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  GUTS & GLASS

  NEW YORK CRIME KINGS

  Round Six

  Skyla Madi

  GUTS & GLASS

  Copyright © 2018 by Skyla Madi.

  All rights reserved.

  First Print Edition: January 2018

  Limitless Publishing, LLC

  Kailua, HI 96734

  www.limitlesspublishing.com

  Formatting: Limitless Publishing

  ISBN-13: 978-1-64034-297-2

  ISBN-10: 1-64034-297-4

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  For those still on this wild ride with me.

  Table of Contents

  PREFACE

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  JAI’S EPILOGUE

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  PREFACE

  * * * *

  The Night of Jai’s Attempted Rescue

  I lick my parched lips with a dry tongue. How long have we hung here? I’ve dozed on and off and my sense of time is skewed. My muscles ache as though I’ve been hanging for hours, my joints threaten to dislocate as though I’ve been chained for days.

  Skull left, his demeanor glowing with delight after he showed me Jai’s back.

  “I didn’t have a choice,” Jai says, the muscles in his back clenching. “Skull burned the lake house down. We had nowhere to go.”

  Tears well in my eyes, irrational tears, but tears nonetheless.

  Jai had the most beautiful skin.

  It was smooth and flawless, unmarred by society’s current obsession with ink. I’ve touched every clean inch of it with my lips, relished in every tiny freckle. Now his back is alien to me, covered in a dark, black ink that hasn’t fully healed into his pores and it scabs around the edges. The tattoo itself is impressive, that I’ll admit, but it’s not him. This…thing…on his back stands for everything he hates. As he hung from the ceiling in front of me by his chains, he told me he didn’t have a choice, just like the little skull tattoo on his collarbone. He told me about his time with Joker and the Twisted Sons, how they were his only shot at getting me back.

  They tattooed him…

  …and then they betrayed him.

  ONE

  Emily

  Skull

  “Where are you, Kitty-Cat?”

  Skull’s amused tone drags me from my thoughts of death and revenge. How long do I have to do this? How long do I have to sit beside him, waiting for him to put me out of my misery? Do I need to beg again? Do I need to get on my knees and plead for him to end it all? I slump a little. What’s the point? It’s not like he listened the first time. I know he encourages my begging only because he enjoys seeing my face lower than his belt buckle.

  I almost got away.

  Almost.

  It’s hard for me to accept the fact that Jai is right downstairs, held captive, and no one is coming to save me. Joel told me not to expect Ted or Huss to come to the rescue either, given the state they left them in, and the tiny flicker of hope I had inside me burned out. Unless Jai can tear through metal and punch through thick concrete walls, I’m stuck here.

  We all are.

  I turn my head to Skull and my top lip curls in disgust at the sight of him sitting there in his fancy, white button up shirt. I hate the way it clings to his chest, nicely complementing his fitted black slacks…

  …and that fucking face. That God-awful face.

  “Somewhere warm,” I tell him, my voice cold and even. “Somewhere I don’t have to see your disgusting—”

  “And what about you, Monique?” he asks, cutting me off. “Where are you?”

  Monique shifts uncomfortably next to me and I glance at her. I hate that he’s dressed us the same, like we’re dolls he can play with. Monique’s little black dress has slightly thicker straps than mine and doesn’t cling half as tight to her body as the one I’m wearing clings to mine.

  “I’m…” She scratches nervously at her neck, slipping her index finger under her diamond-studded collar. It draws my attention to my own. It’s extra tight today, squeezing my throat whenever I swallow.

  Eventually, Monique lowers her head. “I’m…I’m listening to you.”

  Smart girl. She’s lived with Skull before and she knows better than to provoke him, but screw that. What more could he possibly do to me? I have nothing left to lose.

  “She knows how to play the game.” He sits forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You could learn a thing or two from her.”

  I cut my eyes at him. I know the story of how Skull acquired Monique. I know that her father used her as fucking currency in a poker match and lost. It’s disgusting that he did that to his own daughter. It’s even more disgusting that Skull would accept.

  Monique is younger than I thought she’d be—much too young for Joel. Much too young for Skull too. She should be having the time of her life, dating ridiculous college boys, not fucking grown men involved with criminals by the likes of Skull, but I get it. Joel would have been the only one there for her, the only one who cared enough about her broken little soul…

  …like Jai was for me.

  “Perhaps she should learn a thing or two from me,” I grind out.

  Skull’s black eyes dance with humor as he regards me from his huge, black armchair across the sitting room. “Like what?”

  “Like not being afraid of you, for starters.”

  The corners of his tattooed lips quirk.

  “You get away with it because you’re special,” he states, grinning. “Monique knows I’d kill her without giving it a second thought.”

  I frown. “You’re bluffing. If she were that disposable, you would have killed her already.”

  “Hm,” he simpers. “You think so?”

  “I know so.”

  Skull flicks his head at Monique. “Come here.”

