Kill Me: Kiss of Death 1

by LP Lovell

  “Never.”

  I push my throat harder against her blade, hissing a breath through my lips as my mouth brushes against hers. “If you won’t trust my simple ability to hold up my end of a bargain, then believe in my basic sense of self-preservation.” I breathe against her. “I’d have to be a stupid man to screw over the kiss of death, wouldn’t I?” She squeezes her eyes shut.

  “Not if you kill me.”

  I smile and stare at her lips. “Well, now that would be a waste.” Her eyes lock with mine and she seems to be searching for something. Finally, she takes a deep breath before the blade slips away from my neck.

  “Fine, but if you fuck me over, there will be nowhere you can hide, Nero.”

  “Such a savage little butterfly.” I smirk and push off her. She rolls to her feet and says nothing, simply walks past me and heads for the stairs. My pulse is still pounding and my dick is rock-hard. I have to give her points for effort and creativity. My dick is so hard it fucking hurts.

  Heading straight for my room, I strip as I go into the bathroom. The second I’m standing under the hot water of the shower, I fist my painfully hard dick and start stroking over the length. Squeezing my eyes shut, a scene forms in my mind. It’s so fucking hot and twisted. I picture Una, standing over Lorenzo’s dead body. She looks at me and then bites down on her bottom lip, dragging her teeth over it as she releases the soft flesh. Hopping up on the desk, she slowly glides her skirt up until the material is bunched at her waist. No underwear, just endless milky soft skin and a bare pussy. She spreads her legs wide and I get a glimpse of fucking perfection. Her hand drops between her legs and she starts to work one perfectly manicured finger over her clit. The noise she makes has me groaning and throwing my hand against the tile to steady myself. She takes two fingers and buries them in her pussy, moaning and writhing, whispering my name. Oh god. Pleasure starts to course through my veins and electricity rips over my body in a wave. A low growl leaves me as I come, spurting spunk into the stream of water and watching it wash away down the drain.

  This is what I’m reduced to, spanking one out in the shower, because the deadly assassin I brought into my house tried to kill me. A beautiful woman with a homicidal streak has always been my weakness.

  I wake to a blood-curdling scream that has me instinctually reaching for my gun before I realise it’s just Una. I swipe a hand over my face and roll over, hearing another scream, and then another. Jesus. Is she being fucking murdered? Getting out of bed, I leave my room, lingering outside her door for a second. She said not to go in there, but it’s my fucking apartment, and I need to sleep. This has been constant for days now. I push open the door and approach the bed. She’s tossing and turning and it looks as though she’s fighting a battle in her sleep.

  “Una.” She doesn’t wake, but the tight set of her body looks almost painful. I sigh and shove her arm. In the blink of an eye she’s bolt upright and I’m staring down the barrel of a .40 cal. Of course. “Are you ever going to stop pointing guns and knives at me?” I sigh.

  Her arm wavers an inch before she finally lowers it. She’s left all the blinds open and the ever-present light from the city below illuminates the room. Dark shadows linger under her eyes and for once she has no smart remark for me. She drags a hand through her hair and leans against the headboard. “What are you doing in here?”

  “I love to hear a woman scream, as much as the next guy, but if I’m not fucking her or hurting her, then it’s just annoying.” She glares at me.

  “Again, you’re the one that wanted me in your apartment, not me.” God, she’s never going to stop with that shit.

  “Yeah well, I didn’t expect the big bad killer to have fucking night terrors.” Her jaw clenches, her eyes flashing angrily. Apparently, that hit a nerve.

  When I sit on the edge of the bed, she moves away from me, shunting to the other side.

  “What are you doing now?” she snaps.

  “Sleeping.” I lie down on the bed, ignoring her. That vanilla and gun oil scent of hers wraps around me immediately.

  “Here? You want to sleep here?” she asks, her voice hiking.

  “Your whining I can sleep through. When you’re whining you’re not screaming bloody murder, so I’ll take it.”

  “You’re an asshole,” she grumbles under her breath. Ignoring her, I close my eyes. “Nero, seriously…” She shoves me. “You are not sleeping in my bed.”

