by K. M. Raya
He stands in front of a small white drawer protruding from the clean white wall which holds a multitude of tools the likes of which make my skin crawl.
I’m all too familiar with them though. The man begins to wiggle and beg. His words are a jumble of nonsense and my cousin strides forward, taking one of the mans bare beet in his glove covered hands.
"Hmmph . . . plea—no!" the man begs around the gag.
I know this guy. Not personally, but I’m aware that the man is affiliated with the Cassini’s, if loosely. That in itself alleviates me of some of the guilt and fills me only with the need to finish the job.
One by one, Micah yanks the man's toenails from his feet with a strange looking tool, all the while blasting him with questions we both know the man will never answer. The Cassini’s are up to something again. Fin made the first move that day at Cap’s party. It means war now and we all have to prepare for that.
With all of the toenails on his left foot gone, the man's screams have now turned to whimpers. Blood pools on the tile beneath him as he swings. My cousin turns and places the device back on the table once more before turning to face his protege.
"Finish it," he orders.
There’s no room to argue.
Expressionless and unfeeling—shutting it all out, I move like predator, stepping towards the man who begins to soil himself. I should feel bad in this moment. I should feel some sort of hesitation or uncertainty, but I just don’t.
With the finesse of someone well beyond my nineteen years, I pull my glock from my waistband and shoot the man, right between his two, scared hazel eyes.
Chapter Fourteen
Angel
The marks on my neck stand in stark contrast to my alabaster skin, but I make absolutely no attempt to hide it. I’d covered up in front of Cole Faux, not for the sake of Ellis, but on my father's behalf.
No daughter of the infamous Salvatore Valentino could show up covered in bruises. Weakness is a fault that Papa won't tolerate.
After saying my hasty goodbyes and rushing home last night, I spent the rest of the night replaying the entire evening over and over again. Ellis tried to stop me on my way out to the car, but I’d brushed him off. He’s caused enough trouble and the bruises on my body attest as much.
I could cover them up with foundation now that I’m headed to school, but I want those bastardos to see what they’ve done. I’ve been hurt worse than what they put me though, sure, but this seems wrong in so many ways. Even though my scalp burns where Holden had gripped my hair, in all honesty I’m actually fine. They scared me, I’ll give them that, but I’m not fragile.
My threshold for pain is remarkably high and it was honestly more embarrassing than anything else. I hope they feel thoroughly ashamed now that they know who I am. I, however, feel naked and exposed.
They’d revealed alot to me without even realizing it though, so in a way it's a win for me. Aside from studying Ellis’ father all evening and coming to the conclusion that the Brotherhood is just another version of the Mafia only without the publicity, I’d learned something about their enemies.
Clearly the Cassinis and the Brothers were involved in some sort of dispute, and I largely believe it has something to do with Ellis’ late mother. There’s a darkness in Cole’s eyes that mirrors Ellis, something that just isn't fully present in the others . . . well except for Giles Montgomery, he’s still a fucking monster but I have a feeling that’s just how he is.
People stare at me as I walk the halls of Draven, heading to my first class. They whisper and point, attempting to be discreet, but I ignore them. They mean nothing to me. When this year ends, I'll be free of the high school pressure. I’ll move somewhere very far away, where none of Papa's bullshit can touch me. I have my heart set on a spot in Vancouver.
Turning a corner, my body is yanked to the side suddenly and forcefully. It catches me so off guard that I have no choice but to crash into a hard body, knocking us both backwards and into the darkness of a supply closet he was standing in. A hand covers my mouth, as if I’d be stupid enough to scream. I bite down hard, catching the skin between my teeth causing him to curse and yank his palm from my lips.
“Fucking bitch,” Carter mutters, shaking his hand dramatically.
“What the hell do you want, Sunshine? Isn’t one kidnapping enough?”
He stares down at me, darkness hovering around us, but I can still make out his sharp features by the crack under the doorframe.
