“I don’t know,” I lie. I can tell already by the way he moves around in this place that he has been here many times, to more than likely do what he is doing now—kill.
He grabs another tarp from a small shelf he has near the incinerator and begins unfolding it as he continues.
“My cousin not only knows but condones my uncanny ability to swiftly rid this world of the detestable, and again, Sienna, I did this partly for you,” he almost lectures as he begins to unfold the tarp. “This little, self-righteous, good girl act you have going on, while fucking delicious, is truthfully not you.” He sneers.
I shake my head. “This is unbelievable, and here I am thinking you wanted me for my intellect, but now it’s for some crazy vendetta you have that I’m not even sure I believe you about, by the way. Was fucking me also part of that plan?”
“Don’t act like I forced you. You were wet for me like I was hard for you the second we locked eyes on each other. Our physical connection is a bonus on top of what already lays the foundation,” he says, laying the fresh tarp down.
“Well, you better check your foundation, because it’s cracked.”
The mix of emotions I feel when I am in Carmine’s presence is maddening. I still don’t understand how I fit into this mess. None of this makes sense. My head is spinning with questions I need to know the answers to.
“And while we are at it? Why the fuck was my Titi Lana here?” I ask, still trying to figure out what she meant by“he beat me to it.”
“I wasn’t expecting her to be here, but she was determined.”
“Determined?” I press.
“To drain the life out of that monster, watch him bleed, and rid him from this world. Now, which one do you want to start writing first, a parting letter or obituary?”
Wait, what?
I have never felt so confused in my life. A parting letter? Obituary? Fucking, Titi Lana potentially killing someone? What the fuck is my life right now?
“You do realize you’re insane, right? I just met you. Why would I help you bury your father?” I say, shaking my head in disbelief at this situation.
“Have you, though?” he asks in a devious tone.
“Have I, what?” I ask, confused.
“Just met me. You can’t honestly think a banter and connection like ours just happens overnight, do you?” There is a familiar gleam in his eye, as he is clearly toying with me.
I sigh, exasperated from the never-ending circles he talks in. “You’re hot and I have been single for far too long, and I gladly accepted your physical invitation. Stop making it into something it’s not.”
“How about you take your own advice? You’re making this into something you know it’s not. He is the reason you buried your father and your mother, isn’t that enough?” he roars.
“No, it isn’t. I’m not going to lose my freedom for your revenge party. Sorry, you have the wrong girl.”
“No, I don’t. I have exactly the woman I need standing by my side,” he says with an eerie confidence.
I shake my head at him. I hate this mess he has inserted me into. On the one hand, if he is telling the truth, and he killed his father as some sort of revenge for the death of my father … It’s honorable, but also sick, because I am no one to him, whereas that’s his fucking father. He is clearly unstable; desirable, but unstable.
“This is too much. I’m not going down with you for this. No fucking thank you.”
I go to walk away, when he grabs my wrist, twisting it so I have no choice but to turn and face him. Just one touch from him, even when it’s filled with angst, sends a warmth to my pussy that I can’t fight. I’m not even sure I would want to fight it, even if I could. I hate that he has this effect on me. He is no good; he is trouble. Yet here I am, constantly feeding into his delusions.
He yanks me and throws me against the wall, the exposed brick scraping my shoulder. I squirm, and part of me wants to run while part of me shamefully wishes he threw me against the wall to shove into me with the growing bulge I feel forming.
“I have waited entirely too long for this moment. I have plotted, planned, I have waited too long for you. To avenge your parents’ deaths. To avenge what he took from us. You need to listen to me,” he declares in a seductively breathy baritone.
“Us? Carmine, there is no us. I don’t know what the fuck you are talking about. You are fucking crazy!” I yell. I swallow hard, the warmth growing more and more by the second. Every venomous, confusing word that comes out of his mouth intensifies my sick desire for him.
“Yes, Sen.”
“You’re a creep,” I lie to him. While he is creepy, he is the kind that makes you want to run to him for a thrill, not run away from a scare.
“Admit it, you like when I call you Sen. It brings you back to a time when things were less complicated.” He smiles, making me melt inside, but I refuse to let him know that.
