for him.

  I knew if I did I’d forget myself and every primal need inside of me would erupt and react. I was positive both of us had just barely escaped death. Grasping something like that, knowing you cheated everyone’s ultimate end, forced you to clutch every sensation, to absorb the rush of the life that you’d let pass by unnoticeable before.

  I knew it unquestionably had to be a sin to be turned on by fear, by the primal darkness I’d slipped into, but I couldn’t help it. I’d never once been more soaked with desire, or the outright need to feel another—to have them take me to a place of no pain, of ecstasy, even it was only for a few seconds.

  When the elevator stopped, I forced my trembling legs to move forward and led him the few steps toward the door to my flat. I braced myself for a whole new kind of hell.

  My father shouldn’t have been home at this hour on a normal day. This was by far not a normal one. I’d been missing for almost a day now. I had no idea where he was, if he’d noticed or not, much less what his reaction would be when he saw me with Slayton. I flicked my stare up at Slayton wondering what his would be; if he had spared me all this time just to take the only blood I had left on this planet from me, all for the sake of some stupid drunken bet he had to collect on.

  Shakily, once I unlocked the door, I cast my stare around the flat finding it dim and empty. Relief never had a chance to wash over me. Slayton pushed me against the wall, and I let him. He lifted one hand; it was not only trembling but still had bloodstained tape dangling from it. He fisted his hand and clenched his eyes closed.

  I would never claim to be a master at reading this boy, but I knew he wouldn’t touch me right then, that he thought he was a stain on my purity. I knew he needed to. I could feel the need for release pulsing off of him. It was the same twisted need I was fighting with. One so strong that it outweighed all reason and washed away the reality you were in and left you craving a rush of ecstasy the same way you’d crave air.

  His eyes were still closed when I crashed my lips onto his. I knew I took him off guard when he rocked back. He caught himself by bracing his arm around the small of my back. He never pulled his lips completely back, but he drew them up with a hiss, whatever mental war he was fighting must’ve been a brutal one. I was determined to have a vote in the final victory.

  I flicked my tongue against his lips, asking him to open for me, to let me finally feel him. He tilted his head taking my lips another way, and then abruptly he leaned away from me and fiercely stared down into my eyes. Confusion was the dominant emotion in his gray stare as it rapidly moved over my face. Unworthy humbleness was a close second, and of course, the third was the anger that I was sure never left him for long.

  I moved my hand up his chest, squeezed the taut skin, and pressed my lips together, but before I could say a word, make a move, he leaned in and took my lips. We moved together the way we had become accustomed to every time he was trying to prove a point to others, protect me. Before, this kiss had been hot, daring, even mystifying. Now, knowing no one was watching, it didn’t feel danger
ous. It felt forbidden. Like we were toying with something that wasn’t ours yet, something that had only been used as a tool for survival, a piece in a war game I’d yet to understand. This moment raised the stakes; it put real, consensual, raw emotion behind a touch.

  I relaxed against his chest, cherishing the taste of his lips, the rush it was fanning deep inside of me. When his lips demanded that I open for him, when I felt his hot tongue flick against mine, a quiet, wanting, moan came from me as need flooded my core.

  The kiss escalated and became deeper, hungrier, wetter, and wilder. For a long moment, neither of our hands moved. I was sure the entire world had slowed with us, that it was taking its time, relishing every single God-given sensation the way we were.

  When his hands moved down my sides, my body slithered closer of its own will, colliding into him. The feel of his hard length through his jeans against my stomach empowered me. This formidable, deadly man was under my spell of desire, one I had no idea how I cast. Nevertheless, I was determined to keep him captivated, because I wanted and needed more for myself.

  His hand hooked around the cleft of my ass, pulling me up and pressing me into him as he rocked hard into me. The angle he was at was pressing the seam of my jean shorts against my tender clit. Like every other part of me, it was hypersensitive, aching to be satisfied. My breaths became embarrassingly short; sounds I could not stop quaked from me as I pressed harder into each rock of his hips. I moved to make sure I felt the pressure I wanted, where I wanted it.

  One of his hands slipped lower under the rim of my shorts and when he found how soaked the silk barrier of my panties were he grinned against my lips, a shy, boyish grin. I could’ve sworn I felt some of the tension leave his body. His kiss became a bit softer; the lust was still there, but he touched me like a lover, like he cared. When I felt his fingertips glide across my panties right as he hiked my thigh higher on his hip and pressed into me, I lost it. I’d come before. Hell, I’d demanded that I did from past boyfriends, but it had never struck me unaware. This swelled up and swallowed me whole. And never once this quickly when I was fully dressed, barely touched.