Bite Me - Part 3

**Lyra**

"We meet again, sweetheart."

There it is again. That damn pet name. It grates on my nerves and sends a traitorous, heated flutter straight to my core at the exact same time.

"I’m not your sweetheart," I snap. I force my eyes away from his intense stare, dropping my gaze to the floorboards. The polished wood grain suddenly becomes the most fascinating thing in this entire VIP room. I can feel the sudden heat rushing up my neck, stinging my cheeks. *Get a grip, Lyra. Pull yourself together.*

The man I had run into earlier simply raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. A slow, arrogant smirk stretches across his lips. It is frustrating how handsome he is.

I clear my throat, shifting my weight. "So, may I help you? I need to finish my shift so I can go home." My tone holds far too much sass for someone standing in front of four towering men in expensive suits. I am just so incredibly tired. I have zero interest in kissing the feet of entitled, wealthy men. I keep my eyes glued to the floor. If I look up into those hazel eyes again, I might lose whatever little confidence I have left.

"Lyra."

A deep, velvet voice booms through the heavy silence of the room. Hearing my name roll off his tongue sends an involuntary shiver straight down my spine. A sudden, sharp ache forms between my thighs. My panties dampen instantly.

"Lyra, look at me."

It is a direct command. I squeeze my eyes shut. My chest rises and falls with heavy, ragged breaths. *What is happening to me?* Why does the air in this room feel so thick?

A calloused finger presses gently under my chin. The touch is warm but carries an undeniable firmness. The finger lifts my head, forcing me to face him.

"Look at me." The velvet voice softens, yet it loses none of its raw, commanding power. I feel an overwhelming pull to obey. I open my eyes.

Standing right in front of me is a walking masterpiece. The breath leaves my lungs in a sharp rush. I take in his features. Deep brown eyes, so dark they look like pools of black ink. His pupils are blown wide, dilated and focused entirely on my face. I could drown in that stare. He has a sharp, sculpted jawline traced with a neatly trimmed beard that frames his mouth. His dark hair is cut short on the sides with a bit of length on top, looking soft enough to run fingers through.

The scent of his cologne washes over me—a heavy, intoxicating blend of dark musk, fresh breeze, and expensive scotch. He towers over me, easily standing six-foot-three or taller, matching the hazel-eyed man in sheer size. His tailored designer suit clings tight to his massive shoulders and bulging chest. I catch glimpses of dark ink creeping up his neck, peeking out from the collar of his blue button-down shirt. A heavy diamond Rolex rests on his left wrist. The cold metal of the rings adorning his fingers presses against the soft skin of my chin.

"I am Dante Callahan, little one," he says. His thumb strokes my jawline once. "I am told you made this meal for us. Do you know who we are? What on earth inspired you to serve us burgers?"

I pull my chin away from his grip, taking a half-step back.

"Mr. Callahan, my name is Lyra. Not 'little one'. And no, I do not know who you are, and I do not care. We appreciate your patronage, but I am not going to kiss your feet." I lift my chin, crossing my arms over my chest to form a barrier. "I was just doing what I was told to do. Since you did not specify what you wanted, I just made whatever I wanted, sir."

I put extra bite into the word 'sir'. This pompous man and his friends are making my skin prickle with a strange, nervous energy. I am terrible in social situations, and when I feel cornered or insecure, my defense mechanism is to act like a brat.

I notice Dante’s jaw clench the second I call him 'sir'. A dark, unreadable emotion flashes in his black eyes. It looks dangerous. It looks like pure hunger. *You are overthinking this, Lyra.*

"Watch your tone, angel," Dante warns. He emphasizes the word 'angel' as if daring me to defy him again.

He steps to my side, placing a massive, heavy hand flush against the small of my back. The heat of his palm burns through my thin chef jacket. He guides me forward, forcing me closer to the table where the other three men sit.

"This is Gideon Rossi," Dante says. He points to a man sitting on the right.

Gideon is built like a Greek god. He has honey-blonde hair pulled back into a neat man-bun. His eyes are a striking, dark forest green—deep, soothing, yet intense. He wears a black suit without a tie, the top two buttons of his shirt left undone to reveal a thick, muscular chest. He flashes a brilliant, mega-watt smile, showing off perfect white teeth. Vibrant, intricate tattoos cover his hands and snake up his forearms. He lifts a crystal highball glass filled with amber liquor, offering me a silent salute.

*Do all these men live in a gym?* The wetness in my underwear only grows worse. I shift my thighs together, praying they cannot smell my sudden arousal.

"This is Ronin Thorne. We call him Ro," Dante continues, gesturing to the man beside Gideon.

Ro has the same honey-blonde hair, but styled into a sharp mohawk with shaved sides and a curled pompadour on top. He looks like a dangerous, modern-day Elvis. A clean, sharp beard frames a surprisingly boyish face. He wears a bold red blazer over a black shirt and black pants. A gold Rolex gleams against his tanned skin.

