"If that happens again, you need to run as far away from me as you can," he eventually says, and a chuckle escapes me. He doesn't share my sentiment, his features still grave.
He's not joking.
I immediately sober up, and a million question go through my head.
"Are you... ill?" I make the courage to ask.
A dry laugh escapes him, his eyes still focused on the road.
"Ill... I wish. At least an illness has a cause... and a cure. What I have has neither."
"I don't understand," I reply, frowning at his cryptic words.
"It's not for you to understand Sisi. Most days I don't understand myself either," he smiles ruefully. "But I've had enough time to come to grips to the fact that I may never be ok."
"How long have you had this... condition?"
"Condition... That's an interesting way to put it. Who knows, maybe I've always had it. I don't remember a time where I was different. It just got progressively worse over the years."
"Does it hurt?"
He spares me a glance.
"Not for me." He states, and I remember the way his eyes had been glazed over, how his hands had been ready to end my life. Except he hadn't.
"You were going to kill me, weren't you?" I push, seeing this as an opening to learn more about him.
"Yet I did not," he replies ambiguously.
"Why?"
He doesn't answer for a moment. He slowly turns towards me, his eyes clear, his gaze shrewd.
"That's what I'm trying to find out."
We don't speak for the longest time. I try to come to grips with what he's just told me, and a chill envelops my body.
Isn't that what captivated you in the first place? The pure savagery hiding behind the expensive suit.
If I'm honest with myself, that's exactly what had drawn me to him. The fact that he's both man and beast, human yet not entirely humane. There's something deep within him that could crush me in a second.
As I sneak glances to him, I'm once more struck by the way his muscles coil, as if he's trying to keep himself from snapping at any moment. Even when his playfulness is at its best, there's still a tension that radiates off him.
It's also becoming clearer that I am courting danger by being with him. Yet, why can't I find it in me to care?
Maybe because I see in him what I've tried very hard to surpass in myself. Violence that's asking to be let out, blood demanding to be spilled.
I'm at a point where I have to wonder if I am what I am because I've been conditioned, by being called evil my whole life. Or, I've simply always been this way, and some people have astutely noticed before my wickedness manifested.
I wonder... What would he say if he knew I'm a murderer?
Somehow, I think he would not bat an eye.
"Have you ever killed someone?" I ask, my eyes on his profile. The more I look at his face, the more engrossed I find myself in his micro expressions–the rehearsed and the spontaneous.
His lip pulls up in amusement, and he chuckles.
"Someone? Define someone."
"One person? Two?" If he's in the mob like my brother, then he may have committed crimes.
I almost laugh to myself as I realize that not too long I was worshiping god in his very house, and now I'm condoning all types of crimes.
"One?" He turns to me, his expression one of disbelief. "Sisi, you wound me," he feigns a hurt expression.
"Then how many?"
"Are you sure you want to know? You might run for the hills." He says, but I persist, thinking it can't possibly be that bad.
"Tell me."
"I can't say I've counted," he turns to me slightly, as if waiting to see my reaction, "but it must be somewhere in the thousands," he shrugs.
I stare. Open-mouthed. I just stare at him, waiting for him to say it was a joke.
When he sees I'm not reacting, he pulls over.
Turning fully towards me, his lips are drawn in a tight line.
"Don't try to make excuses for me, or even make me into something I'm not, Sisi." He says, his fingers going under my chin and pushing it up, forcing me to stare into his eyes. "It's better if we go into this with some degree of transparency. I'm a cold-blooded killer. I don't need a reason to kill. I just do. So next time you see me in a rage, you run. Because I can't promise you won't be next."
"You're trying to scare me." I whisper, my upper lip quivering.
"Is it working?"
I shake my head. I don't know why. The rational side of me knows I should be scared. I should have been scared the moment he'd had me by the throat, my feet in the air, his eyes emotionless as he'd looked at me. He could have easily snapped my neck.