  She swallows hard, her plump, pink lips parting as she lets out a shaky exhale. Without hesitation, she lifts herself off the leather sofa and strolls toward him, rubbing her slender fingers against her palms in a nervous fidget. I thread my own fingers together in my lap to prevent myself from reaching out to grab her as she passes me.

  He’s bluffing. He’s not going to hurt her.

  When she reaches him, Skull places his hands on Monique’s small hips and turns her around to face me. With a gentle tug, she falls into his lap and he smooths the palm of his large hand across the flat of her tummy. I don’t take my eyes off his as he caresses her all over, those terrifying inked hands against her porcelain skin. I half expect his touch to leave black, oily marks on her, but it comes up clean.

  “The problem is, Kitten, you think you know me.” He snatches Monique’s throat, striking with the speed and the force of an alligator shooting out from the water’s edge. She gasps as he squeezes tightly and I shift uncomfortably on my seat. “But you have no fucking idea.”

  Water wells in her eyes, saliva dripping from the corner of her lips. Her face changes color to a violent red and her skin begins to swell. I ignore the panic in my abdomen, frissoning like a cluster of faulty spark plug
s, and I bite my tongue, holding out for as long as I can.

  I glare at Skull, calling his bluff.

  He’s not going to kill her. He won’t.

  I lick my lips and glance at Monique. Tension grows, weighing down my chest. She claws at Skull’s hands, her nails slicing into his skin and drawing blood. He doesn’t care. He keeps her planted in his lap, without breaking a sweat, as she kicks her legs, desperate to get away.

  I chew the inside of my lower lip until the metallic tang of blood kisses my tongue. Shit.

  He’s gonna kill her.

  “Skull…” I reach out, then pull my hand back, before reaching out again. “O-okay. I get it.”

  Monique’s eyes roll into the back of her head and I startle, inching forward, resting on the very edge of the leather sofa.

  He turns his head, turning his ear in my direction. “Sorry, I can’t hear you over the gasping.”

  “I said I get it,” I shout, my voice cracking in panic. “Let her go.”

  “Tell me you believe me now.”

  “I-I believe you, please.” My voice transforms into a shriek I don’t recognize, as if he holds someone I love deeply in his grasp. “Damien!”

  The leather of the arm chair squeaks as he stands up, pulling Monique with him. Both of her hands fly to his forearm as her legs stretch to keep the tips of her toes on the plush, red carpet at her feet.

  “When I say something, I mean it.” He licks Monique’s red face, his black eyes flaring. “I don’t fucking bluff.”

  “All right,” I squeeze out, tears welling in my eyes, blurring my vision. I slip off the couch and crouch on the floor. “You’ve proven your point, now let her go.”

  He releases Monique. Coughing and spluttering, desperate to drag air into her lungs, she crashes to the floor, clenching her throat. I scurry over to her on my hands and knees, the leash of my collar dragging along behind me, and pull her into my arms. She wheezes, her eyes closed, as her body tries to regulate itself again. Beside us, Skull crouches low and I swallow hard, smoothing my sweaty palms down the length of Monique’s long, blonde hair.

  “Next time, I’ll kill her and chain her dead body to your ankle.” With a gentle flick of his index finger, he brushes a lock of my own hair out of my face. “Have you tried on your dress for the party? I hear you’re giving Laura a hard time about it.”

  I fight the urge to pull away from him, shaking my head instead. “I’m not going.”

  “She said you’d say that.”

  Skull snatches my leash and pulls me to my feet. A squeak is caught in my throat as my collar constricts and I try to curl my fingers around it, letting Monique slide to the floor.

  “Your disobedience was cute when you first arrived, but now you’re really starting to piss me off.”

  Strange noises seep from me, my vision blurs with tears. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep living like this. I strike at Skull, my fist hitting him in the ribs. He drops his hold as air is forced from his lungs. I stumble backward and dive onto the sofa before jumping over the back of it. I stroke my throat, sucking in deep breaths. I didn’t hit Skull hard, God knows I don’t have the strength, but it was enough to shock him into letting me go.

  Skull steps around Monique, glaring down his pointy nose at me. “I’m not in the fucking mood to play with you anymore.”

  “I’m not playing.”

  He moves slowly, so I mimic him, always keeping something in between us so he can’t catch me. As we circle the sitting room, Monique crawls out of the crossfire, eventually making her way out of the room. He doesn’t care. What he wants is right here.

  “Don’t make me chase you.”

  “I don’t want you to chase me.”

  With a sudden jolt, he changes direction and I stumble as my heart pulses painfully, electrocuting my entire bloodstream. Somehow, I manage to keep the large coffee table between us.

  Something flares in the dark depths of Skull’s gaze and it sets off an uncontrollable trembling in all my extremities. He can play this game all day…and I don’t have the stamina to outrun him. Regret is the first to surface in the barren pit of my stomach, followed swiftly by fear. For my sake, he better not catch me. Not ever.

  He grins at me, his black lips opening to reveal his perfect set of white teeth. “Realize something, did you, Kitty-Cat?”

  My lips part as I let out a shaky exhale.

  “When I catch you, I’m going to eat your pussy.”

