Bad Medicine (Underworld Kings) Read online

  Beauty doesn't cross my mind often. Not until I saw her in the flesh.

  She shifts a little in my lap, and I know why. All these thoughts of the first sight of her has my cock going rigid in the confines of my pants. I can't help it—her beauty, her scent, her captivity that I now hold, it’s sickeningly arousing. If only it were the right time for me to fuck her so hard she’d know just what being mine means, I would do it here and now. But it’s not. Not yet.

  “Your name? Who are you?” Her voice has a tremble of fear and, dare I say, a hint of arousal.

  My cock was made for her, and no matter the severity of this twisted start, her body can't deny it.

  “DeLuca, piccolina. My name is DeLuca, but you can call me your keeper. Nothing else. Got it?” I practically snarl, so fucking turned on the heat in my veins is boiling, making me want to rip the fucking clothing from my own body.

  “And... and if I don't?” she stutters, testing me. Enticing me, really.

  I don't answer her. Instead, I thrust my hips up, my hard cock hitting her core, the heat undeniable even through our clothes. God, she’d be exquisite to fuck.

  “Please, don't—not against my will,” she cries out, the sound rounding out into a moan. Her tone, the grind of her ass against my lap… none of it matches the words she says. I’m positive she’d like it if I did just that. My sweet captive keeps surprising me.

  “Behave and I won't.” I hear her swallow, the movement seeming to go slow.

  Taking a breath to speak, she stops abruptly when the car rolls to a stop. Maxwell climbs out, rounding the hood to open my door. I move us effortlessly from the car, and Arabella clings to me as if she trusts me. God, she really shouldn't. Trusting me is like laying her soul at the devil's feet. She shouldn't fear Ferro, no; it's me she should be afraid of, run from, and hope to find an escape.

  She won't. I won’t ever let her. But her trying her damnedest might be something I enjoy far too much.

  5

  Arabella

  My instincts tell me to trust my captor.

  Is it driven—this trust—by my sudden arousal, or is the fantasy of escaping my marriage at the hands of a man more dangerous and deadly than my husband really what I'm feeling? Have I read so many books about women winning the hearts of antiheroes that I’ve tricked myself into believing this could be my reality, when really, this man has sinister, more deadly plans for me?

  Though, for some reason, there is something about him that makes me feel safe, turned on, alive, and like I’m tempting fate all at once, and I haven't even seen him yet. All I know is his touch and his name. DeLuca. And I don’t even know if that’s his first or last name.

  How is this real? I know it was bad at home, know I wanted out, but at this cost and risk?

  “What do you need from me, boss?” a male voice asks.

  “I want to be left alone with her tonight. Take my card and go back into the city. Buy her clothes and necessities to last her here until I decide what to do with her.”

  What to do with me?

  So he’ll take what he wants and then eliminate me?

  Of course. How could I be so stupid to romanticize this situation? Because I’m a fool who was born and raised as the princess of hell itself, and I don't know how not to live life any other way. This morbid world is... normal to me. Even my own kidnapping and death. I’ve been surrounded by these situations since the first breath I ever took.

  “You got it.”

  “Also, I have some appointments at the hospital tomorrow, so you will be in charge of watching her,” DeLuca rumbles.

  The hospital? He works there?

  “Yes, sir.” I hear him turn to leave, but my captor stops him.

  “Maxwell?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “She is mine, and I won't take it well if I find out anyone has touched her or threatens to take her away.”

  I gulp. And whatever look accompanied that threat made its way to Maxwell, because it scared him enough to have him meekly respond a confirmation and retreat.

  DeLuca starts moving then, taking us inside wherever it is we are now, and I risk asking him quietly, “Please, can you remove the cover? I won't run.”

  I know better than to run or try to escape. Where would I go? Plus, I know the outcome. It’s always the same in this life. No one ever makes it out alive. There are never news reports of kidnap victims being found alive and well in Desolation, NY. Ever.

