Kissing the Killer: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Barone Crime Family) (2 page)

I glared at him. “Careful.”

He grinned, holding his hands up. “She’s all yours, my man.”

I walked out and grabbed her by the arm. We moved down the street quickly, and I shoved her into the backseat. Abram got into the driver’s seat and I sat shotgun.

We drove in silence, heading back toward the club. The city streets flashed by, and I felt a lump of uncertainty in my chest.

What the fuck was I doing?

I couldn’t take this girl and kill her. I’d already decided that back in her bedroom. But the longer I let this go on, the worse it was going to be.

“Drop me at my place,” I said.

“You sure? Boss said to come back when we were done.”

“I know,” I said, “but the girl has no fucking pants on. I’ll secure her and then meet you there.”

“Damn. Brutal.” He laughed. “I like your style, man.”

“Just fucking do it.”

“You got it.”

We drove for a few minutes longer. I glanced back at the girl and she was staring at me, fire in her eyes, all defiance and anger and fear. She looked like a beautiful caged animal, ready to lash out at any moment.

Finally Abram pulled up outside my place. “See you in a few,” he said.

“Yeah. See you.”

I climbed out of the car and then opened the back door. I reached in and dragged the girl out. She wasn’t cooperating, but she wasn’t exactly fighting me either. She simply moved, deadened, a sullen look on her face.

As I pushed her up the stoop, quickly hustling her into my apartment before anyone could see her, I realized that I had no game plan.

I’d never taken a woman like this before. Frankly, I hated killing women and avoided it when at all possible. I might have been a killer, but I had a fucking conscience at least.

There was no way this was going to end well. I cursed at myself, angry that I hadn’t killed Abram back in that car when I’d had the chance.

It was too late for that now, though. The girl was mine, and I was going to have to figure out what to do with her before it was too late.

As I opened my apartment door, she just stared at me wordlessly, angry and gorgeous.

I
f I said
that was the first time I’d been shoved into a closet and locked in there against my will, I’d be a liar.

My father wasn’t always such a bad man. When I was younger, he taught me some Russian and would take me to the park to play softball. He’d say to me, “Look, little Emma doll, you must catch this ball or else it will break you in two.” And even though I was afraid of the ball at first, I was even more afraid of being broken, and so I put my glove out there and caught every ball he lobbed at me.

My father was a gangster, not a very important one, and he wasn’t really very good at it, but he was still a part of the Russian mob. He used to be proud of that fact, though later on it became more and more of a burden.

As for my mother, I could still remember her. Barely, but I could. She was always smiling in my memories, her long brown hair dipping down along her shoulders. She’d pick me up way above her head and I’d laugh along with her.

She died when I was very young. It was cancer, but at the time I didn’t understand it. She’d been a heavy smoker most of her life, and that did her in far too young. I wish I didn’t remember the hospital beds, the gaunt look in her eyes, the fear and the sadness, but I did.

It was a slow thing, and when my mom finally went, my father went with her, or at least the part of him that I loved. He turned back to drinking, back to gambling, and slowly he morphed into the piece of shit that got murdered in his own bedroom.

I hated living in his house, but I had nowhere else to go. After my mom died, he’d tell me that I could never leave him. I remember vividly one night when I was eleven years old, he came into my room, reeking of vodka.

“Little Emma doll,” he said to me. “Little Emma, you’d never leave your father, would you?”

“Of course not, Papa,” I said. “I’d never leave you.”

“Your mother left me, Emma. She left me here alone to take care of your spoiled ass, and now you want to leave me too.”

I could see the anger and the grief in his eyes, even at eleven years old. I knew that night that my papa was gone, and he was never coming back.

He didn’t start hitting me until a few years later. I was in high school and was starting to get my own life. I had a job as a waitress at a bar and I had friends. He didn’t like that, didn’t like my freedom, and sometimes he’d come home and take that anger out on me.

He’d always accuse me of wanting to leave him. The irony was, as much as I really hated him and wanted to get away, I never did. He was still my father, as pathetic as he was, and I still had to try to take care of him.

All through high school I took his beatings, his angry words, his drunken mess. I watched as the house got dirtier, more cluttered, and I watched as he became less and less the man I once knew.

I got good at makeup to cover the bruises. I got good at lying, at protecting myself. For the most part, I could read his moods, and I knew when to stay in the house and when to get out for a few hours until he eventually passed out from drink.

Life went like that all through high school, but eventually I’d had enough of it.

I wasn’t going to college. There was no way I could afford it, even if I could get in. The only dream I had was escape. Day in and day out, I cared less and less about taking care of my disgusting drunk father and more about getting out.

So I saved every dime I had. I hid it all over the house so that he wouldn’t find it, but inevitably he’d find it and steal it from me.

