After the Kiss

by Violet Williams

  "Runnin' to the store," she said. "Need anything?"

  I shook my head. "I'l probably head out in a bit myself."

  She brought her arched brows together. "Is the TV bothering you? I'd watch it in my room but you know I had the, uh, accident."

  Her accident happened yesterday when she'd gotten into it with her mom's insurance company. They were trying to get from under al the pricey treatments and were throwing in the towel on a technicality, something about Liani forgetting to sign one dotted line in a novel of paperwork. She'd responded by cal ing some unfortunate lackey everything but a child of God and chunking her cel at the TV. And then the drawer of her dresser.

  "No of course not," I lied with a lackluster smile. "You know how it is. Sometimes you're most productive when you get out of the house."

  She bought it and walked out in search of comfort food and I let out a sigh of relief at the peace and quiet. I flipped over on my stomach and spread out my books on my comforter. Just as I began to skim the connecting with problem children unit, my ears perked as I heard the front door open and close.

  My stomach made a hungry grumble and I decided whatever caused her to forget something and come back was giving me a sign. "Hey Nonni! Grab me a couple of soft tacos while you're out?"

  I expected a smart ass response about the fat wrapped in a tortil a would be the death of me while she grabbed a couple herself, but I didn't hear anything. No response. I just shrugged and turned my attention back to my book.

  I didn’t look up from my textbook until the smells hit me. Axe and a sense of entitlement. I damn near snapped my highlighter in half when I looked up and saw Max leaned against the door jamb.

  When he used to lounge around, draping against things like he owned the place, I shrugged it off as a charmed life. Heck, I even gave him a hard time about it. But now I saw there was something predatory behind his stance. And it scared the crap out of me.

  I opened my mouth to ask him what he was doing, to tell him to get out, but the words stal ed on my tongue. Before, I'd been intimidated by him, worried about the consequences when he unleashed his fury on others, but now...now, I knew that he was heartless. I'd been fooling myself thinking he wouldn’t hurt me. I was no safer than they were.

  His aqua eyes drank in my discomfort. "I let myself in. Hope that was okay." His gait as he strode to my bed told me that even if it wasn't, he didn’t care. "Haven’t heard from you in a while."

  I wanted to shoot him an incredulous look. He made me witness to murder. What the hel was I supposed to say to that? But God only knew what would set him off, so I chose my words carefully.

  "Been busy, Max. School stuff."

  "I know what you mean," he chuckled. "If I have to type one more word on another bogus paper, I'm gonna scream."

  I forced a smile, but I knew it probably looked more like a grimace. I didn’t know what was more painful, that he was willing to subject me to that horror or that he thought we could just sit on the bed like nothing happened.

  He slid closer, his hand brushing against mine. I lurched back into the headboard, his touch sending a white hot current of fear through me.

  Oh Jesus—what was I thinking? I slowly raised my chin and met his gaze, expecting to see steam shoot from his nose. Instead, I only saw sorrow. It was the absolute last emotion I thought he was capable after that night.

  "You know how my father proposed to my mother?" He didn’t wait for my answer.

  "He took her with him to col ect on an overdue marker."

  I flinched as Max moved, expecting him to lash out like a snake. Instead, he just rose to his feet, his back to me. "She stood beside him as he cut off every single one of the prick's digits. And when it was time to finish him off, she watched him put a bullet in his head."

  I felt sick. Suddenly his mother's whole Martha Stewart act seemed vile, but nowhere near as disgusting as the dread that sunk in as I realized why he was telling me this.

  "Not everyone is cut out for this life." he continued quietly. "One day, I'll take over my father's empire, and it'l take a special woman to stand by my side. I thought you were that woman."

  My words came rushing out like a river, consuming whatever pipe dream he'd had for us. "What on earth gave you the idea that I'd be the kind of woman that would be okay with any of this?" I let out al my anger, my fear, my frustration. "I mean, holy shit Max! You killed someone last week. You kil ed someone." I couldn’t tel if my words were sinking in because his back was still turned but I kept pumping them out. "I didn’t sign up for any of this. I don’t want any of this." I don’t want you. Say it Ebony! "I don’t wa..."