  “I know you won't. I wouldn't let you.” With that, he places me on my feet, and I wobble a bit, but then he keeps me steady.

  I wait a few moments, holding my breath as I wonder if he’ll remove the hood from my head, and when he does, it takes a moment to regain my sight. Blinking and letting my eyes adjust to the light, I see he's not in front of me. He’s behind me, his hands on my hips while I get my bearings. I’m not quite ready to face him, so instead of twisting around immediately to see the face of my captor, I take a look at the entryway of what I can only describe as a castle… or a cathedral.

  It's haunting but beautiful. Money. He has lots of money, unless this is someone else's place and he's just borrowing it. But I doubt that’s the case. I sense an air of authority from him that states clearly he is the king of this palace. The entire house is made up of white and gray walls with accents of black and gold. It’s truly magnificent. I get so lost taking in the intricate surroundings that I nearly forget my situation and how we got here.

  “Your new home, piccolina.”

  My heart stops in my chest. His voice is hoarse and deep, but what really catches my attention is the sound of his feet moving slowly, letting me know I'm about to come face-to-face with the man who took me. I try to hold steady with my breathing, but it's choppy and matches how I feel internally—terrified yet… excited.

  I'm not prepared for what my eyes behold when he comes to not just stand but tower over me. My breath hitches, catching as I take in his raw masculine beauty. He must be at least six and a half feet tall, his dark, luscious hair accentuating his features, thick lashes, and hazel eyes, his skin tan. His lips are full. His body is thick, but even under his clothes, I can tell there isn’t an ounce of anything but muscle. DeLuca is a wall of marble and intimidation. My eyes land on his, and that's when I see I'm not the only one perusing the other from head to toe.

  His too are eating me alive with wanton lust. The things he’s thinking of doing to me are very evident in his stare. My captor is breathtaking, and I know now more than ever how much danger I'm in. Who is this man, and how did he find me?

  “You're going to kill me, aren't you?” I can't help but ask, because as devilishly handsome as he is, he’s scary—intimidatingly scary.

  “No,” he says quickly, bluntly.

  “Then why am I here? Are you going to give me to someone else?” It's not a farfetched question, given the family I'm a part of and the state of the world.

  He growls, “I would cut off the hands of any other man who’d dare to take you away from me. Don't ask such foolish questions.”

  I step back a bit, his anger coming off him so fiercely I feel the burn. “I'm sorry. I'm just afraid. I don't know why I'm here or what you plan to do. Is it a ransom you’re after? My husband will pay you any amount.”

  Moments ago, I welcomed the idea of him taking me away from the world I was in, but seeing him, seeing how undeniably dangerous he is—regardless of how irresistible he may seem, how arousing his very presence is—I'm truly afraid.

  “Food. Now,” he barks his order, and I jump. My words have made him angrier. It’s probably best I learn to stay quiet if I want to make it out of this painlessly.

  Grabbing me by the arm, he pulls me toward the kitchen, and once there, he sets me on the counter, lifting me by my hips and placing me on the cold marble with a firm look that tells me not to move.

  I don't say anything as he backs up slowly, watching to make sure I don't run or try to attack. Wrapping my arms around myself in a sad attempt at se
lf-protection and comfort, I drop my head.

  His deep voice makes my core clench when he tells me gently, “Don't ever lower your head, Arabella. You're too beautiful a woman to cower to anyone.” The demeanor he's been holding cracks just a bit, showing me yet another glimpse of kindness. But when I lift my head and give him a weak smile, his stone-cold wall reappears, icing me out. I watch him move around the kitchen, grabbing ingredients from the fridge and cabinets to cook something.

  I would tell him I'm too afraid to eat, but I decide against it. Silence might mean the difference between the “easy way” and the “hard way.”

  My captor cooks, but his awareness of me is very much alive. Watching me from the corner of his eyes to make sure I'm still not planning to make any sudden moves. The house is cold; even with the stove going in the kitchen, I begin to shiver.

