Leave Me (Touch of Death Book 2)

by LP Lovell

  “Let’s start with why you’ve suddenly developed suicidal tendencies.”

  My anger rises with every breath, and I loathe the lack of control that now seems to be a constant in my life. “Drop it, Una.”

  “She left, Sasha! Deal with it.”

  That now-familiar, bubbling rage boils over, and I have to fight with everything I have not to lash out at Una. “This has nothing to do with Adelina.”

  “You haven’t been the same since the day you met her.”

  “Leave it,” I warn.

  “She makes you weak. Irrational.”

  “Stop.”

  She lifts a brow, mocking me. “And now, you’re just dangerous.”

  “Una—”

  “You’re more of a liability than an asset!” she growls.

  “Enough!” I roar, my face now barely an inch from hers. I suck several sharp breaths into my lungs, shocked by my own outburst.

  Una glares back at me. “She isn’t coming back,” she snaps. “This came today.” She grabs something from the breakfast bar and tosses it down on the marble.

  I step forward and snatch it from the surface before it can hit the floor. It has Nero’s name on it, and the envelope is already open.

  “Read it,” she demands.

  I slide the heavy card from inside the envelope. As soon as my eyes land on the words, a foreign sensation settles behind my ribs, an ache that I wasn’t ready for.

  You are invited to the wedding of Adelina Ricci and Enrique Bianchi.

  She’s doing it. She’s going to marry him. My heart lurches in a way that steals the breath from my lungs. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to perform the basic act of breathing in and out. I count to ten, but it does nothing because all I see is Adelina…with him. I remember her face in my dream, so broken, so sad. I imagine that’s what she’ll look like as she walks down the aisle in virginal white. Or maybe she’ll smile, knowing that one day she gets to kill Enrique Bianchi. One day…after he’s defiled her. That rage that is my ever-present companion breaks free, turning my vision red. I can’t control or leash whatever this is. My emotions pour from me in a torrent, swirling in a violent vortex of hate, regret, and pure, unbridled anger.

  Tossing the invite to the ground, I turn, clenching and releasing my fists in a bid to gain control. I can’t. Before my mind has fully registered the movement, my hand drives into the wall, over and over until my knuckles crunch and bleed and the plaster cracks. My heart pounds against my ribs so hard I’m practically choking on it as the drumbeat ricochets through my entire body. Bracing my hand against the wall, I drop my head forward and squeeze my eyes closed. Pain slowly filters back in, and I grit my teeth and clutch my stomach. That lacerated liver is making itself known.

  “Still think there’s nothing to talk about?” Una asks quietly.

  Trapped in my own head, I’d almost forgotten Una was standing there. Watching me. I say nothing, both ashamed and alarmed by my irrational loss of control. I slowly turn to face her.

  She tilts her head to the side, assessing, probing. “You love her.”

  I snort because the notion is entirely ridiculous. I don’t even know what love is. And I certainly don’t know what this is. “No. I respect her.”

  Her gaze drifts past me to the cracked plaster. “The two aren’t mutually exclusive.” She folds her arms over her chest. “I’ve never seen you like this, and I’m worried.”

  That’s because I’ve never felt like this. I’ve never lost control in my life, even in the very worst situations. Everything about Adelina drives me to volatile actions. I wish I could just forget she ever existed. Cut her out like diseased flesh before she taints everything she touches. But I think it’s too late for that. I’m already infected; I can feel it spreading like a virus.

  Una’s hard features crack, and sympathy that I loathe blankets her face, and I drop my gaze to the floor, unable to meet her pity-filled eyes. “I understand more than most. I fell in love on a job.”

  “I don’t love her.”

  “Sasha.” She pauses, and my eyes slowly meet hers. Una waits until I’m looking at her before she speaks. “I know you. Better than anyone. If it’s not love, then what would you call this?”

  My chest constricts until I feel like I’m being squeezed. Tighter, tighter. “I hate that she’s gone to him.” I close my eyes again, willing everything to just…quiet.

  “You did everything you could, Sasha. Adelina is just…doing what she thinks she needs to right now."

  I wish I could just accept that. I know I need to. “I’m angry all the time,” I confess.

