by Sonya Jesus
That’s what I was afraid of. He loves me.
I nod in acceptance. Denying the truth that lives within us only prolongs the inevitable. I won’t wake up tomorrow loving him less, I say, in an attempt at convincing myself to cast away the doubt of the unknown. I’ve never been in love, but I have a feeling I’m not going to like it.
“Is that okay?” He places a kiss to the top of my head and releases my hand.
I shift my head, rest my chin on my palm, and glance at his handsome face. His warm brown eyes burrow into me, like a drill digging into the hard ground. I’m not sure what he’s looking for, but I’m looking for the same thing. “I don’t have a choice either.”
Content with my answer, he closes his eyes. I don’t blame him. I think the talking part of our conversation is more exhausting than the physical parts.
I lie there in his arms, listening to the sounds of his soft breaths and evading the meaning of our unspoken words. I simply don’t have the courage to imagine a world without him.
I think back to the first name on my list, Kade Warren. My first kill was a dirty handler who knew the identities of several people. I picked him up one night, right outside his house. I pretended to have car problems, and he offered to drive me to gas station. Men never suspect women as murderers. It was easy to put a gun to his head. He drove all the way to the abandoned warehouse my uncle owned, where I tortured him all night, slicing parts of his body, lighting his hair on fire, even splitting his lips open horizontally, so it hurt for him to speak.
He eventually told me the password of his phone when I threatened his children. For someone who was dirty, he sure did resist. He gave me all the information I needed to hunt the first half of my list. Only one person, Jason West, the son of the man who murdered my father was left in the open. After I could get nothing else out of him, I shot him twice in the face at point-blank range with a shotgun, basically decapitating him.
I expected to feel some sort of completion or remorse— or anything really— as I stared at the pieces of his brains and blown off head, but I just felt empty. Even as I scrubbed off his blood, all I felt was that it wasn’t enough. It wouldn’t be enough until they were all dead… until the people who took my life from me paid.
That night was the first time I truly wished I could be different. I longed for my life with my father. He shielded me from everything the Beneventis were involved in—and they’re involved in some pretty serious shit. Things women in the family don’t tend to know, but I was special. Beneventi was grooming me for the hunt, molding me into his perfect little killer.
Months after being adopted, Breaker was told to introduce me to the businesses. He started off at the basement of the Ranch. When I got to the apartment building, they called Ranch, and saw the women, they called cattle, I realized the Beneventis had a baby farm. Breaker made me watch the “rancher” cut through a woman’s pregnant belly and take out a set of newborn twins.
“Don’t worry, she’s dead,” Breaker said as I broke down in tears. He didn’t mean to console me, I had a distinct feeling the reason he showed me this place was to threaten me. I never told my uncle, but until this day, I fear Breaker more than his father.
I’m just not stupid enough to show it. He took me to the Ranch every day for three weeks straight. He even showed me how they got the girls, Stone assisted sometimes. It helped to have pretty faces picking up the tourist girls at the bars. They’d drug them and when they’d wake up, they’d be at the Ranch. I’d watch the missing girl reports on television and wish I could tell their families they were alive, and then I’d realize if I did that, they’d all die.
Only a detached soul can survive my life, I find myself saying that often. I gave up everything and focused simply on surviving by sacrificing every moral I had and losing myself in the process. Maybe that’s why when I got to Stone’s party the night the hunt began, I was searching for a connection. I had abandoned the last thing that attached me to humanity.
I spotted Hayden. He didn’t give a flying fuck about impressing anyone. We talked for a bit and something in me clicked the moment he mentioned that he lost his parents early on and was taken in by an army family. I ended up screwing him on the basement futon while the others were drinking around us. He made what I had done a little less real.
Then I did it again. And again. And it got easier.
Being with Hayden after each kill made it harder to slip away from being human.
Being with him in between those kills…made it harder to accept who I was becoming. I had no choice but to limit those times—to ration him out. Too many nights with Hayden, and I would’ve ended up believing I could be the girl who deserved him.
That and Stone would probably shoot me in my sleep. He wanted to keep his new life separate from his old life, but he always makes an exception for me. He thinks I’m redeemable. He’s wrong, but I love him for believing in my redemption, especially since he gave up on Breaker a long time ago.
Those two used to be inseparable. Breaker’s two and a half years older than us, but growing up, there wasn’t a day when he and Stone weren’t together. After I was adopted things changed. Breaker started getting more involved with his father, while Stone and I spent a lot of time together in school. After a while, it was either me and Breaker, or me and Stone, but never the two of them together. On occasion, it was the three of us, but that always ended up badly.
It got worse after Laura killed herself. I think Breaker resents me for it. I get it though. Blaming me is easier than accepting the truth: Stone doesn’t look up to him anymore.
Stone doesn’t look up to anyone anymore.
I don’t blame him. Nothing about this path is worth admiring. I’m happy he distanced himself and didn’t turn into someone like me—a killer. With every life I’ve taken, I’ve lost a little piece of the girl my father raised.
He was a murderer, but he was kind to most people. He didn’t make people suffer when he was sent to take them out. He used to say, “Life should be respected, even by the one who ends it.”