“I’m not even close to being done with you. I don’t fucking trust you. All this Mafia shit just makes you look even more suspicious. What's your game?”
I run a hand though my hair in exasperation.
“Really? That's what you practically tore my arm off to ask me? Fuck, Sunshine do you guys ever give it a rest?”
Carter presses in closer, I can smell the cologne on his skin—thick like pine and aftershave. Whatever it is it's intoxicating. I hate the way my traitorous body responds to him.
“You're dangerous. I could tell from the moment I met you that you were here to fuck things up for us. Did daddy send you here to spy for him? Are the Cassini’s working with him? Why else would you be cozying up to Finley?”
I laugh in his face “Cozying up? We talked for less than ten minutes. I swear your paranoia is gonna backfire on you someday.” My eyes travel over the hard planes of his face, studying him. “What started this Montague vs Capulet feud?”
“I don't have to tell you that,” he snaps.
Holding my hands up, I back away a step.
“It was just a question. If you're going to go around accusing me of being a double agent then there better damn well be a reason. I’m telling you right now, Carter, I have nothing to do with Finley or his family. I’ve never heard of any of you. Not from my father or anyone else. I was sent here to get away from all of this . . . or I thought I was. Papa won't actually tell me anything, so I’m just as lost as you are.”
His brows pull together in frustration. His blonde hair is a mess today, as if he’d run his fingers though it one too many times.
He sighs.
“That family murdered someone close to me-—to all of us. They did it in cold blood and that fucker’s still out there breathing,” he admits, surprising me. I really didn’t expect him to tell me.
“Are you talking about Cole’s wife?” I ask him and his blue eyes snap to mine accusingly.
Grabbing the collar of my shirt, he practically throws me towards the wall. I crash into a few scattered boxes before regaining my balance.
He stalks forward menacingly. My body reacts again, lighting up like a hot flame. His eyes are sharp and murderous, but the way he towers over me just turns me on. I hate myself. I hate the way he makes me feel. I let him treat me like this because some sick part of me needs it.
“How the hell do you know anything about that? Nobody else knows what happened to Charlotte. Nobody but the Brotherhood and Cassini’s inner circle.”
He’s so freaking paranoid. Everything is suspicious to him. Everyone is the enemy.
“It doesn’t take a genius to connect the dots,” I tell him. “It's not a coincidence that Ellis’ stepmother happens to be a whopping five years older than him. It’s not rocket science to see the way Cole looks like he’s ready to burn a village to the ground. Obviously something happened to that family. Something horrible. And people do talk, Carter.”
His eyes darken as he frowns.
“It happened to all of us. Those men are my family. You hurt one, you hurt all. So for your sake, you better not be lying to me.”
His face is still hard, but underneath it all is a sort of sadness—a vulnerability that makes my chest constrict. Despite the fact that Papa is a cold and ruthless bastardo, I still love Mama and Sof. I’ll love them until the day I die, no matter what. I know what it feels life to lose family. Sof might not be dead, but she might as well be.
I take a chance, knowing it could backfire. Reaching out, I watch his bod
y stiffen as I bring a hand up to his face. I don’t exactly know what compels me to do it, but I move in closer until our bodies are flush against one another. His breath stills and I can practically see the tension rolling off of his skin.
My other hand glides up his arm, feeling the smooth skin there. The muscles beneath his skin are taut. He’s alluring to the point that my thighs clench together. Just like the others, Carter is taller than me by a lot. He’s so tall that my head barely crests his shoulder blades. This guy could pick me up and throw me across a room if he wanted to.
A part of me wants him to.
“What are you doing?” he whispers.
His voice isn’t so hard and hateful now, it’s soft and curious.
“You and I aren’t so different, you know . . . if you’d get your head out of your ass for a few seconds you might realize that I’m not out to get you. And I understand what it’s like to lose someone you love . . . to want revenge on the person who took them away,” I tell him honestly.
