((Mild spice - 18+))

"Not a chance." I nearly huff a sigh of relief at his words. "You know I don't share."

He shoots Sinclair a crooked grin. "It was worth a try." He examines how I scowl sullenly at both of them, interested at my clear distaste. He's probably used to watching women fall over each other at the chance to fit in Sinclair's arms. "Where'd you find her?"

I hold my tongue. Telling him that I'd mercilessly killed his scumbag crony and tried to do the same to Sinclair would be stupid, even if it would be amusing to see the look of shock on his face.

Instead of answering, Sinclair holds my other arm up like a trophy. It's the same one that's pressed against his chest, hiding the ink that marks me as an angel blood.

Arlo stiffens. "She's one of them?"

Sinclair doesn't seem to share his discomfort. He quirks an easy grin, tracing the detailed cross over my skin with gentle fingers that make goosebumps rise in their wake. "She is."

I'm surprised that he doesn't ask me to take my contacts off to show the golden irises that lay beneath them. He seems to bask in the discomfort that radiates from Arlo.

Arlo reaches out a hesitant hand, smoothing his olive fingers over my skin. I have to grit my teeth to resist leaning forward and biting at them, my gun in my hand again the only thought holding me back.

A shiver works its way over my skin. He looks at me like he wants to steal and display me on the shelf like a shiny gold medal. Like he'd only take me down to use me—and judging from the blend of disgust and lust raging in his gaze, it wouldn't for anything good.

For once, I'm glad to be trapped in Sinclair's grasp.

"How much would you take for her?" He holds my gaze even as he directs his words to my captor.

I tense, stomach sloshing. Here's to hoping Sinclair's reputation of being a greedy bastard is true.

"She's not for sale."

My stomach settles a bit as I relax a notch against Sinclair's chest. Distantly I realize I shouldn't be so relieved, nor should I be leaning into this monster's body as a method of comfort.

"Two million?" He smiles, eyes flickering back to Sinclair. "Three? Name your price, Black."

"This isn't the business we'd agreed on discussing." Sinclair's features darken, his jaw ticking with barely concealed anger. "Don't overstep."

Arlo clears his throat, even as his eyes mirror the same rage festering in Sinclair's. I nearly choke on the thick air between them. "My apologies. Let's start then."

"Goodbye, Arlo."

He stiffens, something murderous flashing across his face. "Excuse me?"

"Fetch yourself a drink. A hot girl. As a matter of fact," he juts his chin toward a familiar head of red hair who watches us enviously from behind the bar. "That one happens to be ready for the taking tonight."

I don't know whether or laugh or gag. I hate the bitch, but a part of me wants to vomit in sympathy at the thought of laying with this disgusting man.

A look of betrayal flashes across her face, then one of realization. She realizes what it is—a punishment. She pushes away the glass of liquor in front of her and sways over, looking as predatory and graceful as a cat before it sinks its claws into its prey.

Amber trails a perfectly manicured hand over his shoulder. "Hi, Mr. Capponi."

After ogling her chest, he shoot us a glance filled with bloodlust. I know what it is, and so does Sinclair—a threat. But unlike me, he seems painfully unconcerned.

"Have fun." He dismisses him with a wave of a hand.

The look on his face is murderous as Amber leads him away. I'm not sure what's on the line between them, but it doesn't look like anything good.

I don't realize I'm holding my breath until it tumbles out of my mouth with a whoosh. "Who was that?"

"Arlo Capponi." I stiffen at the name. I'd only heard it in passing, but he was rumored to be one of the most dangerous mobsters in the city.

"Like the mafia Capponi?"

"The very same," he says, quirking an amused eyebrow at the alarmed expression on my face.

"Are you...one of them?" The angel bloods never gave me any details. Everything instructed was only surface level: that Sinclair is a dangerous demon with connections to crime all over the city and needs to be eliminated as quickly as possible.

"The mafia?" he snorts. "No, angel. But I do work with them. Arlo is one of my best paying customers."

