Chapter 15: Not Your Whore

HAYLEY

Furious, Hayley walked through the staff area and out onto the floor so fast she was practically running. She got some looks from other staff members, but she ignored them.

It was daytime, so the place wasn’t particularly busy, but she must have looked a sight. She was wearing her dress from last night, and though her hair was still in waves, it had lost its sleek look.

“Hayley?” Ben said as she passed him. He had a tray in his hand but grabbed her elbow with the other.

She yanked her arm from his grasp and looked up at the VIP balcony. Luca was there, talking to his cousin Nic and a couple of other guys. Ricardo and Dom and some other Marcello men were sitting nearby.

“Bastard,” she muttered.

She shot Ben a fierce look, silently warning him not to stop her, then stormed past him and flew up the staircase.

Most of the men up here were at the casino party and would recognize the outfit she’d worn last night. But Hayley didn’t care—her eyes had found the cause of her anger.

“Uh…Luca?” Nic said when he saw her march toward his boss.

Just as Luca turned toward her, she slapped his face, putting all her strength behind it. But it only moved his head slightly, which infuriated her.

“You bastard,” she spat.

Luca’s face went hard, and his men jumped to their feet. Some even had their guns at the ready. Luca shook his head at them, but they only stood down very slightly.

“Hayley!” Frankie called out, and when she turned, he was looking at her with wide eyes.

She hadn’t noticed that he’d followed her up to the balcony.

“I’ll get rid of her, Boss,” he said to Luca, then put his hands on her shoulders, but she shrugged him off.

“Don’t touch me!” she yelled, then pointed a finger at Luca. “And you! You don’t ever pay me for sex, do you understand?” She wanted to rip his head off.

Luca grabbed her elbow and dragged her through the staff-only door that led to the two private meeting rooms and an office. He kicked open the door and threw her into the first meeting room.

The force sent her flying into the table, and the pain only increased her fury. She wheeled around to face him as he shut the door and stood in front of it.

She stalked toward him and tried to slap him again, but he grabbed her wrist. So she attempted it with her second hand, and he grabbed that one too.

“I let you have that first slap, sweetheart. But there will never be a second time. Do you understand?” His tone was cool, calm, but the threat was clear as a bell. “I’m faster, stronger, and just plain better at this than you.”

When she pulled her wrists from his grip and stepped back slightly, he put his hands on his hips, which moved his jacket aside to reveal the guns strapped to his ribs under each arm.

“Is that supposed to frighten me?” Actually, she was a little scared, maybe even terrified. But she refused to let him see that.

His eyes darkened. “Let me put it like this, Hayley—I am an expert at hiding bodies, especially those of people who don’t know how to behave.”

“You’re an arsehole,” she hissed as she stepped back a little further. Hot anger was giving way to cold fear, and she was starting to shake. “I’m not a feather girl, and you knew it!”

She watched as he laughed a little, but when she didn’t say anything right away, his eyes met hers.

“I’m not some whore you can pay to fuck, Luca. You asked me to trust you, and I did. Foolishly, but I did.”

LUCA

She was pissed. Partly because of him and partly because of her own trust issues.

Any other woman who disrespected him this way would be getting a threatening warning or a gun pointed at her. But he couldn’t bring himself to draw his gun on Hayley, even if she was a pain in his ass.

“I know you’re not a feather girl, Hayley. If I wanted a feather girl, I would have taken Arianna, Chloe, or Rebecca. But I wanted you.”

“I wish you had taken one of them!” she cried out, then went for the door behind him.

It was a bold move, but as soon as she started to pull the door open, he put his hand on the top and forced it shut again.

“Let me go!” she demanded, but he turned her around so her back was against the door, one of his hands still flat against it.

“You fucking paid me for sex,” she spat. “Do you get it? Do you get why I’m pissed?”

He sighed heavily. She still wasn’t backing down, even though she must know it would only take him—what, a second?—to kill her.

“I didn’t pay you for sex, Hayley.”

He looked into her bright blue eyes and could see a hint of fear in there somewhere, the fear that most people had around him since they knew he could take them out in a heartbeat.

He removed his hand from the door and stepped back. “If I were going to pay you for sex, I would have made that fact clear beforehand.”

“What a gentleman,” she huffed sarcastically, but he just shook his head.

She was one of the most frustrating women—no, ~people~—he had ever met.

“I’m not a gentleman, Hayley. Or a hero.”

“Did I ever suggest you were?” She laughed bitterly. “What you are, Mr. Marcello, is an arrogant prick.

“You use people. You take their trust and take their lives and bend them to your will, and when they don’t bend anymore, you dispose of them. So, no. I don’t believe you are either of those things.”

Every word out of her mouth was true, so why did it hurt so much? He gripped her shoulders. “I do what I have to, to keep my family safe, to keep people like you safe.”

Her mouth fell open at his words, but he didn’t stop.

“I have hundreds of men, families who rely on me to make tough—yeah, really tough—and sometimes bad decisions.”

His anger continued to rise as he spoke. His mind was a blur. His greatest enemy was too close for comfort; there was a rat in his ranks, and now Hayley might be at risk.

“I have a responsibility to make sure my decisions are the best ones for my people. I have to hurt anyone who jeopardizes my family’s safety or puts their livelihood in danger.”

HAYLEY

Her heart was racing. He was standing so close, and her back was against the door.

“I am not one of your people. I’m not in your fucked-up family.”

His eyes darkened at her words, and something inside of her ached—the part of her that wanted to hold Luca and never let go. But that part was weak. Luca was a bad man, and a man she’d put too much trust in.

He suddenly let her go and stepped back. “I’m glad,” he said in a harsh voice. “Because if you were one of my family members, you’d already be dead for your disrespect.”

“Disrespect?” She laughed bitterly and shook her head, feeling tears prick her eyes. “You’ve done nothing to earn my respect.” She dropped her gaze, then said quietly, “I wish last night had never happened.”

Those words hurt the place inside her that still wanted Luca. To that small part, Luca was a hero—the man who’d fought the demons in her head and could fight the demons on the streets.

He’d made her forget the people she was running from, the pain they’d caused her. Yet he was still Luca Marcello, a man who could never be a real hero—a villain who wore an angel’s smile.

Before he could stop her, she opened the door and slipped out of the room, closing the door firmly behind her.

Nic and Frankie were standing guard outside. Had they heard everything? Did she care?

She let out a sigh and tried to compose herself, allowing a single tear to fall, then walked briskly past them and through the balcony area, ignoring the eyes of the men that watched her.

When she finally reached the stairs, she flew down them, ran past Ben at the bar, and pushed her way out the exit to hail a cab.

Once inside, she put her head in her hands and cried, humiliated and confused about how she felt toward Luca Marcello.

LUCA

Luca stared at the door. He’d never chased a woman, but a part of him wanted to go after her, throw her back in the room, and apologize profusely. He also wanted to grab her and squeeze her neck until she begged for her life.

His emotions were confusing him. How could he want to hurt her and want to take care of her at the same time? He ran his hands through his hair and paced the meeting room, trying to calm himself.

He thought about her beautiful eyes, the way she was so responsive to his touch last night in his bed.

Then he thought about the hatred in her eyes, her disgust for him, and how she’d disrespected him in front of his men.

He clenched his fists as his anger surged—to hell with calm and in control!—and, acting on impulse, he threw a punch at the drywall. And almost immediately regretted it.

All he got out of it was bruised knuckles and a hole in the wall.

He leaned against the table, clutching his bloodied fist. Why wouldn’t she let him be? Why couldn’t he forget her?