by LP Lovell
“So nothing,” he snaps, the bite in his voice making me straighten and take note. He rushes me, storming the space between us and grabbing my jaw, forcing my head to the side until his lips are against my ear.
A fissure of fear settles in my chest, and I smile, feeling my heart hammer in my chest. I feel. Hot, angry breaths blow over my neck, and I shiver.
“Don’t play games with me, Una. Don’t try to negotiate or back me into a corner.” His voice is deathly calm. “We both know that you want your sister a damn sight more than I actually need you. But feel free to test me on it and see what happens.” He releases me, shoving my face away from him and storming out of the room.
I stay there, feeling the rush of adrenaline in my system, revelling in the thrill of him. He scares me, and I like it.
Tommy rocks up a few minutes after Nero leaves. Strolling into the kitchen with his hands in his pockets, whistling to himself. His chestnut hair is messy and although he’s wearing a suit – of course – the jacket is unbuttoned and the buttons of his shirt are open to the middle of his chest. I can also smell the whisky on him from here. Sitting at the breakfast bar with my laptop in front of me, I try to form a plan to take out Marco Fiore. Nero left me a file this morning at least. Like homework. Great.
"Apparently, you and I have a hot date." He winks, hopping up on a stool across from me.
"So you're babysitting me," I say without sparing him a glance.
He laughs, cocking his head to the side as he does. "Well, babysitting implies that you need supervision. I'd go more with watch duty."
I sigh. "Fine. Then you can be of use. I need you to tell me everything you know about Silk."
His eyebrows pinch together. "Marco's place?"
“Yes."
He shakes his head. "It's a strip joint. He's there every Friday and Saturday."
Today's Wednesday. "Perfect."
"No, no, no." He shakes his head again and braces his elbows on the breakfast island as he leans forward. "You won't get him there."
Huh. So, Tommy is well aware of exactly why I'm here.
I smirk. "You do know who I am?" He stares blankly back at me. "I can get to anyone, anywhere." He shrugs and leans back in his chair. Returning my focus to my laptop screen, I study the street view outside Silk. "What about his strippers?"
"They're tight. Mostly Italian girls. It's not impossible but you might fail."
"Which fucks me for another route." I interrupt. I see him nod in my peripheral. "Security?"
He takes a cigarette packet from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. "Marco's a shady fucker. Keeps armed guys with him at all times." He takes a cigarette out and presses it between his lips as a raspy laugh works its way up his throat. "Mind you, I'd be shady if I’d made an enemy of Nero," he mumbles as he holds the lighter up, cupping the flame.
"So he did do something to piss Nero off." I can't help but probe, even though every professional facet of me is screaming not to.
Tommy exhales a long stream of smoke, a small smile touching his lips. When his eyes meet mine, I know that he knows I'm pushing. He knows that I have no idea why I'm hunting Marco. And yet...
"He supported Lorenzo." He shrugs. "He's not a fan of Nero and well, I love Nero like a brother but he has a nasty fucking temper on him."
"So I see." Don’t ask. “How do you know Nero?” Brilliant.
He leans back in his chair, eyeing me warily. “We grew up together.”
“You’re not Italian.” For a second I think I’ve struck a nerve but then he simply shrugs.
“Half Italian, half Irish.”
“That’s unfortunate lineage,” I say, keeping my eyes on the screen in front of me. The Italians and the Irish hate each other.
He laughs. “Yeah, I was the half-breed and Nero was the bastard.”
“A bastard?” Jesus, I just can’t stop.
He takes a long inhale on the cigarette. “So they say. Anyway, we were the outcasts, so we banded together, I guess.”
“Well, Italians are all about their bloodlines,” I mumble.
“Aye, they are.” I get up and make two cups of coffee, placing one in front of Tommy. He takes a hip flask out of his pocket and pours a little in, winking at me as he does.
“I see why you’re on babysitting duty now,” I remark dryly.
