As Angels Sin (Little Flame Duet #2)

1. Chapter One

Chapter One

CRUE

T he moon hangs limply in the sky like a sickle. It’s held in place by a deity of the stars, at one with the vast cosmos of empty nothingness.

She wields it as a threat, tormenting and torturing.

She wields it as a weapon, to cut me down to the core.

She wields it as a reminder. A reminder of the monster I am.

The darkness inside must feed — on life, on death, on everything in between. It’s an all-consuming shadow, devoid of form or emotion. Normally, it’s a black spot in the back of my mind that cries out for merciless vengeance on a world that has forgotten me. That wants nothing to do with me.

Today it does not cry, or wail, or shout. It praises me in joyous harmonious tones. It whispers the same words it has so many times before; soothing and calm, as we near the end.

Finish it. Make yourself whole.

I am so close now that I can almost trick myself into believing it’s over. That my Little Flame has fizzled out. She won’t have to suffer at the hands of the tyrants who placed her on my path anymore.

But it's not done. She still draws silent breaths that make her bare chest rise and fall. She is naked, except for a blanket that has come undone, when I set her down. Her thighs still drip a mix of her liquids and my seed. A narrow streak of dried blood runs down her neck where my needle punctured her skin.

Soon she’ll have another perforation. Bigger, and with an exit wound. That’s why I must shoot her from the front. To preserve her delicate beauty as best I can.

I’ve watched her for weeks. I have lost myself and let myself dream of a world where I wasn’t me, and she wasn’t Fiametta Napoli. I played, pretended, and gave it my best.

In the end, we can’t change who we are.

I am a monster.

And she is a victim.

Sometimes, life isn’t fair.

Tonight is the night. It has to be. The black spot is right. I have to finish it, to make myself whole again. I have to finish it, before the spot has time to grow and change into an endless hole of torment and torture. It’s holding a sickle above my head, my neck. It’s waiting impatiently for me to strike, to kill, so it can claim me as itself.

So, now I must commit her soul to eternal peace. No more suffering, heartache or pain for her. No more wondering whether tomorrow is the day her father, my enemy, will meet the cold sting of my blade. No more fearing for her own safety, after falling head over heels in love with a psychopath.

I tell myself this and any other bullshit I can come up with while I hover over her. I will give her mercy, an easy escape from the suffering of this world. I will give her—

Shit! Shut up and do it already! You almost had me fooled into believing you actually have a heart.

My darkness speaks without my mind commanding it. It is a vicious entity, shrouded in black, craving only violence and death. It is a person inside a person, born of death and silenced by it, too.

Killing her will calm that voice. Not for good, but for long enough for me to plan its return, as I have done so many times before.

But.

“I can’t. Not yet.” I stare down at Fiametta. The gentle ebb and flow of her breathing disturbs the blanket further. I sink to a bended knee and cover her breasts, pussy, and thighs to the knee.

Cover her face while you’re at it.

It’s right. Covering Fiametta’s face will make it easier. Then, I don’t have to think about how it’s her. I can pretend it’s another deadbeat mobster, even one of Lorenzo Napoli’s dogs. Someone who actually deserves this.

But I don’t. I will not be a coward and betray Fiametta this way. Her face remains visible, for it’s the last time I’ll gaze upon it.

I stand again, raising the snub-nosed .38 Special I brought to finish the job. Guns aren’t my usual style. They are obnoxious and loud and, worse still, they’re a coward’s weapon. Someone, who is too afraid to get up close and personal and to feel the strength of control, uses a gun.

My weapon of choice is a blade. Particularly a six-inch dagger, sharpened on both sides, with no serrated edges to get in the way of a clean slice. Blades bring a thrill to the hunt. One risks everything to get the satisfaction of a kill. One mistake is the difference between life and death.

There’s also the intimacy of staring someone in the eyes as the blade pierces their flesh. There is the thrill of the transfer of energy that passes from them to you as the knife sinks in deeper. You become one. Whole. Connected by six-inches of sharpened steel. You watch their soul leave their body with its one final breath.

It’s a thrill like no other. And another reason I can’t do it to her. I will not allow the dark spot to consume her as it has so many. She is still so pure.

Well, as pure as a bullet to the skull can leave someone, anyway.

I lift the gun and center it on her forehead. A gentle squeeze is all it’s going to take, now. Quick and clean and then she will be gone from this world. No different to how she is now, really, with the chemical concoction of my sleepy time drugs flowing through her veins.

She won’t even know it has happened. From black to black, only this time, there’s no waking up.

“Quiet.”

