by LP Lovell
Smiling, I push up off my stomach, disassembling the gun quickly and putting the pieces back in the case. And my last gift for Nero…plausible deniability. I take the card from my pocket - the queen of aces – and press my lips to the back of the card, leaving a bright red lipstick mark. I throw it on the ground amongst the four spent shell casings. The Italians will come looking, and this is what they’ll find. It will either halt their search right there, or put a price on my head.
Exiting the abandoned apartment, I pull my hood low over my eyes as I make my way down the fire escape. My black Mercedes lays cloaked in shadow in the alley at the back of the building and I jog to it. I jump in the car and pull away from the scene of the crime. That’s it, I’m done. I took out Nero’s guys; I fulfilled my end of the bargain. I’ll stay here long enough to make sure he follows through with his end and then… then I’m gone. Anna and I will go somewhere no one can find us.
Freedom has always seemed like such a sweet and alluring prospect and yet now that I’m faced with it, I’m not sure what it really means. Nero is, in a way, a captor, a villain bribing and coercing me to do his bidding, and yet, somewhere along the way he became a dark savior I didn’t even know I needed. He makes me feel safe, and in my world, safety is like a rare and coveted gem. For the first time in my life, I’m torn between what I want to do and what I should do, because I’ve never wanted anything.
When I get back to the apartment, Nero isn’t yet back. I jump in the shower, throwing on one of his shirts after I’ve dried off. I’ve become unnecessarily fond of wearing them.
I’m in his bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed when I hear the elevator open. The sewing kit is in here, and if he’s already been stitched then he’ll be so out of it on painkillers he’ll have to sleep it off. Gio helps him into the room and glances at me, a calculating look crossing his features.
“You going to shoot him again?” He eyes the pistol strapped to my thigh, and I smile. Nero scowls at me, but it’s lost on a wince as he leans against the wall next to the door.
“Would you believe me if I said it was for your own good?” I bite my bottom lip, trying to suppress a grin as I glance at Nero.
“You can go, Gio.” The calm in his voice is both terrifying and exciting.
“Nero, you’re bleeding.”
“Go!” he says with more bite this time.
Gio sighs and throws a hard look my way. “If you kill him, I will hunt you down.”
“If I wanted him dead, he’d be dead. The hunt would be fun though.” I blow him a kiss and he scowls before walking out of the room. “He is way too serious.”
Nero stalks towards me. My heart pounds until it’s all I can hear, the beautiful crescendo rising like a wave. He’s a walking promise of pain and retribution right now. The white of his shirt is stained crimson, matching the fury painted on his face.
He shrugs out of his jacket and leans over me, forcing me to lean back. His face lingers just inches from mine as he strokes his knuckles over my cheek far too gently. Releasing a trembling breath, I’m poised, waiting. Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump. My heart pounds like the drumbeat in a marching band. His fingers leave a sticky damp trail of blood on my cheek before he drags his thumb over my bottom lip. I can practically taste his blood on my tongue as he touches his forehead to mine and closes his eyes. My entire body coils tight like a spring ready to explode, and every single muscle aches with the tension. Lips brush over mine in the whisper of a kiss and I inhale the familiar spicy scent of him, laced with the metallic twang of his blood. When his tongue caresses mine, I moan. It’s a distraction from the fingers inching around me throat, squeezing hard enough to cut off my air. I smile.
“You fucking shot me,” he growls.
My smile widens, and his eyes flash dangerously. “Plausible deniability,” I recite his own words back at him.
“I should just kill you.” A cruel smile twists his lips and I gasp when his fingers tighten, pulling me up to meet him.
“You can’t kill your queen.”
“I no longer need my queen.”
“What will it be then, Nero? Kill me or kiss me?”
“Ah, Morte. Both, always both.” He shoves me down on the mattress and his arm locks, his full weight pressing down on my windpipe, completely cutting off my oxygen. He stares down at me with fire in his eyes. And there it is, his fury –pure, unbridled rage. The monster is out of his cage and he’s come to play. This is our natural state. Him, with his hand at my throat, me, fighting him every step of the way, only to succumb eventually.
