9. Chapter 9 - Cole
L eaving Emiliano behind earlier was possibly one of the hardest things I’ve ever done in my life, but the alternative terrified me. What if he kicked me out as if it meant nothing? No, I wasn’t going to put myself in that situation. I wouldn’t be able to handle it. Maybe I am a sensitive bitch when it comes to him, but I can’t help it. This is so much more than sex with him. He has to know that.
My throat is still sore from earlier, but I’m not mad about it. The way he used me was a turn-on. Even my wildest fantasies could never compare to the real thing. Having his cock in my mouth was a dream all on its own, but the way he talked to me… I thought that would never come true. He has me wrapped around his finger, and I need to ask myself if this is the best idea. My dick really loves the thought of fooling around with Emiliano, but a much more possessive part of me doesn’t want to be another one of his conquests. A notch on his bedpost. No, I want to be so much more than that. I want to be his. I want him to be mine. I want him to belong to me—mind, body, and soul. Because he owns me. And I know if I ever allow him into my body, I’ll lose all the restraint I possess. Which is already close to being none.
Damn him for making me feel this way.
Emiliano and I are a match to gasoline, and if allowed, we’d blaze through everything in our paths. He’s just as possessive as I am. He might not say it, but his eyes did all the talking today. He claimed me in that room, and I let him, giving him scraps of myself that I don’t easily hand over. I gave him my lips, and with my eyes, I offered him my heart. Except I know that’s a horrible idea. Giving myself over to a man who has mixed feelings about me on the best days. And on the worst days? He wants nothing to do with me.
Not that I think I conveyed my emotions clearly enough. He seemed to be completely oblivious to what I was trying to tell him with my eyes. The way I offered myself to him—I never do that. Maybe he brushed it off, ignored it. I’m not entirely sure anymore. On the other hand, it’s possible he knew. He looked longingly after me as I opened that door, and it made me weak in the knees. I almost stayed. Almost begged him to give me a few more minutes with him before popping our bubble. Instead, he gave me a reward for being his good boy. I can’t say I’m upset, though. Not when I get to torture the motherfucker in front of me.
Emiliano gave me full permission to do as I please, and I plan to use that to my advantage. Tonight, I’m getting the blood lust under control. Just one more taste.
Ever since my mother was beaten to death in front of me, I’ve had problems. But doesn’t everyone? Mine just seem to be a little more severe than most. I enjoy killing, and if I close my eyes just right, I can almost picture myself killing my stepfather. If only I’d had that pleasure. But no, Emiliano took care of it just like he always takes care of me. So now I want to return the favor and take care of him for a change.
I’m here on my own tonight. Matteo still won’t talk to me, and I’ve been avoiding the hurt look in his eyes as much as humanly possible. Except he’s taking this to new levels and going as far as not coming home at night. He hasn’t been home in three days. It’s a bit extreme, in my opinion. Who is he even with, anyway? The fact that I don’t know bothers me. We used to tell each other everything. Well—not everything, I guess. I’m definitely a hypocrite because there’s no way in hell I’d tell him about my obsession with his father. I know I wouldn’t live to tell the tale. Matty would murder me with his own two hands. And thinking about how he loves to strangle people for fun, well, it doesn’t sound very appealing. Not unless a cock is inside of me when it happens. It won’t be his, though. The last time really was the last time.
The door to the basement opens just as I sit on a chair next to Armando. Strobe lights filter in and so does the booming music. Every beat of the bass is a throb to my balls, and as I watch Emiliano come down the set of stairs that lead to me, I wonder what it would take to convince him to kill Armando and fuck in his blood. For science, of course. I’m not a freak or anything. Okay, maybe a little.
His light gray suit is pressed and wrinkle-free, the color bringing out his olive skin tone, and his honey brown eyes fix on my face as he descends the steps. He doesn’t interrupt or speak to me; instead, he goes to the far wall and leans against it, watching silently. Assessing me, probably. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he’s trying to gauge my level of crazy right about now. But even he doesn’t know just how demented I am.
“You fucked up,” I say softly to Armando. “So, what to do with you now?” I tap my chin with my finger. “Oh! I know. You get to meet Ally.”
Armando whimpers. “Who the fuck is Ally?”
Emiliano snorts, covering it up with a cough, and I grin. He can say whatever he wants, but even I know he enjoys my level of crazy. It matches his.
I present my scalpel to him, dangling it right in front of his face, and he begins to shake his head quickly. So fast I’m sure he’s about to snap his own damn neck. Which I won’t let him. Where’s the fun in that? I grab his face with one hand, squeezing his cheeks together, and he stays eerily still. He looks like a goddamn opossum playing dead. As if I could forget about him and move on.
“That won’t work.” I roll my eyes, not irritated in the slightest. Any day I get to do this is a good day in my book. “Your fate is sealed, fucker. Which one of your fingers would you miss the most?” I ask in Spanish.
Armando whimpers again, shaking his head as he pleads for me to just kill him. Emiliano chokes from behind me, and when I look at him, one of his eyebrows is raised.
“Since when do you speak Spanish?” he asks me, curiosity lacing his voice.
“Prison.” I shrug. “Comes in handy nowadays.”
Emiliano hums, striding slowly toward me. “Tell me something.” This time, I tilt my head to the side, questioning him. “Anything at all.”
I want to ask him why. What does he get out of this? Except I know it’s the perfect opportunity to pounce. Maybe if I tell him how I feel…
“I love you to the moon and back.” I whisper.
