18. Basilio
Basilio
W ynter’s blonde curls glowed under the lights of the club.
Men threw glances her way but none of them dared to get too close to her. Not after what I’d done to the last man that dared to touch her without her permission. Truthfully, I’d have done it even if she gave him permission. Just for daring to touch her.
Nobody touches what’s mine and she was mine.
She moved sensually to the rhythm. After seeing her dance at Madame Sylvie’s, I wasn’t surprised to see her move so gracefully.
I bent down to her ear and whispered, “Are you okay?” Her light green eyes met mine and her eyebrow raised in question. “I overheard a fraction of your conversation with your mom.”
A soft sigh slipped through her lips and her shoulders slumped just slightly.
“She’s worried about distractions,” she explained, shrugging one shoulder. “Boys are a distraction.”
I chuckled. “That’s easily rectified.”
“It is?” she asked curiously.
“Yes, we’ll have her come to New York, and she’ll see I'm not a boy.”
She threw her head back and her melodious laugh rang between us.
“Loophole, huh?” she mused and I grinned. “She hates New York, and says there are too many criminals here.”
“Hmmm, odds are stacked against me,” I said, but I didn’t care. I’d impress her mother if it was the last thing I did. Wynter would be mine.
I pulled her closer to me and she smiled softly.
Fuck, she’d bring me to my knees with that smile.
This wave of possessiveness was overwhelming and reminded me of my father.
I hated the comparison, but I couldn’t avoid it.
Except, Wynter wanted me. She saw my brutality and still wanted me. She knew I’d never hurt her.
I gripped her hips tighter and we moved together. This moment when nobody and nothing mattered, just the two of us.
I caught her stifling a yawn and I grinned. “Am I boring you, principessa?”
She chuckled softly, her eyes shining with amusement. “Bas, you could never be boring.” She lifted on her toes and brushed her lips against mine. “I’ve been up since dawn. I rarely stay up late. Though the last few weeks have been crazy with the girls.”
Considering she and her friends burned down a house, then went to Chicago for a game of poker, while Wynter trained along, I bet she was tired.
I cupped her cheek, brushing our noses together. If Priest was watching us, he’d know I was whipped. I didn’t give a fuck. I’d found my perfection and my light in the darkness of the underworld.
Everything about her fascinated me. Every single word. Every single look. Every-fucking-thing.
She was my perfection. My perfect opposite. My sweetest obsession.
“Want to go back to our room?” I asked as I skimmed a thumb across her full bottom lip.
“Thought you’d never ask,” she answered mischievously, her lips curved in a soft smile.
* * *
I came out of the shower to find Wynter fast asleep and the Good Girls show we were watching still playing. It wouldn’t have been my pick. A total chick flick, but I wanted to make her happy. She seemed excited for it and I’d give her anything she wanted just to see her eyes shining.
Although I suspected the show might be a bad influence on her and her friends.
Dropping to my haunches next to her, I watched her sleep for a moment.
She was curled up in a fetal position sleeping, facing the bathroom door, as if she was waiting for me.
Her hands were folded under her cheek and one of her smooth feet half hanging off the bed.
She wore a little tank top and hot pink boy shorts.
Fuck, her ass was perfection. When she started trailing her fingers over my muscles, her touch feather light, I had to fight the urge not to roll her over and rip her clothes off. Just her scent was enough to get me rock-hard.
But I was too worked up from earlier that night, the need to kill burning inside my chest. Wynter didn’t deserve an angry fuck. I wouldn’t do that to her. Never to her. She deserved romance, wining, and dining.
I rubbed my face. Fuck, I had lost my goddamn mind, pining after a woman so desperately.
Every monster has a weakness and she’s mine. My obsession. My addiction. My only salvation.
She looked like an angel with her long, blonde eyelashes fanning her cheeks. She took a deep breath, then sighed softly. How peaceful she looked. I wanted her to keep that peaceful and innocent look she held.
Leaving her to sleep in peace, I headed out of the room and down to the secured basement Priest kept for men like our newest guest. Priest was all about the ironies in life.
Three stories up, there were the most luxurious bedrooms of Philly.
Down here, it was hell for anyone that dared to double-cross us.
I found our guest tied to a chair and Priest already entertaining himself, reciting his version of the man's last rites.
“May the Holy Spirit free you from this miserable life and your sins swallow you whole with the grace of the Holy Spirit. Amen, motherfucker.”
Priest was a sick fucker. Good thing he was my cousin and I loved him.
I stalked toward our guest, fury burning in my veins. The best thing would be to smash his skull into the wall and have his brain spill all over the ground. That would be too quick of an end for this creepy weasel.
“So you think you can grope my woman, huh?” I asked, my voice hoarse with the rage I tried to contain.
“I didn’t know she was yours,” he cried, his beady eyes full of terror. His hand was covered in blood, the fingers I cut off dangling from a necklace Priest must have made while waiting for me.
Like I said… a sick motherfucker.
“Doesn’t matter, buddy,” Priest drawled. “No groping of any woman in my club. You just fucked up an extra by touching Basilio’s woman.” My cousin’s eyes met mine. “Time to get dirty.”
“And I just took a shower,” I feigned disappointment, though anger burned my throat. The only reason I took a shower was to get some space from Wynter before I caved into the sweetest temptation. I wanted to touch her and fuck her until she felt this same obsession that burned in my chest.
I took a knife from Priest and jabbed it into our guest’s thigh. He roared in agony, but I was just getting started. I twisted the knife, turning it sharply and his eyes rolled back.
He wouldn’t last long.
“See, fucker,” I started with my psychotic smile, “there is one thing I hate more than anything else in the world.” He whimpered like the baby that he was. “Ask me what it is,” I drawled.
“W-what is it?”
“People that hurt the weaker ones. The innocent ones. Do you know what I do to them?” He whimpered in response, shaking his head. “Kill them.”
I watched him pale, his pupils dilated realizing he’d never get out of this one. He was a dead man. But first he’d suffer and beg me to kill him. My eyes settled on him, trying to decide the best way to cause him pain. Or the worst way, depending how you looked at it.
The fucker’s chin wobbled and he started crying, his eyes twitching with terror. He started pleading, but I tuned him out. There was no amount of begging that would spare his life.
His face was a bloody mess. I gripped his throat and jerked him up, along with his chair and choked him.
Slicing the rope that bound him, the chair fell with a loud thud, then I threw him through the air.
He smashed against the wall, then dropped to the ground.
The room was filled with his agonizing screams.
His eyes darted to Priest who leaned against the wall, his hands in his pockets. He looked bored as fuck. I took five steps towards him and knelt in front of him. Priest joined, that crazy and unhinged look in his eyes focused on the fucker that whimpered in front of us.
“You’re dead already,” Priest announced, his voice bored. “You were the moment I read you your rites.”
“You’re fucking crazy,” the fucker screamed. “Both of you. I barely even touched the girl’s ass.”
That was when I lost my shit. I jerked down his pants and brought my knife down to his cock. My lip curled with disgust scenting his piss and cheap cologne.
I brought my face close to his, smiling harshly. “You have no idea how fucking crazy I am.”
I pushed my knife deeper into his groin, then I brought it to his cock and sliced through the soft flesh. His screams were high-pitched, the fucker gurgling in his own spit and blood pooling around him.
I stood up, his cock discarded in the pool of blood and the fucker twitching in his own vomit and sea of blood around him.
“Now I have to shower again,” I growled, my darkness and brutality simmering under my skin.
“And you call me a sick motherfucker,” Priest grinned stupidly.