"It should," he comes closer, and I feel his breath as my own. My pulse quickens, my eyes dropping from his eyes to his lips. "I should scare you, Sisi. I should fucking terrify you," he rasps, but I'm not paying attention to his words. I can only see the way his lips move, his tongue sneaking out to wet the lower one, his teeth white and straight, the dream from the other night making me clench my thighs in discomfort as I remember his painful bite on my skin.
"How... would you kill me?" I raise my gaze to his, swallowing hard as I see exactly what he wants me to see—an emotionless killer.
"Why?" His voice is thick, his gaze unflinching.
"Tell me," I urge him, a sick desire forming inside of me.
Too much time spent in the cemetery must have addled my brain.
His hand comes up to my face, brushing the bangs from my forehead.
"I like to bathe in human entrails," he says with a straight face. "The bloodier, the better. But for you, I'd make an exception," he comments, and I frown. His fingers caress my birthmark before going lower, down my cheek and neck. "I wouldn't put a single mark on your body."
Confused, I'm about to open my mouth and ask him what he means. But just as my lips part on a question, one finger shushes me, his mouth brushing past my ear.
"Lethal injection. You would be dead in minutes. Then I'd embalm your body and keep you for my eyes only," his low hum makes the hairs on my body stand up.
He's talking about killing me and keeping my corpse, and the only thing I'm feeling is an intense tingling in my tummy.
"And what would you do with my body?" I ask on a breathless tone.
The corner of his mouth pulls up, but he doesn't answer. Instead, he parries with a question of his own. "What would I do indeed? Tell me, Sisi, what do you think I'd do?"
I can't answer, even though deep down I know. I can only stare into those wicked eyes, intoxicated by the depravity I see in there.
I was never meant to be a nun.
Not when I'm getting aroused thinking this dangerous man would kill me... and keep me.
"Still not scared?" he asks, his eyebrows raised expectantly.
I shake my head, the briefest movement as a smile spreads on his face.
"You surprise me, hell girl," he whispers. "You almost look like you mean it."
"Hell girl?"
"The only saintly thing about you, Sisi, is your name. The rest..." he trails off, his eyes drifting to my chest.
A breath catches in my throat at his perusal. I have the sudden urge to take his hand and press it to my skin.
"You're wicked." I manage to say out loud.
"Good that you believe that," he drawls, taking my hand and spreading my fingers out. He lowers his lips to the tips, the warmth of his mouth sending a shiver down my body, "do let me know when you're scared."
"Why?"
"Fear tastes best," he purrs, giving me a roguish smile, his teeth gleaming, and I have a sudden flashback to my dream, and to his blood stained teeth.
Vlad parks the car, coming around to open the door for me. Placing my hand in his, I let him lead me down the dim lit streets, the loud sounds of the city contributing to a boisterous atmosphere.
Even now, at night, people are walking the streets, enjoying the freedom of being lost in the crowd.
"Wow," I breathe out when I see the flashing lights.
"I assume this is past your regular curfew," he jokes as we walk down the street, simply enjoying the night air.
"Oh yes." I readily agree, "but I never minded it before. When you're working from dawn to sunset, all you want to do is crawl into bed and sleep."
He frowns, turning slightly towards me.
"I didn't realize nuns worked so hard," he says, taking my hand and lacing it through his elbow.
"One in particular did." I mutter under my breath, since I'm fairly sure I was the only one who had to work almost double the hours.
He raises an eyebrow, but I just shrug.
"I don't think Sacre Coeur is known for its fair working conditions," I add briefly, before commenting "I'm surprised you have no guards with you," all in an attempt to switch the focus from me.
The last thing I need is for someone to pity me for everything that happened there. It's already happened and it's not like I can change the past. And certainly, I would never want to be seen as a victim.
"Why would I need any guards?"
"My brother requires Lina to have at least five guards with her at all times. I assumed that with you guys," I look around before leaning in to whisper, "being in this mob business it wouldn't be safe to just wander around unattended."
"And yet here you are," he smiles, "walking around with me unattended."