I claw at his wrist, gasping for air through my closed throat. He presses even harder and my heartbeat pounds so fast, the fear consuming me, driving the adrenaline through my veins. I want it, I always want it. Reaching for him, I grip his shoulder and push my thumb against the bloody patch on his shirt, trying to feel the torn and damaged tissue through the dressing that Gio has haphazardly applied. He roars and rears back. Seizing the opportunity, I maneuver him onto his back.
“Play nice,” I say, straddling his body and leaning over him. Using the heel of my hand, I press against his shoulder, making him hiss out a breath. With very little warning, he explodes upright, catching me by surprise and shredding the material of his own shirt from my body in a fit of rage. I love that in the heat of the moment he’s an unpredictable creature, ruled by his violent nature. His bullet wound doesn’t seem to bother him as I wrench the buttons of his shirt open. His lips move over my neck angrily, kissing, biting, sucking down the column of my throat and over my collarbone. He tosses me on the bed and flips me onto my front as if I weigh nothing. I hear the clink of his belt buckle, the rustle of material… My body trembles with anticipation, my skin flushing in goose bumps as I wait for the heat of his touch. Fingers dig into my hips, dragging me across the mattress before he lifts my hips. The hot skin of his chest meets my back as I push up on my hands and knees, his body folding over mine. The steady drops of blood hit my shoulder blade before rolling down my side and dropping on the bed. The red spots mar the pale grey of the sheets beneath it, crimson spreading and staining the fibers. Blood and sex are such a heady combination, the evidence of violence only feeding the desire I have for him. His hand meets the back of my neck and he forces my face down onto the bed. I get no warning before his fingers are pushing inside my pussy, making me bite down on my own arm to stifle a moan.
“So fucking wet. Shooting me does it for you, hey?” He pulls out and pushes back in again.
“I like you angry.”
“Oh, baby, I’m fucking angry all right.” His fingers leave me, and I barely have time to register any movement before his dick slams inside me so hard I’m winded. A strangled sound escapes my throat as I choke on a pained groan. He doesn’t give me a chance to recover before he’s pounding into me like he hates me. I smile, relishing in every single inch of his rage. “I’m going to tear you in two before I’m fucking done.” And he very nearly does. The entire time I can feel the steady dripping of his blood on my back. I let out a feral growl as he hits a point so deep it feels like he’s trying to crawl inside me.
“Yes. Break me, Nero,” I beg, hoping for his brand of destruction, seeking a punishment and a salvation that only his unbridled rage can mete out. He drives into me even harder and the pain blends with a deep-seated pleasure, pushing me to a place I’ve never felt before. My core clenches hard and everything explodes outwards, sending waves of pleasure shooting through every single muscle in my body. His name falls from my lips over and over like a curse, and he stiffens behind me on a roar. When he pulls away, he instantly collapses on the bed. I lie there, desperately trying to catch my breath. That was…uncontrolled. I’ve spent my whole life chasing control, and distance, striving to be rational at all times, and suddenly, he has me craving the opposite of all those things.
I like walking that fine line, fucking him while knowing we could very well kill each other the second it’s over. Needing each other, wanting ea
ch other, knowing that we’re the last thing either of us should be running towards, or maybe I’m wrong. Maybe we’re exactly what each other needs. I embrace Nero, my depraved reflection staring right back at me.
I turn my head to the side, glancing at him. His chest rises and falls in deep swells and a thin sheen of sweat covers his skin. Blood is steadily seeping through the dressing at his shoulder. “You’re bleeding,” I whisper, brushing my fingers over the sticky, wet dressing.
His fingers wrap around my wrist, the grip bruising. “It’s fine. The doctor will be here soon.”
I sit up, slowly peeling the dressing away from his skin. The neat bullet hole pumps blood steadily. Normally, it wouldn’t be an issue, but it’s been an hour since I shot him and now his heart rate is elevated. “I’ll be back.” I get up and take one of his shirts from his closet. Downstairs, I open my rifle case, plucking a single round from its spot nestled in the foam interior. I then grab the cleaning rod that I left in the dining room earlier.
