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She's Our To Tame

WARNING ( EXPLICIT MATURE CONTENT) Escaping a terrible fate, a beautiful but scarred young woman finds herself sold to a group of dangerous mafia men. But just when she thinks she's found a safe haven, the shadows of her past come back to haunt her, threatening to destroy everything she's built. As she fights to hold on to her new life, she must learn to trust the men who saved her, and embrace the dangerous and mysterious world she's now a part of. Will she find a way to survive, or will her past come back to destroy her?

Oyiza_Marvellous · Thanh xuân
Không đủ số lượng người đọc
34 Chs

Oyizamsii

OYIZAMSII 

I stare at the four men in my doorway. They're not my normal customers. One is wearing a suit that's tailored perfectly to fit him and is probably worth more than the whole bar. The other three look like mean sons of a bitches. I'm pretty sure the one in the back is an actual giant, as he ducks his head to get through the door.

And they're all packing, I catch glimpses of the guns. So do my customers.

The whole place clears, chairs scraping and falling to the floor in their rush to escape the newcomers. Rancho pokes his head out, and I sigh. So this is them, the people hunting me. "Rancho, go home," I order, knowing I won't be opening tonight.

"Smart." The one in the suit nods. His way too slick black hair is pushed back, styled flawlessly, long on top and short on the sides, so I have the insane urge to mess it up. But his eyes? They are black, cold, and calculating. They scan the room and me, noting everything. I bet if I asked, he could relay every single detail.

His cheekbones are high and sharp, his jaw chiselled with stubble covering it, only framing his lush, plump lips. He's tall, around six foot three, and his suit hugs his thick thighs and arms in the most tempting way. He's just too perfect to look at, like a model.

"Is this her?" One of them grins, strolling forward. His long blond hair is pushed behind pierced ears. Tattoos peek out of the top of his white shirt, which is partially tucked into ripped, faded jeans and black boots. His arms are huge and dotted with tattoos here and there, his skin golden and glistening, but he seems like the type to be covered in grease and dirt. His eyes are a bright blue and locked on me, but there's something not quite right about them.

His face is more angular than the first guy's, but no less striking, and he prowls around as he stares at me like a hungry panther.

"It is," another one confirms. This guy's facial structure is similar to the first one, but no stubble. He's clean shaven with a slightly squarer jaw. His hair is longer on top and shaved on the sides, shoved back carelessly. He's taller than the first and more stacked, not as put together, but hot as hell.

The last one doesn't speak, just stares at me from dark eyes. I spot his long eyelashes from here, the type girls would be envious of, but that's the only girly thing about him. He's massive, his arms are thicker than my whole body, and his white shirt clings to his bulging biceps and veiny forearms, indenting at his pecs and chiselled abs.

His jeans are tight, like he can't find the right size, and his hair is brown with blond streaks, styled casually to the side. Every single inch of him is covered in tattoos, and a black lip ring glistens in the light.

I look back over them as the blond-haired guy flicks open the top of a lighter again and again as he stares at me. "Who are you?" I snap, refusing to be intimidated.

"Won't you take a seat?" the first one offers, and I laugh.

"Why don't you fuck off? Now tell me why the hell you're in my bar or get the fuck out," I snarl.

The blond one chuckles. "Ooh, feisty, she's so little though. Too easy to break." He pouts, sighing like I've put him out.

"I ain't easy to break, asshole. I'll smash in your pretty boy face before you can blink, so answer my goddamn question."

These aren't the thugs from last night, no, these men are dangerous, and I'm clearly their target. I swallow hard as fear winds through my body. The man in the suit notices, since he's watching me carefully, and his lips tip up slightly in one corner at my show of panic.

"I like her," the blond declares, and the big guy finally talks.

"Poor her," he scoffs.

"Oyizamsii, please sit," the first one suggests again, but I know it's a demand.

So I yank out a stool and do as I'm told as far away from them as I can be. I lean my arms back on the bar so I can reach the blade at my waist. "Why are you here?" I repeat.

The first one looks around before selecting the closest table. The fucking bastard wipes down the chair and still frowns as he perches on the edge of it. I hope he stains his suit.

"Oyizamsii, I'm Sylvester Cobra," he introduces himself. I ignore his use of Oyizamsii, no one calls me that.

A shiver goes through me.

Cobra.