Kiss of Death Boxset

by LP Lovell

  I frown at her. “Sorry, what?” She glances down at my stomach and I follow her gaze. What the hell is she looking at?

  “How long ya been throwing up, sweetie?” she asks with that southern twang.

  “Uh, a couple of days.” I frown. This is one of those situations where I kind of want to head-butt her, but the motion would probably make me throw up again.

  She presses her lips together in a thin line and glances over her shoulder. “You stay here. I’ll be back in a jiffy. I told that fella of yours to leave you be.” She winks and then steps out of the bathroom, closing the door behind her. I have no idea what she’s doing but my stomach turns over again and I dive for the toilet.

  When she comes back, I’m sitting on the bathroom floor waiting for the next round of vomiting. “Here ya go, lovey.” She hands me a box and I take it, frowning as I read the front.

  “A pregnancy test?” I raise my eyebrows. “I’m not pregnant. I’m sterile,” I tell her flatly, handing the box back to her. I’ve been sterile since I was fourteen, all of Nicholai’s elite are.

  “My sister, Eileen, she had them tubes tied. Then there she is, forty years old and knocked up.” She shakes her head, pushing the box back towards me. “Ain’t gonna hurt nothin’ to rule it out.” She turns and walks out of the room.

  “I’m not pregnant!” I call to her retreating back, but she ignores me and closes the door. I get up and lock it behind her, pressing my back to the door. I stare at the box for a moment, fucking terrified of it. I’m not pregnant. So this is fine, right? I open the box and a little white stick falls out. I have to read the instructions to know what the hell to do with it. I grew up with guys. Hell, I grew up learning how to kill people. This wasn’t something I ever even thought of, let alone knew about. Add in the fact that I had no female influence and no exposure to media, and this feels like the most ridiculous and alien thing in the world.

  I pee on the stick and two minutes has never felt so long. I leave the stick on the counter and pace the short circuit from the door to the sink and back again. I almost jump out of my skin when the door bangs loudly, making me jump. “Una, we need to fucking go,” Nero says, keeping his voice low.

  “Give me a minute,” I say quietly.

  This is stupid. I’m not pregnant. I pick up the stick, and the two red lines sit in that tiny little window. I read over the instructions three times. Two lines means positive.

  “Una!” I startle and drop the test, scrambling to pick it up and put it in the bin before I open the door. I hope my expression isn’t giving away what I’m feeling right now, because if it is, Nero will think someone has died.

  “Let’s go,” I say, walking straight past him and out the door. Wendy-Anne smiles at me from behind the till, and I manage a small smile back. This sinking, plummeting feeling has settled into my gut and it feels like I’m walking to my own funeral. This is impossible.

  30

  Nero

  I pull back the curtain an inch, looking out over the parking lot of the shitty motel. I don’t think anyone will be coming for us here, but I’m still edgy.

  Una has a pistol in pieces on the bed, cleaning it. She’s been doing it for the last hour, her eyebrows pulled together in a frown and her eyes lost and distant. I fucking know it’s Arnaldo who’s put a hit on her, just like I knew he would. But when I put this entire plan into motion, I never for a second thought that I would want her so badly. I want to fucking own Una body and soul. I want to stand beside her and make our enemies bleed. She’s no longer a tool; she’s the perfect ally, the perfect compliment to everything I am. How do you let that go when you know you’ll never find it again? Una is my own personal obsession, my weakness and my strength, because together, we’re unstoppable.

  Walking over to her, I remove the gun barrel that she’s been cleaning for the last ten minutes from her hand. I place a finger under her chin and force her to look at me. There’s a smudge of gun oil on her cheek, smeared over the porcelain skin. Wide indigo eyes meet mine.

  “You only clean your guns before you’re about to kill someone. Should I be worried?” I smirk.

  She huffs and falls back against the pillows. “It clears my mind.” She’s wearing one of my shirts again and it pulls up, showing just a flash of her underwear. The sight of her long, bare legs is enough to make my dick hard. She glances at me and her eyes shift to the dressing at my shoulder. “Come here, let me look at that.”

