Tales of Darkness & Sin: An Anthology

by Pepper Winters

  Killer entered with a tea. My eyebrows shot up.

  “You can’t run, so don’t waste your energy.” He set the cup down on the nightstand then pushed me back down and covered me with the blanket.

  “Why do you care?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Then why can’t you just let me rot in your basement? Why bring me up here and give me tea if you’re going to kill me anyway?”

  “Because it’s no fun killing someone this weak,” he growled before he walked over to an armchair in the corner next to the window and sank down. I lowered my head to the soft pillow, confused by his strange behavior but also oddly comforted that I wouldn’t spend my last hours in the basement.

  Shuddering, I closed my eyes.

  “Drink the tea,” he ordered.

  That night my fever broke. My teeth clanked together as I shivered wildly, my skin hot to the touch. My underwear and the sheets were soaked by my sweat and I must have looked an absolute mess with my hair stuck to my forehead.

  Maybe my pitiful sight was why Killer stayed at my side, foregoing sleep. He pressed a cold washcloth to my forehead, brows pulled together. He hadn’t said anything in hours, only watched me with this intense expression. It didn’t make sense for him to take care of me like this…unless he cared for me a little.

  I doubted he generally felt pity for his victims so it was the only explanation why he took care of me. Maybe our time together had stirred something in him like it had in me. A longing for a connection, for a meaning in his life that went beyond killing.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” he growled.

  “Like what?” I croaked.

  He shook his head and dropped the washcloth on the nightstand. “As if I’m your fucking savior. I just want to make sure I fulfil my contract.”

  I laughed weakly. He stalked over to the armchair and sank down.

  Two days later I was feeling much better. I finally managed to get out of bed and take a long shower, washing off all the grime. When I emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around my body, Killer sat on the bed. Slowly I made my way over to him. Something in his eyes gave me hope and more importantly, courage.

  I stopped right in front of him. His nostrils flared and his gaze lingered on the edge of my towel, right over the swell of my breasts. “No matter what you say, I know you don’t want to kill me. If you did, I’d already be dead.”

  “You know nothing,” he snarled.

  I didn’t let his anger deter me. I moved even closer between his legs. Even with him sitting and me standing, we were at eye-level. He grabbed ahold of my hips, the touch possessive and threatening at once. I touched his strong shoulder then slowly trailed my fingers up his tattooed throat, surprised he allowed me to touch this vulnerable spot. But I wasn’t really a threat to him, was I?

  I leaned forward when my palm touched his cheek and kissed him softly. The look in his eyes was thunderous. My towel fell to the floor with a soft swoosh. “If you let me live, I could be yours.”

  With a growl, he pulled out of the kiss and grasped my wrist painfully. “Run, Little One, run. And don’t let me catch you, because when I do, it’s over.”

  He released me and I staggered back, naked and stunned. Then I whirled around and started running. I knew he’d catch me, knew running was futile, and yet I did. He caught me in the hallway. This was his game, his hunt, and I was only the prey.

  His fingers clamped down on my wrist, but I was done being toyed with. I whirled on him, tried to jerk free. We started struggling and suddenly I was falling. The back of my head collided with the edge of a cupboard. I hit the ground hard. Before my vision turned black, Killer came into view, towering over me.

  Not the savior I’d wanted him to be, but my ultimate doom.

  Everything faded to black. Would Killer’s face be the last I ever saw? Were these the last seconds of my life?

  EPILOGUE

  Killer

  Three months later

  I was seven years old when I was sold to the devil and became a slave… a cage fighter.

  I was number 781. That was my identity.

  At eight years old, I made my first kill.

  At thirteen, I became KILLER.

  At fifteen years old, I was declared a champion in the cage.

  I had been my master’s favorite. The best of the best.

  When I was twenty-two years old, I murdered him…and his wife… and I became a free man.

  For ten years, I took odd jobs here and there. I hunted, I kidnapped, I killed. I was the Bratva’s assassin.

  Until she walked into my life and tested my loyalty.

  Talia Barese was my job. I was paid to kill her…

  It didn’t matter if she had wormed her way into my heart or that her vulnerability called to me… she had to die.

  I remembered her face that night. The look of pure terror in her eyes as she surrendered herself to her fate before she lost consciousness. She knew there was no escaping Death…

  I was the Grim Reaper and I had called her name three times.

  And so, Talia died.

  At my hands.

  Her death was easy… and fuck, it was painful to watch.

  I inhaled the salty smell of the ocean as my yacht moved with the waves. Standing next to the railing, I watched the dolphins swim along in the vast body of water. I was in the middle of the ocean, in the middle of nowhere. Far away from my reality.

  Closing my eyes, I breathed in. This was freedom.

  I turned around and my gaze slid over to her. She was sunbathing, in her very indecent red bikini. Fuck me, she was a temptation I couldn’t resist.

  She pushed her sunglasses up, revealing her pretty brown eyes and smirked. “Are you going to just stand there or join me?”