  “Actually, my bed.” I have a moment where I marvel at what a normal conversation this is. I could almost be friends with Una if I wasn’t me and she wasn’t her, but even then, I’d still want to fuck her. Or maybe I wouldn’t. It’s her bloodlust that makes my dick hard.

  “I’m starting to worry that you have no sense of self-preservation whatsoever.”

  I smile. “Is that a threat, Morte?”

  “I don’t threaten.”

  I smile wider. “Promises, promises.”

  She growls under her breath. “You’re insane.”

  I’ll get up in a minute, of course, but something about her temper makes me smile. She’s right, I am insane. I have money, respect, power, women and a job that feeds into all my dark and violent desires. I have everything I want and need, and yet, Una makes it all feel boring. She’s dangerous and unpredictable. She’s everything I crave from life in one deadly package, and that might well make me insane, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned in life it’s to accept things for what they are.

  The gentle trail of fingertips over my chest pulls me from my slumber. I blink my eyes open, gathering my bearings as I look around the room before glancing down to find Una’s cheek pressed to my bare chest. Shit, I actually fell asleep here. Her arm is thrown over my body and her fingers glide over my left pec, before trailing down my abs one muscle at a time. I swallow hard when her palm presses flat against my lower stomach, her fingers just brushing the waistband of my boxers. Her deep, even breaths are the only thing that stops me from throwing her down on this mattress and fucking her. Instead, I grit my teeth and lie there, my dick throbbing as I stare at the dark ceiling.

  I feel the warm, solid chest beneath my cheek and listen to the strong, rhythmic heartbeat pounding like a steady drumbeat. Safety, familiarity, warmth…things I crave. Things I will never again have other than here, in my dreams. The weight shifts beneath me and my semi-dreamlike state starts to shatter. I don’t want it to. Desperately, I try to cling to it, but the morning always comes eventually.

  “Alex?” I croak, wrapping my arm more tightly around him.

  “Guess again.”

  I jolt awake and the second I realise there’s a body in the bed with me, I’m on the defensive. Reaching under my pillow, I grab my knife, before throwing myself on top of the hard body beside me. Nero doesn’t even open his eyes but a wide grin works over his lips as I run the blade along his jawline. He slept in my fucking bed. Anger has never been a problem for me. Emotions are simply a forced response born of attempting to appear normal to the outside world. But ever since he brought up Anna, I’ve been out of control. I feel too much. I would say it’s just her, but I don’t think it is. He has the ability to rile me where no one else ever has. He brings things out in me that I didn’t even think existed. I feel like a ball of thread and Nero is just pulling and pulling, unravelling me. And eventually, all that will be left is a tangled mess, impossible to put back together again. In a way he scares me, and I long for my cold indifference, my dark hole where nothing and no one can possibly touch me. His eyes flash open, ensnaring me instantly.

  “Careful, Morte.”

  “Or what?” I snarl.

  His hands grip my hips and his body rolls beneath me, pressing his hard dick right into the apex of my thighs. Warmth unfurls low in my stomach, and I frown. One of his hands wraps around the back of my neck and he wrenches me forward until we’re face-to-face, the blade between us. His grip is firm and unrelenting, and as he stares at me in the darkness, my heart pounds in my chest. I close my eyes fo
r a second, listening to that rhythmic pulse hammering in my ears. Life. Electricity.

  “Look at me,” he demands. Snapping my eyes open, I meet that dark gaze of his, normally so calculating. The whisky colour of his irises swirl, morphing into a honey gold. Wrapping his fingers around my wrist, he squeezes hard and forces my hand away from him, until the blade leaves his throat. His eyes drop to my mouth, and I swallow heavily, parting my lips to drag in much needed oxygen. It’s like he’s vacuuming all the air from the room with just a look. My mind flashes to that kiss yesterday. I only wanted to render him weak, but the brutal brush of his tongue, the way he takes without apology…I’ve never felt so out of control, and I’ve never wanted that lack of control so much.

  His thumb brushes over the side of my neck just as I feel the sharp scratch of the blade over my collar bone. He gaze narrows and perhaps I should feel threatened but I don’t. Everything slows and I smile as I stop thinking, and just feel. Inhaling a deep breath, I listen to the pounding rhythm of my heart, feel the frantic rush of adrenaline and desire swirling and mixing into something so potent, it cripples me.