  I move closer to the bed and she crawls to me, getting to her knees so she can peel the dressing away. Her fingers are gentle but firm against my skin. The wound still hurts, because that’s what happens when someone shoots you and then sets you on fire. I’ve stopped taking the painkillers because they cloud my mind, and I need complete clarity. “This looks good,” she says under her breath.

  “No thanks to you,” I grumble.

  She scowls at me. “This would be much worse if I hadn’t used the gun powder.”

  I lift one eyebrow. “It would be much fucking better if you hadn’t shot me.”

  “You know, you’re really hung up on that.” Her lips quirk into a smile, and I wrap one hand around the back of her neck, pulling her close. Her eyes drop to my mouth and her lips part.

  “I figure you owe me.”

  She glares at me and I yank her against my body, slamming my lips over hers. She tastes of blood and death and everything I fucking want. I drag my free hand from her thigh all the way up her body and beneath her shirt until I’m brushing her breast. She gasps and I push my tongue past her lips, taking everything I want from her. Shoving her back on the bed, I crawl between her thighs. Her chest rises and falls erratically, her fingers threading through my hair as I kiss over her hip bone and shove the shirt further and further up her body until she sits up and pulls it over her head. She’s fucking beautiful, toned curves and pale skin, littered with scars, some faded to silver while others are still a rich purple. Her body is evidence of a hard and violent life, and each and every scar only makes me harder for her.

  She reaches for my pants and yanks at my belt until it comes undone, and then she grabs my throat, digging her fingers in on either side of my Adam’s apple. I feel her nails break my skin, and I cough as her grip tightens. When I pull away from her, she manages to manoeuvre so that I land on my back on the mattress, and she lands on top of me, her thighs on either side of my body. The second she releases me, my hand is clamped around her throat.

  “You just love to fucking push me,” I growl.

  She closes her eyes and bites down on her bottom lip. “You know I like you angry.” I tighten my grip and a brilliant smile crosses her face. She shifts her weight and drags her nails down my chest in a burning trail. She looks so fucking perfect, innocence and seduction all wrapped up with a fucked up little bow on the top as if she were made for me. I readjust my hold from her throat to her jaw and palm her breast with the other hand, rolling her nipple between my fingers. Her body bows, sending her mane of white-blonde hair cascading down her back. Those full lips part on a soft moan, and I press my thumb inside her mouth. The little noises she makes and the stroke of her warm tongue have me feeling like I’m going to explode. Pushing away from the mattress, I bring us face-to-face, wrapping my arms around her until every naked inch of her is pressed against me. To the rest of the world, she’s the whisper of death on the wind, feared almost to the point of legend. And yet here she is, so beautifully vulnerable and trusting in my arms. She’s death but here, like this, she feels like all the parts of me I didn’t even know were missing, the parts I didn’t even fucking want.

  She rolls her hips and the lace of her underwear drags over my cock in a move nothing short of pure torture. I have no fucking patience when it comes to her, so I grab the crotch of her panties and yank, tearing it away. Her fingers dive into my hair, yanking, demanding. My fingers grip her hips, equally as demanding as I force her down on my waiting cock. Her head tilts back and her lips part as she slowly sinks inch by inc
h, her body trembling and her nails clawing at my shoulders. I swipe my tongue up the length of her exposed neck, tasting the saltiness of her skin before I bite the side of her throat. I groan into her shoulder when she finally takes me balls deep. Her pussy feels like the closest I’ll ever get to heaven. She rests her forehead against mine and I close my eyes, feeling her rapid breaths blow over my face. We stay like that for a second, her clinging to my shoulders while I wrap my arms tightly around her waist, holding her, imprisoning her. Her hips begin to roll lazily, and I bite back a groan. I’ve fucked Una a lot but every time feels more intense than the last. She’s like a slow burn scorching everything she touches, and fuck, if I don’t want her to incinerate me. Her body moves, shifting and gliding over my dick with every stroke. I trail my hands up her back, feeling the ancient bumps and welts of long worn scars. And when she comes, it’s like fucking art and music blended into one. Grabbing her jaw, I bite her bottom lip, swallowing her moans. Her pussy clamps down on me and I groan, my fingers digging into her face as I explode inside her and collapse back on the mattress.

