by Nicole Fox
“Oh, wow,” she scoffs. “A noble murderer. How refreshing.”
“I kill when I have to,” I say patiently. “I do horrible things sometimes—”
“Sometimes, even decent men must do terrible things for the greater good,” she repeats again. “Still drinking that Kool-Aid, huh?”
I cock my head to the side. “I don’t remember saying it,” I admit. “But it does sound like the kind of wisdom I’d drop at just the right moment.”
“Let me tell you what you are: you’re a fucking asshole,” she sneers. “An asshole who justifies the awful things he does by pretending like he’s some grand, holier-than-thou version of the underworld thugs he runs with.”
She takes another step towards me. Her chest is rising and falling with increased passion. That bottom lip of hers is beckoning.
“And you don’t know a fucking thing about my father.”
I don’t back down from her fire. It only ignites my own. “You don’t think I do my research before I slaughter a man and half his household?” I growl. “You don’t think I ask questions before I embark on a kill mission?”
“I don’t think you give a flying fuck either way.”
“Then you don’t know me at all.”
“I know enough.”
“And what do you know about dear old daddy, huh?” I throw back at her. “Do you know anything about him?”
“He was my father.”
“He was a fucking rapist,” I spit. The words come out harsh. But then, there’s no way to soften the revelation that your father liked forcing himself on unwilling women.
She stops short, her eyes glazing over with denial instantly. “You’re lying.”
“Why would I lie?”
“To try and convince me that my father was something he was not.”
“Please,” I scoff. “I don’t need you to hate the man. But I do need you to know that you wouldn’t have been happy if he’d been in your life. He may have kept his hands off you, but he would have traded you like chattel. He would have sold you to the highest bidder the moment you were old enough to be useful to him.”
I can tell the words sting her—death by a thousand burning cuts. But she’s doing her best to put up a brave front. “Why should I believe you?”
“What you believe is up to you,” I tell her. “But I’d like to point out that you didn’t really know your father. I did. So let me say this again, nice and slow so you understand: He was a rapist. He was a human trafficker. He was the lowest of the low. A man without a fucking soul.”
She stares at me as though searching for an argument. My revelation has gotten to her. She’s trying to process it all, and it’s eating her alive.
“I don’t need to hurt you unless you make me,” I say. “Just come with me and we can sort this out.”
That snaps her back to the present. Her eyes dart to my face. “Come with you?” she demands. “Why would I do that?”
“Well, mostly because I’m not giving you a choice,” I reply.
The truth is that I don’t really want to kill her. Not here, at least. This place is on the cops’ radar now. As am I. I don’t want to invite unnecessary trouble. If a body is found on the property, it won’t take long for the cops to connect the dots. And the dots will most definitely lead back to me. It’s the kind of publicity I don’t need right now.
Her eyes dart around the room. She’s looking for weapons. Something she can use to stop me from dragging her out of this house.
“Come on, kid,” I sigh. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”
“Oh, far be it from me to make this hard on you,” she snarls. “Fuck you.”
I smile. It’s been a very long time since any woman spoke to me like this. “So be it. I’ll just carry you out of here on my back.”
“I’ll fight.”
“You will certainly try.”
“You don’t know me,” she hisses. “Don’t underestimate me.”
“I’d never dream of doing that again,” I respond with a harsh laugh, touching the stinging scar on my eyebrow. “But this is going to go badly for you if you insist on being stubborn.”
I’m quickly losing patience. I want out of this shithole. Out of Long Island. Most of all, I want away from this girl. Before she makes me do something I’ll regret.
“It’s you against me,” she observes, backing away from me slowly. “I’m liking my odds.”
“Then you’re a fool. You don’t stand a chance.”
“I’m not a betting woman,” she says. “But if I were, I’d bet on myself. Every fucking time.”
I sigh bitterly. This was supposed to be an easy fucking mark. A quick, simple assassination of a fucking moron. “Please don’t make me force you—”
“Yeah? You and what army?”