  My chest rumbled with a chuckle and I joined her, laying next to her on the towel. She rolled her eyes and climbed on top of me, straddling me. My hands curled around her hips and she smiled.

  “Are you hungry?” she said.

  “Fucking starved.”

  She giggled and leaned in for a kiss. My lips captured hers and she moaned.

  Three months ago, I had been too fucking selfish to let her go.

  Talia died…

  Nova took her place.

  Nova Armani. My wife.

  Talia

  When I’d lost consciousness three months ago with Killer’s brutal face over me, I’d been certain he’d kill me. Images of my life hadn’t played out before my eyes. And even if they had, few of them would have been happy. All my life I’d felt as if the future was on hold, as if I was living with the brakes on. Always controlled by others.

  Maybe everyone had that moment of no return. A pivotal instance that changed everything. For me it was the moment of my death.

  I promised myself to live, take more risks, be free, and in the same instant, I worried I’d never get the chance.

  Talia Barese died that day.

  But I had eventually opened my eyes, my head throbbing with a fierce headache and had stared at Killer who perched on his bed beside me.

  “You couldn’t let the cupboard kill me, you need to do it yourself?” I croaked.

  Killer didn’t crack a smile. “I won’t kill you. But you must die.”

  My brain was still too fuzzy to make sense of it.

  “You can live if you let Talia die. I’ll tell everyone the job is done. They won’t doubt me. I’m the fucking Grim Reaper. But you’ll have to go into hiding. Leave everything behind. Your family. Your name.”

  I sat up slowly. “You’ll let me run?”

  “I never said I’d let you run from me.” He leaned close and kissed me harshly, completely catching me by surprise. When he pulled back, he searched my face.

  I nodded, even though he hadn’t asked. “We can run together. You aren’t free here. We both have never truly been free. Maybe together we can finally discover what true freedom tastes like.”

  “The only taste I want now
is your pussy.”

  We’d packed everything that same day and Killer had declared me dead to his client. I didn’t exist anymore.

  He bought a yacht from his savings, blood money all of it, but as a mafia princess, I’d grown up surrounded by dirty riches. The next day, we set out in our boat. I wrote a letter to my sister Cara, telling her I was safe but couldn’t return to New York and the mafia. One day, I’d see her again. She had found happiness with Growl, and now it was my turn to find my own.

  Killer got new IDs for us, new names we’d come up with on a late night with too much wine and even more sex. Nova and Nero. A new beginning and a man who burnt down a city. Both names oddly fitting for us. Our last name was the result of Killer’s insistence that I needed to start drinking vodka.

  As I stared down at Killer now, straddling his hips, feeling his hard cock digging insistently against my pussy, I couldn’t help but grin. “Nova and Nero Armani. It can’t get any more extra than that. We’ll never make important decisions with vodka again.”

  Killer nudged up his Armani sunglasses with a smirk, letting me see the hunger in his eyes. Those glasses were our own personal inside joke and they still cracked me up after all this time. Killer shoved my bikini bottom aside and slipped a finger between my folds then pushed the digit into his mouth. “Never thought my wife would taste so sweet.”

  I leaned down. “I’m only your wife on paper. We never got married officially.”

  “Who gives a fuck about official. We’re the rulers of our fucking lives. No one else. You are mine. End of story.”

  Killer freed his cock from his swim shorts and plunged into me with a vicious upwards thrust. I gasped, throwing my head back with a smile. The sun warmed my skin. The breeze tugged at my hair. The ocean whooshed in the background. I felt free. For the first time in my life, I tasted freedom.

  Killer’s hands on my hips tightened until I looked at him again. My smile widened. I rotated my hips. We were in the middle of the ocean. Without a destination. Adrift but not lost. We were each other’s home.

  I was reborn. We were both reborn. Nova and Nero Armani. Finally free.

  THE END

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Lylah James uses all her spare time to write. If she is not studying, sleeping, writing or working—she can be found with her nose buried in a good romance book, preferably with a hot alpha male. Writing is her passion. The voices in her head won’t stop, and she believes they deserve to be heard and read. Lylah James writes about drool worthy and total alpha males and strong and sweet heroines. She makes her readers cry—sob their eyes out, swoon, curse, rage, and fall in love. Mostly known as the Queen of Cliffhangers and the #evilauthorwithablacksoul, she likes to break her readers’ hearts and then mend them.

  Connect with me!

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  BOOKS BY LYLAH JAMES

  Tainted Hearts Series

  The Mafia and His Angel: Part One

  The Mafia and His Angel: Part Two

  The Mafia and His Angel: Part Three

  Blood and Roses

  The Mafia and His Obsession: Part One

  The Mafia and His Obsession: Part Two

  Truth and Dare Duet

  DO YOU DARE? (Book one)

  I DARE YOU (Book two, the conclusion)

  Standalone

  A VOW OF HATE

  About the Author

  Cora is the USA Today bestselling author of the Born in Blood Mafia Series, the Camorra Chronicles and many other books, most of them featuring dangerously sexy bad boys. She likes her men like her martinis—dirty and strong.