  I grimace, crossing my legs as I sidestep my way around the glass coffee table. “No, you’re not.”

  “Since violence doesn’t work for you,” he moistens his lower lip with a flick of his wet, pink tongue, “Perhaps love will.”

  “Love?” I spit. “Sexual assault is violence, you—”

  He swiftly changes direction again, chuckling darkly as a small squeal leaves me. “Almost got you.”

  I clench my jaw, focusing on his every step as we go around and around. The longer I drag it on, the more I realize I’ve made a mistake. This only ends one way. He’s going to catch me, like he always does, and I’ll have to deal with the consequences of my actions.

  “Keep this up,” he warns, “keep wasting my time. You’re only delaying the inevitable.”

  “Well,” I clear my throat. “What…what if I stop? What if I give up?”

  He shrugs his broad shoulders. “Doesn’t matter. You’ve got me in the mood now. I’m still gonna spread your legs as punishment for being such a spoiled little brat.”

  “Spoiled?” I grind out, clenching my fists. “You think I’m spoiled?”

  “I spoil you and you fucking know it.”

  I open my mouth to retort, but he launches forward with a growl, planting his leather shoe on the surface of the coffee table. He jumps at me and I whirl on the heel of my bare feet with a scream. I barely make it past the edge of his arm chair when I’m knocked to the floor by his heavy body. Air is forced from my lungs and I gasp pathetically as Skull laughs, his breath blowing along the shell of my ear, his chest rumbling, vibrating my back. I struggle against him and he lifts his body off me, gripping my bicep in his hand.

  “You’re slow for someone as agile-looking as you.” I let him pull me onto my back, ignoring the tears of fear that roll out of the corner of my eyes and burn down my cheeks. “You should start eating the food we cook for you. You wouldn’t be so weak then.”

  Skull rests his body against mine, his hips between my legs, our stares perfectly aligned. Once, I wondered what he might look like with that sparkle of love in his oily, black irises. When I first saw him, he both terrified and intrigued me. He stood in such a powerful position up there on his ledge, glaring down at us like we were peasants under his feet. I might have fantasized a little about what being with him would be like. Would kissing his inked lips feel different? Would holding my clean skin against his naked, tattooed body excite me? It all went away the moment I saw what he was capable of, the moment I saw him take a life as if it were as simple as switching off a light.

  I’m pulled from my thoughts as Skull kneels above me, his thighs straddling my hips. I wince and hiss as the edges of my hair are pulled by clumsy fingers as he fiddles with my collar buckle. I close my eyes, not protesting the removal of the tight leather in the slightest…until he shuffles up my body and pins my wrists above my head.

  My eyes snap open. “What are you doing?”

  “What I said I would do.”

  The earthy smell of his cologne engulfs me as he leans over to trap my wrists with the collar and wrap the metal leash around the leg of his heavy arm chair, rendering my arms useless. I tug and pull against the restraint, bucking my hips in an attempt to throw him off balance.

  “Settle down, Kitty-Cat,” Skull teases, working his way back down my body. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  My heart races, pumping against my ribcage with so much force it hurts. I try to calm it, try to keep it from beating its way out of my body by controlling my breathi
ng through my nose, but Skull makes it impossible, pawing at my breasts with hungry hands. The straps of my dress bite into my shoulders, a result of his force—snap.

  I gasp as one strap gives way and he tugs it down, exposing my bare breast. Our stares lock together and he huffs, dragging a thumb over my hardened peak.

  “They seem smaller.” Closing my breast in his palm, he squeezes. “Perhaps I’ll have my doctor give you a bigger pair.”

  I shake my torso, trying to twist out of his grip. “If you don’t like them, don’t touch them.”

  I’ve learned not to fight Skull too much when it comes to his sexual desires. Pulling away from him usually ends up with me drugged and horny against my will anyway. Whatever he throws at me now I take it with a clear mind and I lock it away to deal with later. He likes the crying, he likes the fighting. He gets off on the thought of hurting me, of leaving an impression. I’m done giving him the satisfaction and, God knows, my kidneys can’t handle any more of his drugs. They cause me too much physical and mental pain when it wears off…and the desperate itch for it—the one that starts at the base of my throat like a bad cough…I won’t become addicted to what he feeds me.

  “I didn’t say I didn’t like them.” He hunches over me and sucks my nipple between his inked lips, closing his eyes with a groan.

  I lick my lips to moisten them, forcing my attention to the slow spinning fan hanging from the high ceiling. His mouth is hot and wet. It’s everything that should repel me, but after having my sensitive nipples rub against whatever rough fabric I’m wearing, I hate that it’s a welcomed sensation, a soothing one. With a rough tug, my last strap gives way and he folds the fabric down, exposing my other breast.

  “You should know by now,” he utters, peppering my chest with gentle kisses, “that you can’t outrun me. I’ll always catch you.”

  I swallow, choosing to remain silent. I’ll never stop trying. Sure, I might fail. He might catch me nine times in a row and dish out his punishment, but that tenth time? That tenth time might be my salvation. I might get away.