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Chapter Two
Elle
Venom flushes through my veins as I kick off the comfy black kitten heels I wear while staging homes – a job I love even if it doesn’t always love me. They look top of the line – good enough to fool most clients at a glance – but the truth is they’re really from the clearance section at Discount Debbie’s. Now, the shoe I’m being told to place on my tiny, aching foot into on the other hand? They are actually high fashion. And expensive. And a pair of shoes I cannot, nor could ever, probably afford on my salary.
Come on, Elle. You can’t really afford to not fit them, either. Arranging three funerals is not how you want to spend your fucking time.
The madman slowly strolls around his desk towards me. “You’re wasting my time, twinkle toes.”
I don’t say anything in return.
I simply watch to see what he’ll do next, slightly surprised when he uses his foot, angling me into giving him a better view of my pending actions.
With him now close enough to reach out and kick, I can’t stop my toes from twitching in anticipation.
Yeah, I’d like to pop him in the nuts. Watch that too pretty for anything good face of his scrunch in pain. Hear him howl in agony like a little bitch.
His brow suddenly cocks in an all-knowing fashion before flashing me a cocksure smile.
Ah…The asshole’s reading my mind. Predicting my moves. Maybe challenging me? Daring me to have the balls it’s clear he has? And he proved how big they were when he shot Drew in the foot without a second thought.
My attention flickers over to my stepbrother’s pallid face. Beads of sweat and tears are littering his skin while his uninjured twin – Adam – is struggling not to showcase fear in his stare or despair like their father. The sick, twisted little part of my brain that has always hated him for making me out to be the ugly stepchild in our relationship – of course, I am his stepchild, but that doesn’t mean he’s had to treat me as such – begs for me to call Nero’s bluff once more.
Keep challenging the underground Prince Charming.
See if maybe he’ll hurt my stepfather a little more so maybe he’ll think twice of ever dragging me into shit like this again.
Sadly, it’s probably best if I don’t because I’m picking up on a fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice you’ll have a bullet in your ass type of vibe from him.
And that’s really not what I mean when I say I don’t mind a bit of ass play.
Nero’s weapon-free fingers run through his hair, and the dark strands fall over dazzling, sinister eyes, before he pushes them back into perfection.
Murderous maniac persona aside, this man is unbelievably attractive. Over six feet tall, chiseled face with perfectly groomed facial hair, and tattoos sneaking out from under his dark suit like they need to be seen. Everything he does, he does with so much confidence it’s intoxicating. From the way he smiles to the way he speaks it’s impossible to deny how charismatic he is. Hell, he called me sexy – a term I’ve really only heard tossed my way right before I’m about to hit the sheets with someone – and not an ounce of me wanted to argue the opposite. Maybe it’s the deep rasp or maybe it’s the way his dark brown eyes own yours while speaking. Whatever it is, I hate how turned on it makes me. Especially considering the fact he’s not flirting with me but threatening my life as well as those I’m legally related to.
All of a sudden, a hand clasps my bicep, and I’m hauled upward from the chair. The touch is somehow both constricting and surprisingly gentle. Delicious spicy scents of his cologne flood my senses, and I have to stop myself from whimpering. His jaw muscles impatiently tick, yet when they still, he bows his head to press his lips to my ear. “I show you mercy and this is how you respond?”
Would we really call allowing an innocent woman to live…mercy? Isn’t that just courteous?
“You want me to look like a pussy in front of my men.”
I don’t, but I’m not exactly used to asking “how high” when someone says “jump”.
“Put on the shoe.”
He pulls back just enough for our glares to lock. It’s hard to stall the jitters fluttering through my abdomen, but I force myself to. I can’t show fear. I can’t show weakness. I can’t tremble in apprehension or arousal. I finally move to do what I’m told; however, it’s clear by the narrowed gaze, it’s not fast enough.
“Mickie,” Nero states while keeping his eyes buried in mine, “grab the keys from Patricio.”
My voice is barely above a whisper, “Where are we going?”
“Not far, twinkle toes.”
Is this nickname shit supposed to be endearing?
Does it really fucking matter, Elle?! Hello…killing you is on the menu!
With Nero’s hand still claiming my arm, he holsters his weapon, and escorts me behind the goon he called Mickie. To no surprise, there’s no objection out of my so-called family. Not an attempt to stop them or even a single word of worry about safety.