He shrugs. I swear he’s impossible to rile. Perhaps that’s more the reason why he’s here instead of say, Jackson. I’m pretty sure I could goad Jackson, put him down and walk the fuck out of here without a backward glance. I swear I can already feel the walls pressing in on me. It’s not the physical fact of being here; it’s knowing I can’t leave. The sooner I get a plan together, the sooner I can get out of here and do what I do best. Tick tock.
Tommy gets a text late in the afternoon and immediately stands up, picking up his jacket off the back of the chair. I’m grateful that he’s leaving. An email from Sasha popped up in my inbox half an hour ago and I’m itching to read it, hoping desperately that he has something on Anna. It’s been five days. Drumming my finger on the edge of the keyboard, I nervously wait for Tommy to leave. He shrugs his jacket on and offers me a small salute before he turns and walks towards the elevator. The second the doors slide shut I pull up my email. Sasha’s message has no subject, no text, simply a link to a website.
I click on it and a website pops up. The second I see the content I have to swallow back bile. It’s a webcam site. It’s all in Spanish and there are various windows, each depicting a video stream. I click on one and it shows a girl sitting on a bed. She’s completely naked with her knees pulled up to her chest. Dark hair hangs over her face and she looks so broken, as if every shred of hope has been stolen from her. Normally, I wouldn’t care. I’d put it down to yet another example of the shitty world we live in and move on, but the revelation of Anna’s fate has flawed me. The girl hunches in on herself. A bullet would be kinder than this. Steeling myself, I keep clicking through the various windows, each one a different dingy, concrete room, a different stained bed, a different destroyed woman. Some of them are alone, others have men in the room with them, and some are being raped, their lifeless bodies being abused again and again. I stop when I see a girl with white-blonde hair. A man is standing in front of her, undoing his belt. She sits on the edge of the bed, her face down and her hands in her lap. He grabs her chin and forces her head back. The hair falls away from her face, and I see her.
“Anna,” I breathe. All too quickly it hits me, my sister is in that place, my sister is one of those girls. I should turn the feed off, but I can’t. The man backhands her across the face, and then he’s on top of her, his jeans shoved down past his thighs as he forces himself on her and rapes her. Everything in me seems to tear apart at the sight of it, and I want to look away, but I can’t, because if she can endure it, then the least I can do is watch it. I wish she knew that I’m here, that I’m looking for her. The worst part is her acceptance. She doesn’t fight, she doesn’t move, she’s just given up. But wouldn’t I? God knows how long she’s been enduring this, over and over, day in day out. The longer I watch, the more broken I feel, until I’m right there with her, hopeless, desolate, destroyed. The pain washes over me like a tidal wave, a darkness so deep it’s bottomless. Anna is in hell, and I feel like I’m right there with her, those images branded into my mind. I push to my feet and pace to the window, wishing I could claw those images from my mind and then feeling guilty for it. I want to find that man and rip his goddamn heart out of his chest. The desolation gives way to anger, and that’s good. It’s good. Anger is a much more manageable emotion to deal with. Startling, I reach for my knife when I sense someone right behind me. Nero’s hand slams around my wrist and his eyes lock with mine as the point of the blade hovers inches from his chest.
“Honey, I’m home,” he says dryly, his expression dark.
Yanking away from his grasp, I begin pacing again, trying to formulate a plan, contacts. I need to get into Mexico.
&
nbsp; “I need to leave,” I blurt. He sighs and walks over to the coffee table, tipping the laptop screen back so he can glance down at what’s on the screen. He sighs, both hands in the pockets of his suit pants as he tilts his chin down. His jacket is unbuttoned, as are the top couple of buttons on his shirt. A whisper of dark ink peeks through the gap in the material; the bad boy shining through beneath his perfectly polished façade.
“It changes nothing.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I hiss. “My sister is in a dirty web brothel, being raped and beaten. I have to get her out.”
He cracks his neck from side to side. “She’s been there six months. She’s been a sex slave for seven years. A couple more weeks won’t kill her,” he says, his expression nothing but icy indifference.
“You knew about this?” I whisper, pointing at the laptop. Why do I feel betrayed by that notion?