Uccisore Gentile. That’s what Uncle Costa called him. Kind Killer. The man who would shoot a man in the head, and then an hour later, light a candle for his soul.
He raised me to be respectful and honest—a good Catholic. I stopped going to church the day I watched Breaker strangle a girl to death. God wouldn’t understand the things I had to do. I just whored myself out so I could kill number twenty-seven. There’s nothing that would keep me from pulling the trigger, except maybe Hayden.
I wake up with Hayden’s arm around me. I listen to his breathing and quickly realize he’s still awake. His breaths are too heavy for someone in a deep sleep. I don’t have much else to say, so I close my eyes and picture a normal life—one I can never have with him. The fact I can picture it so easily worries me. It’s become a coping mechanism.
It would be easy to fall into a routine with Hayden if I were a regular girl.
Regular girls, who go to Forrest Hill, have the luxury of choosing whether they get up for class, or cuddle with their boyfriend for another hour or two. They get up and choose their outfit. I get up and choose my weapon. They spend hours studying for tests while I spend days hunting people. They paint their faces and bare their feelings. I bare my skin and mask my feelings. They fantasize about the cut of a diamond or the shape of a dress, whereas I get to fantasize about the size of a coffin and the quantity of feet the next number will be buried under.
Not much different between mafia assassins and college girls… same general concept, completely different methods.
I don’t think Hayden would be as quick to see the similarities though. He probably won’t even consider them similarities. If he ever knew his best friend is the second son of New York’s mafia king, and the girl he occasionally sleeps with is a hired gun, he probably wouldn’t be so ready to care tomorrow.
Although, it does make him one of the most protected guys in New York, and one of the most targeted. Bringin
g in outsiders to the family is the only way to secure their safety. He can’t be protected out in the real world. Not twenty-four seven. I highly doubt Hayden will risk his normal life to be associated with people like us—nobody smart wants to be associated with the Beneventis.
Stone had to change his name in order to have a semi-normal life. Uncle Costa isn’t too happy about it, but for the most part, he lets his son lead the life he wants. Why wouldn’t he? He has Breaker and me to secure his legacy.
Breaker. Ugh.
“I should go,” I say, running my fingers up and down Hayden’s chest, spurring him out of his pretend sleep. “Do you know what time it is?”
Hayden reaches for the cell on his nightstand and presses down on the home button. The time lights up the screen. “It’s late.”
I smile because we don’t do the overnight thing, and this is his way of testing out the new boundaries of our relationship.
I’m not allowing myself to get anymore attached. “I’ll call a taxi.”
“I can drive you,” he offers, as he runs his fingers over my shoulder.
I sit up and pat my hair into place. My neck is sore, so I massage the area around where Major choked me. It’s extra sensitive, which means it’ll leave a mark. I throw my legs over the edge of the bed, flatten my feet against the wooden floor, and stand. Walking over to the mirror hanging behind his door, I search the area for my clothes. I twitch just thinking about Major’s breath on me.
“You okay?” he asks, noting my response.
I step to the mirror and look back at him through the reflection. “Yeah,” I say. “It’s just chilly.” I assess the damage twenty-seven did on my body, starting with the finger outline on my neck and then the two bite marks on my breasts.
Hayden appears behind me, warming me instantly. His arms curl around my waist as he aligns the side of his cheek with the side of my forehead. My hand comes up and cups the back of his head. I run my fingers through his thick hair, erasing the way Major’s thinning, sweaty hair felt between my fingers.
We watch each other in the reflection. I bring my hand down to his and smile. “I have to go soon.”
He brings his lips to the curve of my shoulder. “The bite marks part of the self-defense classes too?”
I exhale softly and shake my head, giving him the answer he already knows. This is one thing I can’t lie about. Major bit me right on my nipple, hard enough to break my skin and leave his imprint on my body. “These are not from self-defense,” I admit, only because he’s waiting for an explanation. I rub the area, assessing the damage. It’s sore but not bruised.
His eyes study me again; his irises shimmering with question marks—questions that come from attachment reel around in his head—but he refrains from asking. Defining our relationship, after we just exposed our feelings, is too much of a risk for both of us. Neither of us is willing to take that venture.
“Do you like being bitten?” he asks.
But we do tiptoe around it. “Depends on who is doing the biting,” I answer honestly. A carefully delivered nip in the heat of the moment can be pretty fucking hot.
His lips flatline and his eyes harden.
“I didn’t enjoy these.” I graze my fingers over the sensitive areas. “I don’t enjoy much these days unless you’re involved.”
“What does that say to you?”
I chuckle. He’s goading me into the gray area. “It means you’ve spoiled me for everyone else.”
A sexy smile encompasses his mouth.
I change the subject before he decides to go against his better judgment and put a title on this. “I should check on Stone and Breaker.” Stepping forward, I pull my body from his. “It’s been a couple of hours. That’s plenty of time to murder someone and have time to clean up after yourself.”
Hayden chuckles nervously as I make my way over to my coat.
“What?” I ask, pulling the phone out of my pocket and powering it up.
“You sound like you speak from experience with all that matter-of-fact attitude.”