  “Keeper?” I remember his rule and use it. “I'm cold. Can I... can I have a jacket?” I stutter, my teeth beginning to chatter. It’s most likely not that cold, but my adrenaline has worn off, and the awareness of my situation has sunk in, making my body hypersensitive. Stopping to look me over again, he eyes me suspiciously, seeing if my intentions are that of what I said, and truly they are. When no deception is detected, he removes his black hoodie, handing it to me.

  “Thank you,” I whisper, once I place it over my head. His smell clings to it, manly and earthy, and the scent fills me. My stomach flips, and my heart clenches.

  Warmth. It brings instant warmth.

  “You need the fuel, Arabella. Don’t make me force you to eat,” he says, plating our food. Nodding, I glance at the delicious-smelling pasta he cooked up, and the sight actually makes me want some. It’s been an entire day since I’ve eaten.

  I'm ashamed to admit that in my years of marriage, I’ve starved myself. I don’t eat much, trying to remain thin. I don’t do it to make Ferro want me or to keep him. I do it for the opposite effect. He thinks I don’t know about the other women, but I do, and he prefers curves, and I don’t want to give him what he wants. The more I repulse him, the better chance I have of keeping him off me.

  Stuck in limbo, where the only thing I’m good for is to give my husband an heir to his fucked-up throne yet I do everything in my power to make sure that never happens, I didn’t necessarily want to die, but I’ve never known what truly living means. As I look down at the plate filled with life-giving colorful veggies, protein, and carbs, for the first time in a long, long time, I want to consume as much as I can—until my belly hurts from being full, not starved. My keeper wants me to eat, and for some reason, I feel the desire to give him everything he wants. So when he lifts me only momentarily to set me down on the stool he pulled out from under the lip of the counter and hands me a fork from the drawer next to his hip, I do something I haven’t in years.

  I twirl the pasta around the prongs, lift it to my mouth to blow for a moment as the scented steam wafts up my nose, and then I take a big bite, slurping the noodles between my lips as I let out an unladylike groan. My eyes practically roll to the back of my head at the butter and garlic covered carby goodness, and I catch the twitch of his manly lips as he takes the seat across from me on the other side of the island. He looks rather proud of himself, and I can’t help but soften toward him as he watches me take another bite before finally taking one of his own.

  6

  DeLuca

  Once she saw me, I sensed the change. Arabella was afraid of me, my presence becoming a threat versus anything good. But then as she watched me cook, she seemed to soften toward me. Still, we sit in silence nearly the whole dinner. I can tell she’s itching to berate me with questions. Ones like “Why me?” and “What are you going to do to me?” But after already telling her I’m not going to hurt her before we came inside, I don’t entertain or let her have one moment of peace other than the food. No, instead, I let the anticipation build.

  Arabella picks at her food after the first few huge bites, seemingly trying to get out of eating so much of it. As a doctor, I can tell the signs of her struggles with food. Does this beautiful temptress dare to have an eating disorder? I growl, not meaning for it to be heard, but I’m too late. She drops her fork and retreats into herself.

  “Did... did I do something wrong?” she stutters.

  “Why are you starving yourself, Arabella?” I keep my eyes honed in on her.

  “I don’t. I’m just not that hungry.”

  “And I didn’t just capture you. Do you mistake me for a fool, principessa?” I stand this time, hovering over her as I lean forward on the table, placing my large hands on the wood in front of me. I scare her more, my intimidating size making her shiver in her place.

  Which makes it all the more startling when she speaks.

  “Aren’t you a fool? You have no idea who you have kidnapped or what hell is about to rain down on you for taking me.”

  And there is my little fighter I knew was hiding just beneath the surface of her seemingly fragile persona. Instantly, my chest swells with both pride and anger. She has no clue that the man she’s trying to threaten me with is the one who sold her out.