  “Because it hurts.”

  I meet her eyes. “We’re Elite. We don’t hurt.”

  Her expression softens further. “We aren’t Elite, anymore. Whether you like it or not, this is affecting you. You walked into that warehouse with no regard for strategy. You just wanted to end them.” She wasn’t wrong. “You’re dangerous, and until you have a handle on this, you’re off mission.”

  “No. I need this,” I say through gritted teeth. Work is the only thing that can keep me focused right now.

  “You need to handle whatever you’re going through. I need to trust you to have my back.” Those words are salt in an already raw wound.

  “I always have your back!”

  “Right now, you don’t. Your head is too pre-occupied with Adelina.”

  “I can handle it!” I snap.

  There’s that flash of pity again. “You aren’t handling it, Sasha.”

  I drop my head forward, feeling the weight of everything crushing me. “How? How am I supposed to handle this? I don’t even know what this is, Una.”

  “The same way everyone does when they lose someone. Time.”

  “I didn’t lose her.” I never had her.

  She was a job, and she ran away. Right into the arms of our enemy.

  “It doesn’t matter. Work through it, block it out, whatever works.” She moves closer. “I just need my cool-headed brother back.” She slaps me on the shoulder and moves past me. I stare at the cracked wall, the cream paint marked and stained with red patches.

  It’s a very accurate visual representation for how I feel right now, cracked and tarnished.

  8

  Sasha

  “So, he has to pick one woman?” I ask, frowning at the television screen.

  “Yep,” Tommy says, scooping up salsa with a tortilla chip and shoving it into his mouth.

  “That’s stupid.”

  He shrugs. “It’s reality TV.”

  Stupid. “But they came on the show, so they all want to be picked.”

  “Yes…”

  “They will simply act in ways to please him.”

  Tommy sighs. “Yeah, that’s the whole point. You watch them act all fake, but you know they’re a bitch. Most of the time, the guy either picks the hot one or the nice one.”

  “How can a woman who is willing to compete against other women for a man’s attention possibly be attractive?”

  Tommy groans. “It’s reality TV, Sasha. It is what it is.”

  “It’s stupid.”

  A throat clears somewhere behind me, and my head jerks around to find Nero standing in the doorway. His arms are folded over his open suit jacket, and one brow is hiked up.

  “You two done acting like eighteen-year-old girls?”

  I scowl. “I am a thirty-year-old man.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I know. Anyway, I’ve got some business in Queens. You’re both coming.”

  “What kind of business?” I ask.

  Nero’s eyes narrow, and he releases a long breath. “Mob business, Sasha.”

  “I do not work for the mafia.” I turn my attention back to the screen.

  “Well you do just this once,” he says, his tone on edge.

  “Una has barred me from working.”

  Nero tilts his head back on a groan. “See, I told you,” he says, directing his attention to someone out of sight beside the do
or.

  A hand lands on his arm, tugging him out of the way before Una steps in front of his much-larger body. She folds her arms over her chest, and her foot tapping the floor tells me she’s angry before she even starts talking.

  “You are going with Nero. It’s an easy job. You’re there to look tough and dissuade violence.” She cocks a brow.

  “I am not a goon.” The entire notion is offensive.

  “Sasha, you’re watching…whatever that is—”

  “The Bachelor,” Tommy cuts her off.

  “Think of it as easing back into work,” she continues, as though anything she says will make her pitiful offer appealing.

  “I do not need to ease back into anything. I simply need to go on a job.”

  “You’re not ready,” she argues.

  “I can pull a trigger.”

  She tilts her head. “It’s not the physical I’m worried about.” The implication hangs in the air, and I grind my teeth over each other. She thinks I’m weak, and that knowledge does not sit well.

  Nero clears his throat. “Either way, you’re sulking, and at this point, it’s just sad."

  I glare at him, and he laughs.

  “It’ll be good for you, Sasha,” Tommy chimes in, and I turn my glare on him. “Or not. Not going is good, too.”

  I push to my feet because I am not sulking. “Brief me.”