  "Maybe you misunderstood." He pivoted around to face me and my heart quickened in my chest. Not out of lust and pure want like it used to. Images of his body hard and muscled didn’t fill my mind's eye now. Blood and brain matter did.

  The Ebony I'd been before I let my attraction chip little pieces away rebuilt in that moment, stone after stone until I could push off the bed and stand in front of him. "No, maybe you misunderstood. I loved you. But I am not your mother."

  Something strange flitted across his face as he brushed my cheek. "No you're not."

  His fingers made their way to my locks and a chil ran over me. Before I could take a step back, he grabbed a fistful of my hair and forced me closer to him, shoving his mouth onto mine. There was no passion in his touch; only hurt. The last time he'd grabbed me like this, he'd locked me in a room to watch a man die. Not again. Never again.

  I ignored the screech of pain that erupted at my scalp as I yanked away from him.

  There was space between us and I grabbed the closest thing to me. A wooden broom. I knew in the grand scheme of things it was like bringing a knife to a gun fight.

  I faked strength, holding the broom out. "Get the hell out of here! Now."

  I didn’t expect him to listen. An alpha male like Max didn’t listen to anyone. But I definitely wasn’t prepared for the laughing. It came out of his mouth in loud, obnoxious guffaws that cut through the tension and replaced it with fear. Nothing amusing had been said.

  I bit my lip. What if he was having some sort of psychotic break?

  He swiped at his eyes, his laughter tapering off. "You know, when I told my father I loved you and was considering proposing, he laughed. He told me that a woman like you was not suited for this life." His face hardened. "He's great at reading people, and even from the beginning he told me you were bad news. My father's kinda old school so at first I thought he was freaking because you were black. But then he told me he got some information on you. That you were more than just weak...you were also a liar."

  My mouth went dry, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth. "W-What?"

  "I know about you and Demetrius."

  I wavered, lowering the broom a little. It was a mistake.

  He bridged the distance between us and backhanded me with a force that made me topple backward onto the bed. The pain made everything hazy and when a strong odor filled my nose, the fight in me drained out like air from a balloon.

  He had a washcloth in his hand and pressed it against my nose and mouth. Panic was pointless, because before I could beg for mercy or scream, everything went black

  ****

  TONY/DEMETRIUS

  I knew something was wrong as soon as I walked in the door at the office. Usual y it was packed with the layabouts, boasting about whose ass they kicked this week. They'd regale Boris and I over burnt coffee and old doughnuts and make up some excuse to hang around until lunch, when Nikolai came to 'work'.

  When Boris came barreling from the file room, dread sunk in my gut like a stone in the sea.

  “Demetrius!” He grinned from ear to ear. Like we were old chums.

  I had heat burning in the holster tucked beneath my V-neck sweater, a .25 at my ankle, and I knew the location of every piece in the room.

  Boris came closer and my body went rigid, ready to go if he made his move. He reached in his breast pocket
and my hand went to my jacket.

  Make my day, mother fucker, I thought, keeping my face as blank as a sheet of paper. I dare you.

  But when I heard a familiar rustle, I relaxed a little. He was reaching for his cigarettes.

  He shuffled his obtuse form to one of the desks, letting out a weary sigh.

  Why the hel was he so tired? Boris barely lifted a chubby finger unless it was time to col ect on delinquent accounts. I knew for a fact he spent weekend doing one of two things: harassing the dancers at the club or in front of his flat screen, bottle of vodka within reach.

  “Man,” he yawned. “This weekend was crazy. Lots of bitches and booze.” He glanced over at me. “Oh and enlightening. Can’t forget enlightening.”

  I bristled. “Enlightening?”

  He nodded. “Very educational.”

  I scoffed at that. “Didn’t think you and education were familiar with one another.”

  His eyes flashed, but he just shrugged his shoulders. “It’s a funny thing, education. And learning. Learning about people.”

  A sliver of panic went through me. He was toying with me. Was it possible that he knew about me? Knew that I was undercover?