Right on cue, the door slams open. Phoenix swarms in with a handful of O’Sullivan soldiers behind him. I couldn’t have timed it better if I’d tried.
Turning back to her with a smile, I take the moment to savor the utter shock and disbelief written on her face. Then I hitch my thumb over my shoulder at the men pouring into the house and cuffing her as she starts to scream.
“That army.”
6
Renata
I scream at the top of my lungs as I’m picked up and thrown into the rear compartment of a large black vehicle. Three men climb into the back with me. The windows are tinted, so there’s barely any light coming through at all—at least, not until the youngest guy switches on the light attached to the ceiling between us and then settles down opposite me.
The two men sitting guard on either side of me are older. Neither one is paying me any attention. But the young guy seems curious. His eyes rove over my face with interest.
I ignore him in favor of baring my teeth and lunging towards the black partition separating us from the driver’s cab. Hammering my fists against it, I scream, “You can’t fucking do this! Let me go!”
Without so much as a word, one of the men at my side grabs me and shoves me back into my seat. I hit hard and slump against the wall as the breath whooshes out of my lungs.
The younger guy raises one eyebrow.
“What the fuck are you staring at?” I demand.
He seems amused by my tone, but he doesn’t smile. It’s hard to pinpoint his age. He could be as young as twenty, but there’s a kind of worldly experience on his face that far outweighs my own. His eyes look like they’ve seen the same kind of shit mine have—blood, violence, hatred. That can age a person.
“Fighting is pointless,” he tells me predictably. “You’d be better off—”
“Better off what?” I snap. “Letting you all kill me without a fight?”
He shrugs. “At least then it’ll be painless,” he remarks, without even bothering to deny the fact that killing me is on the docket. “If you fight, your death might be drawn-out.”
“I’m not afraid of pain.”
“Then you haven’t experienced much of it,” he responds instantly.
“And you have?”
“Enough to know what it can do to a man.”
He has an unsettling gaze. Maybe because he barely seems to blink. It’s intense and, despite my best efforts, I’m the one who ends up looking away first.
“Who are you?” I rasp.
“Nobody.”
“Nobody’s a nobody in this world.”
He laughs softly. “You may be right about that.”
I change tack. “Where is he taking me?”
“Wherever he wants.”
“Thanks,” I reply sarcastically. “Five stars for you. You’ve been extraordinarily helpful.”
I look to either side, trying to get a read on the men flanking me. They’re both large, burly men with expressionless faces. Not much very promising there. “I have nothing to do with any of this,” I say to all three of them. “Why take me at all?”
“You have something to do with Drago Lombardi,” the young, dark-eyed ma
n points out wryly.
“I can’t help my DNA.”
He raises his eyebrows again. “Ah. His sister? Poor girl.”
I frown, taken back by his tone. “What did you just say?”
“Lombardi’s been on the Clan’s radar for a while now. We didn’t know the sister was still in the picture.”
“Yeah, well, women aren’t ever considered important by men like you,” I say accusingly. “So I’m not surprised.”
“I wouldn’t judge every man by your brother’s standards.”
I laugh bitterly. “You’re trying to suggest that you’re different?”
“My mother wasn’t born into this world,” he tells me. “But she’s run the Bratva beside my father for over two decades now. So yes, I’d say I’m different.”
My blood runs cold. “Bratva?”
He smiles. He clearly knows that I understand everything that word implies. “Nobody’s a nobody in this world,” he says, repeating my own words back to me.
A new sensation of dread engulfs me. Whatever this shit is that I’ve gotten snared in… it doesn’t look good.
“What are you doing here with Kian O’Sullivan?” I ask in a hollow croak.
“We’re family,” he says.
I frown. Family. Not allies, but family. The terminology takes me by surprise. Apparently, the Bratva has a closer relationship to Kian O’Sullivan than I would’ve ever guessed. That doesn’t seem good for me, either.
