“Well, if my life is complicated now, it’s because of you, Carmine.” I try to loosen myself from his grip once more. His grip becomes tighter, but not out of anger. It’s like he is holding on to me for dear life, not wanting to let go. Like he doesn’t want to lose me.
“Admit it, you like this banter we have. You like that I hunted you down, that I brought you here. I have waited lifetimes for you. A soul as crushed and fucked up as mine. A soul to mend, to bend, to never break but stitch back together. I couldn’t find you in my youth, but now that I have finally found you, you are fucking mine.”
I look at him, and I don’t know why, but desire is clouding my judgment. His eyes look sincere, his body yearning like mine. Maybe he is telling the truth? Maybe he stalked me to give me the gift of revenge.
And while it’s a sweet, yet sick gesture, it is a gesture, nonetheless. I think of Mama and how she longed to have Papa notice her, to make her the center of his universe. He provided her all the things money could, but that was never enough. Mama longed for him to desire her. To love her enough that if someone wronged her, he would kill for her if need be. Not for his pride, but for her glory.
Carmine is flawed, like me, but his intentions are pure. Not in the traditional sense of pure, but pure enough to me. He feels a sense of loyalty to me; he feels like he owes me for the sins of his father. Maybe it’s the fucked-up lifestyle I come from that ruined me, but this murderous gesture of his, if I am being honest with myself, I find endearing.
I’m so fucked.
He stands there, waiting for me to say something. My silence, while I am trapped in my head, must be confusing him.
“Sienna, are you there?”
“Sorry, do you have a sink here?” I ask, trying to snap out of the daze I have been placed in.
“Um, yes, why?” he asks, confused.
“Because I would prefer you not to have his blood on you when you fuck me.”
Chapter40
Carmine
Desire radiates throughout my body from hearing her explicit need for me to fuck her here, in this warehouse. Most would see the splatter of a fresh kill all over my skin as a deterrent, yet she remains here, with her pussy purring for me. If it weren’t for her request, I wouldn’t even bother to wash the blood off my skin. What poetic justice it would be to be balls deep in her with the blood of our enemy still damp on my flesh.
The thought of taking her on the cold, concrete floor brings arousal to my body. I want to savor her, worship every part of her curves. I want to flood her body with my venomous seed as she drowns in me, marking her as mine. It’s been less than twelve hours since I have had her, and already, I am a fiend for my next fix.
As I head toward the sink to oblige her request, reality violently whips me in the face as the literal stench of death slowly begins to permeate my nostrils. Fucking Christ. Even in death, my father’s presence haunts me. I don’t have much time. I must begin working on disposing of him before his rotten scent fills this place.
I’m about to turn the handle of the faucet when suddenly, she stops me with her delicate hand.
“Wait,” she commands, stopping both her and me in her tracks. She grabs my right arm that is covered in blood, which stains her skin on contact. She doesn’t even flinch. Instead, she grips my forearm tighter and forces me to face her.
As if I need convincing.She could get me to do anything. I will obey willingly.
“Yes,” I purr, waiting for her to speak whatever has so abruptly come to her mind.
Her grip remains clasped firmly on my forearm. She is silent, but her body is screaming.
Unsure of what her next move is, I wait for her to speak. Instead of opening her mouth, she lets go of my forearm and reaches into my pants. My cock awakens from the heat of her hand so close.
“This is all so fucked up,” she blurts in a hushed tone as she begins stroking my length.
“I thought you wanted me to wash up first,” I remind her playfully.
She quiets me with a kiss before continuing. “Everything about this place, this past week, about you, tells me I should run,” she confesses. The apprehension in her voice is ripe. She wants to move on, but she can’t. I know the feeling because that is what she does to me. I couldn’t move on from the idea of her, even if I tried. She implanted herself in my brain long ago. Without realizing it, she has made me a monster on a mission to save her and destroy anyone or anything that gets in our way.
“So, why don’t you, then?”
“I can’t. There is something about you that makes me feel at home. It’s like I recognize a part of myself in you,” she confesses as she slowly continues to stroke my length.
“What is it about me that made you care enough to lump me into your reasons for killing your father?” she asks. “You clearly have had issues with your father prior to me being in the picture. Don’t use me as an excuse to justify your kill.”
You are not an excuse. You are the reason, mi reina.
“I feel a sense of responsibility for you, Sienna,” I confess.