  I played it cool. “Whatever.” I gestured at the empty office. “Where is everyone?”

  “Out,” he said cryptically. He gave me a long, pensive look. “I figure you and I could talk about some things. Some important things.”

  “Like what, Boris?”

  “I think you know.”

  My throat closed and I tugged at my col ar, dropping my gaze and letting out an uncomfortable laugh. “You’re acting real weird, man.”

  “Acting,” he said with a sigh. “You know anything about acting, Demetrius?”

  "What the fuck?" I rumbled, cutting through the bul shit. The tension snapped as I turned on him. "Don't be a pussy. If you've got something to say, say it."

  "Right to the point, eh?" Boris said, licking his thick lips. "I assumed you'd be into drama.

  Al the world's a stage. Shakespeare said that, right?"

  His jab kick started my heart and two words screeched in my head as I tried to remain impassive. He knew.

  Boris stil munching on a cheese biscuit, both of his massive hands more concerned with stuffing his face. As I tried to nonchalantly move my hand to my side where my gun was tucked at the ready, he let out a roar of laughter that made me freeze.

  "Come on, man." He shoved half the sandwich down his mighty gul et then dabbed at the corners of his mouth. In a blink he was al business like, taking a fighting stance.

  An uninformed man might have laughed at the spectacle--jowls quivering, gut protruding past his waistband. But I knew he was a trained boxer, leaving a string of decimated faces in his wake and even more grotesque results under Nikolai's employ. To underestimate him was foolish.

  He flashed another infuriating grin. "Let's fight like men, yes?"

  I let my hand drop from my piece, instead, bringing both fists out front and center. When I first researched the case and saw what happened to people that crossed him, especially women, it made my blood boil in my veins. I'd wanted a chance to go at him, to feel bone crunching beneath each blow; to maybe give him an ounce of the fear his victims felt before they went unconscious or fel into the black one doesn't wake up from.

  We circled each other and he seemed impressed that I bobbed and weaved around the desk, never taking my eyes off him.

  "I memorized everything about this room the day I walked through the door." I paused as he came to a stop. "As well as everything about everyone."

  "Oh yeah?" he said, perking a brow. "What do you know about me?"

  "Boris 'the butcher',” I answered. “Decent boxer. Horrible human being."

  His eyes flashed. "Every person that got it at my hands had it coming. When you make a deal with the devil, don't cry when it's time to pay up."

  "And the dancer from the club that you force fed your pungent cock? What deal did she make?"

  He let out a bitter chuckle. "She signed away her rights as soon as she strut that pretty ass on stage." He stopped the circuit. "You should have seen her face when she realized it was no D/s shit but I had every intention of uglying her up. She talked about her sick kid. Like the sob story would change a god damn thing."

  He closed his eyes for a moment. "You stunk like a rat from day one, Tony. Nikolai said it was only a matter of time." When I blinked rapidly, stopping hard he explained. "He likes to play with his food. Me? I like to make things bleed. I didn’t believe that you hadn't told her a thing until she started spitting up teeth." His own teeth glittered as he cocked his head to the side, giving me a pensive look. "I wonder how long Ebony wil last?"

  Al rationality went shuttling out the window as I digested what he said. They had Ebony.

  Those fucking pricks had Ebony!

  My words cut through my clenched teeth. "If you harm a single hair on her head-"

  "Oh I don't want to harm her," Boris said smoothly. "Not right off. Maxhew wouldn’t believe his beautiful ebony queen was capable of the deception until I showed him photographic proof." He let out a sickening moan. "The sounds that girl is gonna make once I get my hands on her..."

  "You fucking BASTARD!" I lurched toward him but he quickly ducked and my blow missed him by a mile. He easily jabbed me in the side and I bit through the pain, turning as he began to circle me like a vulture and his prey.

  I only saw red as I made another move, swinging wildly. He easily weaved and landed another blow on my other side. Pain and terror for what they'd done to her, what they would do was stripping me of over a year of combat training. I just saw her doe eyes wide with fear.