His eyes flick to mine, boring into my soul until it feels as if he's crawling beneath my skin. Carter has this way about him that makes me crave him. I want to touch him, to taste him . . . to make him want me back.
“You don’t know anything about me, don’t pretend like you do,” he grits out, but with significantly less venom than before.
“Don't I though? Carter, you act all hard and tough because you are hard and tough. But so am I. I have no choice but to be this way,”
He shifts his eyes away uncomfortably.
“I might not know all the details, but I know you live your life under your dad’s thumb. I know those men control you all just like Papa controls me.”
He refuses to look at me. My eyes have adjusted to the darkness now and I can see his face clearly. He’s such a beautiful person underneath his constant scowl.
Sometimes, Carter reminds me of a fairytale prince. Everything about him on the surface draws me in and the turmoil and pain beneath it keeps me there. It makes me want to burrow inside of him and figure out what makes him the way that he is. He and I are so similar and he just doesn’t see it. He won’t let himself see it.
Reaching up, I lay my palm against his cheek and for a second I think he’s going to jerk his face away but he doesn't. His lips part, like he wants to say something but the words are stuck in his throat.
His navy blue eyes become hooded and they flicker rapidly between my eyes and my mouth as he lowers his face to mine.
“You have no idea what you're getting yourself into with me. You don’t want any part of this, Angel,” he whispers against my lips.
Our faces are so close together that his breath caresses my lips, and the space between our bodies is all but nonexistent.
“Do you want me?” I ask bluntly. It’s the only way to act around him. There's no beating around the bush with someone like him.
He takes a second to figure out his answer, but from the look in his eyes I already know what it’ll be.
“I’ve never wanted anything more than I’ve wanted you since the second I saw you. You get me so fucking hard and I can’t stand it. I’ve tried to fuck you out of my head but I can’t,” he admits without shame.
His words make my heart race.
“But I can’t trust you. I can't—”
“I don’t need your trust yet,” I interrupt.
“I just need you to kiss me.”
Chapter Fifteen
Carter
Staring into the endless abyss of midnight and stars that are Angel’s eyes, I can feel myself giving in. She licks her soft lips—devoid of that red shit she usually paints them with.
I don’t trust her. I can’t afford to. In our line of work, you can only trust a handful of people, and the only ones I trust are my Brothers. Growing up under the shadow of our fathers has taught us exactly how it feels to be stabbed in the back by someone you thought you could rely on. Cassini demonstrated exactly how far his loyalty ran when he placed a hit on Charlotte Faux.
I don’t understand what Angel is doing in Seaside, or why Salvatore decided this was the place for her to be. She’s a long way from New York City and it has me suspicious. She claims he sent her here for her own safety, but in reality it's quite the opposite. I don’t claim to know much about the Mafia.
The Brotherhood to some, might seem like basically the same thing. Organized crime is just that—organized illegal activity. But I know that Mafia ties run deep, even deeper that what we have in place. The Brotherhood only goes back about three generations while the Mafia is another story altogether. If Angel truly is the princessa of the New York outfit, then she’s a liability.
And yet . . . I still can’t get her the fuck out of my head.
She runs a thumb over my cheek in such a careful way. It makes my stomach erupt in a tingling sensation that some might call butterflies. I hate that this chick has me so tied up in knots because this just isn’t me. I don’t get caught up in girls, they get caught up in me.
She caresses my face before dragging her delicate fingers down my neck and over my collar bone, making me shiver. My dick is harder than it’s ever been—throbbing almost painfully between us. I know this isn't the place for it, but even if someone were to walk into this closet right now and find us, they’d walk right back out without a word if they know what's best for them.
With hesitation, I reach for her—grasping her small waist in my hands. She feels so soft under my fingertips, but I can feel the muscle tone there too. Seeing her in that red dress at Ellis’ house the other night had been like a physical blow to the face.
