by LP Lovell
My mind starts spinning through the web of potential betrayal. “Nicholai would never betray me.”
“You’re an asset to him. And an asset that is now compromised. If he doesn’t want you dead then someone else does, and he’s selling you upriver.” He steps back and drags both hands through his hair. The beat of music from the street below cuts through the silence that lingers as I try and process the possibility of it all.
“No.” I shake my head, scraping my teeth over my bleeding bottom lip. He wouldn’t, I know he wouldn’t. “He cares about me. He treats me like a daughter.”
Nero’s burning gaze meets mine, barely restrained anger shining through. “Because it suits him. Do not be naïve. You can’t trust him.”
No, Nicholai is the only one who has ever cared about me besides Alex. Alex…the boy I shot, the boy he made me shoot. I press my balled-up fist to my forehead and squeeze my eyes shut. If I doubt Nicholai then I doubt everything, every single moment that has led me to this exact point in my life.
“He’s using you.”
I glare at him, feeling cornered and vulnerable. “Like you did, you mean? And why should I trust you?” My world is crumbling around me. What if it’s all just a farce, even Nero?
He tilts his head, his expression cool and impassive. “Because you’re mine.”
That’s it, three words that mean nothing and everything.
“You used me, Nero.”
“Yes, and you would do exactly the same, Morte.” He’s right, I remember thinking the same thing that first night when he mentioned Anna’s name. The first rule of negotiation, find something your opponent wants and use it. We’re both without morals. We’re both born of bloodshed and battle. His knuckles stroke over the side of my neck and my pulse picks up. “You and I are the same, and we would both use everything at our disposal to win. So, let them come. We’ll destroy them all.” A twisted smile pulls at his lips, and for a moment I feel whole, protected, like I could rely on him. Worse; that I want to. I grab a handful of his thick hair, pulling his face to mine. He kisses me like he owns a piece of me, and he does, because I’m his queen and he’s my bloodied king.
27
Una
We buy a car with cash and hit the road, heading back to New York. Nero’s theory is that I’ll be safe within his ranks until I can work out who wants me dead, and then…we kill them. That’s all we have to go on for now.
Pulling my knees to my chest, I rest my forehead on them. The confines of the car are making me nauseous again. Great. We’ve only been on the road for two hours.
“You know, you should stay out of this.” The pale blue glow of the dashboard casts his face in an eerie light and his lips curl slightly.
“Morte, from the moment I propositioned you, we were tied. If someone is coming after you, it’s because of me.”
“Which means they’ll be coming for you,” I finish. He nods. I study his reaction. “You know who it is.”
“I have an idea.” He glances at me briefly before turning back to the road. “The hit came the day after the shooting. Only an Italian would be annoyed at the death of three other Italians. Arnaldo knows I was shot, but fuck, I’d be suspicious that only Gio and I managed to escape a massacre.”
“He helped you with Lorenzo’s assassination though...”
“Yes, but he thought I could be controlled.”
“And now you’re off book and he’s suddenly realized that you can’t be leashed.”
He nods. “You left the calling card. I walked away with a mild injury. If he knows we’re working together then as far as he’s concerned, I just bit the hand that feeds me, and so did you.”
“It doesn’t explain why Nicholai called it in though.”
He straightens his arms, pressing his back into the seat. “I don’t know, but we trust no one until we have more to go on.”
“You could still go back. I can run, and he’ll have to come after me. He supported you for capo, so to admit that you went against him would make him look weak. He then goes after the kiss of death, and it looks like he’s seeking retribution. No one would ever know you were involved.”
He huffs a laugh. “Noble, Morte, but haven’t you worked it out yet?” He glances at me and cocks a brow. “I live for war.”
“What about Anna?” Nero and I may be willing to fight, but I didn’t go through all this to save her, just to drag her into a warzone.
“She’ll be safe,” he says dismissively, and it instantly makes me suspicious. There’s not a lot I can do about it right now though. If I don’t save myself, there will be no one to save her.
I grip the edge of the toilet and throw up into it. This has to be a new low in my life, facing the disgusting toilet bowl of a rest stop bathroom.
“Una!” Nero bangs on the door, rattling the metal lock.
“Give me a second.”
This is the second day of this, and I feel like death. I don’t get ill, but I’ve been feeling awful since before Miami. We’re just outside Washington though, so we should be in New York at some point tonight. I hear voices outside the bathroom, and it sounds like Nero is arguing with someone before it goes quiet.
