4. Chapter 4
I stared at the ceiling fan swirling round and round with my hand tucked under my head, trying to will my mind to shut off and sleep.
Usually, on nights when I killed, my adrenaline pumped for far too long, despite my efforts at calming myself, so I’d take a sleeping pill before bed, but I couldn’t tonight.
Not with Luca in the next room. I didn’t want to be dead to the world if he needed me.
Needed me?
Shit. I was torn between tossing him out of my fucking house or bundling him up and taking care of him, and I had never wanted to take care of anyone.
I had men here or there in my life for quick fucks, not snuggles or relationships.
Not that this clusterfuck of a situation had anything to do with relationships.
This young man didn’t know anything about taking care of himself.
He didn’t know anything beyond being a slave.
A sex slave. I wasn’t equipped to handle this or him.
My life was simple, and just the way I liked it.
No one in it to complicate things with feelings and needs, and Luca was beyond needy.
God, the way he curled up next to me on the floor like some beaten puppy desperate for love.
And he made me pet him, for fuck’s sake.
I may be many things—bad things—but being an owner of a sex slave wasn’t one of them.
I didn’t fucking traffic little humans and fuck them.
Shit like this was why I did what I did.
Kill the fuckhat who made this world darker.
It took a dark person to kill the dark. Not the light.
The light was too gentle. The light was about law and order.
The darkness masked chaos and evil. It took darkness to know darkness.
My father taught me that after he killed the men who murdered my mother.
I’d only been five years old at the time, and it was something he drilled into me over and over, so I never forgot it.
Was there a time my father was a good man? Maybe. Did my mother’s murder turn him into the monster he became? Possibly. But I had a feeling she died because of what he did for a living. He understood the business all too well to be self-taught.
His foot came at me with a sidekick. I ducked and blocked it. Dad never held back, even if I was only thirteen and was still shorter than him. I learned quickly to block, punch, and dodge, or else I’d come away with bruises or broken bones.
“You need to be strong, Dante. Always be aware of where your enemy is, even if he’s not visible. If you don’t see him or sense him.”
“Yes, Father.”
I grunted when a fist landed on my sternum, making me gasp for air, but I shook it off. No time to wallow in pain before the next blow came.
“Do you know what Dante means?”
“Endurance,” I said as I blocked another kick and came back with my own, but he blocked my leg with an arm like I was nothing but a pesky fly.
“Yes, Dante means endurance. My son will endure. You will live up to your name with my training and help. You will never succumb as your mother did. Understood?”
“Yes, Father.”
The conversation was only a distraction.
The kick slammed into me, knocking me onto my back, and leaving me winded.
Dad’s dark eyes narrowed as he grunted his displeasure, walking right past me.
There was no checking on me to see if I was okay, or telling me I did a good job, or that he loved me.
If my father ever loved, it died the day my mother was murdered.
“You’re weak, but you’ll learn soon enough. Eventually, you’ll endure, and no one will ever harm you.”
Despite my pain and lack of oxygen, I pulled myself off the ground and bowed. I didn’t even allow myself to wince and let my father see my weakness and suffering.
He gave me a quick appraisal and walked away. “Tomorrow, we work on knives.”
“Yes, Father.”
My eyes opened to the darkness, not realizing I had fallen asleep. I glanced at the clock on my nightstand. I sighed and rubbed my face, having only slept an hour. That’s when I heard it.
I sat up, suddenly alert. I was completely in tune with my home, so any noises out of the ordinary had me tense and reaching for my gun under my pillow.
And Cleo wouldn’t be barking. She would take down the intruder in silence.
They would never see her coming. But there was always a chance someone could incapacitate her.
Throwing my bare legs over the side of the bed, I cocked my gun and continued to listen.
There.
It was high-pitched, but I couldn’t make out what I was hearing. I stood, held my gun out, and explored my home to make sure I had no intruders; not sure how that was possible without being alerted unless someone shut my system down.