"It's different," I say before I can think it through.
"Different how?" He tilts his head to the side, awaiting my answer.
You make me feel safe.
But I don't say that.
"You said you're a cold blooded killer," I reply with half a smile, "I'm willing to bet that people rarely cross you?" I look up to find him watching me amused, the corner of his mouth curling up.
"You would be correct. People would be fools to attack me," he agrees. "But, unlike the rest of the," he emulates my actions, leaning to whisper in my ear, "mob," before straightening his back again, "I have a certain reputation that keeps people away from me."
"Is that so?" I ask, although what I actually mean is tell me more.
"I have a guard I use sometimes to keep up appearances, although if you are in the know," he smirks, unbuttoning the sleeve of his shirt to show me his wrist, and the design that's etched in his skin.
Surprised, I lean closer, my fingers tracing the ink. In the middle is a human skull impaled on a cross. There's only one eye in the socket, wide open and staring at me. A scale of justice is balanced on either side of the cross, one side white, the other black.
His muscles tense as the tips of my fingers move slowly over the surface, and I look up to find him studying me too, a frown on his face.
"What does it mean?"
"Retribution," he says curtly, "an eye for an eye."
"How does that work?" I ask, curious.
"Action and reaction," he covers my hand with his. "In this world, no good deed goes unpunished."
"And people recognize the tattoo?" He nods, tugging my hand into the crook of his elbow once more.
"People spread tales. It's easy to distort the truth when your name is on everyone's lips. Certainly, I've earned my reputation. But there are some things that even I find distasteful," he scrunches up his face in disgust.
"Really? Like what?" My voice comes out a little breathy, and I'm unable to keep out the excitement from my voice.
Vlad comes across as this larger than life person, and his enigmatic personality is only making me want to know more about him.
A smile plays at his lips. "There's one rumor that I collect my victim's organs, and that I have a collection of them hidden in my basement."
"Let me guess, not true?"
"Not exactly. I'd need a hell of a lot of formol. I may have kept some, on occasion, but only for scientific purposes." He says, looking as if he's reminiscing about a fond memory.
"What else?"
"Hmm," he glances up pensively, "there's one rumor that I only eat human flesh."
"You do?" I squeak, the answer unexpected.
"I'm not particular to it, no. But I can't say I haven't tried it before."
"Wow," I breathe out, stunned. "So you're saying that no matter how crazy the rumors are, there's still some truth to them."
"Isn't that the nature of rumors? There's always some truth, but you never know just how much."
"I see." I nod thoughtfully.
"Scared yet?" His breath fans my face as he whispers in my ear.
"No," I turn to him, so close I can almost touch him, "but all this talk of human flesh made me hungry. Now, unless you plan on catching me dinner, I'd suggest you take me somewhere to eat." I say softly, watching his pupils dilate, his lips tugging upward.
"Now, we can't have you hungry, can we?" he drawls, amused, leading me down a lively boulevard.
"Any preference?" He asks when restaurants appear on both sides of the street.
Since I'm not too familiar with restaurant food, I let him decide for me. He settles on a burger place, telling me it's something I must try. We go inside, and because everything is so sounds good to me, I let him order for me, too.
"Oh my," I say, my mouth full, when I finally dive in. This burger thing is positively divine. "Great choice," I add, closing my eyes and enjoying the taste.
There's so much meat and the flavor is bursting on my tongue. I don't even realize as a moan escapes me.
My eyes widen, and I quickly look around, embarrassed.
"No one heard." Vlad's hand comes up to my mouth, wiping some sauce off, "but me that is," he says, giving me a mischievous grin.
"It's too good." I counter, swiping his hand aside.
"I agree," he brings his finger to his mouth, his tongue sneaking out and tasting the sauce. His gaze on mine, I feel hypnotized at the gesture.
So lost I am in his black eyes, that I'm startled by my throat contracting in a hiccup.
