Font Size:  

“Let’s eat. We can talk about this later.” I force myself to smile.

Elena nods, and we dig into our homemade ravioli. Stuffing our faces, eating, and drinking, the conversation slowly slips from my mind. By the time we’re finished with our meal, I am ready to return to the mansion and cuddle up beside my wife in bed. I feel satisfied with the choices I’ve made today, taking her out to dinner, and even offering Marie her job back.

Things should return to normal for a short while, or at least until Zeke finds Romero, then everything will explode again.

I pay for our meal and leave a tip on the table.

“On the way here, I saw this little ice cream shop that was about a block away. Could we walk over there and get a scoop?” Elena pleads, batting her dark eyelashes at me.

“You still have room inside your stomach for dessert?” I ask astonished.

Elena’s lips curve into a grin. “I always have room for dessert. Please? Pretty, please?” Her voice drops to a seductive tone on the last please, and I hear the word in my cock. Holy hell, when we get home, I’m tying her to the bed and fucking her into submission again.

“Fine, we can get ice cream,” I finally agree, acting as if she twisted my arm backward to get me to go.

“I’m so excited. I haven’t had ice cream since I was a child.” In an instant, an emotion I’m unaware of slams into me, and I swear I’ll do anything in the world to keep her happy, to make sure she has everything she wants and needs.

Taking her hand in mine, I lead us out of the restaurant. I don’t realize how careless I am as we leave the restaurant and start down the street to the ice cream parlor. I’m so caught up in the joy on Elena’s face and the happiness radiating from her, that I don’t notice the man following a short distance behind us, not until he is almost on us.

As we pass a dark alleyway, I grab Elena by the arm and drag her down it, hoping to shake the guy off us.

“What’s going on?” Elena asks, her voice a whisper of worry.

“We’re being followed,” I grunt and glance over my shoulder to see if the fucker is still following us. Every nerve ending on my body is in defense mode. I’ll protect Elena, or I’ll die trying. Her father is not going to get his hands on her. She is mine.

Reaching inside my jacket, I pull out a gun. A soft gasp escapes Elena’s lips when her eyes catch on the shiny metal from the fluorescent streetlight above.

Footsteps slap against the pavement behind, us and ahead, I spot a dumpster. I shove Elena into the corner and place a finger over my lips to let her know to be quiet. She nods, her slim body trembling with fear or maybe adrenaline. I don’t know which. I catch a glint of excitement flicker in her eyes, and for a moment, I can’t believe that I’m really seeing it.

She can’t really be excited about me killing someone because that’s what’s going to happen if this person doesn’t turn around.

Shielding her body with mine, I press her against the brick wall and listen as the footsteps grow closer. The blood rushes to my ears, and I let everything around me fade to darkness. At this moment, there is just me, the hunter, and the prey.

My finger moves to the trigger of my gun, and when the person pops up around the corner, I lift my weapon and fire a bullet into each of his kneecaps. Like a doll, he falls to the ground with a scream, his own gun slips from his hand and hits the pavement.

Rushing toward him, I’m obsessed with the need to make him pay. He didn’t even do anything, simply followed us, but the fact that he had a gun and was after us is enough intent for me. If given the chance, he would’ve hurt Elena.

Grabbing the fucker by the front of his shirt, I lift him off the ground and growl into his face, “Who sent you?”

Pain lances his features, and yet, he still manages to smile like an asshole. His smile pisses me off, and so I rear my fist back and punch him right in the mouth. His head falls to the side with the blow before turning back to me. His yellow teeth are coated in blood now, and as I scan his face and neck, I find he has a tattoo on the side of his neck.

It’s the family crest for the Romero family.

Fuck.

“Did Romero send you?” I question but already know the answer.

“You might as well kill me because I’m not telling you a fucking thing,” he sneers, and my patience is thin enough. I could have my men come and get him and take him back to the house to torture him, but there would be no point.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
Articles you may like