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Revenge
My cold skin burns under her touch, my eyes struggling to stay open but I want to keep watching her. I’ve never been touched with this much tenderness and I’ve never allowed anyone to touch me this way either. It makes the hair on my nape stand and my muscles brim under my clothes, a pit of desire flaming in my gut from the need to yank her to me, shove her down on the hay and press into her little body and let her feel its power.
Tracing her fingers across my cheekbone, she whispers as if dazed, “Beau sure works fast...,” she licks her lips, “though you aint exactly what I asked for.” She sighs, breathing, “Oh well, beggars can’t be choosers...”
My brows curve over my eyes. I’m exactly what she asked for. She asked for someone to protect her and now here I am. Nobody can do it better than me and nobody other than me is allowed to do it. If there was, he wouldn’t live for long.
“You sure are handsome,” she murmurs and her face flushes as if she’s usually not this forward. “But I asked for someone cruel and vicious.”
Yeah, that’s me. You got him.
“And you aint like that,” she says softly.
Wrong.
Letting out a dreamy sigh, she suddenly twitches before looking at me like she just snapped out of her trance and she gasps. “I’m sorry. You probably thinking I’m talking in riddles.” She tugs at the hem of her dress and it’s as if she finally realized I’m a stranger. “Who are you anyway?”
Rising, I look down at her and she tilts her head to be able to look up at me. The sight of her like this makes me think of carnal things and my throat snares when I rasp, “Revenge Fenrir. Rev for short.”
Her lips part when she licks them. “You a drifter, Rev? That why you here? To ask for a warm meal and a comfy bed to spend the night?”
I nod but inwardly I’m surprised at how fast she drew that conclusion. Words lay on the tip of my tongue and I struggle between the urge to tell her who I am, tell her how much power I have and that she never needs to be afraid now that she has me, and the urge to keep my true identity hidden. I remember what she said. She said she doesn’t want to see any violence and I am violence.
In the end I choose the latter, deciding to not let her come in contact with that part of me. And I’d be lying if I said I don’t find her simplicity appealing. She took one look at me, saw my face and decided that I’m a good man.
I like her brazen trust but I’m not a good man and I don’t want to be. A good man wouldn’t know how to protect her the way I do.
With her eyes on me, she gets up and she does it in slow motion which makes her look more sultry than innocent and my fist clenches. The look in her eyes switches from careful to curious and she murmurs, “How’d you get so big and broad-shouldered, Rev? I aint never seen anyone like you.”
“Drank a lot of milk as a kid,” I rasp and my eyes can’t help but go to her cleavage, and my mouth waters at the way they spill over the top of her dress. She musters a smile behind her hand, not noticing where my gaze went and she brushes past me. I’m standing too close but I make no effort to take a step back and her clothes stroke mine. Looking over her shoulder, she adds,
“Well come on then, stranger. There’s a meal waiting with your name on.”
Is something else waiting with my name on too? How about her naked body, laid out in bed with her knees on either side of her face?
Groaning under my breath, I follow her and she keeps glancing at me with a mixture of relief and excitement and her shoulders are trembling even if she tries to hide it. And when she looks at me, she bites her lip every time as if she needs to stop herself from letting out a triumphant cry.
Blushing, she mutters, “I know it aint polite of me staring but it’s been a long time since I had a man on this farm.”
“That so?”
“It used to be me and my brother but then he died.”
“How did he die?”
Her brows knot. “Got kicked by a cow in the face,” she says and her shoulders slump. “Poor Irma. She aint mean it, she got startled that’s all.” She wrings her hands. “I found him early in the morning, lying on the barn floor and... it’s been awful ever since.”
Water floods her eyes before she clamps a hand over her mouth and shakes her head. “I’m sorry, I aint goan cry cause Bowen’s doan cry.” Pursing her lips, she adds, “It just that I aint never thought I’d end up alone.”
That’s right. All on her own. And it seems like I’m not a second too late.
Pushing her hair out of her face, she breathes, “My brother always told me I should get married and I’d say, hells bells Beau, aint nobody goan want me. Aint no man in the village looking for a milkmaid. They all just wanna pump and dump some box dyed starlet. It’s what I’ve heard other girls say anyway...”
Her eyes widen and she looks at me with worry. “I aint being inappropriate am I?” I’m the wrong man to ask about appropriateness but I shake my head and she continues, “Manners aint ever been my strong side and you seem like such a fine male despite you being a poor drifter.”
Poor drifter? My teeth grind because what a fucking insult and yet the corners of my mouth twitch. I’ve never been called poor before or a drifter and if the other mobsters heard any of this, they’d be laughing their asses off. As a karl, my rank is right under the underboss and I have my own crew of soldiers that I rule over.
If I snapped my fingers, those soldiers could be here in a minute and do everything this “poor drifter” orders them to. I could tell them to die for Addie and they would, without asking questions. That’s how deep the code goes and that’s how strong it is. We’re a network that mostly operates in the shadows but make no mistake.
