Brutal & Raw: Mafia Romance & Psychological Thriller (Beneventi Family Book 1)

by Sonya Jesus

  “You can,” I tell him. “I’m not the first life you’ve taken.”

  He rests his forehead against the back of my head. No longer pressing himself against me, his words come between heavy sighs. “But you’re the only life that matters.”

  Time stills, defying order.

  Words are lost in the time between breaths. My defiant questions are stuck somewhere in my heart, roaming aimlessly as they wait for it to beat again, and his are stuck in his confession, replaying the secret over and over, until he gets over the shame of his vulnerability.

  Only then does time swoop into effect.

  Minutes tick by far too quickly, almost as if they were seconds, and he flips me around to face him. This time, gently. Like time, defying his own chaos, Breaker pours his worry out of his soul and lays it bare for both of us to see. “I’ve thought of you naked a hundred times.”

  His fingers slide under the thin straps of my dress, curl around the fabric, and tug them down, exposing the bare skin of my shoulders and the curves of my breasts. He dips his head low until his mouth hovers over my skin, his breath tickling the area beneath it. “I’ve imagined your face on every woman I’ve been with. I’ve touched myself, wishing it was you touching me.”

  He slips his tongue out to stroke the stripped skin before gently placing a kiss to the tiny dip of my collarbone, feeling my pulse with his warm tongue.

  My heart speaks directly to his mouth. No lies in between words, just truths between beats and wishes on breaths. Words scream through the layers of flesh and pound against his lips, demanding to be heard.

  Ba-Bump… Kiss me.

  Ba-Boom—Bump… Kiss me now!

  Unwilling to obey my commands, he lifts his lips. My cheeks burn under the pressure, tangling my insides. He lifts my hands, running his fingers along the under part of my arms, down the sides of my waist, and over the curves of my hips until he reaches the hem of my dress. Slowly, he peels it off of me and drops it on the floor before stepping back to admire.

  Prey, victim, or lover. Which am I?

  An untelling gaze holds back secrets only he is privy to. He teeters on danger and love, like a burning man on a tightrope. Peril fills the room around us. Reminiscent of our first time together, the metallic stench of blood and the early odor of decomposition mixes with the scent of arousal.

  My mind is full of warnings, each one running around, banging on the crevices of my mind, summoning the negative parts of our early days. It hurts to think of those times when I was his prisoner, and yet I ache for him.

  For the closeness.

  Out of its own volition, my subconscious obeys and steps closer.

  He doesn’t budge—not a single damn inch—but his eyes… Oh, those blue eyes burrow through me.

  Digging deeper.

  Drilling to the center of my resolve until the earth shifts under the pressure, bringing me closer, my body quaking without the safeguard of distance.

  His eyes narrow, and as if by command, the air around us dissipates. The atmosphere—tense and heavy— absorbs the sounds of my heart and stratified breaths, retaining the heat emitted from both of our bodies and trapping us in the moment.

  This excruciatingly beautiful moment.

  With nowhere to run and nowhere to hide my vulnerability, he reaches for me, exposing my weakness—him. No matter how brutal or how raw he is, I crave him. His touch heals the wounds he inflicted, and only his kiss satisfies the need he created. Even when I wasn’t his prisoner, I was his. My thoughts belonged to him, my loneliness was because of him, and in my sleep: he controlled my dreams and my nightmares. By the looks of it, I had unknowingly done the same.

  He is as much mine, as I am his. Because for someone who moved heaven and earth to find me and want me dead, I am still here—naked and being devoured by his hungry glare.

  The pads of his fingers brush against my skin, wiping away any other man’s touch, or branding me his. I’m not sure which, but I welcomed the erasure, willing it to continue with the softest moan, nearly inaudible, but he heard it.

  Of course, he heard it.

  “Your body missed me,” he affirms arrogantly. A smirk plays across his lips as his hand lowers toward my center, mimicking the first time he touched me. “Home…” He stretches the word out excruciatingly slowly as his fingers roam toward the apex of my thighs.