Once, he was so enraged that I was hiding three thousand dollars from him that he threw me in a closet and left me there for a full day.

That was the first time I was locked in a closet.

It went like that and the years passed. I didn’t have many close friends, because I couldn’t open myself up to them. My father stole every dime I saved, and so I saved more, dreaming of escape.

And then one night they came for him.

I heard them on the stairs, and I knew. There had been whispers in the neighborhood that my father was doing something stupid, but I didn’t believe them.

When I heard him pleading for his life, I believed, and so I ran into the closet and hid myself.

Soon, the begging stopped, but the men didn’t go away. I heard them moving through the house, and finally I heard my door swing open.

Fear lanced through me, fear and defiance. Finally I was going to be free one way or another. Maybe I’d be dead, but at least I’d be with my mother.

My father would be far away, rotting in hell.

Then he swung open the closet door and I saw him for the first time. Tall and broad, muscular, handsome, covered in tattoos. Even though he held a gun pointed at my skull, I couldn’t help but stare at his body, at the intense expression on his face.

I never expected him to put the gun down. I never asked for it.

But the feeling of his lips next to my ear, telling me what I needed to do, well, it sent shivers down my spine. I hated myself for it, but I wanted him to drag me half naked from the house. I wanted him to take me up into his apartment.

I didn’t want him to throw me into the closet.

“Stay here,” he said, shutting the door.

“Wait!” I said. “You can’t just leave me in here.”

“I can and I will. Stay quiet. I’ll be back soon.”

“Hey!” I yelled as he moved away. I tried the knob but it was locked. I pounded hard on the door. “You asshole, come back!”

I heard his apartment door open and then close.

This was the second time I’d been locked inside a closet.

I collapsed down onto the ground and pressed my back against the wall. I couldn’t do anything about this. I wasn’t going to break the door down and I knew it, as much as I wanted to.

I had to just wait.

I didn’t understand why he was letting me live. The other man, the one with the crooked, creepy smile, had said something that made my skin crawl.
You have some fun with her.

Maybe he was going to come home and rape me, over and over again. Then when he was finished, he was going to kill me.

I wished he’d killed me back in my home. I’d gone through enough, been owned and abused by one man for long enough. I couldn’t take it again, not again, not after I was so close.

My father was dead, that bastard. But instead of being free to finally live my life, I was trapped in another man’s closet.

A deadly man. A mysterious man, handsome, tall, and dangerous. I was afraid of him, but also strangely drawn toward him.

I didn’t know what he wanted, but as I sat in that closet, I couldn’t help but picture the worst.

No matter what though, no man was going to own me again. Not ever. I wasn’t going to just roll over and let this bastard take me however he wanted.

I resolved myself to fighting, even if that cost me my life.

I
parked
my car in the alley behind the deli. I sat there behind the wheel for a second, getting myself together.

What the fuck was I doing? No doubt Abram had already told Dante, our boss, what had happened. This was a fucking mess beyond my wildest dreams.

But I wasn’t going to kill the girl. I’d gone through all this shit just to keep her alive, put myself in danger, and I wasn’t going to just turn around and murder her. I had to figure out another way.

I got out of the car and pushed in through the deli’s back door. I’d been working out of this building for a long time. It was where I first got my start, back when Gian owned it. When Gian got promoted, Dante took his place, and so the deli passed into his hands.

Abram and Dante were sitting at a folding table next to a television playing static. The place was empty otherwise, since most fucking people were asleep at this ungodly hour.

“There he is,” Dante said, looking over at me. “Come on, have a drink.”

Dante was shorter than me, heavier, and older. His hair was thinning, and he wore the gaudiest fucking gold jewelry I’d ever seen. The man was basically an Italian stereotype. The only reason I listened to him at all was because he’d been in the mob for a long time, and he knew what he was doing.

“How’s the girl?” Abram asked, grinning.

I sat down at the table and Dante slid me a bottle. I poured myself a drink of whisky. Dante smirked at me but really just looked tired as hell.

“Fine,” I said. “Locked her in the closet.”

Dante laughed loudly, leaning back in his chair. “Didn’t think you had it in you, kid.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked him.

He exchanged looks with Abram. Clearly they’d been fucking talking about this already.

“Well, you got a reputation.”

“Spit it out, Dante. It’s fucking late and I’m tired.”

“Yeah, Dante. Brooks here wants to get home and break in that new pussy he got,” Abram said, grinning at me.

I suppressed a shudder. I could only imagine what these two men thought I was going to do with the girl once I got home. The sick fucks had both taken women this way in the past; I was sure of it.

And I was sure they had raped and killed those poor fucking girls once they were through with them.

“Well, you don’t hurt girls,” Dante said. “Lots of guys have talked about it. You refuse to kill wives and daughters. Pisses people off, you know.”