When I get back to the bedroom, Nero hasn’t moved. He lies there with his eyes closed, a red stain spreading across the duvet beneath him.
“I need you to sit up. This is going to hurt.” His eyes open and he snorts as he follows my instruction.
“More than being shot?”
“A lot more.” He glares at me, and I shrug. “Do you want to bleed out?”
He blinks and it takes him a long second before his eyes open again. Placing the tip of the bullet between my teeth, I pop the head off the casing. The wound is a through and through, and the only way to heal it quickly… well, it’s not pleasant but it’s worth it. I pull the dressing off his back and place the back of the casing against the bullet wound. Glancing at his face quickly, I take a deep breath and shove it inside. His eyes go wide, and he grits his teeth, snarling.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“Stop being a baby.” I press the cleaning rod into the open end of the casing and push, forcing the casing through the open wound. He growls and I’m pretty sure he’s going to hit me before I can get it all the way through. The bullet pops out the front of his shoulder and the bleeding quickens. Nero is swaying dangerously, his breaths becoming fast and hard.
Blood steadily runs down his body, flowing over his muscular stomach until it soaks into the seam of his boxers. Grabbing his jacket off the floor, I take his lighter from the pocket, flipping the top back. He frowns and eyes it through drooped eyelids. “What are you doing with that?” His words are slurring slightly now from blood loss and pain.
“I’m sorry.” I’ve had this done to me and it’s the worst pain I’ve ever experienced. Coming from me, that’s saying a lot. I move the flame closer to him, holding it to the edge of the wound. A small spark catches and he roars like a wounded beast. Every single muscle in his body contracts and a vein at his temple throbs erratically before he collapses back against the pillows. He drifts on the verge of consciousness, his chest rising and falling rapidly. By pushing the bullet casing through the wound, it leaves a trail of gunpowder. Light it and it instantly cauterizes the wound, killing any infection and stopping the bleeding. It will heal the wound a lot faster, but it hurts worse than the original bullet.
Picking up his legs, I move them, positioning him on the bed. I take the small syringe of morphine that I left beside the sewing kit earlier and slide it into the vein on the inside of his forearm. Within seconds his eyes close and he’s out for the count. Maneuvering his unconscious body enough to put dressings on both the entrance and exit wound is not easy feat. He weighs a ton. I hesitate at the edge of the bed, before telling myself I should sleep with him, to keep an eye on him. The steady rhythm of his breathing lulls me to sleep.
The scene unfolds before me, exactly as it has so many times before. Nicholai stands beside me and thrusts the gun into my shaking hand. The tightness wraps itself around my chest, and the guilt and grief rush up around me until I’m drowning in their murky depths. I look at the far wall, to where Alex is chained; only this time, it’s not Alex. Nero stares back at me, his face perfect and unmarked, his hard, muscular torso bare and without a trace of the blood that usually features in this dream.
Nicholai brushes that tendril of hair away from my face. “Become what you were meant to be, little dove.” His thumb trails over my jaw, and I close my eyes as a tear slips down my cheek. “Put a bullet in his head or put a bullet in your own,” he grates, his lips brushing the side of my face.
I open my eyes and instead of seeing Alex begging me to shoot him, Nero demands that I do so. A small smile pulls at his lips and my arm moves of its own volition, lifting the gun as if I were nothing more than a puppet on a string. Panic starts to bubble up my throat and my breathing becomes frantic as I try desperately to lower the gun. I stare at Nero, tears tracking down my face as I realize what is about to happen.
He stares back at me, a cocky smile plastered on his lips. “Do your worst, Morte.”
My finger twitches over the trigger and the bang echoes around the room before his body slumps forward against the restraints.
“Nero!” I scream and fall to my knees.