  Nero smirks. “It’s not that kind of job. You know how it is; there’s never any trouble, but I always have Gio and Jackson with me. Jackson is otherwise engaged. I have no reason to think tonight will be anything out of the ordinary.”

  “Assumption will get a man killed,” I say.

  Nero glances at Una with a roll of his head. “Great, let’s go.”

  She smiles and kisses his cheek before he turns and walks away.

  I follow him and Tommy to the waiting car, ignoring Una as I move past her. At the front of the house, a black SUV lingers on the white gravel driveway. I climb into the back seat, and Tommy gets in on the other side. Nero sits in the passenger seat next to Gio before the car pulls away. If it’s a strong front he’s looking for, I cannot fathom why he’d bring Tommy. Perhaps he could talk an assailant to death.

  We wind through the mansion-encrusted hills of the Hamptons and make our way toward Manhattan. While I’m partly glad to leave the house, I loathe the notion of being a glorified bodyguard. That didn’t serve me well the last time. I’m a soldier, and this is beneath me. The idea of easing myself back into anything is offensive.

  We end up in Queens, in an area that looks like a breeding ground for criminal activity. Shops line the streets, metal shutters covering their windows and sprayed with graffiti. Groups of youths linger on street corners with their hoods pulled up. Gio finally turns off the main street and slows in front of what looks like a bar. The red neon sign at the front reads Juju’s. Gio parks right outside and cuts the engine before everyone gets out. I’m on edge because Nero hasn’t briefed me on what to expect. I never go into any situation unprepared. I haven’t been out of the house in weeks, and the rush of sensations are like a flood.

  My eyes scan the street up and down, looking for any possible threat. The deep rumble of bass pours from the building as Nero and Gio approach the front. There’s a mumbled exchange between them and the security on the door, and then we’re passing inside. The red glow of the neon above cuts off as soon as I cross over the threshold. The scent of smoke and cheap beer fills the dark corridor, and the walls and floor vibrate around us. We move down the hall and out the other side into a cavernous room. Strobe lights flicker over my face, and I blink through the blinding light before taking in the scene before me. There are several stages dotted around the room, and barely clothed women swing from poles. Of course, Nero would have a meeting here. It’s precisely the kind of place the mob would conduct business.

  A woman in a G-string and bra approaches Nero with a smile. She says nothing, simply turns on her very high heel and walks away, her hips swaying just a little too much. She leads us through a hygienic-looking, beaded curtain to a back room. The walls are black pleather, and a huge circular table sits in the center with a pole protruding from it. Zebra-print seating surrounds the table. We all sit down, and the girl disappears back through the curtain with a skitter of beads.

  I sit on the edge of the seat, my spine stiff, and my body rigid. Situations such as these are precarious. There’s only one way in and one way out. If anyone were to set an ambush, this would be ideal.

  “Please don’t shoot anyone,” Nero says quietly.

  I glance at him. “I will only shoot someone if they are a threat.”

  “Okay, but could you stop looking at everyone as if they are a threat?”

  I narrow my eyes at him, perplexed as to why he would assume anyone isn’t a threat. “Your security is sloppy.”

  He rolls his eyes just as that curtain moves again. The girl comes back with another trailing behind her, also clad in…well, not a lot. They place a bottle of bourbon and four glasses on the table, and then both girls climb on it and begin writhing around the pole. Nero and Gio talk next to me, seemingly relaxed as they sip whiskey. Gio’s eyes intermittently flick to the girls while Nero ignores them completely. Tommy is across from me, his eyes fixed on the two women like a hawk. I do not understand why a man would wish to lower himself to such things. To pay money to see a woman naked seems…distasteful. I’m disgusted by the entire scene unfolding in front of me.

  “You couldn’t have chosen a more upscale establishment for your…proclivities?” I say to Nero.

  Gio throws his head back on a laugh. “Classy strip joints are like classy pizza joints. Everyone knows the best pizza comes from the cheap, dirty places.”

  Tommy joins in on his laughter. I do not understand. Cheap, dirty women are supposed to be better? I do not agree.

  The tinkle of the beaded curtain yet again has my head snapping in that direction. The outline of an enormous man fills the doorway, and I instantly reach for the gun at my back.