  “Remember?” He sucks the marrow out of me with his words. “Only I have the key.”

  Blazing cheeks and scorched heart, it hurts to remember his touch on my skin. To ache for it in every bone of my being, but when he parts the folds and barges through the water-damaged, swollen doors with his fingers, I moan out, “I remember.”

  And I did, but he skillfully reminds me. “Pour me a drink.”

  On command, the walls of my canal liquefy my arousal.

  “That a girl,” he groans, as he pushes me back against the wall. Kneeling before me, he uses both hands to spread me apart and runs his tongue along my center, tasting my weakness. His strong hands hold me up. “You want to hate me,” he reminds me with all the arrogance I hate. Even kneeled before me, he still holds all the power, and he knows it.

  “I do hate you,” I manage to say between his careful licks and my heavy purrs. “I hate that you do this to me.”

  He steadies his assault on my core. “You love it,” he challenges with a dark, lingering threat of retreat. By it, we both know he meant ‘me.’

  Another test.

  The warning in his tone, as clear as it ever was. Breaker was never one for hearing the opposite of his decisions, and he has the power to bend someone to his will, or break them.

  Deny or confirm. Will him to continue and die by his love, or refuse him, and die by his hate. I’ve only known one side of Breaker, and that side was dark and twisted. I’m afraid to know what his darker side looks like, so I answer truthfully. “I haven’t been able to forget.”

  Satisfied with my answer, he dips his tongue into my lady pool again: sucking, drinking, and whipping my core with his muscle whip. I take every delectable lashing and grip his hair as he strokes deeper, steadying his movement and trying to stall the orgasm building inside me, but he’s insistent.

  He’s my curse, my hex, my devil. He has me praying to the dark side with every, “Yes.”

  His mouth is asking questions, but he’s not speaking.

  “Yes…yes…yes…” I don’t know what I’m agreeing to, but I want it—darkness, sin, and all.

  My core contracts around his tongue, squeezing it out of me. He evacuates and centers his attention on my bell, swirling his tongue around until the tiny muscle chimes his name, desecrating the church that is my body with my orgasm.

  Not giving me a second to breathe, I fall to the ground.

  The clink of his buckle hitting the floor excites me. He brings my hands around and uses his teeth and muscular jaw to cut through the tie before hovering over me.

  The tip of his hardness glides over me, teasing me. He leans in, pressing his chest to mine and whispers, “Do you know how hard I’m going to fuck you?”

  My insides tingle as I respond, “Tell me.”

  His lips trace a path from the lobe of my ear to the base of my neck, heating me up and lighting me on fire. “Until I’ve scarred you forever,” he says, as he lights my flesh ablaze, burning through the layers of skin and truly scarring me his forever with the depth of his fire.

  First degree. His lips press against the nape of my neck, sending embers down my spine.

  Second degree. Flames flicker beneath his palm, damaging my defenses and shooting through my muscles as he bends me at the waist. His arousal parts my folds—

  Third degree. Deep thrust as he sets a match on fire and buries it deep within my core.

  Thrust by thrust, layer by layer, he burns through the melting skin, bones, and muscle until I am liquid pleasure in his hands.

  22

  End Us

  Breaker

  I glance down at the girl in
my arms. Her once red hair dyed black is tucked up and hiding in a messy bun. Untamable, silky strands fall from the circular elastic band, which struggles to control the wild pieces and keep them in place. I lean in, reach for one of those tiny pieces, and lightly trace the length to the soft hollow of her shoulder. With this proximity, despite being slightly damp, it sways with the inhales and exhales of my breath, softly caressing her skin as it succumbs to the power of my lungs.

  I cease breathing and hold the air within my mouth. The dark strand stills, as if I commanded it to do so. I hate it. I’m the stupid hair tie holding her back.

  I exhale. The force of my pent-up breath blows the hair to her face, and it gets caught on her lips. The same lips, which despite the atrocities, said nothing to anyone. She could have destroyed me if she wanted to. Arrested or killed, it was her choice, and yet she chose silence.

  Why?

