Chapter 2 #2
She gazes at me through her lashes, her eyes growing darker, her plush lips suddenly more inviting. “I don’t know. Are you?”
Her challenging look shoots right down my body like lightning, igniting my desire for her.
Her hands come up, not to struggle, but to clasp my wrists.
Her fingers slide over my skin in a soft, deliberate caress.
I fight to keep my face impassive and my breath steady.
The sudden rush of pleasure is so foreign I barely recognize it.
When was the last time someone touched me gently? My mother, maybe, before they killed her. My sister, who probably died screaming for help. The only touches I can recall lately are punches and kicks.
A sharp ache blossoms inside me. There’s a word for this, isn’t there?
Touch-starved.
I take a ragged breath, and for the first time in weeks, I forget all about revenge.
“I have no reason to turn you in,” she whispers.
“I’m not a rat, and I have no love for the Dervishis.
I don’t care that you killed them. They can all rot.
I want to go back to my boring life and my exhausting, minimum-wage job.
You don’t want the cops coming after you for this.
What’s going to grab more police attention and headlines, ‘Four Dervishis Dead’ or ‘Young Woman Murdered When Caught in Mafia Violence’? ”
I’m barely listening. I’m lost in imagining my lips on hers and wondering what she tastes like. It’s been so long since I’ve wanted anything but vengeance, and felt anything but the gnawing emptiness of grief.
“One kiss to show you how grateful I am for sparing me,” she implores. “Then we’ll both walk out of here. We’ll never hear from each other or speak to each other again. Please.”
She sounds so sweet when she’s begging, and even sweeter, she’s offering to make me feel something other than loss.
I put the knife to one side.
“You drive a hard bargain, doe.” I lower my face slowly, deliberately, not moving to kiss her until I feel her breath hitch. “But we have a deal.”
My lips brush over hers, a featherlight touch that’s more promise than kiss. Her eyes widen with surprise, then flutter closed as a wave of heat blooms through me. The softness of her mouth hits me like a drug.
We’re not captor and captive anymore. She’s the woman I want.
I slant my mouth over hers in a proper, claiming kiss, and her moan is soft and yielding.
As my tongue slides past her lips, I wrap my arms around her, pulling her flush against me.
Every curve of her body molds perfectly against mine.
She arches into me with willing surrender, her hands fisting in my shirt.
Her teeth nip my lower lip, a small act of defiance that sends lightning straight down my spine.
Fuck.
My heart pounds so hard I’m sure she can feel it.
I tighten my grip on her, one hand sliding into her hair, angling her head so I can deepen the kiss. She opens for me, her tongue meeting mine stroke for stroke in a rhythm that makes me think of other ways our bodies could move together. Her taste is addictive. I can’t get enough.
When we finally come up for air, we’re both gasping, our breaths mingling in the close space. Her lips are swollen, wet from my mouth.
The sight makes me kiss her again.
Harder. Longer. Until neither of us can think straight.
My pretty little captive’s hands have slid underneath my T-shirt.
She’s caressing my chest, her fingers splayed across my racing heart.
Her sharp nails trace slow, teasing lines across my torso, and I groan into her mouth.
Her touch isn’t submissive or tentative.
It’s exploratory. A challenge that drives my desire for her even higher.
I can feel her pulse fluttering wildly at her throat. Her breathing has become shallow and quick. She wants this as much as I do.
I pull away slightly so I can drink in her beautiful face. Her eyes are glazed with desire, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
Then I dip my head to claim another kiss.
She gasps suddenly and turns her head to the side, staring at the wall with wide eyes. She pulls her hands out from beneath my T-shirt like she’s been burned.
I watch her closely, hoping she’ll turn her face back to mine so I can kiss her again. “Not bad. I enjoyed that, doe.”
Embarrassment and uncertainty fill her eyes, and she won’t meet my gaze. “Of course you did. When was the last time a woman kissed a Vici by choice?”
Instantly, my heart hardens and my eyes narrow. “What did you just say?”
She sucks in a scared breath. “Nothing. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”
All the heat drains out of my body. I can be sweet-talked, but my family name will not be insulted. I snatch up the knife once more and hold it to her throat.
“You think you can talk this way about my family? My dead fucking family?”
Her hands tighten desperately on my wrists as tears spring into her eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult your family. I saved your life, even if you didn’t need it. I stood up to four armed men for you. Please don’t kill me.”
Fury consumes me, and the world swims with a red haze. My blood boils, a roar building behind my ears until it drowns out her voice entirely.
The woman inhales deeply and opens her mouth to scream, but I clamp a hand over her lips. I can feel her arm moving around as though she’s feeling for something. I’m meant to be focused on vengeance, yet I let myself be lured into kissing a beautiful stranger on this bloodied tile floor.
Her hand rises in my peripheral vision, her fingers wrapped around something long and shiny. The baseball bat. The thought registers an instant before the impact. A starburst of agony explodes in my head, right on the same tender, brutalized spot.
My vision goes white. My ears ring. I barely cling to consciousness, and my body goes limp. The woman shoves me off her before scrambling to her feet, and her panicked footsteps fade away.
I get onto my knees and use a washing machine to pull myself to standing. The room tilts. After a few staggering steps, I run out of the laundromat and onto the sidewalk. Pools of yellowish streetlight dot the empty pavement. I blink hard. Once. Twice. There’s empty street in every direction.
Ten years in the business, and a woman half my size and at my mercy gets the better of me.
I push my hand through my hair, trying to shake off the humiliation.
I have vengeance to enact, and yet I can’t resist shouting after her, my voice bouncing between brick buildings, “You owe me another kiss for that, doe.”