  My entire being focuses on the exact point where his hot skin presses against the insides of my thighs, where the blade ominously lingers, threatening. His free hand glides over my thigh and I grit my teeth, fighting my quickening breaths. We remain like that for a beat and I tell myself to pull away, but I can’t. I find myself wanting to walk this line with him. His touch trails higher and I shiver, swallowing my gasp when his fingertips brush the seam underwear. His gaze brands me as he studies my every move, every tremble, every desperate breath. His fingers slip beneath the thin material and my hand darts out, grabbing his arm and forcing him to pause. Cocking a brow at me, he twists my wrist, causing the blade, still clutched in my fingers, to drag over my chest in a burning line. My breath hitches and I can feel the blood well before spilling slowly over my skin. My grip on him softens enough that he brushes over my wet pussy, leaving me physically shaking as the opposing voices in my head reach a crescendo. His lips twitch in the low moonlight cast through the windows before he roughly presses two fingers inside me. My eyelids shutter on a ragged breath.

  "Fucking look at me." His voice rumbles through the darkness and my eyes snap open.

  He holds me hostage, watching me as he pulls his fingers out and then thrusts back in. My mouth falls open on a silent moan that hitches in my throat and everything slips away. Logic and reason cease to exist and all that matters is that he makes me feel this need; he makes me want him in this all-consuming way. Nero is danger and lust, rage and desire and I shouldn’t like it, but I do. Our eyes lock as his fingers move inside me, sending me hurtling towards a precipice. The knife digs into a point in the centre of my sternum and heat tears through me as the thrusting becomes more aggressive. My core tenses just as a moan slips past my lips.

  "Come for me, Morte." He groans and the intensity presses in on me, his scrutinizing gaze making the pleasure so intense. I fall apart, feeling his eyes on me and moaning incoherently as my nails claw over his skin.

  I remain there, on my knees, my hands braced against his solid chest as I attempt to catch my breath. I’ve never felt anything like that, never felt so completely owned by someone. The knife disappears and his hand slips away from me. He brings his fingers to his lips, smearing moisture over them before sliding them in his mouth. My heart stutters over itself, and I’m caught between being embarrassed and consumed with a debilitating want. I can’t take my eyes off his mouth as his tongue flashes out over his lips. He smirks and pushes up off the mattress until our faces are a mere breath apart, his lips brushing over mine teasingly. He tilts his head and his tongue strokes over my bottom lip until all I can taste is myself. His cock is pressing against me and it has me faltering, the trance slipping. I push against his chest and he pulls back, those burning eyes locking with mine.

  “I…” I start, but I have no words. Climbing off him, I rush for the bathroom, seeking some space, some clarity. I go to slam the bathroom door but he’s there, blocking it.

  “Don’t do that shit,” he says calmly, the desire I saw in his eyes only seconds ago replaced with a simmering anger.

  “Get the fuck out, Nero,” I snap.

  “Who’s Alex?” he asks.

  What the fuck? The mention of his name has memories flashing through my mind in a burst of images. Brown eyes, an easy smile, safety, warmth, love, and then horror and heartbreak, death and destruction.

  “Someone I killed,” I say. Nero watches me through narrowed eyes and his jaw sets in a hard line. I don’t want to talk to him about Alex, because in a strange way he reminds me of him. It’s the eyes; they have the exact same coloured eyes. That’s where the similarity ends though. Alex was kind and good. Nero is bad and cruel. Alex was the light to my dark. Nero would be the pitch-black shadows that linger even in the darkness, calling to me, enticing me.

  We stare at each other for a few seconds before I cock a brow at him. “I need to shower.” The numbers on the bedside clock glow, showing that it’s only five thirty in the morning, but I don’t care. I’ll take any excuse to get away from him.

  “Tommy’s busy today, so I’m taking you to a meeting with me,” he says out of the blue.

  I want to tell him to stick it, because I’m not one of his soldiers, but honestly, the thought of getting out of this apartment is far too good to pass up.

  “Fine. Now, get out.” He drags his eyes over my body without an ounce of shame and then turns and leaves. Sighing, I brace my hands against the vanity, staring at my reflection in the mirror. I jagged line runs from my collar bone to the centre of my chest, just above my tank top. It’s just a scratch, and it’s nearly stopped bleeding already.

