Beyond Black & White Book 4: D'Angelo
Author
A. Duncan
Reads
652K
Chapters
32
Teagan is a bright young doctor whose life takes a terrifying turn when she’s snatched by mistake and wakes up in the hands of Dante — a man whose name is whispered with both fear and desire. He trades in beauty and power, and she’s the one woman who was never meant to be there. But something about her stops him cold. She’s fragile, furious, and far too tempting. Now, she’s trapped between danger and desire, as Dante decides whether to let her go… or claim her as something that was never supposed to be his. It’s a story of control, temptation, and the one spark that could burn them both.
Chapter 1
Book 4: D’Angelo
D’ANGELO
Looking down at the blonde sucking me off with her cherry-red lips makes moving to Vegas a hell of a lot more reasonable than staying in New York. Different girl each night, and I don’t even remotely worry about getting their names.
I don’t know what those Constantine brothers see in just one goddamn woman.
“That’s it… Down your throat and no fucking talking.”
I wasn’t sure about ending Alessandro, but I sure as hell needed a good time. So when King called asking for a favor, I jumped at the chance. Just so happened it worked in my favor.
King and Carlos didn’t want anything but the pathetic girl and Jasper. She belonged to Rook, and he wanted to end the one who touched what was his. I’m not a complete ass. I understood where he was coming from, so I agreed.
I took over all of Alessandro’s territories as well as his businesses. Las Vegas became my new home. It was easier to do the auctions here instead of both places, and I was tired of the winters in New York.
Come to find out, it makes the overseas syndicates pretty happy to only come to one place for what it is they need.
Skin.
Beautiful, unblemished skin of all colors, shapes, and sizes. Depending on the order or demand, some not even touched before.
Though virgins aren’t my thing, we do have some that will bid a small country for the perfect girl with her hymen still intact.
To me, it’s just money, and I don’t give a shit how it’s made. Those Constantine brothers have too many morals and too much empathy to make it in the skin trade.
For a family to be so damn dangerous, you’d think they were all just a bunch of damn kittens. Only, I’ve seen them in action. I know who they really are.
Not someone I want as an enemy.
Just as tingles shoot down my back and I widen my stance because I’m about to blow, this curvaceous blonde pulls back.
“I can’t breathe…,” she complains.
“What the fuck did I say about talking? Swallow my load, then we’ll talk about me letting you breathe.”
I grab the back of her head and slam it down on my cock, watching as she swallows every drop I send down her throat. My head falls back, and my eyes roll as I unload everything I have.
She finally sits back on her legs, gasping for breath as I tuck myself back into my pants.
“You can get the fuck out now. Hurry up before I change my mind and fuck that tight ass of yours.”
She scurries out faster than a whore running from the cops. I grab my phone that’s been ringing nonstop on my desk.
It’s my warehouse men, which means there must be an issue with the shipment. “Boss, you’re needed at the warehouse,” one of the men says.
“Is it not something you can handle? What do I pay you for?” I ask.
“Not this time, Boss. There’s a slight problem with the shipment,” he replies.
I make it to the warehouse on the outskirts of the city. On the outside, it looks like your everyday run-of-the-mill distribution center.
Actually, it looks like we ship parts—motorcycle parts, to be exact. On the inside is where the real fun begins.
A large portion is managed just for the girls. I like to make sure they are as comfortable as possible and fed well.
They each have their own bed, they shower privately, and they have plenty of food. Though they sleep in a common area where it’s easier for my men to keep an eye out during the night.
They are not allowed to touch them at any point. I have made an example of several just to make this point clear. This is a job, not a brothel.
Another large area is made just for the auctions. It has a stage with overhead lights and a holding area just for the girls to pick out new clothes and get dressed up.
The biggest spenders come to bid on the girl of their choosing. Some are ordered and come at a higher cost. Some are in high demand, like blue eyes or virgins.
Either way, no invite, no entry.
As I walk in, I’m told the “problem” is in the security area. It’s the area we take the hard-to-deal-with girls and pretty much break their spirit.
So I figure it’s another strong-willed woman who thinks she can get away by just her words. But as I walk into the room, I can tell this isn’t the issue at all.
“What the hell? This one wasn’t on the roster,” I say immediately.
We have specific rosters, and we go straight by them to avoid things like this. Women are vetted before they’re picked up.
We already know everything there is to know about each woman and how much money can be made off her. Faces match names, and so on.
“No, Boss. There was a slight confusion at transport,” one of my men says carefully.
“Slight? She doesn’t even look of age! How does this even happen? We have protocol for this!” I scream in his face.
Before me, lying in a heap, is a dark-haired girl who still seems to be passed out from the drugs we give them for transport. She’s small—tiny, even. Young to the point of barely legal, if she even is.
She looks barely eighteen to me. A pixie of a girl, and she’s here with the devil.
“The last on the roster bit Hansen and got away. We gave chase, and when he came back with this girl, we didn’t argue. Just thought he caught her. She was screaming that she was a doctor and that we had the wrong person. It wasn’t until we were in the air and checking the girls that we found out it wasn’t the same one,” he explains.
“Who is she?” I ask.
He hands me a folder with shaky hands. He knows what it means for my men to make mistakes. Someone is going to pay the price.
“We took her fingerprints immediately and sent them to Sakina. She’s twenty-six. Just finished her residency in Spain but is a citizen of the United States. Lived in New York all her life until these last few years. Looks like she’s one of those super smart people who flew through school. She started college at the age of fifteen.”
“Teagan Annalise Blaire. You sure don’t look twenty-six, and you sure don’t belong here. Why isn’t she awake like the others? How much did you dose her with?”
“Just the usual, Boss. She fought us, though, and said she’s never done drugs before, so she may just be sensitive,” he tries to explain.
“Well, I can’t just let her go. She’s now a danger we need to eradicate. I can’t see the good doctor keeping her mouth shut, can you? Such a shame too. Where’s Hansen? Bring him to me.”
As soon as Hansen walks into the room, I shoot him in the head. I can’t stand incompetent people.
The sound of the gunshot must have roused our tiny doctor awake, because she starts to moan and rolls over onto her back. I lean down to pick her up before she starts fighting, and I freeze.
“All I wanted was to be loved. Why did he do that to me? I did nothing wrong. Where am I?”
It isn’t the tears rolling down her face that make me freeze—it’s her unfocused eyes looking at me as she starts to wake up. They’re a striking violet color. A color I’ve never in my life seen before.
They’re the color of the sunset right after an afternoon rain but before darkness takes over. Her voice is so small that even I want to kill whoever hurt her.
I shake my head, because this slip of a woman has me thinking about fucking sunsets and defending her honor. I pick her up and walk toward the door. “What’s your name, sweets?”
“Teagan, I think. I’m in hell, aren’t I? Must be, ’cause men in thousand-dollar suits, carrying guns, only exist in hell,” she mumbles.
Three thousand, to be exact, but I’m not rebutting her. I look back at my men. “She’s going with me until I can figure this mess out. See if I can get any more information out of her. Clean this place up. I don’t want any trace that he was even here.”
“Yes, sir.”
Her head falls against my shoulder, and I hear a small laugh. I look down at her heart-shaped face and see those violet eyes looking back at me.
I can tell the drugs are still affecting her.
“Your cologne smells good. What’s your name?” she questions softly.
“Dante. Dante D’Angelo.”
She smiles, then suddenly pulls back and winces. “You remind me of my brother, Dante,” she says, with a look like she just smelled rotting fish.
“How so?”
“Your cologne is only hiding the smell of stinky hooker perfume and bad decisions.”
For the first time in months, I find myself smiling.