I shrugged. “So killing women leaves a bad taste in my mouth.”

“Seems odd. You go from protecting them to stealing one for fun.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I don’t protect them,” I said. “I do my fucking job.”

He held up his hands. “No arguments from me, kid. You’ve been one of the best guys we got.”

“So what are you saying here, exactly?”

“He just thinks it’s odd, is all,” Abram said.

I glared at Abram. “You talk for him now?”

“Boys,” Dante said. “Look, Brooks, you want this broad? Have her. You know it’s a perk of the job. Just take care of it when you’re finished.”

“I will,” I said, looking back at Dante.

“Okay then. How’d the hit go otherwise?”

“Guy’s dead,” Abram said. “Nobody saw us come in or out.”

Dante looked at me. “Brooks?”

“What he said. Went clean.”

He nodded. “Good shit, boys. Another job well done.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out two envelopes. He tossed them onto the table in front of us. I grabbed mine and glanced inside: fresh, crisp hundred dollar bills.

“A little extra this time,” he said. “Because of the war, the big bosses want to keep us grunts happy. They’re spreading it around a bit more than usual.”

“Can’t complain,” Abram said.

“Thank Gian for me,” I said.

Dante stood up and we followed. He nodded at the two of us. “Well, it’s fucking late and I’m not as young as I used to be, so get the fuck out.”

Abram laughed. “Don’t gotta tell me twice. Brooks, enjoy the girl,” he said. “Give it to her good for me, will you?”

I tried not to fucking punch the sick fuck in the nose. Instead, I just grunted something and turned away, heading out.

“Brooks, hang back. Good night, Abram.”

Abram nodded and then disappeared through the door. I crossed my arms, money in my hand, and faced Dante. I wondered briefly if I could outdraw him. Probably could, though I bet it wouldn’t come to that. I could kill him easily enough with my bare hands if I had to.

“I need something from you,” Dante said.

“What’s that?”

“Got a security job. Gian requested you specifically. Pays double than normal.”

“Okay. Can’t exactly turn that down.”

Dante frowned. “One thing, though maybe it’s not a big deal now that you’ve taken yourself a girl. You’ll be protecting a shipment of whores, girls from back home who need a job here.”

I clenched my jaw. “Selling girls?”

“You know we are. Have been for a long time. But lately we’ve been having issues. You’ve heard of the new gang in town?”

I nodded. Everyone had heard of new mysterious group that had seemed to show up overnight a year or two back. They only ever attacked the mobs. Italian or Latino or Russian, it didn’t matter. They wore all black, black masks, and they all had spiders tattooed on their hands.

Nobody knew much about them. We’d never caught any alive. But they seemed to love killing and stealing from the mobs, and they seemed to do that exclusively.

“Sure,” I said. “The Spiders.”

“Yeah, well, they’ve been targeting our girls. We need some extra muscle. Normally I know you don’t got the stomach for this sort of shit, but maybe I was wrong about that.”

Fucking shit, he was right. Normally I would have turned this job down, said no outright. I never worked on the girl jobs, never wanted to get involved in fucking human trafficking. Even if Gian asked for me specifically, I just didn’t work those fucking jobs. And because I was so good at what I did, I got away with it.

But now I couldn’t exactly turn away from it. I couldn’t afford to look suspicious now that I’d taken a girl.

“Yeah. Okay, boss,” I said. “I’ll do it.”

He stepped closer to me, a dark look crossing his face. “You have to kill that girl, Brooks,” he said. “You know what happens if you don’t?”

“You don’t have to explain it to me.”

“Say it.”

“If I don’t kill the girl, you’ll send two guys just like me to kill us both.”

“Exactly. You’re a damn good soldier, and you’ve gotten a lot of leeway because of that. Don’t fuck up now.”

“I don’t fucking plan on it,” I said, angry.

“Good.” He turned and moved away. “Show up here tomorrow night around ten.”

“See you then.”

I turned and left, not able to stomach another second in there.

I knew there were going to be problems, lots of problems. But Dante seemed suspicious already, all because Abram was a clueless fuck that had to go running his mouth.

And now I was stuck working security for one of the vilest things the mob did. It wasn’t like I didn’t have the stomach for it, since my job was to kill people for a living. I’d just seen too many women abused in my life, left behind and destroyed, and that was the only thing I truly despised.

I slept around, sure. I got my fair share of fucking pussy. But I didn’t beat them, kill them, or rape them. Now though, to save the life of the girl in the closet, I was going to have to put myself in the position to potentially hurt more women.

And I couldn’t get out of it, not with Dante so suspicious.

I got back into my car and started the engine. At the very least, I was going to keep this girl back home alive if it was the last thing I did.

I drove off, not sure what I was going to do from here.