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I glance at my door. Not that she’ll be coming through it. I’m at my office, the large pool house adjacent to the Palermo mansion. It serves as my home most of the time–my actual house a few miles from here, neglected for the most part.
The door doesn’t open. The itch in my brain only grows.
“What the fuck?” I slam my laptop closed and lean back, rubbing my temples as I glance at my watch. It’s after midnight. I could call it for the evening and go to bed. It might be wise, but I don’t feel like turning in. What Ifeellike doing is … It’s the one thing I can’t do. Ican’tgo to Carina.
It doesn’t matter that I imagine what her touch would feel like, how she’d moan as I made her writhe with my tongue, my fingers, my cock. None of that matters. Because she’s Antonio’s sister. Because she’s way too young for me. There are a million other reasons, too, mostly having to do with the fact that I live on the edge of a knife. Violence surrounds me. I may not relish it the way Butcher does, but I’m no stranger to it. I’ve taken lives. There’s blood on my hands, and that’s something I’d never want to taint Carina with.
She’s too young, too naïve to know about the hard truths of this world. She puts up a sassy front, but she doesn’t know how bad things can truly be. The bloodshed, the bullshit, the fucking dehumanization that occurs far too often. It’s better if she stays far away from it. And me.
I crack my neck, the itch in the back of my neck growing into a buzzing sensation, like bees are making a home in my cranium. That’s all I can take. I stand and stride to the door, yank it open, and stare across the lighted surface of the pool, up past the hedges around the first floor, and higher to a double set of windows that reflect the sliver moon.
Carina’s room.
It’s dark. As it should be. She should be asleep, dreaming of college and getting away from all the bad shit that comes with the Palermo family name.
Still, I stare. No, I don’t just stare. Iwant. Ineed. But my needs will always come second to hers. I made that choice long ago when I joined this family. And for her, I’ll make it again and again.
I move to close the door, but then I freeze.
A shadow is moving through the patch of apple trees about fifty yards away. The hair on the back of my neck rises, and I palm the pistol from the holster at my chest. What the fuck is this? Has our security been breached?
I peer through the darkness, following the shadow as it picks its way closer to the house. My breath catches. I know those movements. I know every step, every bend of the knee, every sway of her body. It’s Carina.
What the fuck is she doing?
Instead of standing here gawking, I slip out of the house, along the darkened edge of the pool, and into the big house’s back entrance. I make it to Carina’s room in record time–it helps that I could walk to her room blindfolded.
When I sit in the chair across from her window, I settle into the shadows and wait. I don’t have to wait long.
Her shadow falls along the window pane, and then her gloved hands grip it and shove it up. She steps into her room, then turns and closes the window quickly and quietly.
Once it’s done, her shoulders drop, the tension in her fading as she strips off her gloves, then reaches down and grips the hem of her black hoodie.
My heart begins to pound, my mind going back to that hive of bees. I should say something. After all, I came up here to catch her, nothing more.
But as she begins to pull her hoodie over her head, I make no move. I only watch, my blood heating as she tosses it aside and turns toward me. She’s wearing a tight white tank top, no bra underneath. Her hard nipples poke through the fabric, and my mouth waters as she bends down and shucks off her black pants and socks.
Her panties are bright pink and high on the sides. When she turns again and double checks the window, I see it’s a thong. Her ass is on full display, the roundness of it making my hard cock ache.
“Locked. Safe. Not busted.” She sighs and reaches up, releasing her hair from her black elastic. The strands fall around her shoulders in a waterfall of beauty, and I want to know what it would look like wrapped around my fist. “Mischief managed.” She turns and strides into her bathroom, the light clicking on and almost illuminating me, but not quite. I’m still in the shadows, still with a view of her as she brushes her teeth.
I should’ve already sprung the trap on her, should’ve scolded her until she told me what the hell she was doing out of the house this late at night. From the looks of it, she’s done this before. How have I missed it? How has the security footage not given her away? These and a million other questions burn inside me, not the least of which is:Did you sneak out to meet another man? That thought has me gripping the arms of the chair so hard one of them creaks.
She stills, her head turned slightly to the side for a moment.
I force myself to relax and take a deep, silent breath. I do, though all it does is lower my temperature to a vicious simmer.
She goes back to brushing, humming a tune as she does.
Then she flips off the light and heads to bed.
I watch as she crawls between the sheets then grabs her phone, firing off a few quick texts. Who to? Her fuckinglover? My rage tries to swallow me whole again. This time I let it.
I rise slowly. She doesn’t see me, the light from her phone blinding her to anything else in the room.
She nibbles her bottom lip, then smiles a little as a message comes through to her.
I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but I do know that whatever little high school prick she’s talking to isn’t long for this earth. I’m going to find him, and I’m going to make it hurt before I kill him. I’ll do shit to this boy that will make the Butcher go green at the gills.
