My Masters' Nightmare Season 1, Episode 1 (2 page)

Th
e bartender sighed, then headed for
the man, finally getting the picture I was so clearly drawing for
him.

“
Jagger! Stop ignoring me!” the
blonde woman yelled.

I looked to the side. Jagger
was still blatantly staring at me. The blonde moved in front of
him, blocking his view. He placed a hand on her hip and gave her a
hard shove, repeating “
Vai via
.” The woman stumbled into another man, then spun
around, giving Jagger a slap across his face. Jagger shot up out of
his stool, making the woman shriek, his glare promising
violence.

“
I’m sorry, Jagger,” she
said, reaching out to touch his cheek.

He slapped her hand away, cutting her down
in Italian. The blonde started begging for his forgiveness. I
glanced at her hand, noticing the wedding band, probably the reason
why he was with her, the man obviously having an obsession with
things he shouldn’t have.

“
Basta!
” he snapped
enough
.

She
pulled a face. “Please, Jagger, you
don’t need her, I’ll be all you want tonight.”

He sniffed. “Leave now or I
tell Alberto what a
puttana
you are.”

“
I’m not a whore, I’m your
lover, and he’d kill you if you tell him such a thing.”

“
N
o one’s my lover, and you’re taking a risk
being here. Alberto could walk in at any moment.”

She reached for him again. Jagger grabbed
her wrist, making her cry out, his grip no doubt crushing. I’d read
he was a sadistic bastard, someone who enjoyed inflicting pain,
which suited his role as a slave trainer.

“
Leave now, Bianca,” he let go
of her, “before I teach you your place.”

The woman flinched, making me
wonder whether she had firsthand knowledge of his
sadism
. She
wiped at her eyes, then turned to me. “I hope he ruins you like all
the others,” she growled, then walked off, leaving me
opened-mouthed, although that was only an act for Jagger’s
benefit.

My attention moved to him as he slipped
into the seat next to mine. He waved the bartender over, then
tapped the glass I hadn’t yet started drinking. “I’ll have the
same.”

The bartender nodded, moving back down the
counter to make the margarita. It was suspected that the man was on
Jagger’s payroll, possibly the person who spiked the women’s
drinks, although we weren’t sure that was how they were taken. We’d
managed to catch two on camera, both of them leaving straight after
drinking what the bartender had given them, their gait a little
unbalanced, but not enough to be certain. I looked down at my
margarita, wondering whether it was spiked. I picked it up and took
a sip, knowing it didn’t matter either way since I still needed to
be taken.

“
I
apologize for Bianca’s behavior,”
Jagger said, his accent as rich as his dark olive skin.

I turned to look at him, stealing myself
for the view, because he really was breathtaking. I just needed to
remind myself of the prostitute that had almost testified against
him, the beating he’d given her horrific. “No need to apologize,” I
finally said, wishing he looked as ugly as his soul.

He cocked his head to the side, the light
picking up the gold flecks in his hazel-brown eyes. For a second I
wondered whether they were contacts, but remembered the image of
the man as a boy standing next to his mother, a severe looking
woman in black. His eyes were the same color, just vulnerable, not
this devil in front of me now.

“
Bianca is rather
overprotective of me,” he said.

“
Bianca?
Doesn’t that mean
white?”

“
Sì.
You know my language?”

“
Other than Bianca and
p
izza, oh,
and pasta,
no
.”
I turned back to my drink, not wanting to look at him, the man way
too beautiful for my senses to handle. It made me want to punch
him, to kick him, to do anything to take away that beauty, because
he didn’t deserve it, not like my husband, who’d been beautiful
both inside and out.

I took a
nother sip of my drink, trying
my best to appear disinterested in Jagger. From all the intel I’d
been given on the sex trafficking case, I knew the women he’d
kidnapped were all tough nuts, beautiful but feisty, and on the
camera footage I’d watched two of them do the unthinkable—turn
Jagger down, both of those women married.

“
I’m Jagger D’Angelo,” he
held out a hand for
me to shake.

I
ignored the offering, instead taking
another sip of my drink.

He removed his hand. “What is your
name?”

“
Margarita
Petrov,
” I
said, needing him to know.

“
That’s an unusual mix: Mexican
and Russian. I thought you said your husband is
Italian.”

“
He is.”

“
Then why do you have a Russian
surname
? Or
are you one of those modern women who find it insulting to take a
man’s name?”

Becau
se I would be an idiot to use my real
name, not to mention that I have to be sold to the Russian, so I
can bring him down along with you
. My boss had told me that the D’Angelos
weren’t the main target, that they were only a means to get to the
Black Russian, the man at the center of the world’s biggest sex
trafficking operation. Still, Frano D’Angelo was my target, the
Russian just a bonus.

“
I have a married name,” I
finally answered Jagger, “but I’m throwing it away for the night,
like my husband threw away our vows, and by the way, it’s rude to
eavesdrop.”

“
It was hard not to with
the
description of your husband.” He placed his hand on my
knee, making me hold in everything I had not to break his fingers,
although I imagined doing it anyway. “And he’s a fool to cheat on
such a beautiful lady as yourself.”

“
Which is why I’m not interested
in you. You look just like him, so kindly remove your hand from my
knee.”

“
Are you certain about that?” he
said, his cocky smile too sure of himself.

“
One-hundred percent
certain.”