  “Up, now!” I slam a fist down, an echo sounding throughout the room alongside her small shriek. I need her to fear me in order for her to trust me, then to want me. And Arabella thinking she can speak to me as if I'm not the man who now owns her is quite… erotically annoying. I want to fuck her so badly. Lay her down and make her take this cock until she can’t handle more. I want her to apologize with her body, treating me like a king in his castle who rescued his damsel.

  She scurries to her feet, and I wrap my large palm around her thin bicep, pulling her toward the stairs that lead to my tower.

  “I shouldn't have spoken to you like that. I'm sorry. Please, just don’t hurt me.” She tries to repent for what she said, but it's too late. I want her, and the longer I wait, the madder I will go.

  Opening the door to my room, I push her gently inside, stepping in and slamming the door behind us. She jumps, and just as she turns, we lock eyes as I bolt the door, the loud sound resonating inside us both. For me, it's me showing her what her world will now be. Mine. She will breathe me, want me, need me, be at my beck and call. For her, she thinks it’s her doom.

  “Sweet Arabella. No one is going to save you, and if they try to take you from me, I will do to them what I was supposed to do to you. You’re mine now, principessa. Welcome to your new life.”

  Her green orbs widen, her already pale skin somehow lightening a shade.

  “Now strip.”

  “No, please, I don’t want you to do this. Please,” she begs, and it makes my skin grow hot.

  “I will not be taking anything against your will. But I need to make sure you don’t have weapons or anything you may try to use against me.”

  She gawks. “You picked me up off the street. When would I have had time to hide a weapon?”

  The fight is coming back, I see.

  Good girl.

  “Do not fight me, piccolina. I don’t have the time, and you need your rest.”

  Eyeing me suspiciously, she crosses her arms. My chest fills with pride once more. I love that she can’t help but challenge me, even if she is terrified of me. Little does she know that will only work outside the bedroom.

  “You're a monster, aren’t you? Why did you bring me here? Just kill me. Isn't that the deal?”

  “You're upsetting me, Arabella. I’ve already told you I’m not going to kill you. Strip now, so we can get some rest. I have a lot to do tomorrow and don't have time for this.”

  “No, if I'm going to be kept here like I'm just another man's property to use as he pleases, then kill me. I've lived my whole life controlled by men like you,” she spits, crossing her arms over her chest.

  I realize my aggressive approach may need to take a back seat. She's not wrong. Hell, the only reason she’s here and mine now is because a man she trusted and who was supposed to protect her paid me to kill her. She needs me now. For protec
tion, safety, and for far more than I know how to deal with.

  We both have a lot to learn.

  I give myself a moment to settle, let the hot-blooded male in me take a breather. “Principessa, I'm not here to hurt you or be another man who controls you. I promise you my intentions are nothing like the ones you've been exposed to your entire life. You're safe now, and I know my words and actions hold no meaning to you, especially after our unconventional way of meeting, but I'm here to keep you safe.”

  Slightly, her guard begins to crumble, and her body visibly relaxes.

  Giving me her compliance for now, she slowly begins to remove my hoodie and then her clothes. I have to try with all my might not to reach out and trail my hands along her skin as each inch becomes exposed to me. Her dainty, creamy thighs, her curved hips… fuck, that tight stomach with a light smatter of beauty marks. No bra, no fucking bra covering her beautiful breasts and rose-colored nipples.

  This woman.

  My demise.

  “Baby,” I let out in a pained moan, gripping my hard jean-clad cock. God, she is breathtaking.

  “What?” Biting her lip, she looks from my hand on my crotch to my face. Holy fuck, she likes seeing the control she has over me. I bet those lace panties are soaked.

  “How am I supposed to wait to taste your skin when you are a temptress from head to toe? You're going to be the death of me.”

  “Good. If it kills you, then it’s karma for what you did to me,” she speaks softly.

  “I saved you, and I will worship you. You can act angry all you want, but in time, you will be the one at my feet, thanking me for the life I give you. Now turn around and put your hands on the bedpost.”