Armando chokes, but Emiliano’s eyes stay steady on mine. His breathing turns ragged, and he closes the distance between us. Before I can even blink again, he’s dragged me out of my chair and hauled me toward his body by my black t-shirt. Our chests collide, my breath whooshing out of me, but I stay stock still as his lips come to the shell of my ear. The contact makes me shiver, and when his hand comes to my lower back to push me against him, my body lights up with want and ardent need.
“You shouldn’t say things you don’t mean,” Emiliano whispers against my ear.
“I don’t lie,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Careful, my prince.” I suck in a sharp breath at the pet name. “Or I’ll think you’re mine and ruin your fucking life.”
“Ruin me then,” I taunt. “Unless you’re okay with someone else taking your place.”
Emiliano’s hand shifts to the back of my neck, and I look into the dark depths of his eyes defiantly. Something seems to snap inside of him because the look in those dark orbs could only be described as feral.
Bingo .
My eyes follow the movement of his tongue as it wets his bottom lip, and it takes everything inside of me not to propel myself forward and close the small distance between us. It’s an act of defiance against the universe, rejecting the gravitational pull between us. But I do it anyway, planting my feet firmly on the ground and refusing to move.
His hand on the back of my neck tightens impossibly more, and he says, “I think you know what will happen if you test that theory.”
I shake my head. “Enlighten me.”
“There will be rivers of blood flowing through New York City—and possibly even innocent lives will be on your hands.”
“It’s a good thing I don’t have a conscience,” I tell him. “Do you?”
Something like pain flashes in his eyes, and he lets go of me, taking a healthy step back. I immediately miss the warmth of his body pressed up against mine, and it takes a monumental amount of strength to not follow after him. This pain has a first and last name—and I can’t hold it against him. Matteo Colombo might just be the end of us. Maybe we are doomed with no hope for a future. Maybe I’ve just been delusional, believing I could change Emiliano’s mind.
Maybe, maybe, maybe.
I’m sick of not knowing.
Emiliano goes back to his place against the wall, and I take that as the dismissal I know it is. My place is next to Armando, anyway. He needs to die and soon. I’m already anxious to get it over with. I usually enjoy drawing it out, but I don’t feel like being in Em’s vicinity right now. I feel naked under his gaze. Exposed. Raw. I told him I love him, and he dismissed me. And that stings like a bitch.
I sigh, taking my gun out, and press it against Armando’s forehead. His eyes widen in fear, and his teeth begin to rattle as he gets the shakes. At least he’s still looking at me. At least he’s not crying. I can appreciate that.
“Do you know why you’re dying today?” I ask him, and he tries to nod, but I shove the gun deeper into his forehead.
“I do.”
“Then you should’ve known better than to double-cross The Colombo’s.” My finger dances along the trigger, the gun already loaded, and I tense in anticipation of the recoil.
“Maybe you should be more worried about what is going on in your warehouses,” Armando says, his bottom lip quivering. I raise an eyebrow at him, as if saying go on . He takes the hint. “There’s going to be a bust tonight.”
I frown. “And how do you know that?”
“People talk.” Armando shrugs, and I lower my weapon and put it back in its holster. “You have cops on your payroll, right?”
“Obviously.”
“One of them is working with the Russians.” His voice is shaky as he says it, like he’s just now realizing that if I take pity on him—which I definitely won’t—they’ll just swoop in and kill him themselves. It’s tempting to let him live. But I’m getting bored already. The only thing making this interesting is that I need a?—
“Give me a name.” I grin, letting the crazy out. I’m so sick of these fuckers crossing us. “Now.”
“I don’t have one.”
I raise an eyebrow, and his breathing turns shallow. “You sure about that?” I ask calmly. More than I really feel. But sometimes, I can be in control. Only on special occasions. This seems to be one of those. I also don’t want to lose my shit in front of Emiliano. That’s the last thing I need.
Armando shakes his head and says nothing.
I appraise him for one long moment, looking at the way he’s tied to the chair, hands bound in front of him instead of behind. I don’t question it. Mostly because it’s convenient for me right now. I grab my scalpel, then his hand, gripping it roughly so he has no choice but to stay still. Emiliano’s eyes are still on me, burning a brand over my skin, but I ignore him as best as I can. Instead, I slide the scalpel under Armando’s fingernail and rip it clean off.
He screams.
“I can’t hear you,” I taunt. “What was that?”
I cup a hand over my ear as he begins to cry in earnest. “Officer Sean Murphy.”
I draw out my gun once more, pointing it right at his head for the second time tonight. “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
I pull the trigger, watching as brain matter splatters out of the back of his head. It rains down onto the concrete, and I sigh in contentment, holstering my weapon once more. I’m about to step out of the basement when Emiliano’s phone begins to ring, and he halts me with his hand.
“What happened?” Emiliano mutters under his breath, and I watch with bated breath. “ Fuck .”
Silence.
“He’s dead,” he says, and I relax.
This I can deal with.
He needs another kill tonight? I’m his man. Anything else? I’m fucking out. I can only take so much pain and rejection for one day. I’m not putting myself in that situation again tonight.
“The police invaded warehouse five,” Emiliano speaks softly, locking his cellphone. “I need you.”
I need you.
How many times have I dreamed of those words coming from his lips? A million—possibly more. And yet, when it comes down to it, we don’t need each other in the same way.
I huff. “Let’s go get that dirty ass cop.”
I’m giving him an out, and he takes it. “You seemed bored with Armando.”
“I was.” I nod. “Make the next one more interesting.”
Emiliano throws his head back and laughs, and I can’t help the small chuckle that leaves me. “You’re crazy.”
“You have no idea,” I mutter, running a hand down my face as we ascend the steps that lead out of the basement and back to the club.
“I think I do.”
He doesn’t.
But I don’t correct him anymore.
Let him find out for himself.