The vehicle begins to slow down. I stiffen as the back doors are thrown open. The men get out first, but I stay put, sinking in to the seat stubbornly.
One of the silent men who hopped out turns to look at the dark-eyed guy who’s been questioning me. “Phoenix?” he asks, looking for orders.
The young man—Phoenix, apparently—holds up a hand to the man as if to say, I’ll handle this. The pair of bodyguards shrug, turn, and leave.
Then the Bratva man turns to me. “Come on,” he says, gesturing me forward.
I don’t move. “Phoenix, huh?”
He nods. “And you?”
I don’t know why I tell him. It just comes out. “Renata.”
“Well, come on, Renata,” he says gruffly. “Don’t make me drag you out.”
“You should know I don’t do well with threats.”
“And I don’t do well with disobedience.”
Disobedience? The word sends a jolt of anger coursing through me. It only makes me dig my heels in harder. “Fuck you. I’m not a trained dog. And I won’t make it easier for you assholes to take me prisoner.”
Phoenix opens his mouth to retort. But before he can get a single word out, a sickeningly familiar voice lashes in from the darkness beyond the open van doors. “Let me handle this.”
Oh God… That voice. Like a blade scraping the marrow out of my bones. I shiver, Phoenix slips aside, and then Kian O’Sullivan is in here with me, blocking out what little light there was.
The cut over his brow has already bruised badly, but he can still see through both his eyes. Unfortunate, really. Guess I’ve got to work on my aim.
“Get out,” he says in a tone that brooks no argument.
But I’ve always liked a good argument. “Fuck you.”
He sighs with exasperation. Then he lunges forward and snags my ankle in one huge, powerful hand.
I scream, “No! No! Get the fuck off of me!” as I thrash around.
He ignores me and drags me across the floor of the vehicle by my ankle. At the ledge, he hops down, then turns to hoist me over his shoulder and starts striding away into the night.
I can’t see where we’re going. And even if I could, I’m way too pissed off by the indignity of being manhandled like a sack of potatoes to take note of my surroundings.
I hammer at Kian’s back. If it hurts him, he doesn’t notice. He doesn’t so much as flinch. I scream until my throat is hoarse and then I scream some more. But it isn’t until the floral scent of perfume and high luxury hits my nostrils that I stop to breathe.
Where the fuck am I?
For a moment, all I can see is Kian’s lower back. I try not to be too distracted by the hard curve of his ass as I crane my neck to the side.
When I do, I see the kind of shit people buy when they don’t know what else to do with all their money. Gleaming marble floors. Fresh-cut flowers in expensive pottery. Gilded art frames.
A dignified ping alerts me to the fact that we’re about to board an elevator. He steps forward into the cab, but even once the doors close on us, Kian doesn’t bother putting me down. I go back to Plan A: hitting him with my fists as hard as I can.
But that doesn’t last long. I feel like an oversized toddler and I’m having no effect whatsoever. So I sigh and sag limply on his shoulder. I’m so fucking tired. I just want to close my eyes and sleep forever. Maybe then I’d be able to pretend this is all just a bad dream.
It’s only once he steps out of the elevator doors that Kian sets me down. He’s not particularly gentle about it. As soon as my ass hits the cold marble, I’m scrambling backwards away from him. I hit a wall and leap to my feet, eyeing the space around me.
It’s definitely not what I’m expecting.
I thought I’d be taken to some shady compound in the middle of nowhere so these bastards could put a bullet in my head without drawing any undue attention. Somewhere with high walls and barbed wire around the property and shadows as far as the eye can see.
But the massive open living room space I’m standing in is not that at all. It’s plush. Opulent. Light and clear and airy.
I’m standing at the outer edge of an ocean of marble flooring, looking out at a penthouse living room like something from a magazine. Turkish carpets stretch beneath a massive sectional sofa arranged around an exotic-looking tarnished metal coffee table. On the wall is the biggest TV I’ve ever seen in my life, as if Kian stole the Jumbotron from a football stadium.