This fucking body of hers makes me want to rip into her and fuck her until neither of us remembers how to walk. I have no delusions about what I want from this girl. I’m not here to be her fucking boyfriend. I don’t intend on making her any sort of promises.
She makes a strangled noise, deep in her chest. It sounds like a mixture between a pur and a groan but it does the trick.
I need to have her.
It's not even a choice anymore.
All the sex in the world with Selene or any other random chick couldn’t come close to the way Angel makes my body hum. In fact, since that night after my failed attempt with Selene, I haven’t called her at all, not even for a blowjob.
I just . . . can’t.
My lips are on hers in a matter of moments. I don’t even wait to see if she responds, I’m already devouring her. Her body goes limp in my arms, allowing me to grip her tight and pull her against me. I grind my cock against her stomach and she whimpers. White hot pleasure rips through me—so intense that I almost come in my pants like a fucking kid.
Pulling my mouth from hers, my eyes zero in on those plump pink lips of hers—swollen from my kisses. Her eyes are hooded and dazed, filled with so much yearning. Silently we watch each other. It only lasts a second, but I let her see the silent question in my eyes. As if she understands perfectly, Angel nods—a barely visible shake of her head.
It's all I need.
Twisting her body around, I pull her flush with mine as she leans her head back on my shoulder. She’s breathing hard and I wrap my hands around her waist and grind myself into her ass. I bury my face in her silky black hair and inhale deeply, savoring the rich jasmine scent that feels all too familiar. Pulling her black strands to one side, I lick a hot trail down the side of her creamy neck, placing small kisses all the way down to her shoulder.
She moans again, reaching her hand down behind her back and grabbing onto the back of my right thigh, pulling in and causing me to grind harder. I growl under my breath and move my fingers down her flat stomach until they're creeping under her skirt.
I hook my fingers in the tops of her tights and roughly drag them down her legs. I’m not trying to be gentle with her. The bruising on her neck looks bad, but it will be nothing compared to her thighs come this evening.
When her tights are at her ankles, she kicks them off along with her shoes. She groans as I slip the
heel of my hand over her swollen clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make her squirm.
“Fucking shit . . . ” she pants, bending forward until her hands come to rest on the back wall, holding herself in place.
“Tell me you want this,” I whisper into her hair. I’m too far gone already, but I need to hear her say it.
“I want this . . . I need it,” her voice is even more gravelly now—she moans every word.
I've never been more turned on in my life.
There's just something about hate sex that gets me going. Although, I can’t really speak from experience because in all honesty I’ve never cared about anyone enough to truly hate them . . . but Angel? I finally understand the passion.
Dipping two fingers into her wetness, I groan at the warmth that envelops them. She’s so fucking tight, but I know theres no way she’s a goddamn virgin. I pump my fingers in and out of her, slowly at first, teasing her edges until she’s whimpering.
“Please . . . ” she begs and it fills me with something strange. Hearing this woman beg me for something—for anything makes me want to scream from the rooftops. I want to own this girl, dominate her in every way.
I can’t handle this anymore.
I have to be inside her.
I slip my fingers out, hating the loss of her warmth, but I reach down and unbutton my slacks, freeing my cock before pulling a condom from my back pocket. After rolling it down my hard length, I guide it under that firm ass of hers, finding her center and thrusting forward, hard.
She goes to scream, but I’m faster and manage to clamp my hand over her mouth the way I had when I first pulled her into this closet. She moans against my palm as I thrust—quick and shallow at first. I can tell she needs more, so I slip in deeper, inch by inch until I fill her completely.
The sound she makes is wild, almost like an honest to god growl.
That's when I lose every sense of composure I'd once had. Letting my hand fall away from her lips, I grab her hips and begin pumping faster—skin slapping together in the silent darkness of the closet. She’s holding herself up on the wall, but I’ve pressed her against it now. Her head is turned to the side and her eyes are closed as I fuck into her relentlessly. Her pussy clamps down, muscles tightening around my cock and I know instinctively that she just came hard.