  Because she saw past a mafia boss and knew I was a good man? That’s bullshit, and I don’t believe it for a second. I’m not a good man. Hell, I’m not even a good boss these days. I’ve put everything I ever wanted at stake because something inside me is changing—is warming to the idea of loving someone other than myself.

  I’ve been obsessed with finding her and bringing her back to me. Now that she’s here, I should kill her, but she’s perfect for me. She accepts me without wanting me to change.

  I sigh deeply. It’s now or never, I tell myself. Unless…I send her away from here, with a new identity and a new life.

  Away from a brother who sees her as a pawn.

  Away from Kelsie, who with a simple threat to Hayden, would end her life.

  Away from Franco, who would enjoy breaking her to pieces.

  Away from Magdalena Cabrali, who wouldn’t hesitate to kill her.

  And as far away from me as she can possibly be.

  My heart screams, protesting the distance. It pounds against my ribcage so hard, it feels like punches, bruising the bones unwilling to bend and accommodate the unrelenting fight within me. I want her, and I can have her, but she won’t survive me. One day, I’ll wake up to an empty bed—to a vacancy in my arms and holes in my chest—and I wouldn’t survive. Emotional holes from invisible weapons are unhealable. They don’t bleed, but they’ll bleed me dry because… I’ll be her killer, one way or another.

  But only if she stays.

  Death. How is it an option when I can’t imagine a life where those soft breaths, weighted with sleep, no longer breathe life? Without her, there’d be a loss, or I’d be lost, or maybe I’d be saved because I could stop looking for something I don’t want to find.

  I should end this right here.

  I rub at the constriction in my chest with the heel of my free hand, soothing the tenseness. Involuntarily, my eyes flicker toward my nightstand. Hidden behind the dark cherrywood with dark marble accents, my loaded gun calls for me.

  I extend my arm. It fights me with every inch closer.

  I pull the drawer open. Even the air in the room resists.

  I tuck my hand inside. The wood creaks its warning.

  I wrap my fingers around the metal. My grip falters.

  I hold the gun against my heart. My soul echoes back my heartbeat.

  I twist on my side and bring the barrel of the gun between us. I position it so one single bullet would end her life. A few seconds of pain to spare her an eternity of suffering. Just one bullet, I try to convince myself. One bullet will make all her sleeps peaceful for the rest of her life.

  I press the metal to her skin, and my breath erupts into a sigh, causing my lips to tremble.

  She moans softly beside me, her skin pressing against mine and reminding me of all those moments she helped me escape my life.

  I close my eyes and hold in the evidence of my fears before they turn into proof of my love. I’m not familiar with love, but I already can’t imagine a life without her.

  “Breaker?” Her voice shakes, and her slender fingers wrap around the cold metal pressed into her chest. She doesn’t ask about the gun aimed directly at the worst weapon in the world—a heart—but she takes advantage of my loose grip and glides the barrel up toward her lips.

  I open my eyes and drop my head. The movement causes the tears to slip through, and I rub my face against the sheets that smell like her. The same white linen our bodies were wrapped in just the night before.

  The gun moves again, away from her, and I glance up at her. Explanations flow to the tip of my tongue, but none of them make it out. Her eyes peer through me. Deeper and deeper without so much as a blink, she searches my irises for something to numb the reality—to make her hate me—and I want to give it to her, but my tears win. They flow instead of words, and answer right to the wrong questions.

  She nods. No liquid emotions find their way out of her. She brings the gun to her forehead and looks me in the eyes.

  Unspoken answers glide down my cheeks, and I try to shut them up and close my eyes, but it hurts.

  It hurts so fucking much.

  “Do it…” she urges softly. She licks the dryness from her lips, and I watch those lips tell me to end her life, over and over again, as if those two words are the only words left on the earth. “Do it… Do it.” Each couplet comes out smoother than the last and makes it harder to look at her.

  She presses the gun hard against her breast. It will bruise if she lives past this moment.

  I put my finger on the trigger, and she squeezes hers over mine. The metal lever depresses slowly, and I fight her strength.

  “Do it!” she screams those same two words.