Christ. I don't know what kind of dangerous work the mafia would require so that they don't have to dirty their own hands, but I'm sure it's bad. And here I am sitting on him like a cheap whore. "What kind of work?"

He hums, reclining further back into his chair. "Nothing you need to concern yourself with."

"That's funny," I say, looking pointedly at the ink that binds me to him upon my arm. "Not like my life is in the line or anything. I'd like at least an estimate of how many people have a price on your head." I know I'm going to die either way, but still. A heads up would be nice.

He shrugs a toned shoulder, looking painfully bored. "Enough."

"Enough what?"

"Enough people want me dead. You should know firsthand."

I bite the side of my cheek so I don't snarl at him to spit out answers. Being in the dark pisses me off, but judging from the dark look dancing in his eyes I know I'm walking on dangerous ground.

"Fine." I awkwardly shuffle in his lap, careful not to wiggle my butt too much to avoid the same circumstances as just a few moments ago. I wince as I feel the length of him brush over me. He's half hard still and my short dress rides up to the tops of my thighs, bearing my ass to the material of his pants as I slide across him.

"Oh." I pause the movement as he brushes over the exposed section of my panties. Once I realize what I've done, I make haste, face burning. "Shit. Sorry."

Sinclair grunts, full lips parting as his hands grasp my waist and pull me back atop his hardening cock. A wave of liquid heat rushes through my core, my pelvis aching to grind against him.

"What's this?" He moves his hips so he drags over my wet panties. A gasp tumbles from my mouth, another wave of desire rushing through my body. "Even the prettiest little angels get cravings to sin, don't they?"

A small groan escapes my mouth as he pushes against me again. I still, bracing my hands over his broad chest. I'm too inexperienced, too terrified to do anything but sit like cornered prey and feel the heat of him press against me.

He snorts, thrusting again. Another labored grunt tumbles out of me. "Have I tamed you already, little monster?"

I still, the heat in my veins cooling a notch at his words. "What?"

"You're going to let me fuck you," he says, hand trailing down my waist and to my thigh. He slides a warm finger over where the black latex barely conceals my lower half to everyone around us as if he's ready to flip the material up and take me now. "I'm not complaining. Only surprised."

My eyes narrow, a new fire taking place in my veins. "Tame me?" I knock away his hands, grappling around his waistband for the familiar shape of my gun. I smile ruefully as I find it, pulling it out roughly and scooting across his lap with the gentleness of a rhino. "Like you could ever. Show's over, I'm leaving."

I nearly shriek in frustration as he catches my wrist. I need to leave soon—he's incredibly talented at pissing me off and putting his balls on the line in the process.

"So you're just going to act like you don't want this?"

"Yes." I whip my hand back, not caring that my skin burns from unlatching my wrist from his tight grip. "Because I don't."

He actually laughs at that. His head tilts back, messy dark mane sliding over his shoulders as the baritone rumbles through the air, the sound as smooth and decadent as dark chocolate.

I sigh. He'd be beautiful if he weren't so damn infuriating.

And evil, I remind myself. He's not just a hot and annoying chunk of flesh. He's a living, breathing piece of Hell.

"What's this then?" He reaches down to the fabric over his crotch, smoothing his fingers the spot I'd shamelessly pressed against. I avert my eyes at the clear size of him straining against his zipper, my lips pulling into a thin line.

His fingers glisten as he presents them to me. Sinclair's pants are too dark to notice the dampness at first glance, but if you study close enough you can make out a small saturated circle.

"Oh my god." I flush so hard that my head spins. This has to be the most mortifying moment of my life. "Please go change your pants."

A wicked grin spans across his face as he raises his hand to his mouth, licking the wetness away mirthfully. "I don't think I will. I like the smell of you on me." His grin widens at the horrified chagrin that deepens across my features. "You taste pretty sweet, too."

"You're...," I fumble underneath his delighted gaze. More tempting than I'd care to admit. "Fucking disgusting."

"And you live for it, little monster."