Chapter 9
DANTE
Iremove my helmet, sit on the bike, and look up to our apartment balcony. Romi stares out at the sky, the tip of her cigarette flaring in the cool night.
“Can’t sleep?” I call out to her. She looks down at me, as if inconvenienced by the reminder of my existence. Every time I return here, my curiosity grows.
This woman is bleeding out all over the place, like a wounded animal, and being the asshole that I am—I’m drawn to the scent.
“Something like that,” she calls back. I’m surprised she even bothered to respond. Borris sits beside her, his little head peeking through the railings, likely curious at the sound of my voice.
“Ever been on a bike before?” I ask, holding up my helmet. “Do you have a jacket?”
She brings the cigarette to her lips and stares at me contemplatively. “I like the look of yours.”
Of course she does. I can’t help but smile as I remove my jacket.
“I’ll be down in five,” she says, putting the cigarette out and picking up Borris before pressing a kiss on top of his head.
Lucky dog.
She appears a few minutes later in a long shirt that states I’m not nice. I’m the calm before the storm, jeans, and those thick boots she likes to wear. The entire outfit suits her, really. She was made to sit on the back of my bike.
“I want the front,” she says.
“Abso—fucking—lutely not.” I offer the helmet to her again. “Have you even ridden a bike before?”
She rolls her eyes and grabs my helmet. “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me, asshole.”
I smirk as she throws her leg over the bike. “By the way, just because I’m on the back of your bike, doesn’t mean I’m going to have sex with you.”
“What if I’m taking you to the most romantic place on earth?”
She pretends to dry heave as she brings her arms around my midsection.
“I doubt you have a romantic bone in your body. And even if you do—waste it on some doe-eyed woman who matches your wallpaper.”
That vicious little tongue of hers is always trying to strike me down, but it just makes my cock twitch instead. Though I’m obsessed with her body, the denial of my pleasure and fucking her are equally alluring to her cruelty and charm.
I rev the bike. “You ready, sweetheart?”
She pushes the visor down, and I smile cockily.
“Hold on,” I warn as I hit the gas.
The sun won’t begin to rise for another three hours at least, so at this time, even in New York, there’s less traffic for me to weave in and out of, speeding through and cutting close corners, expecting her grip to tighten or for her, at the very least, to ask me to slow down.
She doesn’t.
I don’t think she has a death wish, but she’s walking through life like a wraith, as if she were as good as dead.
I’ve met her type before, and although I’ve never had any particular curiosity for her kind—I do when it comes to Romi.
I’d recently found a lake I think she might like.
Looks like an easy spot to dump a body or two, but so far I haven’t had to get rid of any bodies myself—the joy of having a team that works at my beck and call.
Granted, they work for me grudgingly, but I know over time they’ll become accustomed to my commands.
If not, there will be consequences. It's as simple as that.
The wind pushes my hair back, the cold brushing against my skin, my glasses protect my eyes, especially as we go farther out of the city.
I feel the tension slowly seep out of her; this little vixen is constantly like a hornet's nest, suggesting that if one gets too close it will definitely sting.
But I feel that drain from her, maybe from tiredness or simply from finding ease on the bike.
As she suggested, it seems like she’s accustomed to being on one.
I assumed she’d only be another rich little party girl when I first moved in, but I’m coming to understand that there are many layers to this unusual woman.
Her clothes are all designer, and her nails and hair are perfect, even when she’s spiraling in a self-detonating way.
After my brief encounter with her mother, I wonder if it has more to do with her than what Romi wants herself.
Then again, she doesn’t seem like the type of woman to be told what to do.
I slow down near the lake, and no one else is around. My ideal type of place.
I cut the engine when we stop, and she removes the helmet, jumping off without so much as a thank you. She looks out at the large body of water, gravitating toward it, the silhouette of the moon shining over her. She looks perfect in my jacket.
I’m acting the part of a considerate roommate to gain her trust and further burrow myself into her life, and by default, my brother's. It all feels too easy, and I have to resist the urge to exploit the fragile state she’s currently in.
I want to watch her fall apart, curious to see how insane this woman can get, but there’s something else entirely uncomfortable beside it—a small part of me that considers perhaps I should do anything I can to avoid it.
But I’ve never functioned like that. I only gain satisfaction from pushing people over the edge, never from pulling them back.
