Page 10

ten

Damien

I can still taste her on my lips as I walk out of the restaurant and towards my car. My cellphone is pressed tightly against my ear as I try to wipe her off my mouth with the back of my hand.

“Pick her up at Mario’s in five,” I hiss into the phone as Bruno picks up the call.

I paid the tab, snagged the contract, and ordered Adrian to be at my house at eight AM sharp tomorrow before I walked out of the restaurant and left Lucille on the bathroom floor in her tight, body-hugging purple dress.

The car ride back to the penthouse truly consisted of me gripping the steering wheel until the knuckles of my left hand turned white while my right hand grew numb from continuously rubbing my forehead in frustration.

It’s not that I don’t find Lucille attractive. Hell, I knew I was fucked as soon as she walked out of the changing room wearing that fucking dress with her hair all perfectly curled. To be honest, I was fucked the minute Bruno threw her unconscious body down on my couch yesterday.

Lucille Fairchild is nothing at all like her sister. And while I was under the impression that she was still the meek, quiet and easily hidden girl I once knew her to be, it seems that now I am gravely mistaken.

Lucille Fairchild is a spitfire.

She’s sassy, witty and intellectual. And downright bratty. But she’s also sultry, seductive and completely inexperienced. I can tell by the way her lips were eagerly waiting for me to claim them. I can tell by the nervous tremor I felt in her hands as I pinned them above her head. I don’t think she’s ever known the intimate, sensuous touch of a man. Never felt or experienced the beautiful feeling of being filled, of thoroughly and carefully fucked-

“Jesus Christ!” I slam my hand on the steering wheel as I park my Audi in the garage.

I don’t have time for this. I don’t have the time to sit here and imagine the contrast of my dark hand sliding up her pale, creamy thigh. Shouldn’t be wasting my day sitting in a car garage, hard, wondering what her moans sound like. If they’re loud and wanton. If they’re wild and carefree. Or if they’re soft and raspy.

And the world is quick to remind me that I truly don’t need to be thinking about this right now. The ring of my phone is a loud shrill as it blasts through my car speakers.

“What?” I bark into it.

“We found the asshole that broke into your store on Ninth,” Bruno says and I sigh in relief.

Finally, a fucking distraction.

Or obligation rather.

I’ve been looking for this prick for nearly three weeks. He stole over twenty thousand dollars from my jewelry store, and I’ve been wanting every finger and toe on his body alongside the cash he fucking owes me as payback.

“I want him in the basement asap. No less than thirty, you hear?” I growl.

“Yes, sir,” Bruno says as I hang up the call.

I should feel sorry for the guy. I eat up every minute of his day with my workload, and lately with the divorce and now Lucille, he’s been getting a lot of my frustration.

When the time is right, he’ll get a vacation. The man has given me all of his loyalty and dedication over the last three years, he at least deserves a few days in Barbados, fucking his girlfriend when he pleases.

At least one of us will be getting laid.

Perhaps that’s why I’m so wound up.

Definitely not because of the infuriating brunette I have held against her will.

I step out of the car and lock it, smoothing back my hair and readjusting my length in my pants, hissing as I do. When I make my way out of the garage and to the basement door on the back of the building, I make sure to lock it as I prepare the chair for the little thief Bruno is bringing me. I text my team to make sure all of my guards are on standby at their posts, shutting off my phone and shoving it into my pocket as I pick up the rope by the single chair in the concrete room.

A single light hangs here and as it flickers, I see old drops of blood on the cement floor. Many things have taken place in this room. Things I never wanted to do at first, things I was ordered to do, and eventually, that reluctance slowly morphed into need. Need for vengeance, need to punish. I’m a sick bastard and that’s exactly why I’m in this line of work. After all the gruesome shit I’ve seen in this world, fucking up punks and thieves for screwing around with my business is nothing, but it takes the edge off.

I make sure my gun is locked and loaded before I shove it into my beltline and pat the knife in my pocket. Once all my bases are covered, I adjust the gothic, platinum cross ring on my middle finger. It was passed down by my predecessor and packs a mean fucking punch when it needs to. And due to the fact that my mind is riddled with pale, thick legs and bright blue eyes right now, I’d say punching is the first on my list.