  She'd crumbled that night when she saw what Kournikova's operation was capable of. But she'd been behind the gun that night. She was strapped to the chair now.

  "Come on," Boris taunted as he easily landed another punch. My face exploded in agony and I felt the dam break as blood oozed from my nose.

  "I thought Spaniards were supposed to be great fighters." His cockiness made him drop his fists. "Al that running with the bul s and cha cha shit."

  I took the chance and swung my arm at an angle and up, knocking him back a few paces. Before I could bask in getting a good blow in and prepare for the next, he moved with an agility that should have been impossible for a man his size. Before I could step out of the line of fire a combo erupted at my torso and chest. Just as I staggered backward, he moved in for a second, making my body jerk like I was being lit up by an automatic. When he finished with an uppercut, my body slumped down to the floor.

  As I lay on the ground, I stil fought, right up to the point that he pressed his boot on my throat and pointed a gun down at my head. The devastating thought that I wouldn’t be able to save her broke my heart into a mil ion pieces.

  I'm sorry Ebony.

  "Before you start planning on meeting your maker," Boris spat, bul ets of sweat spraying me like rain. "This is a dart gun. Maxhew is stil a little raw about you taking a bite of his chocolate cake." A smile split across his ugly face. "And Nikolai has something real nice planned."

  I wanted to say something, to let him know that I was gonna make sure he didn’t walk away from this, but there was only a flash of red and the pinprick of something in my neck before the lights went out.

  13

  EBONY

  I knew it was blood. Blood--copper, bitter and warm and it was rushing through my teeth.

  My eyes were closed, squeezed so tight I saw stars. I'd lose it if I opened them.

  The man, the same evil man from before was there with his putrid breath and bug eyes.

  If I opened my own his would be looking at me. Staring at me. Boring into me.

  I could tel from the way his jowls quaked and trembled that he drank fear like a fine wine. I'd seen it when Max drug me kicking and screaming to this very room where I watched him saw off a man's finger as he sang along to “Stairway to Hayden”. Now there were just the sobs coming fr
om me as he ran his jagged fingernail across my face. I wasn’t sure which was more terrifying-that I was strapped to the oak chair that dozens of others had cried in, bled in, and stripped down in said chair in nothing but a bra and panties, or that I knew Max was sitting on a stool, watching the whole thing.

  "Open your eyes, Ebony," he said, no love or compassion in his deep voice. "Or I'l have Charlie open them."

  I remembered the bloody slice of flesh that hung off the corner of the murdered man’s eye. Swinging and shuddering like earrings. His eyelids had been severed so he couldn't shut his eyes.

  I popped mine open, finding Max. I held tight to those blue opals, searching for something, anything of the guy I’d cal ed my boyfriend. When I found nothing but hurt and anger, a new barrage of tears coursed down my cheeks.

  I'd played with fire from the very beginning. He'd never pretended he was nothing but Maxhew, nothing but an angry person with issues. I was the one that tried to make him someone else, even when I saw his handiwork. Bruised faces. Terror fil ed eyes. Evil side-glances with his father. After the night he made me watch them torture someone, how could I be surprised that he was a cold blooded monster whose ire would eventual y burn me?

  "You make surprise of me," the butcher, Charlie, said in broken English. He moved to the metal tray fil ed with odds and ends that would make me scream in octaves I never knew existed. "I work for Kournikova many years. I was there when he make wife watch. She surprise me too when she didn’t scream." He formed his gangly fingers into a gun and pul ed the trigger.

  Max final y rose to his feet like some dark apparition, his face hard as stone. "She surprised us both. She told me she was mine and al the while was fucking some cop."

  I shook my head so hard I felt woozy. "No..NO! You don't understand!"

  "Hit her, Charlie."

  Before I could react, his hand sliced toward me. No, his fist. It col ided with my jaw and pain exploded in a thousand places, rippling across my face. My head lol ed to the side and when I gasped, I felt a jet of blood stream from my mouth and splatter on the concrete. It was a bright red puddle against a brown background. My blood added to the mix of countless others. A col age of death.