  I add one more. “Why?”

  She swallows hard and lowers her hand, releasing control. “Because I understand.”

  I suck the tears back in and force them down. “Understand what?” The heavy voice comes out like a growl.

  “I’m not safe here. I’m not safe anywhere,” she scoffs and sits up, tugging the sheet with her to hide her body from me.

  I growl, “Are you trying to say I can’t protect you?”

  She tilts her head to the side and sighs deeply. “I’m saying the safest place for us is six feet underground. So end this, end us…please.”

  “No!” The idea of us twists my gut. “I rather be whole and in a box, than in pieces and in someone else.”

  Her eyes flicker to the gun that now rests on the mattress between us. “So, kill me.”

  “Why don’t you ask me to save you?” I shove the sheets off of me and get to my feet.

  She looks away for a second. “Because…” Her voice breaks and continues to break my heart. “Because the last time I asked that, you sent The Butcher after me.”

  At the safe, I plug in the numbers: 3-2-7 followed by three zeros. “I let you escape. I gave you a head start.”

  “Then you sent your sister to kill me.”

  “No, I didn’t.” I pull the door open and glance inside. The five videos are there, next to the silencer, and a back-up plan. “I sent her to find you and bring you back to me.”

  “For what?” She gets up and vacates the space I want her to occupy. “Because you wanted to make sure I didn’t tell anyone about your disgusting farm? About the horrible things you do to the women you steal and torture? Or because you wanted to play with me again?” She points to the sheets. “We’ve been here before,” she shouts and steps toward me. “I know how this ends.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  Her incredulous laugh burns a hole in my stomach, and I glance at her over my shoulder. “A bed. Dead bodies. Four walls. Fake comfort. Making me feel like you’re human?”

  I grab what I came for and flip around, slamming the door to the safe. “This place is not like The Farm.”

  Her eyes lower to the object in my hand and follow me as I make my way to the bed. “Let’s stop pretending like you see me as anything more than an animal.”

  Her words hit every nerve in my body, but the distance is worse. She backs up against the wall, terrified. Like a wounded ani
mal. I pick the gun up from between the sheets and screw on the silencer. Her jaw tenses as I tuck the gun back in the drawer and slam it shut. “You can’t even kill me to save my life.”

  “That makes no sense!” But I understand what she means. Only I can save her from the fate I’ve condemned her to. I slide on a pair of sweatpants, tuck the envelope into the waistband, and point my finger at her. “Get your shit! We’re leaving.”

  23

  Go Away

  327

  “Get out.”

  I glance out the window, expecting to see the field of wild poppies. Instead, I see train tracks. Trains don’t run at this hour. Thoughts race through my mind as I try to contain my frantic heartbeat. He’s going to kill me? All the way out here? I run my hands through my hair and lean forward between the seats. “What?”

  He flicks his hand through the air, pointing to the darkness outside, then leans back on his seat. “I thought you were smart. Don’t you understand what ‘get out’ means?”

  “I understand what ‘asshole’ means.”

  He smiles. Too relaxed for a murderer.

  “Is this some sick game, Breaker? Catch and Release take two or something?”

  He sighs. “I’m not playing with you. I’m setting you free.”

  “Right.” I nod and lean back, looking for shadows in the distance. “Bullets aren’t fun or something? Is The Butcher coming for me, or Kelsie?”

  “It’s just us.”

  Us. I hate that word. Flashes of the last few nights flash in my mind and flush out my emotions. “How could I have thought you were anything more than a monster?”

  He turns his upper body, so he’s staring directly at me. His eyes penetrate and I shiver. “Either open that door,” he says, emphasizing each word with his abrasive tone, “and get your ass out of my car, or I’m going to drive you back.”

  “Back where? To The Farm?” Unlike before, I can’t contain the fear and rage bubbling my blood and squeezing the anger out of my throat. I swallow the lump nestled between my voice box and my airway and throw my hands in the air. “You didn’t want to get blood on your sheets? So you brought me out here because you hid your balls somewhere out there?” I point out the window, returning his condescending tone.