  She pulls away from me too soon and lies on the bed beside me. I turn to face her but her expression is distant, detached. Something’s wrong with her, and I’d say it’s the threat of death, but as she said herself, someone always wants her dead. It’s more than that. I watch as she gets up and walks naked to the shitty en suite. The door closes behind her and the lock clicks into place.

  31

  Una

  I press my back against the bathroom door and squeeze my eyes shut. This is too hard; being around him is too hard. I thought I could make it back to New York and then figure out a plan, but who am I kidding? There is no plan for this because this is the only eventuality I couldn’t possibly have predicted. I stare down at my flat stomach both horrified and mesmerized by the prospect. My head is telling me there is only one option here, that I need to go to a clinic and take care of it. But the heart I never had until a few weeks ago is hesitating, which is ridiculous. It’s funny that when something is never even a possibility, you never think about it. And then when it’s suddenly thrust in front of you, the reaction you might imagine yourself having never comes. I’m not so stupid as to think that I can have a baby. It’s ridiculous. But, I’ve never done anything good in my life and probably never will. I bring death and destruction wherever I go. I can’t stomach the thought of bringing death to something so innocent, something that defies all odds, and it makes me a hypocrite of the worst kind.

  A plan starts to form in my mind and it’s not ideal, but it’s the best I have right now.

  “Una,” Nero calls from the other side of the door.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m going to grab some food.”

  “Okay.”

  Now, it needs to be now. Once I’m in New York it will be harder, Nero will be around and if he’s not then his men will be. As soon as I hear the motel room door slam, I move. I only have a small bag with me, with just enough clothes for a few days, some cash, a couple of burner phones and one gun. It’s enough. For now. I throw on some clothes and grab my stuff quickly. My hand is on the doorknob when I stop. I can’t just leave him like this. I can’t explain to him all the reasons why, but I can give him something.

  I take a scrap of paper, letterhead with the motel’s cheap looking logo. I hover with the pen over the paper for several moments. How do I say goodbye in a scribbled note? Nothing has changed and yet, everything has. He came for me, put his neck on the line, again, and now I’m leaving without so much as a word. Maybe I should just give him the truth. But then this is Nero. He’s not the guy that has babies; he’s the guy that puts a gun to their fucking heads when their parents won’t do what he wants. He doesn’t need to know this.

  Nero.

  I can’t stay with you. I know you would stand by me and fight the world if I asked you to, but this is my war and you shouldn’t be a casualty of it. Take your power, live your life. Please keep Anna safe. I’ll be back. I just have some things to take care of. Wait for me. Queen always protects king.

  Una.

  He’ll believe that, and he’ll let me run. I can’t pretend this isn’t happening, and I can’t just hope that Nero could deal with it. We aren’t those people with the white picket fence and the normal lives. We’re killers, depraved and motivated by the kinds of things that keep most people up at night. Everything is going to shit all at once. Time and space are what I need to figure it out without burdening him. This is on me, and it’s best that way. When you rely on other people it only weakens you, and I can’t afford weakness now.

  Dropping the note on the bed, I hoist the duffel bag over my shoulder, leaving that run-down motel room without a backwards glance. As soon as I’m on the main road, I stick my thumb out, and it doesn’t take long before a guy in a pickup truck pulls over.

  “Where ya goin’, sweetheart?” he says, tipping his cowboy hat back.

  “The airport, please.”

  I’m now officially on the run. Let the chase begin.

  THE END

  Kiss Me #2

  Prologue

  My chest heaves. My heart slams against my ribs as I stand in the middle of the living room, shaking from the adrenaline. I grip the knife in my hand so tightly my fingers ache. Taking a steadying breath, I force myself to relax. Something touches my bare foot and I glance down, at the pool of blood spreading across the hardwood floor. It creeps around my foot like a river parting around a rock. The blood spreads, spewing from the severed artery of the stranger only a few feet away. I stand here. An island in a sea of death and chaos. Blood splatters the walls, spraying over the cheap furniture and staining everything in a way that will never truly wash away. I close my eyes and inhale the metallic scent of it as it mixes with the lingering hint of gunpowder. That smell is like crack to me. It reminds me that I am death itself.