Jolting awake, I gasp, I can’t breathe. My vision is blurred with tears and my entire body is shaking as I struggle for air. Nero lets out a pained grunt and then his hand lands on my face before he falls back against the pillows, breath hissing through his teeth. I swipe angrily at the treacherous tears as I slide out of the bed. All I can hear is Nicholai’s voice in my head; You are a weapon and weapons don’t weep.
“Where are you going, Morte?” Every word he says is strained, and I know how much pain he must be in.
“I’ll be back.” I take the opportunity to go to the kitchen, grabbing the medical kit. There are various painkillers in there and a couple more bottles of morphine. Grabbing a syringe and needle, I head back to the room. The memory of the dream replays in my head like a bad horror film, and I’m shaken, not by the notion of having the dream, but of the fact that shooting him upset me so much. I can’t remember ever feeling such a sense of loss, not even when I killed Alex. I loved Alex, but in a way I always knew it would end badly. We grew up in hell and he was never strong enough to bear the atrocities there. He was too good, too kind, loved too hard and sacrificed too much. Nero, on the other hand, always seems so indestructible to me, so utterly implacable, like a cliff face standing against a hurricane. Nero isn’t Alex, Nero is more. And didn’t I always know that I was a danger to him, just as he was a danger to me? The dream hit too close, felt too real.
Returning to the bedroom, I sit on the edge of the bed, turning the bedside lamp on. Nero squints against the light as he turns his face towards me. He looks pale, the usual golden tan absent from his skin. He stares at me and I drop my eyes to the bottles in my hand, focusing on opening the syringe packet.
He grips my chin with strong fingers and forces me to look at him. “Don’t hide from me, Morte.”
“I’m not.”
His thumb swipes over the corner of my eye. “You’re fucking beautiful when you cry.” I squeeze my eyes shut and his thumb trails over my cheek. “Tell me about your dream. You screamed my name. Did I hurt you?” I open my eyes and focus on his lips, because I don’t want to look in his eyes. “Tell me what could possibly make death cry,” he whispers, withdrawing his touch.
“I shot you,” I admit.
“Yes, you did,” he says dryly, those dark eyes watching me closely.
I shake my head. “I killed you.”
“You’ve killed a lot of people.”
“This…” My voice gets stuck in my throat. “This was different. I felt like …like a monster,” I rasp. I can’t tell him that the reason I felt so horrible is because pulling the trigger damn near tore me apart. I don’t want to care for him.
“Because you are. Embrace the monster inside you or become consumed by it. That is the difference between brilliance and insanity, Morte.”
He crooks a finger at me. Wordlessly, I
climb onto his lap, straddling his thighs. My lips press over his and all the noise in my head goes silent, because nothing outside of him exists for these few seconds. This connection I have to him makes me feel safe, he makes me feel safe, and that scares the shit out of me because people like us, we’re never safe. He’s dark and twisted but so am I, and I want to bask in his depravity. I want to be held by him and feel protected in the knowledge that he is that which others fear. Pressing my forehead to his, I close my eyes, breathing him in. We both know that whatever this is, it’s temporary, but for now, I want to experience something I’ve never had. Him. This. Us.
When I wake up in the morning, Nero is still out of it. I dosed him up on morphine before we fell asleep last night and his chest rises and falls evenly with heavy breaths. His arm is wrapped around my waist, pulling me tightly into his side. I brush my fingers over the warm, smooth skin of his chest, wanting to stay this close to his blistering heat, because he makes me feel as though I’ll never be cold again.
I jump when my phone rings, buzzing against the bedside table like a pneumatic drill. Hurrying to disentangle myself from Nero’s hold, I quickly pick it up, glancing at the screen. Shit. Getting out of the bed, I leave the room, quietly closing the door behind me before I answer.
“Nicholai.”
“Ah, little dove.” He croons in Russian. “I have missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too.” It’s more a false of habit than anything, but I do have an affection for Nicholai, a bond of sorts, in as much capacity as I have.
“I have a job for you. Very important, a personal favor for a friend. He requested you.” A thousand thoughts rush through my mind, but the main one is that I’ll have to leave, but of course, I will. I was always going to have to.