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Chapter Eighteen
CRUE
D on’t. Do. This.
It seems I’ve found another way to silence my inner voice. If it isn’t killing, it’s drowning my cock. My restless mind has been mostly silent for the better part of this week. It has allowed me to work in silence, while I prepare for the worst of what’s to come.
Because the worst is on the horizon, it seems. Speaking out of turn to powerful men isn’t smart to begin with, but doing it straight to Lorenzo Napoli’s face, while he is getting his ass beaten by Matteo Baronne, has put me in a rather precarious position.
For the first time, since I started hunting Lorenzo’s daughter, I find myself constantly looking over my shoulder. I am waiting for his hit squad to find me, pull a bag over my head, and pin my face in the mud, the same way they did to my mom. It’s only a matter of time until he puts the pieces together. By now, he’s probably done background checks on me. Used the name, which Matteo offered him so freely, to discover my deepest, darkest secrets.
This is pitiful. What are you even trying to accomplish?
I grin as my mind spins. It’s trying to reprimand me for doing what I’m doing. Not once was this voice bothersome while I pleasured myself with Fiametta’s mouth, nor has it belittled or berated me while I worked this week.
Now that I’ve found the two things that can keep this dark spot in the back of my head silent, it’s going to be a real mind fuck when I eventually do have sex with Fiametta.
How is it going to reason my stabbing her with my blade, when I could be doing it with my cock again and again until the end of time?
Insanity has never been so damned sweet.
“Oh my. You’re not the man I was expecting,” says the blonde behind the counter of the antique bookstore as I enter. She tilts her neck down, peering at me over the wide rim of her glasses, while sucking on her lower lip with devilish satisfaction.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I keep a stern expression on my face.
Not long ago, the blonde’s sultry tone and fuck me eyes would’ve been a wonderful invitation. She’s a perfect slab of fuckable meat. Big tits, round ass, plump lips, all ripe to service my cock. I’d play her game, pretend my interest extends beyond the lusty banter, and get her back to my place.
That’s where the real fun could begin. Ropes, whips and the other necessities I keep hidden under my bed for one-night stands. She’d walk in one woman and leave someone completely different. For better or worse, her life would be changed forever.
I find myself lacking interest in all that now, even as she leans forward and squeezes her tis together, exposing as much cleavage as she can muster through the open top button of her shirt. It’s Fiametta’s doing, no doubt. She has zapped my will to pretend I’m at one with normal society. She has seen me for what I truly am and hasn’t chased me away.
Christ, I’ve told her I have to kill her, yet she still embraces me with open arms. I can read between the lines of her smiles while she’s going about her meaningless day-to-day tasks. I see how her world seems to shine brighter now that she knows who I am.
It’s a pity. I believe we could have had something wonderful together, if fate had played out differently.
The blonde clears her throat uncomfortably but makes no effort to cover herself up. “A man like you doesn’t strike me as the reading type. Especially not romance fiction from yesteryear.”
“What do I strike you as?” I refuse to blink, forcing her into deeper discomfort with every passing second.
“It sounds almost silly, now.” She shakes her head and breaks eye contact, averting her gaze to look at the book on the counter.
“No. I want you to tell me.” Pushing someone to their breaking point, especially with this level of discomfort, used to be one of the many things I avoided. Blending in was my top priority. Fooling the masses into believing I deserved to walk among them.
There’s no need now. And the thrill of watching the blonde squirm tickles my brain back into silence. Hiding the monster, I truly am, seems foolish, when the only person who matters doesn’t shy away from it? Maybe my inner voice is right. I’m falling off the deep end with no life raft in sight.
“With a body and looks like yours... uhm... I pictured you more of a taker than learner.”
“A taker?” I shove my hand into my pocket and pull out six stacks of hundred-dollar bills. “You mean a thief?”
“Of smiles.” Her gaze returns to me, this time with a sheepish smile to drive her point across. Shit. Am I sending the wrong message? “Of hearts. But most importantly, of bodies.”
She’s right about the last one. Though, wouldn’t say I took my victims’ bodies. That’s creepy.
I’m more of a collector of souls.
“Just ring up the book, I’ve got places to be.”
Her face sinks at my demand and she scans the book. I drop the stacks of dollar bills, onto her desk and grab the hard cover first edition of Pride and Prejudice off the counter.
How any piece of literature can be this expensive is so far beyond me, I almost regret my decision. But the almost fades to warm satisfaction as soon as I escape the stuffy bookstore.
This feeling terrifies me.
I’m getting used to hot blood coursing through my cold heart.
And it’s all my Little Flame’s fault.