"Hello, princess," Ro purrs.

I roll my eyes. But when I actually look at Ro, my bravado slips. His jaw is locked tight. His lips form a thin, hard line, and his eyebrows are raised in a look that makes me want to shrink back and hide in a corner.

"And this, my dear, is Enzo Vance. You have met before," Dante finishes.

Hazel eyes. The man who has starred in my wet dreams for the past two weeks finally has a name.

My brain stutters. I replay Dante's words. *Vance?*

"Vance?" I squeak, my voice pitching up like a starstruck teenager. "Like... Vance Enterprises, Vance?"

Enzo nods slowly. A predatory, knowing smirk spreads across his handsome face. "One and the same, sweetheart. You were at our tower, sweet cheeks. One of our many businesses. Just like this restaurant. This is our place."

The floor drops out from beneath my feet. My stomach ties itself into tight knots. *Oh god.* I insulted the owners. I served burgers to the multi-billionaire owners of the restaurant. I am getting fired. I am going to be thrown out on the street.

"I am so sorry, sirs," I blurt out, the words tumbling over each other in a panicked rush. "I did not realize you were the owners. Please do not fire me. Cyrus told me to make a 'secret special', so I just cooked the first thing that came to my mind. I can make something else. I can—"

I cut myself off, dropping my head back down. I gasp for air, trying to slow my racing heart. Why do these four men have such suffocating, powerful auras? The air in the room feels too thin to breathe.

"Lyra," Dante says. His velvet voice cuts through my spiraling panic. "We asked you here to tell you it was by far one of the best meals we have ever had. I have never experienced something like that. In a burger, no less."

I glance up. Dante is staring at me, and this time, the look in his dark eyes holds genuine admiration.

"Thank you, sir," I breathe out. My cheeks burn like fire. The pale skin of my face must be glowing red.

"Indeed, it was delicious," Enzo chimes in, leaning his elbows on the mahogany table. He tilts his head, studying me like a puzzle piece. "I would like to ask... what were you doing at our tower, sweetheart?"

The memory of that humiliating morning flares up in my mind, pushing past my anxiety.

"Um... I went for a job interview at your company," I explain, crossing my arms again. "The project internship. But the fake Malibu Barbie manager running the interviews took one look at me and said I wasn't pretty enough or qualified enough for the position. She tossed my resume in the trash." I glare at him. "And I am not your sweetheart."

The temperature in the room drops ten degrees in a single second.

A flash of pure, murderous anger crosses the faces of all four men simultaneously. Dante’s hand tightens into a fist. Gideon’s green eyes turn to chips of ice. Ro’s posture goes rigid. Enzo’s jaw ticks in a slow, rhythmic motion.

"I see," Enzo says, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous register. He stares past me, lost in some dark thought.

**Gideon**

I stare at the girl standing in front of us. I can barely process that she is actually here in the flesh. Enzo did not exaggerate. She is breathtaking.

Her cherub cheeks are flushed deep pink. Her features are mesmerizing. The sheer, untouched innocence radiating from her small frame is a drug to my system. She stands in this room, snapping back at four of the most lethal men in the city, and she has absolutely no idea who we really are. She has no idea what we are capable of doing.

She is so shy, so incredibly innocent, yet I can see the bright spark of defiance burning in her hazel-green eyes. That little attitude of hers will need to be broken down and tamed. We do not mind a woman with fire in her blood; we simply demand total control over the flames.

She is perfect. The urge to break her is overwhelming. I want to ruin her. I want to strip away that baggy chef jacket and press my thumbs deep into her pale flesh until I leave dark, permanent marks all over her body.

*Oh, my sweet Lyra. You belong to us now.*

**Ro**

God, she is so fucking delicious.

I stare at her, my blood pounding a heavy beat against my eardrums. Enzo was right. She is the one. The only one.

My cock surges hard against the zipper of my slacks. The thick, rigid erection strains against the expensive fabric, demanding release. The pressure between my legs grows heavier with every breath she takes, every time her chest rises and falls beneath that white jacket.

I want to pin her down. I want to spread her bare legs and lick every single inch of that soft, perfect body. I want to taste her. I want to pull out my hunting knife, hold her still, and carve all four of our names directly into her smooth ivory skin. Let the blood well up. Let the scars heal over. I want to brand her so deeply that no other man will ever dare look at her, let alone try to claim her.

She bites her little pink lip, and my control slips another fraction of an inch. I want to bite those lips myself until they swell and bleed. I am already obsessed with the way her pale cheeks flush crimson so easily. Her voice hits my ears and drags me under, calling to my darkest instincts like a siren dragging a ship down to the ocean floor.