  Nero’s hand lands on my arm just as my fingers brush the warm metal. “It’s fine. This is Jimmy,” he murmurs under his breath.

  The man shuffles forward, heaving his weight from side to side as he approaches. Long before he reaches us, I can smell the entwined scent of cigar smoke and body odor. His gray, three-piece suit has stains beneath the armpits, and beads of moisture cling to his brow, giving his skin a sheen that matches his greasy, black hair. He puffs on a cigar before plucking it from his lips with chubby fingers. A thick cloud releases into the air just as he reaches us, embalming the entire table in smoke.

  “Nero,” he roars.

  I push to my feet and stand vigilantly with my back to the wall, allowing Nero to exit the booth.

  “Jimmy.” He smiles wide and takes the man’s outstretched hand.

  Jimmy proceeds to pull him into a one-armed hug, and I commend Nero for his willingness to indulge in such things for the sake of business.

  “How are you finding my girls?” the huge man asks, watching the dancing women with a broad grin.

  “Very welcoming,” Nero says, a smirk playing over his lips, and Jimmy laughs until a hacking cough takes over. “How’s business?”

  Jimmy shrugs. “Well, tits and pussy are always in demand.” He laughs again, and I find myself becoming more and more repulsed. Just being here makes me feel tainted and dirty.

  “Well, we should talk business,” Jimmy says. “Gentlemen, enjoy the entertainment.” The two of them leave the room, and then it’s just Gio, Tommy, myself, and two half-naked women.

  Gio instantly pours a large glass of whiskey and slams it back before turning his attention to the strippers. He takes out his wallet and pulls out a crisp note. One of the girls drops to a crouch in front of him, and he slips it into her G-string. It seems he now has her attention, and she crawls toward him on all fours. Taking a seat on the edge of the table, she spreads her legs wide in front of him. A lascivious smile works
over his lips as she slowly descends into his lap, straddling his thighs. I’ve always seen Gio as serious and professional. Now, I’m questioning my own judgment.

  “Jesus, sit down, will ya, Sasha. You’re making me fucking nervous,” Tommy says with a laugh that cuts off as soon as he looks at me.

  A third girl enters the small room, bringing yet another bottle. Long, chocolate-brown hair cascades to the small of her back, and a pale-pink, sparkly bikini is the only clothing on her lean body. She looks less enhanced than the other girls, lacking in the peroxide-blond hair or the overly buoyant, fake breasts. She seems…out of place here, and I wonder what brought her to this moment, standing in this room, wearing nothing—not even her dignity.

  She comes closer, and I glare. Her head tilts to the side, sending a lock of hair into her face.

  “You seem lonely,” she says.

  I am not lonely, and I certainly do not wish for her company. Before she can get too close, I hold out my hand, though as I’m about to touch her bare skin, I retract it. There’s nowhere I can place my hand that isn’t inappropriate, dressed as she is. Her palm lands on my chest, and I freeze, long-engrained instincts bubbling beneath the surface.

  “Do not touch me,” I snap.

  Her blue eyes go wide, and she staggers away from me. She shifts and suddenly looks like an innocent girl, probably no older than twenty-one.

  “Aw, come on, Sasha,” Tommy says, tipping back his whiskey. “Let loose a little.”

  I glare at him. “I do not wish to partake in such activities.”

  It’s Gio who laughs this time, peering around the now naked, gyrating girl in his lap. “You obviously aren’t completely immune to female charms, Sasha.” He lifts a brow.

  Tommy cackles. “I swear, I thought you were asexual or something until Adelina.” Just hearing her name on his lips makes me angry. He jerks his head toward the girl. “She’s your type.” Type?

  “I do not have a type.”

  “Look, I know you’re hung up on Adelina—” Gio starts, though his eyes focus elsewhere.

  “I am not.”

  His gaze tears from the breasts in front of him to me. “Take it from someone who’s been there. The best way to get over one woman is with another.” He jerks his chin toward the brunette. “Just let her take your mind off it for a few minutes.” He thinks if I allow a woman to strip naked for money, I’ll magically forget Adelina’s plight.