My hand flies to my mouth, my embarrassment mounting. Seeing as my hiccups won't stop, Vlad pushes a glass of water in front of me. Grabbing it, I gulp it down in one go.
"Easy," he drawls, a languid smile on his face.
His eyes are sharp as his gaze swings from me to the rest of the restaurant, and for the first time I note that he'd seated us in the back, in full view of the entrance.
His smile doesn't falter, as he half-turns to me, his voice low and grave.
"At my signal, you get behind the table."
I stare at him, curious, but I nod.
A man walks towards the back and Vlad slowly orients himself to the right, stretching his long legs down the aisle to block the man's path.
Everything happens in slow motion, but as I see a hint of steel glinting from the man's trousers, Vlad taps me, swiftly pushing the table down. I realize this is my signal, so I stoop down, hiding behind the table.
From the corner of my eye, I see Vlad kick at the man's leg, promptly tripping him. The man tries to struggle, but Vlad is too fast as his hand grips the gun, taking it out of the man's pants and throwing it to me.
"Just in case." He winks at me, using the back of his palm to kick at the man's jaw until he's writhing in pain on the ground.
More noise from the front of the store, and as I turn to see what's going on. The other customers are running out of the restaurant, all but four men. They rise from their seats, all aiming their guns at Vlad.
"Petrovic," one man speaks. "We know you have him, and we'll need him back," his words are stilted, his accent foreign.
"Well, come and get him," Vlad says, opening his arms in invitation.
I turn to him, stupefied that he'd do something like this, especially since he's in an open field with men aiming their guns at him—directly.
Suddenly afraid for his life, I close my hand over the gun, feeling the cold silver under my palm. A shudder of excitement goes through me as I examine it.
"The safety's off." Vlad's voice rings in my ear, "just press the t
rigger. But not at me, please." He has the gall to joke, even now as the men are coming towards him.
My mouth opens on a warning as I see movement, one aiming for Vlad with his gun. But he's not in the least concerned.
Instead, swiping a silver platter from a nearby table, he holds it up, the bullet connecting with the metal and denting it in its attempt to break the material.
What?
More bullets fly, and I watch in awe as Vlad uses the platter as a shield, thwarting all their shots.
A brief pause, and I see them try to reload their weapons. It's enough for Vlad to ditch the shield, using it as a throwing disk to aim it at one man's throat. He moves faster than anyone I've ever seen as he kicks at a table, breaking the legs, and sending them flying towards the men.
It's a cacophony of sounds as they keep firing more shots, and Vlad defends himself with nothing but his bare hands and whatever he finds around.
Tightening my grip on the gun, I lift my head slightly, watching for the closest man. Raising the barrel, I pray that my aim isn't off, and I squeeze the trigger. My shot hits him in his gut, his hand going to his stomach and clutching at the open wound.
While my endeavor to help proves to be successful, now the others fix their gazes at me, switching focus from Vlad to my hiding place.
Vlad makes a tsk sound, sounding almost bored, before grabbing my hand and effortlessly tugging me to my feet and into his arms.
"Bloodthirsty," he smiles, "I like it," he comments before whirling me around, his front fitted to my back, his arm embracing mine as he caresses the hand holding the gun, firmly placing his finger on top of my own.
One twirl, and he squeezes the trigger, hitting the target square in the face. Another twirl and he avoids an incoming bullet, leaning back to shoot another man.
Three down, two more to go.
The others, seeing as their guns are useless, ditch them in favor of their fists.
"Hold on tight." He whispers in my ear as one man tackles us. Placing his hand under my butt, he swoops me up, aiming my spread out legs at the man in front of us.
"Kick," he says, and I can only oblige, pushing my feet into the man's face until he staggers backwards. One more push and he's out, his head colliding with the edge of a table.
Vlad spins me around, one hand around my waist, the other grabbing a knife from a nearby table. Effortlessly, he swings it forward and it gets embedded into the last man's eye.
Morally Ambiguous: A Dark Mafia Romance (Morally Questionable Book 4) Page 16