“Sweetheart, you need some help?” a heavily accented female voice asks.
Great. I unlock the door and smile politely.
“I’m fine. Thank you.” Her eyes trace over my face, and I’m aware that I look like shit. She’s a middle-aged woman with peroxide blonde hair and far too much makeup on. A name badge at her chest that reads; Wendy-Anne. She smiles kindly, and I see a flash of pity in her eyes before she shoves her way inside and closes the door.
“How far along?” she asks.
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?”
“Uh, a couple of days.” 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. 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 dirty 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 stare at the box for a moment, terrified of it. It’s impossible, so this is fine. A little white stick falls out when I open the box. Growing up with guys hadn’t exactly leant me to know about anything like this. Hell, I grew up learning how to kill people. This wasn’t something I ever even thought of, let alone knew about.
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, almost jumping out of my skin when the door bangs. “Una, we need to fucking go,” Nero calls.
“Give me a minute.”
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 stick, 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 walk 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.
28
Nero
Pulling back the curtain an inch, l look out over the parking lot of the shitty motel. The likelihood of anyone coming for us here is slim, 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 brows pulled together and her eyes lost and distant. I know it’s Arnaldo who’s put a hit on her, just as I suspected he would. But when I put this entire plan into motion, I never for a second thought that I would want her so badly. To 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 complement 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. Together, we’re unstoppable.
Crossing the room, I remove the gun barrel 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?”
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. 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.”
“It would be much worse if I hadn’t used the gun powder.”
“It would be much better if you hadn’t shot me.”
“You know, you’re really hung up on that.” Her lips quirk into a smile, and I grip the back of her neck, pulling her close. Those indigo eyes drop to my mouth, her lips parting.
“I figure you owe me.”
When I kiss her, she tastes of blood and death and everything I want. My free hand slips up her body and beneath her shirt until I’m brushing her breast. Shoving her back on the bed, I crawl between her thighs. Her chest rises and falls erratically, fingers threading through my hair as I kiss over her hip bone and shove the shirt further and further up her body. 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 a portrait of a hard and violent life, and each and every scar only makes me harder for her.
She yanks at my belt until it comes undone, and then grabs my throat, digging her fingers in on either side of my Adam’s apple. When I pull away, she shoves me to my back on the mattress. Then lands on top of me.
“You just love to fucking push me,” I growl, grabbing her around the throat. We always end up right here because it’s where we belong.
“You know I like you angry.” I tighten my grip and a brilliant smile crosses her face. She looks so perfect; innocence and seduction all wrapped up with a fucked up little bow on the top as if she were made for me. When I palm her breast, her body bows, sending 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 nearly make me explode. Sitting up, 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 and revered. And yet here she is, so beautifully vulnerable and trusting in my arms. She feels like all the parts of me I didn’t even know were missing, the parts I didn’t even want.
The lace of her underwear drags over my cock as she rolls her hips in a move nothing short of pure torture. I have no patience when it comes to her, so I grab the crotch of her panties and tear them away. Her fingers dive into my hair, yanking, demanding. I grip her hips, equally as demanding as I force her down on my waiting cock. The trembling of her body is so beautiful. Her pussy feels like the closest I’ll ever get to heaven. She touches her forehead to 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 imprison her against me. 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. I trail my hands up her back, feeling the ancient bumps and welts of long worn scars. And when she comes, it’s like art and music blended into one perfect masterpiece. I bite her bottom lip, swallowing her moans as her pussy clamps down on me. It’s enough to make me explode inside her and collapse back on the mattress.
I turn to face Una where she lays beside me, 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. She gets up and goes into the shitty en suite. The door closes behind her and the lock clicks into place.
29
Una
My back presses against the bathroom door and I 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 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 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 an
d 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.
Kiss Me
Kiss of Death Book 2
Prologue
My heart slams against my ribs as I stand in the living room of the London apartment, shaking with adrenaline. My fingers ache from gripping the knife so tightly. 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’m an island in a sea of death and chaos. Crimson splatters the walls, spraying over the cheap furniture and staining everything in a way that will never truly wash out. Closing my eyes, I inhale the metallic scent mixing with the lingering hint of gunpowder. That smell is like crack to me. It reminds me that I am death itself.