I swing my leg over the bike and remove my gloves, then set them on the seat and walk over to her. By the time I do, she’s removing her shoes and socks.
I frown. “What are you doing?”
She glares at me. “It’s called grounding yourself, asshole. Maybe you should try it sometime, and your head might magically fall out of your ass.”
My eyebrows only cut lower. “It’s called what?”
She rolls her eyes. “Grounding. You know, putting your feet on grass. It helps you center, to take a breath, etc., etc.”
“Oh, fuck me, are you one of those horoscope-reading, crystal-wearing girls?” I say, abhorred.
She scoffs. “Opposed to a mysterious doctor who walks out in the dead of night and returns with blood on his shirt that I sure as fuck know doesn't come from you being in a surgical room. But I’m the weird one?”
“I never said weird, but if I were going to give it a title, I’d say crazy.”
“Might be the truest thing that’s ever fallen from your shit-stirring lips.” She then begins unbuttoning her jeans.
“What the fuck? You’re not going to start chanting, are you?”
She shuffles out of her jeans. “Yeah, I actually waited for the perfect opportunity so I could start a séance and offer you to the devil himself. Thanks for bringing me to a place where it’d be so easy to dispose of your body,” she says dryly, and my cock jumps at the mention of disposing of a body here.
If only she knew the true, evil intention I had for this place.
“The devil has feared coming anywhere near me for a while, sweetheart,” I say with a cocky grin.
By the time her shirt comes off, and she’s only in her underwear, I'm licking my lips at the pink peaks of those perfectly pierced nipples. “You can’t seriously be considering going into the water. It’s fucking freezing out here. You’ll catch a cold.”
Surely, I don't have to explain the basics to this woman.
“And yet, he’s fearful of a little bit of cold water. Can’t be that scary.” She toys with a smirk as she drops her panties and throws them at my chest. I catch them as she steps toward the water, as if it’s the most natural thing to do in the frigid air.
I curse, ripping at my clothes. This is absolutely ridiculous, yet I follow her lead. The moment her toes touch the water, she’s cursing, but continues to step farther in.
By the time I’m naked, she’s already hip deep, still muttering her complaint.
The moon and stars sprinkle the sky as I make long strides through the ice-cold water. “This is fucking insane.” I'm surprised that for once I’m the one trying to rationalize behavior here.
“Stop being such a little pussy!” she yells.
Pussy? If she knew the things I was capable of, at minimum, the two men I killed tonight, she might not be so inclined to call me a fucking pussy.
She completely lowers herself into the water, biting and cursing until she leans back to float, arms spread wide.
I decide to get it over with and dive under the water, silently cursing her for forcing me to do something so mundane.
When I surface beside her, she looks over at me and begins laughing. It’s the first time I’ve heard her laugh. It’s as haunting as it is beautiful. It’s the first time I’ve seen this freer version of the woman floating before me.
My eyebrows dip. “What are you laughing at? Is the moon not in the right position for the séance?”
“No, you just look like such a grump.”
I grab her foot and drag her toward me. She tries to kick me away, but I bring her hips to mine as I tread water for both of us. “You’re a very irritating woman, Romi Lutton.”
Her eyebrows rise. “He thinks he’s special because he knows my last name. I thought I made it clear not to look into me.”
I look down at her cold, peaked nipples pressing against my chest. “I don’t think we can get any closer than this, sweetheart. Still scared to let me in?”
Her hand goes beneath the water, and I hiss as it wraps around my cock. “You can’t be that cold.”
My fingers graze along her smooth skin, goose bumps running under my fingertips as I wrap my hand around her throat. “You should be more scared of me.”
She chuckles, actually laughs, while fisting my cock, and it’s a cruel, twisted form of pleasure under the cold.
“Why? Because the big, bad doc drives a motorcycle?” She smirks. “I’ve met worse men.”
“I very much doubt that, Cattivella.”
Her eyebrows furrow slightly, the same way they did the first time I used that nickname for her, but like the locked vault she is, she never inquires as to what it means.
She lines my cock with her cunt, lowering herself onto me and biting the bottom of her lip as I press down on her hips, forcing her to take more of me. The immediate suction of water acts as a push and pull.
It fucking hurts, it’s so damn cold, and my dick is in overdrive with sensitivity—yet I fucking love it, hissing as she grinds up and down, those light-brown eyes silently challenging and provoking me.