He quirks a brow. “Isn’t that what we made a deal for? You kill my marks and I get your sister? As I recall, you haven’t killed anyone yet.” His lips set into a hard line, those dark eyes focused on me, radiating power and arrogance.
“That was before I knew where she was. I’m going for her myself.” I shove past him, heading for the stairs.
“If you thought you could get her yourself you never would have made a deal with me,” he drawls. Pausing, I turn around. He hasn’t moved and his back is still to me, his face twisted slightly to glance over his shoulder. “The same deal still stands, you leave and I go to Nicholai.”
I rush him and he turns at the last minute, taking the punch that I land on his jaw. His head snaps to the side, and when he brings his gaze back to mine, hard, angry eyes have me taking a small step back. “You’re disgusting.” I spit.
“Ask yourself this, Morte… You found that website pretty quickly, considering you’ve been looking for your sister all this time.” He rubs his hand over his jaw before slowly closing in on me. He stops when his chest is barely an inch from mine and leans forward, keeping his hands in his pockets and making no move to touch me. “Perhaps you didn’t want to find her,” he whispers against my ear. “After all, this weakness is what brought you right here to this very moment, at my beck and call. You could be forgiven for wanting to leave such things buried.” He pulls away, staring at me with calculated indifference.
Is he right? Could I have tried harder to find Anna?
“I can’t just sit in this apartment knowing what’s happening to her.” Everything suddenly feels too much. My skin feels tight and hot, and the walls feel like they’re moving, creeping closer. I yank at the collar of my shirt, which feels as though it’s suffocating me. “I need to get out.”
He grabs my arm, and I lash out instinctively. His fingers slam around the back of my neck and he turns me, ramming me against the window with my arm twisted behind my back. His chest presses against me, and I can feel the rabid animal in me clawing to get out of her cage.
“Enough,” he growls.
“I’m going to give you three seconds to let me go,” I say calmly. Of course, he doesn’t, and I jolt my head back, smashing him in the mouth. Dull pain explodes across the back of my skull, but I don’t care. I manage to lift my leg and kick off the glass, throwing us both a few yards across the room. I hear the sound of smashing glass as Nero hits the glass coffee table. I roll off him, completely unscathed after my broken fall. He remains dazed on the floor, and I take my chance. He’s really leaving me with no options. If I stay I risk Anna being in that place for weeks more, and one day more is a day too long. If I leave, he’ll go to Nicholai and Nicholai will probably kill her. That leaves me with one option, kill Nero and run. Throwing myself on him, I straddle his waist and rain punches over his face. His lip is split from the head-butt and blood trickles over his chin. He’s dazed, and I’ll have to work with that. Nero is a lethal adversary, and I won’t have many chances to get one up on him. I place my hand under his chin, gripping it firmly in my palm. Using the other hand I grasp a handful of his hair and twist. I pause for a second, summoning the strength needed to snap his neck. It’s not as easy as it looks.
“I didn’t want to have to kill you, Nero,” I whisper. I truly didn’t. Nero is not a good guy, but I’m not a good girl. His actions are heinous, but it’s nothing I wouldn’t do myself. I feel strangely connected to him, as if the darkness within us unites us somehow. How can you judge or persecute someone when they are, in effect, the reflection of yourself? I don’t look at him and see his acts; I’m simply reminded of my own.
His eyes flash open and his hand slams around my throat, launching me to the side. The air leaves my lungs when my back hits the carpet and I scramble to get away, but his body lands on top of me, pinning me to the ground with his enormous weight. I fight him, attempting to buck him off and create enough space that I can get my legs around him. I can’t. My nails rake over skin in the struggle, making him growl and wrap his fingers around my throat. He squeezes hard enough that I panic. My oxygen cuts off and my heartbeat rises.
Embrace death.
I hear the voice in my head, the voice of my training instructor. I can’t though. My mind is too free, all the ingrained instincts I know so well are absent, and the need to survive is pounding away at me. Nero looms over me like every demon I’ve ever had, mocking and taunting me with my own weakness. His dark eyes watch as I flounder and fade. Black spots dot my vision. He’s going to kill me.