*I will lock you away and keep you forever, my little flower.*

**Lyra**

The silence in the room stretches on too long. The heavy, predatory stares of the four men make my skin crawl with heat.

"Well," I say, forcing a polite smile to my face. "Thanks again for the compliment on the food. I am glad you liked it. So... it is getting late. I need to be heading home now."

I take a step backward toward the door.

"Yes, darling, you are right. It is time to go home," Dante responds smoothly. He does not move to step out of my way. "Grab your coat, love. You can ride with Enzo and me. We have a lot to discuss."

I freeze. My brain short-circuits. First of all, these constant pet names are going to send me over the edge. Secondly, what did he just say?

"Excuse me?" I snap, dropping the polite act entirely. "I am not following."

Dante takes a slow, heated breath in through his nose. He closes the distance between us in one long stride. He reaches out and grabs my left elbow. His grip is not painful, but it is made of solid iron. I cannot move.

"Go get your coat," Dante commands, staring directly into my eyes. "You are now ours. You are coming home with us tonight. You are not working here anymore. You will not ever need to work a day in your life again."

I stare at his serious, chiseled face. I look at Gideon, Ro, and Enzo. They are all staring right back at me with unblinking, deadpan expressions.

The silence drags out for three long seconds.

And then, I laugh.

I cannot help it. It bubbles up from my chest and bursts out of my mouth. A loud, full belly laugh echoes through the private dining room. I throw my head back, giggling uncontrollably. The sheer absurdity of the situation is hilarious. Four billionaire mobster-types demanding I go home with them and become their kept woman? It is a scene straight out of a bad movie.

"Hoo..." I wipe a tear from the corner of my eye, trying to catch my breath. "I really needed that laugh. Thank you, sir. That was a great joke. I am going to go now."

I turn my body toward the door, expecting Dante to drop his hand.

Instead, his fingers clamp down harder on my elbow, biting into my skin.

"This isn't a joke, love," Dante says. His voice drops into a flat, deadly monotone.

My laughter dies instantly in my throat. I look back at his eyes. There is no humor in them. There is only cold, possessive certainty.

Panic spikes in my chest.

"Yes, it is," I say. I plant my feet and yank my arm violently backward, tearing myself out of his grip. "I am not going anywhere with any of you."

"Yes, you are," a dark, melodic voice booms.

I whip my head around. Gideon is standing up from the table. His massive, six-foot-two frame casts a long, terrifying shadow over me, blocking the light from the chandelier.

"Sweetheart," Enzo says. He stands up slowly, tilting his crystal glass back to swallow the last drop of his amber liquor. He sets the glass down on the table with a loud *clack*.

Enzo steps around the mahogany table, pacing toward me with the fluid grace of a hunting cat. His face is flushed from the alcohol, and a dark, dangerous fire burns in his hazel eyes.

"From the moment I saw you in the lobby, I knew you were special," Enzo says, his voice carrying a calm but unyielding authority. "We own this restaurant. We own most of the buildings in this town. We own most of the land in this hemisphere. And now, my sweet, we will own you."

I take another step back, my heart slamming against my ribs like a trapped bird.

"We have decided to claim you as ours," Enzo continues, stepping closer, trapping me between the four of them. "And we always get exactly what we want. We are dangerous men, *mi amore*. Do what we say. Now... GO. GET. YOUR. COAT."

His voice rises to a sudden, commanding shout on the last words.

Fear and anger clash violently in my veins.

"I am my own person!" I shout back, my voice trembling but loud. "You do not own me! And you never will! I am not some cheap skank for you to drag home and pass around your beds for the night. Leave me alone!"

I spin on my heel, marching straight for the heavy oak door.

"Better yet, just BITE ME!" I yell over my shoulder.

A low, furious grunt echoes from one of the men behind me, but I do not care. I am done. I am leaving this room, packing my locker, and walking out of this restaurant forever.

I reach my hand out. My fingers graze the cold brass of the door handle.

Before I can turn the knob, a massive, muscular arm wraps tightly around my waist from behind.

I am yanked backward with terrifying speed. My back slams flush against a wall of a hard, solid chest. I open my mouth to scream, to thrash, to fight back.

A sudden, sharp pinch bites into the side of my neck.

I gasp, my hands flying up to grab the thick forearm locked around my waist. The fighting leaves my muscles in a split second. Instantly, the room tilts sideways. The heavy oak door blurs in front of my face. Swarms of black dots dance violently across my vision.

My knees buckle. All the strength drains out of my bones like water. I sink heavily toward the floor, but the powerful arm holds me up, pressing my weak body tight against his.

A hot breath brushes against my ear.

"We will do far more than just bite you, my love," a dark voice whispers.

Soft, warm lips press a gentle kiss to my temple. The drug hits my brain, ripping away my consciousness, and total darkness consumes me.