  Cora lives in Germany with a cute but crazy Bearded Collie, as well as the cute but crazy man at her side. When she doesn't spend her days dreaming up sexy books, she plans her next travel adventure or cooks too spicy dishes from all over the world.

  Amazon profile:

  Cora Reilly

  Books by Cora Reilly

  Born in Blood Mafia Chronicles:

  Bound by Honor

  (Aria & Luca)

  Bound by Duty

  (Valentina & Dante)

  Bound by Hatred

  (Gianna & Matteo)

  Bound By Temptation

  (Liliana & Romero)

  Bound By Vengeance

  (Growl & Cara)

  Bound By Love

  (Luca & Aria)

  Bound By The Past

  (Dante & Valentina)

  Luca Vitiello (Luca’s POV of Bound by Honor)

  The Camorra Chronicles:

  Twisted Loyalties (#1)

  Fabiano

  Twisted Emotions (#2)

  Nino

  Twisted Pride (#3)

  Remo

  Twisted Bonds (#4)

  Nino

  Twisted Hearts (#5)

  Savio

  Twisted Cravings (#6)

  Adamo

  Coming 2021

  Mafia Standalones:

  Fragile Longing

  Sweet Temptation

  CHAPTER ONE

  Chelsea

  Coming to a sudden stop on the bustling NYC sidewalk, I shield my eyes and look up at the towering building before me. It’s slate gray with plenty of windows, the reflection of the sky bouncing off and making the building appear blue and sleek.

  “I think this is it,” I murmur to myself.

  There’s no way to tell, but the PR firm I’m looking for is so elite and exclusive, they don’t need a sign. I know it’s on the top two floors, so I take a quick look all the way up at the levels I’ll be spending my days on.

  I could be spending my days on a beach in the Hamptons with my family, but I chose this instead. I’ve spent the last eighteen summers at the Hamptons house—I figured it was time to do something else.

  An internship at Dunbar Foster may not sound glamorous, but come fall when I start my first semester of college, real world work experience at one of the most prominent PR firms in New York City is bound to serve me better than a flawless tan.

  Most people who know me would probably guess I’d take the flawless tan over hard work any day, but that’s not an image I want to carry with me in the fall. I want a fresh start in college. I want to show all the people who underestimate me that I can be so much more than a blonde bombshell in a party dress.

  I mean, I’m still going to wear kickass cocktail dresses—but now I’ll get paid for it.

  I smile as I make my way inside the building to get out of the sweltering summer heat. I’m nervous—but also really excited—to start my first day of work.

  I make my way to the elevator and press the button. On the way up to my floor, I smooth down my skirt and straighten my outfit, then I grab my iPhone out of my Chanel bag and double check the details in the “welcome to Dunbar Foster!” email they sent to prepare me.

  It’s a stodgy email with a lecturing tone telling me all the dos and don’ts of the workplace. For example, do show up fifteen minutes early to work. Don’t fraternize with co-workers or anyone in any kind of management position. There’s even a fun graphic with faux-handwritten type and clipart to support the most important tenants for anyone who decides to skim the long-ass PDF attachment.

  I didn’t skim. I read every single word. I know what a great opportunity this is, and I’m not going to blow it over something trivial.

  When the elevator doors open, straight ahead of me is an empty wall with only the company name emblazoned across it.

  DUNBAR FOSTER and ASSOCIATES.

  My heart skips a beat as I read it, lingering on Foster.

  Seeing his name there on the wall, so bold and imposing…

  Wel
l, it reminds me there’s one more person I have to prove myself to.

  William Foster, co-founder of this company and good friend of my father’s. I guess they met in college and, both of them being smart and ambitious, became fast friends.

  Their lives took different paths, though. My dad accidentally knocked up my mom junior year, so they decided to get married and go the family route.

  William Foster isn’t the sort of man who does anything accidentally. He didn’t make any mistakes or let himself get distracted. He pursued his goals relentlessly until he had what he wanted.

  It’s only because of their friendship I was able to score this position. Daddy didn’t blatantly tell me his friend was reluctant to give me a shot, but I could tell in the careful way he told me about the position and the responsibility it would entail.

  You’re taking this position in place of someone who worked really hard to qualify for it, so you have to take it seriously.

  Like it was a stretch of his imagination to think I could take anything seriously.

  Oh well. Shaking off everyone else’s doubts, I take a left and head over to the reception desk.

  Greeting the chilly-looking woman who sits there with a sunny smile, I tell her, “Hi, I’m Chelsea Parker. Today’s the first day of my internship—”

  The lady thrusts her palm up to halt me and I realize she’s wearing a headset. “No, she isn’t in today, but I can forward you to her voicemail box and she can get back to you tomorrow.”

  “Oh. Sorry,” I whisper, falling back a step and looking around awkwardly as I wait for her to finish her call.