Chapter 2
DECLAN
Don’t ask me why I didn’t just slit his throat the second I finished killing the annoyingly loud Marcos Bianchi. Maybe it was the fear in his eyes. No, I see fear all the time. Or maybe it was the fact he’s truly the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. Yeah, we’ll go with that.
He’s tall, with a swimmer’s body from what I can tell through his clothes, and curly blond hair that flops over his ears and forehead.
His eyes are so wide they appear to be the size of saucers.
They’re incredibly vibrant, like a neon light—electric, blazing the vibrant blue, and now my favorite color.
And can we talk about his dick? It is fucking perfection.
Long, thick, veiny, and clipped. Everything about him is perfect.
Maybe he’s an angel sent to Earth to tempt me and my crooked soul.
We’re so close I could stick my tongue out and lick him.
Tempting as it is, it’s not the way I want to taste him.
I do, however, indulge myself. I lean in to smell him, running my nose along his jaw.
Fuck, even his scent is perfect. Like clean laundry, mint, and something I can’t pinpoint but love instantly.
“Tell me, what’s the name of God’s Aingeal?” I ask, needing to know all I can about him. I know I should kill him. He saw what I did. He could go to the police. But do I care at this moment? Not so much. If I’m going to be brought down by anyone, this perfect man can be my downfall.
He turns his head slightly, and his lips brush my cheek when he speaks.
“My name is Ewen.” He pauses and licks his lips, the tip of his tongue grazing my skin.
“What does ‘aingeal’ mean?” The touch of his lips moving on my skin almost breaks me.
I feel like a fucking dog in heat, about to dry hump his leg.
I am going to taste him—and steal his soul.
Dropping to my knees, which hurts like a bitch from the concrete, I grab his hips and pull him into me. My face shoved right in his groin, I fill my lungs with his scent. He’s like heroin. I don’t think I can get enough of him, already wanting another hit before I’ve even started.
“Aingeal is angel in Gaelic. You might want to brush up on it if you’re going to be in Boston. There’s a big Irish population.” And that’s all I say before I open wide and inhale his dick in one, powerful mouthful.
His hands fall instantly to my head. “Oh my, that’s amazing...” He trails off, trying to push my head away. “Wait, no. I can’t do this. I’m a man of faith and virtue, and pleasures like this are ones I vowed to not have.”
Refusing to let this “tender” moment be over, I place the point of the knife to his inner thigh.
Pulling off of him so I can speak, I glance up at him.
“This is where your femoral artery runs.” I push the tip in just a bit to puncture the first layer of skin for a dramatic effect without actually causing him any harm.
“If I fully cut this artery, you will bleed out in minutes, maybe seconds if I get it just right.”
He stares down at me vacantly.
“Fight it all you want but I’m either sucking you or killing you. You decide.” Dropping the knife to the ground next to my knee, I lap up the blood that trails down his thigh.
“Ple—ase,” he whines, putting force into trying to move me away.
“Please what, Aingeal? Please don’t stop, or is it please kill me? Use your words cause I feel like you want this sucked more than you want death.”
A war of emotions plays across his face before it settles on defeat. “I don’t want to die.”
That’s all I need to hear. I devour his cock like a starved man. I continue to suck, lick, and swallow him. He will be blowing his load down my throat. And I will be reliving this moment for as long as I can.
Ewen—what a perfect name for an angel—clearly doesn’t mean it because just like when I was helping him stroke himself, he’s now thrusting his hips, banging the back of my throat.
And I fucking love it.
Who said just because I’m the Reaper for the Irish mob that I can’t love dick?
I have fucked a ton of people on this green earth.
Pussy, mouth, ass, men, and women. There’s just something about dick and ass belonging to the male gender that does me in.
My uncle isn’t happy with my sexual partners, but as long as I do what he requires, he leaves me alone about it. He’s quite progressive for a mobster.
Ewen has stopped his protests and fully given in to his desires. I’m loving that I am the reason. The second I locked my eyes with his, I knew this man was meant to be mine. I’ve never not killed when I thought my life and career were going to be compromised.
“I-I’m about to come.”
It’s the only warning I get before his cock pulses and he unleashes the best tasting cum down my throat.
I lick his shaft clean before picking up my knife and shoving it in my hoodie pocket. Being a bit dramatic, I stand up and wipe my jaw, leaning in to whisper, “That, my Aingeal, was the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
He gasps and turns away, hiding the blush consuming his cheeks. Whether it’s embarrassment or shame, I’m not sure.
Fuck me, he truly is beautiful.