He removed his hand, the smile not leaving
his face. He appeared to be enjoying himself, the man unusual, but
with his looks my rejection was probably a novelty for him, and
most definitely a challenge.

I turned back to my
drink, willing
myself to ignore him.

Jagger
leaned into me. “Take your
frustrations out on me, pretend I’m your husband. Hit me, whip me,
even kick me in my balls, I can take it.”

I almost choked on the drink. I
hit my
chest
and coughed, trying to get myself under control.

“
Did I shock you?” he
asked, his voice telling me he knew the answer.

“
I’m not into BDSM,” I
spluttered out.

“
I was only referring to SM,
because I won’t allow anyone to tie me up, that involves trust and
I trust no one.”

“
Sadomasochism is just as
bad.”

“
Have you tried it?”

“
No, and I don’t ever intend
to.”

“
You won’t know if you like
something if you
don’t try it.”

“
I don’t like pain, and I
certainly don’t like hurting someone who I’m having sex with,
because I only have sex with people I care for, not a random man
who asks me silly questions. Hence, I won’t like SM
or
having sex with
you.”

He snorted out a laugh. “You really are a
strange woman.”

“
Why? Because I’m turning you
down.”

“
Not many women do.”

“
Well, when you hit on a married
woman what do you expect?”

“
Your husband cheated on
you.”

“
Two wrongs don’t make a
right.”

“
Does that mean
you’re going back
to him?”

“
I don’t know what I’ll be
doing
.”

“
You’ll be doing me.”

“
I don’t have the right equipment
for the job.”

“
What do you mean?”

“
A wie
ner.”

He straightened, looking like I’d slapped him.
“Obviously, I’m not gay,” he said.

“
I don’t know what or who you are,
and you need to learn English better. Men do, women
receive.”

“
If that’s your view then you’re
inexperienced in sex.”

“
I am not!”

“
Then don’t say things
that suggest you are, because women
can
do men without penetrating them: they ride them, like I
want you to ride me,” he leaned closer, “they suck
cazzone
like I want your pretty mouth
to
do
right now.”

“
You’re vulgar.”

“
Do you know what
cazzone
means?”

“
I can take an educated
guess with
suck
next to
it.”

He glanced down at his crotch then back up
at me with a cheeky grin, his eyes sparkling. “But do you know
how
grande
it
is?”

“
An exaggeration—I’m
sure.”

“
You really should stop being a
tease.”

My eyebrows shot up, my hand aching to
slap him. “I am
not
a tease!
You’re just an arrogant, chauvinistic pig who thinks women should
grovel at your feet.”

He leaned back against the bar
with a smirk. “True.
But if you weren’t interested in me, why did you
sit so close?”

“
It was a free
spot.”

“
There were
, and are, other free spots in
the room, like the one that
Americano
actor was sitting next to, the same man who
approached you, but you turned him away so you could sit near
me.”

I stared at him, taken aback that he’d
noticed, because I hadn’t seen him looking. That was bad, because
it was my job to see and hear everything.

“
Which means you’re playing hard
to get,” he said, looking smug. “I don’t mind that game, just as
long as the outcome is the same.” He leaned closer, brushing my ear
with his lips. “You
doing
me—like you were born to.”

I yanked my head away from his
mouth, again willing myself not to hurt him, but for the love of
God, I wanted to so badly it hurt
me
.

“
I’m. Not.
Interested
,”
I ground out.

“
I beg to differ, because you
are definitely attracted to me as I to you.”

“
I only looked at you because I
thought you were my husband for a moment, your resemblance uncanny,
and I almost left because of it, but decided I wasn’t going to let
another man rule my world.”

He smiled. “
You’re a masochist
then.”

I
scowled at him. “How the hell am I a
masochist?”

“
You’re tormenting yourself by
turning me down, when obviously all you want to
do
is me.”

“
You’re crazy. I don’t want
anything to
do
with you.”

He laughed.

“
What’s so funny?”

“
I have never come across a
woman who’d rather insult me than bed me.”

“
I’m sure there are plenty
others.”

“
Sì
, they’re called lesbians. So, would
you rather do Bianca or me?”

I threw my hands up in the air.
“You’re impossible!”

“
I have been told that many
times.”
His
smile widened even more, displaying a perfect set of pearly whites,
although the two at each end were sharper than the rest, like they
were made to rip into me. “And I’ll be quite happy to watch you
two...” he cocked his head to the side. “How do you Americans say
it? Going at it.”

I glared at him.
“F
uck
off.”

He sighed. “Such unladylike language, and
I must say, you really are taking this too far. We both know you
want me, yet you persist on pretending you don’t.”

“
I’m not
pretending.”

“
I don’t believe you. However,
since I can see you’re going to play me all night, and not in the
way I want, I will leave you in peace,
bella
, and find a more honest woman to bring to
ecstasy.” He blew me a kiss then left, stopping for a moment to
speak to the bartender.

I breathed out, hoping that I hadn’t
overdone things. But from what I’d seen on the surveillance
footage, his last victim, a married woman, had slapped him, then
walked out of the bar alone, never to be seen again. Maybe I
should’ve slapped him too, because he more than deserved it. I
imagined my finger marks on his cheek, tainting his beauty. I
wondered whether he truly meant it when he’d offered himself up to
be whipped, because I would do it, using it to punish him, not to
turn him on. I frowned, not liking where my thoughts were
heading.