Chapter 4
Kat
“There is no ‘I’ in team, but there is in panic.”
Waking up after ten in the morning is not my usual behavior, but given the late night with Enzo and the fact that it is the weekend, I can get away with sleeping in.
Potato is sitting on his tower looking at me, displeased with the amount of time I have spent in bed.
Enzo had made sure there was more than enough food, water, and a clean litter box to use so I didn’t have to worry about it when I got home.
I stand up, stretching before I make myself breakfast.
TEXT MESSAGE:
FROM: Pussy Tamer
Message: Check your front door.
I roll my eyes and turn away from the stove and walk in the direction of my door before the knob turns. Enzo opens my door with a smile on his face and peace offerings in hand.
“Kitten, it’s just me. I am not here to hurt you,” he says with a melodic tone in his voice.
As annoyed as I am that he waltzed in here with no regard for an invitation, the brown paper bag that he is carrying wafts the smell of warm tortillas and eggs throughout my apartment.
Breakfast burritos. My mouth starts to water, seeing the to-go coffee from my favorite cafe.
My skips a beat, and warms at the thought this brutal man put into making my morning better after last night.
“I have breakfast with me and I’ll answer all of your questions,” He promises, walking to my breakfast bar and taking a seat.
I follow him to the bar and find my place next to him.
Once seated, he places a burrito in front of me with some homemade salsa and my coffee.
My hand reaches out on instinct to sip the coffee and it is my normal caramel and white chocolate latte.
The sweet taste of the coffee finds its way into my body, soothing all of my aches and preparing me for the day.
“I see your interest in me goes far beyond what my kill count is,” I quip.
While I wait for him to put together an answer I add some salsa to my burrito and take a bite.
The second that the flavors hit my tongue I let out an indecent moan.
Enzo growls in response, running his fingers through his hair.
“Kitten, if you want answers instead of me pleading on my knees, you’ll need to hold in the foodgasm noises so I can concentrate,” he asks while adjusting his pants.
I feel the heat climb to my cheeks as the visceral reaction he has to me settles into my bones.
Gesturing with my hand for him to continue, I take another bite.
“Ok. First, I needed to know why you were taking out my targets and if we were next on your list to eliminate. I ran extensive background checks on you and every person that you interact with, looking for any way that you could be a threat to the family.” He spoke uncomfortably before taking a drink out of his bottle of water.
“At what point did it go from background to letting me carve a fucking cat into you?” I ask in the hope that the answer explains this connection that we have.
From the moment that I met Enzo, every atom of my being has called to him.
I should be afraid given his affiliations and the promises he had to make to hold his position, but the fact that he chose me in spite of his job brings a snowstorm of emotions to my belly.
“During the day, I watched you do your job with every fiber of your being, trying to put the dirtbags in this city behind bars and get legal justice for them. Then at night, I watched you find your own, more dark persona, and hunt those who got away with the same tenacity. You never did anything without reason, so I cleaned up where I could and made sure that the city only got what evidence I approved. I knew that no media would catch your attention too fast, and I wanted an opportunity to know everything about you before we met,” he admits, crashing my reality and the dark side of my life together.
I had felt the eyes watching me but assumed that it was a side effect of my grief.
Tears start to escape and I quickly stare down into my cup, avoiding eye contact.
Enzo stands next to me and wraps me in his arms. This is the first time that anyone has held me since my parents’ accident over a year ago, before my first kill.
Sobs wrack my chest and he holds me closer; my vision blurs as I lose control.
We just sit there silently, waiting for this wave of emotions to pass.
Grief is not linear, and when you throw in a murder spree, it can make processing your emotions more complicated than before.
“My stepfather was drinking when he crashed the car, but I’m sure that you already saw the reports. Did the reports tell you that he used cameras to spy on me in my bedroom and bathroom?” I ask, admitting out loud for the first time what I had found.
“Your stepfather was on a list of men connected to other families that deal in the skin trade. We were unsure how much your mother knew, but a large portion of his business was adjacent to those who traffic humans. I know he exchanged video currency with other bad men, but we developed special software to analyze the participants and name them so that we don’t continue the victimization of the humans in them.
We know you were recorded, but none of us knew the capacity out of respect for your privacy.
” He strokes my shoulders, sending waves of calm through me.
“He never touched me, but I was lucky considering some of the things I saw on the hard drive. I know the names of some of the men who participated and how this city could never land a charge on any of them. The list includes politicians, judges, billionaires, and those who think they are above the rules,” I answer the unspoken question that lingers between us.
“I can take the hard drives and get them into the right hands if you want. It will not be the traditional form of justice, but it will alleviate you of the responsibility for what he did and his tainted money,” He offers me, and my heart skips a beat at the option to offload the hard drive of horrors and alleviate me of the burden.
“If I agree, can we talk about the way that you saved your number in my phone?” I ask, ready for a change from my dark past to my punny present.
“Only if you look in your cupboard first,” he replies, a smile on his face.
Getting up, he steadies me and brushes the hair out of my face before I walk over to the cupboard.
Opening it, I see it is full of cereal in all different flavors and varieties.
It takes me a moment to process it before I start laughing.
“Cereal for my serial killer,” He snickers as I find my way back to my seat. Shaking off my laughter, I place my hand in his and smile.
“So how and why is your contact name Pussy Tamer?” I ask him, feeling the gentle tug on my hand pulling me into his embrace.
“I have been calling you Kitten since the day I laid eyes on you. If anyone is going to tame your wild killer streak, it’s the man who has been following your career since the beginning,” he answers without hesitation, using his finger to rub circles on the back of my hand.
We finish our food together in comfortable silence, the weight of the conversation heavy in the room.
“Would you like to come to my family home with me?” I ask, hesitation evident in my voice. I have never taken anyone back to that gated house of horrors.
“I would follow you to the end of the world, Kitten,” He answers before stealing my breath with a kiss.