“Now, we both have a secret. I know mine is much darker and more fucked up, but I want to have ‘faith’ you aren’t going to reveal it to anyone.” I make air quotes around the word faith. “You also have the victim’s blood on you so have fun trying to explain you weren’t involved.”
He doesn’t bother to look at the evidence I left on him.
This man can walk away from here and tell the police everything.
He’s seen my face, he knows where and at what time I committed murder.
He could ruin my life, even justifying how the blood got on him.
But, for some reason, I won’t kill him—or even stop him from walking out of this dingy alley and continuing with his life.
He looks crazed. His pupils are blown wide.
He stands completely still, just like when I originally found him.
Glancing back down, I realize his dick is still out.
“You might want to put that bad boy back now,” I say as I motion toward his deflating cock.
My words drag him out of his trance. Frantically, he shoves his beautiful penis back into his pants, pulling the zipper up lightning fast. I want to pout as it slowly disappears.
“You’re going to walk away. Forget anything you saw here tonight. I really don’t want to have to end your life.”
“Yeah, I won’t be reporting you. I don’t condone what you did, but I also won’t be the one to put you in jail.” He sways back and forth. He looks nervous—and rightfully so. He witnessed a murder, almost died, and then was forcibly sucked off. None of that screams a normal evening.
Walking back to where the dead body lies, I need to do some spring cleaning. I’m afraid if I watch Ewen leave, I’ll try to stop him. I would want more of him. But I can’t. He has his life, and it doesn’t include me.
Where the fuck did that thought come from?
This murder is supposed to look like a mugging gone wrong.
I don’t always leave victims to be found, but when you need to make a statement, you let it be heard.
Honestly, there’s not much I need to do here.
I got the job done, just how I was instructed.
The Italians are creeping on our territory, and this piece of shit thought he could harass our people.
Not a wise choice. Shamus told me to leave him somewhere public to be found but not directly on their doorstep.
So, he’s in an alley behind the restaurant they use as a front.
Either they’ll find him first and cover it up or somebody else will call it in, and they’ll have the police doing their investigation right outside their back door.
In my eyes, it’s a win-win. Either scenario annoys them and tells them exactly who did it.
Once I’m done, I head out of the alley. Rounding the corner, I see Ewen.
He didn’t make it far. I watch as he marches up to an apartment building.
Is this where you live? I question as he walks in.
He really wasn’t far from home, which makes it all the crazier that he couldn’t wait.
Maybe it was destiny that brought him to me.
Pulling out my pack of smokes, I light one up and casually stroll down the block, keeping my eyes on the brick structure he went into.
After I pass it, I stop and hop up on a retaining wall and watch his place, wanting to see if he tries to report what happened.
Taking deep drags of the cigarette, I can’t think of anything beyond wanting to get my mouth on him again—and almost mourning the fact that I’ll never get to.
Iwant to say that after that night, I never saw Ewen again. But that would be a lie. I told myself it was to make sure he wouldn’t report what he saw. But that first night bled into the next night. Where I sat on the same brick wall and watched his building.
I watched him.
Every night that I could.
There were nights I couldn’t, but any time I wasn’t working I was watching him from a distance.
I watched him live his life. I watched as he went to school at the university.
Then I watched him pack his things and move away.
Did I follow him? Maybe. But I once again told myself it was to see if my livelihood was going to be exposed.
He didn’t know my name, but he knew what I looked like and he knew where I had committed a murder.
The same murder that was covered up by the Italians.
He moved to a seminary. He’d said he didn’t have sex, that he was into his faith, but I thought he was just a waiting-until-marriage kind of guy. Not that he was becoming a priest. That tidbit made me chuckle. I sucked off a future priest.
Living almost an hour away made it harder for me to watch him as often. But I still found the time. And always from afar. I never wanted him to see me.
As the years went by, I observed him change into a mature man. His floppy curls were cut closer to the scalp. He grew a beard—which was hot, in my opinion—but it didn’t last long.
After what felt like forever, he finally graduated from the seminary. I know this because I sat and viewed from the back. My heart actually went out to him when he graduated and nobody but that goofy old roommate of his was the only one to cheer for him.
He then went to a parish outside of Boston for another year. My guy was now a deacon. I think that’s around the time I finally admitted that I was obsessed with him.
It caught me off guard when that revelation hit me.
My obsession needed to be contained. I couldn’t do this commute forever.
When the ancient priest at the church in my neighborhood passed from a heart attack, my opportunity was laid out in front of me.
I knew it was the bishop who would appoint the next priest. And our Bishop had a dirty secret.
He had insane gambling debts. When I approached him with the deal of a lifetime, let’s just say he couldn’t refuse.
Now, my aingeal was going to be here—at a comfortable distance—to make my obsession with him manageable.