Everything screams money, money, money. The art, the furniture, the penthouse itself—it’s the finest craftsmanship everywhere, from the recessed lighting to the floor-to-ceiling windows on the far side that open up to the city skyline beyond.
I swallow past the knot in my throat, then turn my gaze to Kian. He hasn’t moved. “Where the hell am I?”
“My place,” he replies.
I frown. “Your place?”
He doesn’t answer me. Instead, he turns his back on me and moves to the small console table set up against a narrow wall. Just above the console table hangs a large, framed portrait. It’s a charcoal, black and white landscape of a gorgeous lake that seems to go on for miles. I can even see mountains in the distance.
I resist the urge to take a closer look and turn back to the elevator, taking advantage of the fact that Kian’s back is to me. I click the elevator button as quietly as I can, but nothing happens.
“You need an access code to use the elevator,” Kian murmurs. His back is still to me. He hasn’t even looked up. So much for a quick exit.
“I…”
“Did you really think I’d bring you here if leaving was as simple as clicking the elevator button?” he asks.
I don’t take the bait of that question. “What are you planning on doing with me?”
Just then, he finally turns around. Is it possible for a slice to the face to enhance a man’s attractiveness? The stray thought catches me by surprise and makes me feel instantly guilty. The answer is an obvious yes, though. He looks like a battle-hardened Viking. Silver-threaded beard glinting in the low lights. Impossibly broad in every direction and rippling with muscle.
Kian fixes me with a strange glance. His head is tilted to the side, blue eyes glistening under the mood lighting like they’re seeing stuff in me that no one else can see.
His jaw works as if he’s searching for the right answer to my question. Then he shrugs. “I haven’t decided yet.”
My fists knot at my sides. “If you don’t know, maybe you should just—oh, I dunno… let me go?”
He smiles. “I’m afraid that I can’t do that.”
“You can’t keep me here forever,” I seethe. My chest is heaving with each panted breath, as if I just ran a marathon. Something about this man riles me up. Not in a good way, either. It’s pure anger. I glance back at the cut in his forehead and wish again that I’d done a better job of blinding the son of a bitch.
“I can do whatever I want,” Kian says softly.
“Is that so? Then why don’t you go fuck yourself?”
He approaches me fast. Before I can move out of his reach, he’s already grabbed both my arms. He slams me up against the closest wall and leans in forehead-to-forehead. His shining sapphire eyes are all I can see.
And they are pissed.
But the voice that comes out of him isn’t the roar I expected. It’s soft. Almost seductive. But there’s a sickening, dominant edge underneath it like a core of steel.
“I don’t plan on keeping you here forever.”
A chill ripples down my spine. He breathes slowly and then adds, “You won’t be alive that long, anyway.”
Then he hoists me back up over his shoulder and carries me through the apartment while I scream obscenities at him. We burst into another room. For the second time in as many minutes, he dumps me on the floor, next to a four-poster bed. This time, it knocks the wind out of me.
I see stars dancing around the edge of my vision and I can’t get my balance right, so when I try to squirm away, I don’t get very far before he clamps down around my wrist.
“Nuh-uh,” he chides. “Not so fast.”
“Fuck y—”
He twists my wrist, making me hiss with pain. The stars in my eyes thicken into a flurry. Then I hear a quick, metallic snapping noise.
And when my vision sorts itself out again, I realize he’s handcuffed me to one of the bedposts.
I jerk at it. The chain rattles but it doesn’t even budge. “Let me go! Are you fucking kidding me?”
“No,” he replies calmly as he rises up to his full height and steps away from me. “Not until you start cooperating.”
“What have I said that makes you think I’m interested in cooperating with a fucking murderer like you?” I snarl. “You expect to abduct me, cuff me here, and I should just be happy about it?”