Royally Chosen Christmas (Royal Sons MC #7) - Elle Boon Page 0,40
flew out again, making contact with her cheek, eliciting another cry.
“What the fuck are you doing?” she cried.
“Whatever I want, Punta,” he told her, staring at her for long seconds, letting her see what most don’t because he hid behind the veneer of civility.
“You can’t just hit me, Louis. I have friends and family. They’ll—” she stopped, pressing herself against the door.
He eased his hand back to the gear shifter once he’d made his point. Little Rosalie wouldn’t be telling anyone anything after tonight.
“Play your cards right, and you’ll be fine. Keep pushing my buttons and I’ll toss your ass out on the highway,” he warned.
The feisty little woman held a trembling hand to her cheek but stayed silent. He was glad to find a way to get her to shut the fuck up. The only other times he’d accomplished that task was when he’d shoved his dick in her mouth or stuffed her panties in there when he fucked her. She’d thought it was his kink; when in reality, he just wanted her to shut the fuck up.
“I obviously underestimated that little bitch, Tito. I thought you said she was a loner with nothing and no friends.” Louis shifted again, his car nearly bumping the rear of the Maserati.
“I followed her around the races for the last four weeks. She didn’t hang out with any particular group, and when she left, she left alone. She never took any calls or nothin’, Boss, I swear.” Tito’s voice was high pitched, almost whiny. Louis hated whiners.
“You missed something. A woman doesn’t have shit like that if she’s alone. Someone is funding her.” He’d take pleasure in finding out who and send them pics of their little bitch with his dick in her. Already he could see it, feel it. His arm shot out, grabbing Rosalie’s hand. “Jack me off, Punta.”
She tried to keep him from bringing her hand to his lap. Silly bitch, she wasn’t as strong as him. He slapped her again, keeping one hand on the wheel, the excitement made his dick nearly ready to blow. “Either do as I say, or I’ll slit your fucking throat.”
Rosalie’s hand fumbled on his zipper, but then she had his dick out, and he pretended it was the blonde. He kept both hands on the wheel while directing her to go faster, squeeze harder until his dick was ready to explode. “In your mouth,” he said in a guttural voice.
Like before the race, he didn’t last more than four minutes, but he didn’t care because he was the one in charge this time.
Chapter Six
HOW MANY TIMES CAN a person say holy shit before the words got stuck in their throat? Talena was pretty sure she was getting to that point as she looked in her review and saw Louis’s vehicle gaining on her. How he’d found her she had no clue. How he was able to keep up when she knew he’d used NOS earlier, she didn’t know, and didn’t care. All she needed to do was get to the next overpass, and then she’d be able to spin her car around and go back the other direction. He was a good driver, but she was too. Not to mention, she was damn good at defensive driving. She hoped he hadn’t taken that course. “Please don’t be any good,” she prayed.
At the last second, she did what she’d planned, downshifting and spinning the wheel until she was going the opposite direction. Her plan was to maneuver into the other lanes going the right direction. Of course, nothing seemed to be going her way tonight. On the fly, she continued turning until she was heading back down the highway the way she’d come. She watched as Louis flew past her, his eyes wide in apparent shock. She didn’t hesitate, hitting the accelerator, apologizing to the cars that honked at her when she almost hit them. It was a calculated risk, but dammit, she had to do it. She’d rather collide with another vehicle than be run off the road by the psycho fucker.
“Oh god, if I make it out of this alive, I’m so taking a break from racing,” she promised, shifting gears while weaving around cars. Luckily traffic wasn’t heavy, making it not so hard for her to steer around the cars traveling east while she drove west. At any moment, she expected to hear sirens or see helicopters overhead, something like when OJ had done a runner.