I press my lips together and unlock the screen with my thumbprint before dialing Breaker. I place the phone up to my ear as incoming messages start buzzing in.
“Well, look who finally decided to answer her phone. Are you all fucked over for the night, or do you need another hour or so?”
Breaker is an asshole. “I’m guessing you aren’t with Stone anymore.”
“Stone just went inside to get me some hard liquor. I’m waiting for you on the porch, watching these fuckwits get drunk off watered down beer and wobble around like they’re the lost boys of New York.”
“Are you drunk?” I ask.
“A little bit, why?”
“You just Disney referenced Peter Pan.” Not something a sober Breaker Beneventi would do.
“I’m with my brother. I’m feeling nostalgic.”
I laugh. As much as Breaker pretends to be okay with Stone’s decision, he misses his brother. I’m terrified of who he’s going to become when Stone leaves and his father dies. “You talk it all out? Is he coming home for Christmas?”
“We are negotiating.”
Fucking lawyer tactics. “Need more time?”
“I should be asking you that.”
“Shut up. I’ll stay up here for a little while longer.” I eye Hayden, who is sitting on the bed flipping through TV channels. “How long do you need?”
“Forty-five or so.” He pauses and speaks to someone next to him. I assume Stone. Then comes back on the line, speaking clearer than before. “Gives you another round or so with your fuck buddy.”
Stone curses in the background.
Breaker translates for Stone. “Stone’s not a fan of your current accommodations.”
“He never was.”
“And with good reason!” Stone shouts into the phone.
I hang up and drop the phone back on Hayden’s desk. It doesn’t matter how many reasons Stone lays out in front of me, only one reason matters: I can’t survive getting through the list without Hayden.
I glance around the medium-sized room before asking, “Think you can lend me some clothes?” I pick up the pieces of my costume and throw the shirt, jacket, underclothes, and skirt in the trash. I’ll keep the shoes for another time.
Hayden points toward the dresser with the glass case and signed football inside it. “You can borrow whatever you like. T-shirts are in the second. The pants will be huge on you, but in the third drawer there’s a pair with a drawstring on the elastic.”
I head over and pick the first of the neatly folded shirts and throw it on. I open the third drawer, find the draw-string sweats and place them on the chair near my phone. His shirt comes down to my upper thighs and makes me feel a smidge more ordinary. “Mind if I stay a little while longer? Stone and Breaker are still discussing.”
He smiles sexily and places the remote beside him on the bed. “Do I ever mind?” He cocks his head to the side, summoning me to him. I stay in place until he grows impatient and verbalizes his wish. “Come here.”
“Why?” I ask playfully.
“Because I want to hold you,” he responds much too quickly to be a lie.
My heartbeat speeds up. I step closer to him, genuinely needing the comfort his person offers me. His fingers brush over the back of my hand before they slide underneath to my palm. He tugs me forward and puts both hands on my waist before lowering me onto his knee.
I offer no resistance. I like the intimacy—my connection with reality.
His fingers glide over my arm and move to my collarbone before going down the center of my breasts. His thumb tenderly slides over the material covering the bitten nipple. “Does it hurt?” he asks, as he lifts my shirt and brings his lips down to my broken flesh.
“A little.” The answer comes out too vulnerable for my liking, and not at all what I intended.
His lips press against the darkened skin, kissing it to make it better. The tenderness brings a smile to my face. His mouth
flutters upward to where twenty-seven bit first. He kisses around the mark, and then right on top of it as if he could kiss away the memory.
He does have that ability.
I purr as the hum of his breath flutters my heartbeat, lulling me into a safer place. His lips travel up my body, toward the bruised marks on my neck. He kisses those too. A shiver crawls down my spine as he makes his way up to my lips and plants one soft, reassuring kiss on them. His hands glide toward the back of my neck, soothingly maneuvering my head so he has access to every damaged inch of my skin.
Any other person, and I’d flinch away from this tenderness, but I’m not afraid of him tending to my injuries. I’m petrified he’d leave if he knew where they came from.
I open my mouth to say something, but he beats me to it.
“I don’t like that people hurt you, Kelsie.”
I swallow down the ball of worry in my throat and settle his suspicions. It’s only natural for him to think someone is hurting me on purpose. “I’m not fragile.”
“I’m not saying you are.”
“Then what are you saying?” Shit! Why did I just say that? I hold my breath…my thoughts…my pulse…as he decides whether or not to expand.
It’s a long while before he answers. “I’m saying, I don’t like that you put yourself in situations where you can get hurt, but I know you can take care of yourself.” His eyes veer down to the breast with the bite mark.
It’s there. Right on the tip of his tongue. He’s about to open the dictionary on our relationship and jot down a definition.
His eyes meet mine again and he kisses the tip of my nose. I breathe in deeply, restoring the natural functions of my body. If he were going to bring up exclusivity, he would have already.
“Can you take my phone number with you?” He stops touching me, which tells me he’s absolutely serious. “In case, you know, you want to call me or something…or you need me to come get you… or spoil you for someone else.”
Two years. That’s how long it took to have this question come up. If he gives me his number, I’ll be tempted to call, and if I give him my number, I won’t say no when he does.