As time goes by, I hear the lock clicking on the door and I stand by the chair with my hands knotted in front of my waist, eagerly waiting for Bruno and the little asshole to walk into the basement. And when they do, my first inclination is to not beat the pathetic, panicked junkie to a pulp, but it’s to ask Bruno if he was able to get a car to pick up Lucille.

And that, that makes me want to fucking kill this little jewel-stealing asshole now.

“Take a seat,” I say to the man, the rope hanging from my pocket as I gesture towards the chair next to me.

His sunken, black eyes dart from me to the chair in fear as Bruno slams the door closed with his foot and drags him to me by the neck.

“You’ve been very hard to find, Joe. Have you been avoiding me?” I ask as Bruno swings him around and slams him into the chair, pinning him at the chest.

“I haven’t done shit!” the junkie shrieks and it takes everything in my power not to roll my eyes at him, because it’s a useless line, a typical one at that.

“Let’s cut the bullshit and move on, yeah?” I growl as I walk around to face him now, Bruno instantly moving away as I place a hand on each side of the chair and crowd the junkie until he sinks back like the pathetic fuck that he is.

“I’m missing over twenty grand in very expensive, rare jewelry Joe. And I just want to know where you put it. That’s all,” I offer, even though I already know where it is.

In the crack pipe that’s fallen out of his pocket.

He looks down at it and curses, sweat dripping down his forehead and matting his thinning hair.

“I don’t know shit man. I didn’t take nothin’, I don’t even know-”

I punch him hard across the jaw, the sounds of crunching and wailing now echoing throughout the basement as I stand and straighten myself after the blow.

“One more time,” I say as he spits blood onto the floor and glares up at me.

“It’s real simple, Joe. I promise. Just tell me where it is,” I say as I rub my jaw, the hairs of my beard rubbing against my fingertips.

“What do I get if I do?” he garbles, and I smile.

“You get to walk out of here alive,” I offer and he rolls his eyes, blood dripping from his mouth.

“And if I don’t?” he growls, and I shake my head at him and click my tongue.

I take out my knife then and switch it open, lowering it so the blade can gleam in his face as his sunken eyes widen.

I grab his hand then, ripping it towards me as I hold it against my stomach while he flails in the chair. The blade is sharp and a clean cut, it slices all the way through his thumb as he screams in shock and pain.

It’s like music to my ears.

I slice his thumb off slowly, dragging out the pain as he shouts and cries. When I’m done, I shove his limp body back into the chair and dangle his bleeding, amputated thumb in front of his face as I smile wide.

“I get more of these if you don’t. In fact, I get all of them,” I sneer.

“And if you don’t tell me by the time I’m done cutting off your fucking toes too, then I get a leg as well.” I take a deep breath, offering him a second to say something, but…nothing. Nothing but little whimpers.

“So you don’t have a chance to walk out of here until you tell me where the fuck my money is,” I roar in his face as he trembles and shakes beneath me.

“You pathetic little cunt,” I growl, feeding off of his fear. It fuels me, angers me, makes my blood boil and hungry for more.

“Boss,” I hear from Bruno, a warning, but I ignore it.

This little bastard will pay.

I stand up and drop his thumb to the floor as I wipe the blood from the knife on my pants and drop it too, reaching for the rope.

“Damien, man-” Bruno tries again, but I turn and snap at him.

“What!” I bark, enraged that he would chime in like this, which he never does.

“Someone’s coming,” he announces and my eyes immediately lift to the door as the knob starts to jiggle.

“Are you in here?” a female voice huffs out from the other side.

A very raspy, angry female voice.

Lucille.

“Don’t-” I try, but the thief instantly drops and grabs my knife, scrambling up from the floor and making it to the door just as Lucille opens it and stares at the scene with wide, blue eyes.

This is the sloppiest job I’ve ever done. And once again, it’s because of her.

God damnit.

The thief doesn’t have time to reach her, even though his uncut hand is gripping the knife, ready to stab.

He doesn’t get a chance to make contact because I pull out my gun just as he tilts his head a few inches to the left, out of her line of sight. That’s when I pull the trigger and shoot.

He falls to the floor just as I look at Lucy, whose beautiful face is now covered in blood along with her purple dress.