  Five bodies. Five men sent here for the sole purpose of killing me. I’ve been running for six weeks and in that time, I’ve been hunted mercilessly. Though, I’d expect nothing less. Five million dollars is an inspirational amount of money, and it’s currently the price on my head. I have but one friend left in this world. One person I can trust. Sasha. He helps me stay one step ahead, calling on his contacts so he can warn me when they’re coming. But that job is getting harder and harder because I have enemies coming at me from all directions. Sasha confirmed in the last two weeks that it is indeed Arnaldo Boticelli who put the hit on me, just as Nero suspected. So now I have the Italian underboss out for my blood. Nicholai is also looking for me because I defied his order to return to Moscow, and then, of course, there’s Nero. I should have known he wouldn’t just let me walk away, that he wouldn’t be content with my simple promise to return to him. Two weeks ago he turned up here, but it’s the apartment on the floor below that I registered under one of my known aliases. This one, I rent cash in hand. No name.

  Why rent another apartment under a name I know they’ll find? Why bring them here? Because I’m Una Ivanov, and though I may be running for now, I don’t fucking hide. If they want me, they can come. I’m ready for them, and I will slaughter every last one of Arnaldo’s men if I have to. But a week ago, it wasn’t Arnaldo’s men that turned up. It was Nero.

  The downstairs apartment is rigged with alarms and sensors. The second someone sets foot inside that place, I know about it. The alarm tripped, so I left and went to my spot across the street: a fire escape sheltered in the shadow of a dark alleyway. From there I have a clear vantage point into the apartment, and it’s there that I saw Nero. Through my rifle sights I could see the hard set of his jaw, the strain behind his eyes. Of all the people hunting me, Nero Verdi may well be the one I fear the most. You can kill enemies. You can even fight yourself, but you can’t fight fate. You can’t kill the only person you feel anything for, because as ruthless and violent as Nero is, we’re two halves of the whole, hopelessly drawn to one another’s darkness. I long for the rush only his brand of fear can
possibly ignite. He once told me that I can run, that I can put half the world between us, but I will always be his. I am his, and he is the father of my child. And now he’s here, in London, which makes this more dangerous than ever. He cannot know about the pregnancy. He’s an unpredictable creature at the best of times, but this…I can’t even imagine how he’d react. I need time. Six more months to be exact. And then I’ll return to him like I said I would.

  He has my sister after all.

  I blink and glance down at my not quite flat stomach. I have to leave. They took me by surprise this time, snuck in here in the middle of the night. The alarms downstairs never went off. They found me here, in my actual apartment. I can’t get rid of these bodies without calling in help, and help will lead my enemies to me like sharks to a fresh kill. I pick up the burner phone I’ve been using and send a text to Sasha. Need a clean-up at the apartment for five. Going dark.

  I take a quick shower. The water runs crimson as I scrub the layers of blood from my skin. I get out and wipe the condensation off the mirror and stare at the reflection. I barely recognize myself and that’s good. My once white-blonde hair is now chocolate brown, though the dye is fading in places. I find a Band-Aid and place it over the bleeding split on my cheek. My jaw is marred with an angry red mark and my throat is already turning purple from the belt one of them tried to choke me with. This is England. Gun fights are conspicuous. Luckily for me. It’s far easier to take out five guys when they can’t shoot you. I throw on a pair of jeans and a loose-fitting hoody, and then I’m leaving with only one bag. I have cash. My knife. Several fake passports and a laptop. That’s it. I walk the dark streets to the nearby London Underground and head for Victoria Station. From there I’ll buy a ticket with cash and get the fuck out of here. Maybe I’ll go to Ireland, or even Paris, who knows? And the less I know, the harder it is for anyone to follow me. The key to running is to not have a plan, to be spontaneous, and most importantly, to be inconspicuous.