Her eyes roll back in her head and I force myself to let go of her delicate neck, despite wanting to snap her like a fucking twig. She sucks in a gasping breath and her eyes snap open, slowly focusing on my face. “You were going to fucking kill me,” I growl at her.
She frowns. “And strangling me was what? Foreplay? Get off me.” She tries for authoritative but it’s pathetic, really.
Wrapping my fingers around her wrists, I pull them up above her head and pin them in one hand. I brace the other hand beside her head in an attempt not to press every single part of me against her, and that’s not for her benefit, trust me. This shouldn’t be hot in any way, but violent women have an effect on me, and it doesn’t get more violent than her. Watching her gasp for breath, my hand wrapped around that slim neck of hers…the only thing that could make it more perfect is if I were balls deep inside her. She tried to kill me and I have a fucking hard-on for it.
“I’m not doing your fucking job,” she hisses through clenched teeth, panting. Oh, she’s got a mouth on her when she’s pissed off.
Clenching my jaw, I bring my face close to hers, even though she refuses to look at me. Her head flails from side to side. “I took you for intelligent, Morte. You’re acting like a kid trying to play hero to her sister.”
She yanks against my grip, bucking her body in an attempt to break free. “You have no intention of getting her back, do you?” She fights again, but it’s feeble really. She’s long lost the advantage.
Grabbing her jaw, I force her to look at me. “I gave you my word, didn’t I? Are you questioning me?”
“You’re a liar,” she says quietly. Her lips part, her tongue flashing across them for the briefest moment. I struggle to tear my eyes away from her mouth. My dick is rock-hard, and I know she can feel it. I don’t fucking care.
“I don’t lie,” I say absentmindedly. Her chest rises and falls heavily, pressing against me. When I meet her eyes again, they’re on my mouth. Damn, she makes this difficult. Her teeth gently scrape over her full bottom lip and I fight with myself, because fuck knows this is the last woman on earth I should want to kiss, and yet, she’s the only one I’ve ever wanted to put my mouth on this much. Women are nothing more than a moment of pleasure to me, but Una…well, Una would be a world of pleasure and pain. I want to fight her and tame her only for her to break free and do it all over again. I want to strangle her while I fuck her and then fall asleep, never quite knowing whether I’ll open my eyes again, or whether she’ll put a bullet between them instead. She’s a challenge, the unattainable killer. I could list
every reason why this is bad, but right now not a single one comes to mind. She reels me in like a magnet, and I fight it, but eventually…
Gripping her jaw, she gasps as I force her head back. There’s a beat, a moment where our eyes lock, and it’s the rage in her eyes that pushes me over the edge. Mercilessly, I slam my lips over hers. Her fucking mouth. I’ve thought about her perfect lips since the first time I saw her. How many men have kissed her and actually lived to tell the tale? For a second she freezes, and then her lips part and her tongue darts over my bloodied bottom lip. She moans into my mouth, the sound going straight to my dick. She tries to pull her wrists free and I release her, trailing my free hand over the curve of her waist, the swell of her hip, the toned length of her thigh with the blade holstered to it. Gripping her thigh, I hike it up over my hip, spreading her legs further apart. When I drop my lips to her neck, her fingers wind through my hair, pulling me closer. Her pulse pounds beneath my lips, and when I bite down on her soft skin, she physically trembles, her body bowing up to meet me instinctually. The vicious little killer softens, purring beneath my touch, reacting so fucking perfectly. Her hips shift and she rubs against my hard dick, forcing a low groan past my lips. She’s dangerous and addictive, simply kissing her is a rush of danger, and I’m quickly reminded why when I feel the cool brush of steel at my throat. Clever girl. Smirking, I slowly pull my face from her neck and stare down at her swollen, blood stained lips and too bright eyes.
“Last chance,” she says, her voice wavering.
I cock a brow, daring her. She presses the knife into my skin, the sharp sting of the blade breaking through flesh. Warm blood trickles down my throat. “I’m asking you to trust me, Una.” I keep my eyes locked with hers, hoping she can see that I mean it. “Trust. Me,” I growl. She looks so vulnerable, so beautifully feral.