Great. I’m still talking to myself. If I don’t pull the trigger, my darker self is going to get worse. This is the longest I’ve gone without satiating the creature, and it’s not letting me forget it.

Need time to think? You’re doing this, and that’s final.

“I said quiet.”

Rushing won't do me any favors.

I’m being tossed around in a whirlwind. A few minutes ago, I was balls deep inside of Fiametta. Indulging in a different kind of lust; one that seems so innocent and pure compared to this.

Don’t tell me you’re going soft, Crue. We’ve been doing this your entire life. You can’t escape from me. I am Alpha and Omega. The beginning and the end. You live to serve me, and I live to protect you.

“Shut the fuck up,” I roar at myself and instantly regret my decision.

This isn’t the kind of place to make noise. We’re outside Lorenzo Napoli’s Sanctuary Nightclub. Although it isn’t the place, I wanted Fiametta to find peace, it makes the most sense, given the timing. Napoli goons will find her body easily in these alleyways, clearly sending Matteo Baronne’s message to Lorenzo.

I’d also get my own twisted relief. Vengeance for Lorenzo did to me. His daughter for my mother. An eye for an eye, but starting an endless cycle of slaughter.

“Who’s over there?” A flashlight shines from the far end of the alleyway. It’s two men, both big and burly. The one holding the flashlight has a hand behind his back, ready to draw his pistol. The other one already has his gun out.

Luck. That’s what I’ll chalk it up to. I don’t mean being cornered in a dark corridor with two men eager to kill me, but rather Fiametta’s survival. Instead of shooting at her, I decide to save my own life.

I train the gun on the two goons, who interrupted my ritual, and fire three of my six shots, before starting to run. And run I do, narrowly avoiding the hot sting of one of their bullets.

I’ve been shot before, and I don’t want it to happen again.

What are you doing? Shoot her. NOW!

The darkness is angry at me. I never thought a cloud floating in my head could be angry, not until now. I’m sure it’s going to make me regret this.

I turn into a connected alley, running faster and harder than I’ve ever run before. I can’t go back to the main streets. My car is too far away to reach before they find me. Stepping out of the dark alley and onto the road would be a death sentence, and probably for blocks in every direction.

They will have found Fiametta by now. That’s why they aren’t chasing me as hard as when they started. I take the time to test every door I pass. A quick touch of my hand, fiddling with the handles, in hopes that one of them will turn.

I get lucky again as I reach the end of the alley. One door handle turns and opens into a shop’s back room, colored in red and decorated with oriental trinkets. The room is small with two doors, one open and the other a shut off mystery.

The open door leads into a kitchen, which is filled with the heavy scent of Chinese food and chemical cleaners. It’s empty, and no good to get me out of this jam.

Mystery door it is.

“Son of a bitch ran that way.” A voice alerts my ear, as the door falls shut behind me.

The narrow staircase behind the door leads me down into obscurity and the sickeningly sweet smell of cheap incense. Like the upper floor, the corridor I step onto is adorned in Chinese symbolism, paintings and other paraphernalia. Each step I take forward carries me closer toward the sound of music. I hear voices; low mumbles, satisfied ahhs and a grotesquely wicked screeching woman.

“You can’t do that in here. Are you stupid?” she hisses.

“I’m not doing nothing,” a man grumbles. “Nothing at all. No sir, no how.”

Odd, isn’t it?

I don’t answer my dark voice. Yes, it’s odd. A Chinese restaurant above and a drug den down below. Right under Lorenzo Napoli’s nose, too. Very odd. Probably means they’re in cahoots. Wouldn’t make sense otherwise. Then there’s the boring cliché of it all. Why use a Chinese restaurant? It’s as if they’re trying to broadcast that they’re doing something illegal.

But now isn’t the time to contemplate this strange discovery. I need to remain steady, calm, and focused.

I step through a door and enter their den. The space is much larger than I expected, with red lights hanging above. Booths that are more akin to beds than seats line the walls on either side.

Then I see her.

A tiny woman is shaking her hand viciously toward the man she’s reprimanding. I see why, too. His half-stiff cock is dangling out of the front of his pants, and he has a firm grip on the base.

Is it drugs or fear that’s got him soft?

Doesn’t matter. It’s me, now.

Determination propels me toward the woman. In one swift motion, I wrap a hand around her head and clamp her mouth shut. The other presses my gun against her back.

He is going to be a problem, though.

He is as high as a kite. He doesn’t even know what’s happening.

“The fuck are you doing?” Another voice. Another man. Not drugged. He hasn’t realized that I’m holding a gun to the woman’s spine.

I look at him over my shoulder. He is sitting in an entry booth crafted from red curtains. The curtains drape and billow around him, giving the whole space an ethereal feel.