  I don’t want to think about Nero and what just happened in there. It’s more concerning to me that I thought he was Alex. That’s disturbing on so many levels, but mostly because Alex was the only person who ever made me feel safe, an instinctual bone-deep safety, an implicit level of trust. Nero made me feel that same safety for just a few seconds, and I don’t like it because it feels like he’s taking something from Alex, something he has no right to take. Alex may be long gone, but he will always be that boy for me, he has always been ‘the one’. Some people have a past, demons…mine ride on my shoulder constantly waiting for an opportunity to take a bite. I’ve done awful things, and truthfully, I tell myself that I did them to survive, because I had to, but there is no such thing as having to. There is always a choice. I chose to survive, whatever the cost, even when it cost Alex’s life. What is the price of one human soul? Because I’m sure by now I don’t have one. I gave up on all sense of morality a long time ago. Any soul I have left I’m willingly selling to Nero, surely. If the devil were a person then it would undoubtedly be him.

  I spend a couple of hours in my room, avoiding Nero. He’s waiting in the kitchen with an espresso in his hand when I get downstairs. He’s wearing a suit as usual, and it hugs every graceful line of his body. I wonder if anyone actually falls for his sophisticated façade. Don’t get me wrong, he’s intelligent and a shrewd negotiator, not to mention manipulative, but beneath all the cunning civilities he’s feral and blood thirsty, the most basic of animal qualities. I’ve never felt that more than when his eyes were on me and his fingers in me, his name on the tip of my tongue. I want to be appalled by him, but the worse his is, the more captivated by him I seem to become. His eyes flick up briefly and he studies me while sipping on his coffee. A small frown line sets between his brows.

  “If you even think about asking me to dress like that…” I point at him. “I’m going to cut you.” His lips twitch and he wisely keeps his mouth shut. Pulling the clip out of my gun, I place it on the breakfast bar, loading three more bullets into it then clicking it back into place. I can feel his eyes on me.

  “What?” I growl without looking up.

  “This isn’t really a gun kind of meeting,” he says.

  Placing my gun i
n my holster, I lift my gaze to him, cocking my head to the side. “It’s that kind of attitude that will get you killed,” I drawl.

  When we get to the parking garage, Tommy is leaning against a black Range Rover. He grins at me. “Una, you are looking ravishing today.”

  “Fuck off.” I glare at him and he laughs. He opens the back door of the SUV but Nero places his hand on the small of my back, leading me away. I quickly shrug off his touch, glancing over my shoulder to see the dogs jump in the car.

  “First babysitting me, now you have him chauffeuring your dogs.” I snort. “What did he do to piss you off?” The lights on a black Maserati flash and I go to the passenger door.

  His eyes meet mine over the top of the car, his expression its usual unreadable mask. “It keeps him out of trouble.”

  I narrow my eyes and he ducks inside the car. I get in. “Better to find trouble than be driving dogs around,” I remark.

  He starts the engine and revs it without looking at me. “In this city, there is nothing more dangerous than being Irish and Italian,” he says quietly.

  My lips twitch as I fight a smile, my eyes still on him. When he twists around to look out the back windshield, his gaze briefly touches mine. “You care about him.” His eyes quickly slip away.

  “In order to lead you must be loyal to those who follow you. My guys work for me, and I protect them.” He reverses the car out and puts it back in gear. “That’s the mafia.”

  There’s something about him that has me perplexed. The mafia would never truly accept Tommy. Like I said, they’re all about bloodlines. And from what I know of Nero, he’s not exactly popular in the mafia himself. Respected? Yes. Feared? Certainly. Liked? No. I still haven’t worked out what his play on this entire situation is, and with my sister in the balance, I want to know.

  “Is that what all this is about, the mafia?” I ask, feigning only vague interest. “Your loyalty to them?” The muscles in his jaw tighten and then spasm beneath his skin. He says nothing, so I ramp up the pressure. “You’ve managed to climb pretty high…for a bastard.” The second I speak the words I feel the air shift, like the crackle of electricity in the atmosphere before a storm. Outwardly, he doesn’t move. His gaze remains fixed on the road, but his posture tenses, his knuckles turning white on the steering wheel.