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It’s an open invite to take, but there’s nothing about her body I want. So, I ignore her, flicking the lid of an old metal lighter between my fingers as I stay seated in the chair opposite the bed, with a cock that’s as dead as my heart.
No twitch.
Not even a semi.
There’s only one woman who turns me to stone, and she’s not a whore in a hotel suite on the Upper East Side...
An establishment that I happen to own, amongst numerous other businesses, legitimate and otherwise, in the tri-state area.
“You don’t say much, do you?” She pouts playfully, treating my indifference as a challenge.“What if I was to show you what you’re missing out on?” With a coy smile, she flips onto all fours, delivering her ass to me on a plate.
I’ve had enough.
“Stop.” My tone sends a visible shiver down her spine. “I suggest yousit, sweetheart, preferablyon that ass, instead of waving it in the breeze like a flag.”
She glares at me over her shoulder, forgetting herself,forgetting herorders, and then she remembers—panic flooding her expression as she scrambles to obey. She knows who I am and what I’ve done. Most of all, she knows what I’m capable of, and that there isn’t a cop in the whole of New York City who can touch me for it.
“Good,” I murmur, when she’s sitting up all straight and prissy like a churchgoer in the front row pew. “Now, we can talk.”
“Do you mean ‘talk’ as in ‘dirty talk’?”
“No, the other kind.”
I watch her fingernails dig cavities into the mattress. “Don’t you w-want me to suck your—”
“No.”
“That figures.”
“What figures?” I snap the lid of the Zippo shut with a vicious finality.
She stares down at it for a long moment, as though her own thoughts are a puzzle to her. “When you look at me it’s not my face you’re seeing. There’s a woman.”The only woman.“Are you married?”
“None of your business.” I push an exquisite memory of black and gold to the back of my mind. “But you’re correct about one thing: when I look at you, I see words, not action.” Slowly, I remove the gun from the inside of my jacket. “Not unless we’re counting blood sports.”
She licks her lips in fear.“Thisis how you get off?”
“I’m not into snuff, sweetheart.” My expression hardens. “But Iaminterested in Colombian drug mules who pose as whores to get close enough to kill me.”
She freezes, the penny dropping.
“Don’t,” I murmur when she tries to stand—my Glock already pointing at her head. “I suggest you sit down again and tell me who sent you.”
“You know who sent me,” she whispers, her earlier confidence blown to hell.
I see the girl underneath it now:
Scared.
Young.
Expendable.
“I want his real name in ten seconds, or you’ll be learning first-hand how I punish rival rats who make unsanctioned coke runs into my territory… Not to mention those who have the balls to think they can execute me in my own city.”
“You don’t understand.” Her face crumples. “He’ll curse me. He’ll curse my family.”
Curse?