“Rough night, pal. Best shift over if you want this pretty thing to walk out of here alive.” I inch my way back, keeping a firm grip on the woman. Her slick, black hair runs over her shoulders and tickles my forearms as we walk.

“Who are you? What do you want with us?” The man by the doorway sounds scared.

I answer by flashing my gun in his direction.

“Okay. I get it.”

“Move the table,” I order when we’re close. He does as I command, and I walk the woman into the tent of red cloth.

He puts everything back in place before giving it another shot. “What do you want from us?” He raises his hands. He is wearing a wedding ring. Could this be his wife?

It seems luck couldn’t be any more on my side tonight.

“Nothing. If you do as I say, you’ll both walk out of here, safe and sound. If you don’t, she’ll die first—.”

She screams against my hand as my threat leaves my lips. “And once I’ve made you watch, I’ll take my time on you.”

“Christ, you’re a madman!” He blinks rapidly. I can’t get a read on him. Scared? Probably. But he is hiding it well. Maybe he is the trouble my shadow-self was taking about.

“Lorenzo Napoli. Do you know him?” I stare straight into his eyes, tightening my grip on the woman’s face.

He nods.

“Relationship?”

“Good? What kind of question is—”

“His men are going to arrive any minute now. Is this your wife?” I don’t need more than one-word answers. The quicker I can get my point across, the better.

“Yes.” He gulps down so hard I see his Adam’s apple bob.

“She is going to be okay.” I turn my lips to her ear. “You’re going to be okay. As long as your husband does exactly as I say. Do you both understand?”

She nods. So does he.

“When they arrive, you’ll send them off.” It’s a simple task. Not necessarily an easy one, but we don’t have time to discuss intricacies.

“How?” he asks, turning his head in the corridor’s direction.

“You’ll figure it out.” I show him my gun again. A reminder. A warning. “Put your big boy pants on and get it done.”

I remove myself and the woman from view, blanketing us in the cloth that’s hanging over us. Even from where we’re hidden, I have a somewhat decent angle on the opening though, where Lorenzo’s men emerge to speak with my new captive.

“Did you see anyone come down here, Chang?” a burly Italian asks, his voice as smooth as a fine red wine.

“No, no one down here.” Chang’s head shakes violently, and he stutters the words out.

It pisses me off. It shouldn’t, and I can’t let it, but it does. The black spot may be alpha and omega, but I am death’s hand. I need icy control, trained savagery, ruthlessness and cunning to slip away from this mess. To deter Chang from making another mistake, I drive the barrel of the .38 into the woman’s spine. She whimpers softly, but it’s enough to make the man’s ears prick.

No more slip-ups, especially like the one I made with Fiametta.

It wasn’t a slip-up. You were a coward. Admit it.

The voice, so similar to my own, yet a complete stranger at the same time, coos softly in my mind. It’s getting a kick out of this. Now isn’t the time to rationalize how a voice can be smug, when it shouldn’t have feelings at all. When it shouldn’t exist at all.

“Are you sure?” The Italian doesn’t look inside the tent. He has no reason not to believe what he is told.

“No one in or out for hours now. The smack heads are too dosed to walk, and we locked up at midnight,” Chang answers, this time with more confidence than his first lie.

Good. I won’t have to paint him with Mrs. Chang’s right lung.

“Okay. If you do see anyone, let me know. ASAP. There’s a dangerous man on the loose and...” I let the sound of his voice trail off. I have no need to listen to him jabbering anymore.

I stay in my hiding place with Mrs. Chang until I’m sure Lorenzo’s men are gone, and then I wait another forty minutes or so. Chang tries to speak to me, to ask me questions and offer solutions for my escape, but none of them matter to me. Time is my only friend. When I finally believe enough time has passed, I release Mrs. Chang. She tumbles into her husband’s arms, clawing into him for a hug, with tears in her eyes.

“I know you’re going to tell them what happened. I won’t blame you.” I kick the table forward and step out of the tent. “But you’d be smarter to hold your tongues.”

Offering advice in a time like this? Always the altruist.

My shadow is right. Giving advice isn’t my forte, but it’s different this time. I don’t care if they die. Their lives are inconsequential. However, sharing a tidbit of wisdom that will keep them alive might do exactly the same for me.

“Those men don’t give a shit about you. If you squeal that I was here and that you didn’t say anything, they’ll kill you where you stand. It’s best you go on with your lives, and pretend I never crossed your paths. Someday soon, you’ll start believing I didn’t.”

And then I’m gone. Into the night and out of New York.

Where I’m headed is anybody’s guess, as long as it’s far away from here.