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“Thank you.” I pat him on the chest and make my way through the swinging doors that lead into the old Victorian style hotel. The word Vitiosis is carved in cursive over the back wall of the reception, and every now and then I’ve thought of different ways to pronounce it.
Once I reach our penthouse, I remove my Louis Vuitton scarf, placing it on the granite table and flick the lights on in the lounge. I stop when I see someone sitting on the single leather sofa with his foot resting on his knee. He’s wearing jeans, a white shirt, and a leather jacket. He has tattoos sneaking out from beneath his cuffs and—okay, if he was about to kidnap me, I’m not sure that I’d run. If he is here to kidnap me, I’m fucked. There’s no way to get hold of The Brothers, no one knows I’m in trouble, and if he managed to get through security to get here, he’s obviously good at what he does.
Sighing, I stomp into the sitting room and collapse onto the seat beside him. “Can I pour a drink before I die? I don’t usually drink, but I think I deserve it.”
He watches me closely, his fingers pressing together in a slight prayer. He has to be around my brother’s age, but there is something about him that is familiar.
I tilt my head, scanning his body. Nope. Not familiar. It’s just that same aura that The Brothers hold. You can tell a lot about a man who sits in silence and doesn’t need his words to frighten you. Men like Keaton.
“Sure,” he answers smoothly, as if he’s not in the apartment building of one of the most feared family organizations known to man. I wonder if he knows? Maybe not. Clearly, he was hired.
I make my way to the small alcohol table that’s pressed against the window walls that overlook the bright city. It’s slightly away from the pool and patio area. I love New York City. I think I always will.
Popping off the cap to the bottle of some aged whiskey that I can’t be fucked reading, I point to him. “How did you get in?” My lips wrap around the tip, and I have flashbacks of Keaton’s cock in my mouth. Goddammit. I stop talking and squeeze my eyes closed as the liquid leaves a trail of fire down my throat before settling at the center of my belly. “Let me guess… You’re part of Patience?”
He doesn’t answer, his eyes on mine.
I click my fingers together. “Or they hired you, didn’t they?” I dance my way back to my spot on the sofa.
Seconds pass before he leans forward, the corner of his mouth curling. “You think I’m here to kill you.”
I wave my hand. “Well, yes.” Crossing my leg over the other, I twirl my foot around as my skirt slips up my thigh. Shivers break out when I see his eyes fall to my exposed skin.
His tongue sneaks out, dampening his lip and leaving a gloss that glistens against the dim lighting. He’s borderline beautiful with a jaw curved all the right ways, nice and tight, and eyes that the longer I lose myself in them, the more I begin to question whether or not I want them to see me naked. I really should ignore the way they feel crawling over my body.
He looks to the left and I catch the shadows over the side of his jaw before he comes back to me. Pushing up from his seat, he takes calculated steps my way, and the closer he gets, the harder I find it to breathe. If I’m going to die, I’d rather do it on my terms.
He leans down, resting his fists on the cushion of the sofa, and I crawl backward until I’m looking up at him from below. How the fuck did I find myself on my back? “If you’re going to kill me, you’ll have to fuck me first.”
His lips widen, and he flashes me a bright smile, showing his straight teeth. “Done.” Then his lips crash onto mine, wrapping his arm around my back to lift me off the sofa to carry me upstairs. His lips move with mine, his tongue licking dominantly, paving the way like it knows the streets already. I squeeze my legs tighter around his waist as we fall to my bed.
He leans up and pulls my silk skirt up, flicking off the button to his jeans before removing his shirt from above his head.
Shit. His abs are tight. They may even be leaner than Kill’s.
He cages me in with each fist pillowed into the mattress on either side of my head and I can’t help myself anymore. I run my hand down his abs, batting my lashes up at him. “What?”
He digs his fingers into my thigh as he lifts it to sit over his hip. “Nothing. Just wondering why I always attract the crazy ones.” Then he slides inside my gap and I gasp, my head rolling back against the mattress. Oh God.
“Fuck,” he hisses over my ear, and it sends tingles down the crack of my spine. “So fucking tight.”
I lean up and catch his lip between my teeth, wrapping my legs around his waist as he pulls out and sinks back in. My nails dig into his tight back every time he retracts, and when he slams into me again, I feel him rub against the ache screaming to be released deep inside of me. I go through the motions of building, and then crashing, and then building again—only to crash.
He picks up the pace. Faster, harder, while kissing me against the side of my neck. This may be the stupidest thing I have ever done, but if I’m going to die, I’d rather go after being fucked. It takes away the pain of never seeing anyone again.
He lowers his lip to my nipple, sucking it into his mouth as my back arches off the bed. “Shit—I—” My muscles release all of the pent-up adrenaline gathered in my belly, and it rushes to the tips of my toes in time for my orgasm to plow through me in aftershocks, rocking me back and forward until I almost black out from the release.
He falls beside me, his jeans partially down his thighs and my skirt tugged up around my waist. We take a moment to stare at each other in silence. Now that his hair is a mess, he looks even younger. Maybe he’s the same age as me. His mouth widens and he barks out a boyish laugh that makes him look much more harmless than what I walked in on minutes ago. Rolling off my bed, he reaches for a packet of smokes in his back pocket and bites one between his teeth, shaking his head.
I push myself up, lying sideways while he moves confidently around my space, falling onto the single sofa that’s tucked away in the darkest corner of the room. I watch as the ember on the end of his cigarette burns each time he sucks on it.
“Of course, I had to fuck you before you kidnapped me.” I’m the first to break the silence, scolding myself while ignoring the pang of guilt. Guilt for what? It’s not like I did anything wrong. But that’s the thing about guilt, it’s the emotion that tells you how you feel without you knowing it. “By the way, that’s one of the very things wrong with me as a person.” I know the time is near too, for when I have to meet my driver, but for right now, I couldn’t care. I’m a little pissed, though. I really wanted to know what these next three years entailed. This death thing is kind of killing my vibe.
“I’m not gonna kill you,” he answers behind a chuckle, flicking the ash off his cigarette into the glass of water on the small table beside him.
“Kidnap me?” I’ve been in this world since I was born, around men like him all my life. He is a killer. You can smell it on his cologne.
“Nup, not even that.” Seconds pass as I watch him smoke his cigarette. He pushes up from the chair, swoops up his discarded t-shirt, and throws it over his shoulder. As he drops his cigarette into the glass of water, his eyes darken on me. “Your brother hired me to watch you. Didn’t want you to find out but figured why the fuck not. I’m not keen on following you around like a lost puppy, so if you could just—” He drops a card onto my bed. “Text or call me when you’re in trouble, it’ll save us a lot of bullshit, you feel?” My mouth hangs open and I fight with myself to not spew out the words that are teasing the tip of my tongue.
He stops just as he opens the door, looking at me over his shoulder. “Pretty sure we’re gonna see each other often, so feel free to—” He gestures up and down my body with a nudge of his head. “Stay like that.” Then the door closes behind him and I’m left staring at a black card the color of matte satin with gloss wording over the top that reads ELI REBELLIS.
