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The second room is her bedroom. I stand in the open doorway, inhaling her floral and citrus scent. As I lie on top of her dark green duvet, I let it invade my senses while I stare at the ceiling. I imagine her lying here, snuggled under the covers on a cold night reading a book.
Or her naked, splayed out as her fingertips run down her full breasts, then her stomach until they dip inside her. I recall the sounds of her wet arousal and moans from last night and my cock is hard as a rock. I turn over, burying my face in her pillow and inhaling the crisp, clean scent of her hair products. Rolling my hips, I drive into the mattress in slow, deep thrusts, tempted to come on her blanket in some sick attempt to leave my mark.
But I’m here for a reason. Ignoring my urges and forcing myself to get out of her bed is difficult, but I’m determined to use this time to find out everything I can about my little killer.
The makeup on her vanity table is organized by type, with bottles of perfume on a little shelf toward the back. I pick one up and spray it, desperate to smell her. It’s similar to the room’s scent but more earthy. One of the drawers is slightly ajar, so I take it as an invitation to see what’s inside. There’s an extensive medical kit and bottles of over-the-counter painkillers.
Toward the back is a pamphlet for an IUD. Does she use one? Does she use some kind of contraception? The thought of anything being between us doesn’t sit well with me. I barely know this woman and I want to get her pregnant with my child. The thought of us being bound together for life makes me feral.
Nothing is out of place in her walk-in closet. She has tailored, business professional clothes on one side, and everything else on the other. There are racks of shoes, designer purses, and a stand that holds all types of jewelry. There’s a large chest of drawers toward the back that calls to me. The top row is filled with scraps of lace, satin, and silk panties. I hold a soft, satin pair up and smirk at the hole in the crotch. She’s filthy.
I shove them in my other pocket. She can wear these for me next time I see her.
There’s another slightly cracked door in the hallway—an office. The walls are lined with shelves that hold paperback and hardcover books. Romances and mysteries, with the odd cooking or baking book thrown in. I skim my fingers along the spines until I see a red and black one that catches my eye called In Death We Part, by M. Bonnet. I’ve never heard of the author before, so I pick it up and flip randomly, coming across a highlighted passage.
“Fucking psychotic prick, you kidnapped me!” she screamed, trying her hardest to buck me off her. She was strong, but not nearly strong enough to escape.“You lit those things on fire! Are you seriously asking me why I’m running away?!”
A few tears fell in long, winding paths down her cheeks. I licked them up–and my guess earlier had been right–they were salty and emotional and utter deliciousness. I caught a few more as they fell, before I moved to her neck, licking the skin at her pulse point and tasting the sweat and spice of her skin. I ghosted my lips over it, lightly kissing her. She still smelled of mild fear and confusion, but the wisp of lust was more potent than before. When I leaned back so I could look into her steel blue eyes, she spat in my face, right in the corner of my mouth.
I licked the spit off, noting that it tasted just like her tears. “Oh, fuck, that’s hot. Maybe next time you can spit directly into my mouth?”
Hmmm, my little killer and I are both kinky. The thought of hunting her down, capturing her, and restraining her as she struggles invades my mind, setting up a permanent residence. I’m not surprised she has this decadent side—she was so responsive when my hand collared her throat. So wet when I roughly plunged my fingers inside her. Our dark, deviant souls crave each other.
Her body knows who it belongs to, now her mind just needs to fall in line.
A note on her desk catches my attention.
Maddalena,
Enjoy your freedom while you can, time’s ticking. You’re mine.
X
Rage clouds my vision, my hand crinkling the note as I grind my teeth together. I’m so fucking furious that I clench my fist, barely resisting the urge to put it through the nearest wall. Calming breaths do nothing to put out the inferno blazing inside me. If anything, the flames give me more clarity to envision the hell I’d rain down on anyone who threatens my little killer.
Maddalena belongs to me.
There’s a face-down picture beneath the note, large enough to fit in an envelope. It’s a picture of her in the shower, taken from behind. Her entire back is on display, including her ass. It’s a close-up, and she seems completely unaware the photograph is being taken. I may not be a tech genius, but I’d bet money a hidden camera inside her home took these.
Some fucking creep was able to get inside her home to set up hidden cameras and send her a threat…
Is it blackmail? Or a promise? Who would have the balls to go after someone from one of the most dangerous mafia families on the East Coast?
Whoever wrote this note is a dead man. I’ll carve him up like a slab of meat and leave his pieces all over the city as a warning. No one fucks with what’s mine. The fact that someone was able to do this in the first place and that I could access her brother’s apartment twice means her family dropped the ball. They put her fucking life at risk.
I text Whit again.
Me: I want eyes on Maddalena and her building at all times, someone is fucking with her.
Whit: Done. Please be careful, Garrix.
I don’t respond. How can I, when Whit doesn’t understand? I’m in deep for this woman, with no way out. Obsessed. Fuck being careful.
I’m following the mayor to his side piece’s condo. She used to be one of the Irish’s special escorts before he pretty-womaned her—as in the type that serviced the sickest, most perverse bastards in the city. The job is painfully easy. Wait, watch, snap some pictures for blackmail that we can hold over the mayor’s head for the rest of his life.
Usually, I don’t take such small jobs, instead choosing to send someone lower on the totem pole. But I needed a distraction from staring at Maddalena’s red dot on the tracking app. She’s been in her brother’s condo since she came home from work, most likely on lockdown.
I can imagine how well that’s going over. She’s not the type of woman who sits around, stuck in the house.