The first thing I did was use rationality. The most logical reason for the unusual noise came from the boy. When I approached his room, I found Cleo in front of the closed door of the guestroom, pacing. I stood for a moment, listening. The sounds I heard definitely came from behind the door.
I turned on the safety of my gun and set it back in my room. Then I returned to Luca, putting my ear to the door. The whimpers and tossing in the bed were louder. He was having some sort of nightmare. Unsurprising considering his ordeal.
“No… don’t. Please.”
I rested my forehead on the door, willing my body to stay put and not go to him. He was… Not. My. Fucking. Problem. Yeah? You made it your problem when you took him home with you. Now he sees you as some sort of fucking savior.
Before I headed back to my room, the whimpers grew louder, as well as his mumbling. Then Cleo licked my hand and whimpered, just like the boy.
“Dammit.”
I was never going back to sleep at this rate.
“He’ll be gone by the afternoon, then you can sleep,” I mumbled.
I didn’t bother knocking and walked into the dimly lit room.
He had turned on a small table lamp sitting on the old dresser, and he was tangled in the blankets, with a thin leg hanging out.
One hand was buried under the pillow and the other rested next to him in a tight fist. His brows were furrowed as his body twitched.
What the fuck was I doing here? It wasn’t like I would be a comfort to him or even wanted to.
But damn if a flicker of unused empathy grew.
This was why he needed to go, among other things.
I couldn’t afford to have a heart in my line of work.
Having empathy would get me killed. Did that stop me from walking into the room? Hell no.
God, if my father saw me now, he’d give me a beat down and remind me of my purpose.
Fuck my father. He was dead and deservedly so.
Cleo rushed in but didn’t dare jump into the bed. She knew better. Instead, she laid down on the rug next to him.
As I got closer to Luca, I saw his face glisten with tears, pulling something out of me I didn’t want. More fucking empathy.
“Don’t leave me,” he mumbled.
At first, I thought he was talking to me, but he was still asleep.
Enough. I’d just wake him up and go back to bed.
I sat on the edge of the bed, rested a hand on his narrow shoulder, and gently shook him. “Hey, you’re having a bad dream.”
His eyes popped open, but they weren’t focused until they rested on my face. His breathing was hard, then he looked around the unfamiliar room before settling back on me again. “Angel?”
I couldn’t help but smile, even if it was a small one. “I’m no angel.”
He sat up and rubbed his eyes before reaching for me, and wrapping his long, spindly arms around me. “My dark angel.”
I growled and grabbed his arms to pull him off. “I’m not some fucking savior or hero. Just stop.” But he held on tighter, and he was stronger than he looked.
“Angel of death.”
Well, he had me there.
I finally pried him off me and stood to leave until he called to me.
“Please don’t go.”
I didn’t turn around because I was a fucking coward to face him. Or a coward to embrace my empathy. That was the more likely truth. “You’re on your own tomorrow.”
“I don’t know how. This place is so… different. I’m… so scared.”
“Ugh…” I stared up at the ceiling, looking for answers it couldn’t give me, then turned around to face him. “I can’t help you.”
His eyes watered, and he grabbed his Rabbit, held it close, and quietly cried. “I’m sorry for crying. Please don’t be mad. But… you saved me for a reason. Just like I saved you for a reason.”
“You didn’t save me.” Lies. I didn’t hear the man coming into his room behind me, since I’d been so distracted by the boy. Then he killed that man about to pummel my face in.
The boy’s pain was fucking relentless. As his tears continued to spill, tearing a little piece of darkness out of me, he nodded. “I did. He would have hurt you. You came for me. That was your purpose.”
“No, I was hired to kill everyone there.”
“For a reason.”
I couldn’t argue with him since I wasn’t told why I had to kill all those men. Or why no one fucking mentioned this boy—young man. I had to remind myself he wasn’t a child, despite those freaks trying to keep him as one.
As I turned to leave again, he called out.
“I’m sorry.”
“For?”
“Please don’t punish me?”
“I’m not going to punish you. Fuck.”
