Pretty Dirty (Dirty Bad Things Book 2)(58)

Because no one was going to take our Samantha and get away with it. And she was ours — Blake knew it, I knew it, and I knew she knew it.

She belonged to us, and we were going to go take back what was ours.





13





Samantha




“This woulda been so much easier if you’d just done what you were supposed to do, Sam.”

Tim smirked at me from the sofa across the room. The bitch he’d been seeing behind my back was sitting right next to him, checking her phone — like this was the best time to be going on Facebook or whatever.

Tim shook his head before bringing the match in his hand to the cigar in his.

“Wish you’d just played the part, Sam.”

I screamed — well, I muffled screamed — at him through the gag in my mouth, straining as two of the henchmen finished binding my arms to the swivel office chair.

“You should’ve just played the housewife role. Stay at home, do whatever you want, and don’t ask questions. Don’t poke around,” Tim sighed and puffed on the cigar.

“You know, there’s a saying about curious cats,” the older man said with that dark voice, the Spanish lilt rolling off his tongue.

I glared daggers at him.

My mind spun with what was happening to me. In one freaking day, my life had been a whirlwind of things I’d never in a million years imagined happening to me. My relationship - however broken, strained, and on the rocks, coming undone. Getting pulled over, and then getting more turned on than I’d ever been at the rough treatment of the two dominant men who’d pulled me over.

And then there’d been later — later, when I’d submitted to them. Later when I’d found myself sinking to my knees, taking them both, and letting them drive me higher than I’d ever been.

Letting them make me feel things I’d never felt before.

There was the aftermath of that — of sitting there realizing I felt closer to those two men than I’d ever felt to anyone, and being terrified of what that meant.

And then the bomb dropping — them telling me about the surveillance. I’d felt wronged, and lied to, in the moment. But now?” Now all I could think was that I’d overreacted.

Hell, they’d been honest about it. They could have let happen what happened, walked away, and never said a word to me.

But they hadn’t.

And I think part of me knew why. Because I knew I wasn’t the only one who’d felt those feelings. And yes, I knew how clichéd that was for some wayward, lost woman to think when someone, or someones, showered her with attention she’d been starved for, but I knew it was more than that. I’d seen the way they’d looked at me, the way their hands had lingered, at the pain in their eyes when they’d told me.

I’d run away from them and the promise of what might have been with them. Now I was tied to a chair, surrounded by men with guns, and more than ever, I wished I’d stayed with them.

“This is nothing personal,” the older man said with a shrug, puffing on his own cigar. “But loose ends are loose ends, and in our business, those cannot be tolerated.”

My heart raced as I eyed the guns in his henchmen’s hands.

The older man laughed. “That? No, no, we are not savages are we?” he grinned. “No one is going to shoot you in my niece’s living room.”

The girl looked up briefly from her phone and smiled before glancing back down, and I found myself slowly letting out the breath I’d been holding.

“No, you’re going to go for a swim, chica.”

I froze, my eyes snapping back to him.

“Yes, I have this wonderful yacht — you’ll see it,” he said with a low chuckle. “But I’m afraid it will be a one-way trip for—”

Suddenly, shots rang out from somewhere in the house, and the whole room exploded into action.

The old man whirled, barking out orders to his henchmen, and I saw Tim’s face go white as he quickly lurched to his feet.

“The fuck is that, Miguel!?’

“Do I look like a fucking mind reader?” the man snarled.

His niece screamed and dove behind the sofa as more shots banged through the house from somewhere downstairs. I could feel my pulse pounding like a drum.

The older man, Miguel, drew a gun from his jacket, his eyes darting around the room as he screamed out orders in Spanish. The henchmen all dropped to their knees, guns trained on the door to the living room as more shots hammered through the house.

My breathing came ragged behind the gag. Was it the cops? Or God, what if it was some other gang? My mind reeled as all the horrible scenarios raced through my head.

Miguel turned and suddenly, the gun was trained right at me.

“Whoever comes though this door, drop them,” he hissed to his men, cocking the hammer and pressing the gun to my head.

Silence suddenly draped the house.

No more shots, no more screaming.

Time seemed to freeze. The room went still as everyone went rigid, staring at the door and waiting for whatever was going to come through it.

…But nothing did, because that’s when the big floor-to-ceiling windows behind us shattered, as two bodies came hurtling through it.

My heart jumped in my chest.

It was them.