“I’m sorry for arguing. You know best. You know more than I do. I’m just… scared. Please don’t punish me by leaving.”
If I didn’t know better and that he was innocent in all this, I’d think he was fucking manipulating me right now.
I turned around again to find him with his hand out, reaching for me, despite my being by the door. “Please stay, at least for a little while, until I can sleep. This bed is… unfamiliar.”
My feet moved toward him on their own. What the hell was I doing?
I was a killer. A monster. Not a protector of frightened young men.
Nevertheless, I sat on the bed, leaning against the headboard as he rolled onto his side and pressed his thin body next to me, snuggling that fucking rabbit like a toddler.
It was only one night, then he’d be gone by tomorrow.
His innocent death will be on your hands.
I silenced my errant thought. He wasn’t my problem.
So you keep saying.
I n the morning, I stood at the stove, sipping coffee and making pancakes and bacon. The least I could do was give the boy a decent breakfast before I dumped his ass, never to see him again. It was more than others would do for him.
He was as quiet as a mouse when he came into the kitchen. I didn’t turn around but sensed him there, not used to having others share my space. The boy probably learned to be as unobtrusive as possible over the years, which explained his ability to follow me last night.
“Morning,” I said. “Would you like some orange juice?”
When he didn’t answer, I turned to look at him staring back at me, biting his bottom lip and looking unsure. I sighed, struggling not to get angry with those I’d already killed. Had I known what they did to Luca, I probably would’ve made their deaths less quick… and definitely more fucking painful.
Instead of asking him again, I poured the juice into a glass and handed it to him. “Drink.”
He set his rabbit down on the counter and picked up the glass, taking a tentative sip. His eyes went wide, and he smiled, showing off those little dimples, making him look even younger. “This is really good.”
“Fucking hell. Did they not even give you juice?”
“If I was good, I got apple juice.”
Yep, I wish I could’ve gone back and slaughtered them more slowly. Over fucking juice. Shit, it wasn’t just the juice. They didn’t treat him like a child. They treated him like an unwanted animal. Like kicking down a sick puppy.
Fuck, I had to get over this protective kick I was currently on because it was going to make letting him go that much harder.
My empathy was getting out of control. With a deep breath, I shoved it into the back of my mind and flipped the pancakes in the pan.
I plated some bacon I had already cooked as he sat quietly, feeling his eyes burn a hole into my back.
When his pancakes were done, I slathered them with plenty of butter and drowned them in syrup as if it was his last meal.
Shut up.
But it probably would be his last meal. Once I dropped him off, I didn’t expect him to live longer than three days, despite giving him money.
It was out of my hands.
I put the plate in front of him with a fork and napkin, then poured him more orange juice after he finished the first glass.
I sat across from him, sipping my coffee and watching him carefully. He took a small bite of bacon, tasting it, and when he looked at me, his big blue eyes were even bigger with a stupid grin on his face that did something to my cold fucking heart.
“This is so good. Thank you, Angel.”
“You’re welcome,” I said, ignoring what he called me.
When he swallowed some pancakes, he looked at me again. “How did you become an angel of death?”
“You can call me for what I am. A killer. An assassin.”
“Did God make you that way?”
I scoff. “There is no god, kid.”
“Oh…”
He ate in silence before asking more questions. “How did you become an assassin?”
“It’s a long story.”
He just stared and stared and chewed, waiting for me to answer.
Whatever, he’d be gone soon enough, and dead shortly after.
He already witnessed me killing someone and if I were smart, I’d put a bullet in his head, but I was already getting in too deep with this young man.
Besides, I only killed innocents when there was no other choice.
Regardless, he wouldn’t be able to find me once I dropped him off.
“My mother was murdered, so my father thought it would be wise to train me to protect myself and kill those who want to hurt those we love.”
He also taught me to hate him and that he was a fucking bastard who nearly had me killed. I shut down the rush of memories of that fateful night and focused on Luca.
“He taught you really well.”
“I suppose he did.”
Good thing for me, or else he’d still be alive, and I wouldn’t.