Page 26 of Sins and Virtue

“I have a pistol. Don’t tempt me.”

“Well, spare me a bullet then. It only takes one shot.”

“Don’t ever say that.” My tone became darkly possessive. “Besides, your life is mine. I won’t let you escape that easily.”

She tilted her head to the side on the pillow and looked up through her lashes at me, grasping me in the enchantmentof those hazel eyes that appeared like the breezy autumn and holding me prisoner. “Oh, and how do you plan to torture me then? I advise you I do bad in small spaces, I need comfy clothes, and I’m allergic to chloroform.”

My jaw tightened at that last detail. “What the hell were you doing with chloroform?”

“Well…not me per se, but my ex was inthatbusiness.”

Ex? Did she say ex?

I think she did. Who the fuck is that fucker?

“What business? And what ex?” My voice dropped to a threatening decibel.

“Doesn’t matter now.”

She shrugged it off like it was fucking nothing, but it was a nuisance I couldn’t let go of. Only with the knowledge of another man being graced with the permission to touch and hold her, which only ended in him breaking her trust and abusing her, did red flash before my eyes. Imagining it to be his blood as it coated my hands, I watched the life leave his eyes as I slit his throat. Not before I tore his chest open, dragging out his intestines and playing with them, torturing him with every breath he took.

Just get the name, and we’ll make him regret his existence.

Kill him.

Obliterate him.

Get. Rid. Of. Him.

The violent waves of rampaging bloodlust hit my system. Needing a quick fix of uncontained slaughter, but that small outlet would only lead to a mass murder.

I can’t. No. We can’t.

Bloodshed was inevitable in the mafia; it was expected for men to adapt to vicious violence and to not care for the casualties, but I would not go on a hunt and watch innocents get hurt. It was my law. I wouldn’t do it, more so because I couldn’t control Dya notto, so I held him back. It was my responsibility, as it was his, to shield me.

I removed my legs from the bed and sat up quickly, leaning forward, angling my elbow on my knees, and bringing my hands to my face and closing my eyes. Breathing in for four seconds, holding it for four seconds, and letting it go for four, and holding it again— a technique I was taught by a psychiatrist once to calm down the nervous system and regain control of my mind.

My pulse spiked as the incessant thoughts ran rampant, and I needed to negate it. Needed to control it. Needed to control myself and lock the worst parts away.

A gentle hand landed against my cheek; instinctively, I raised my hand and gripped it harshly.

“Relax, it’s just me,” she softly murmured, the heat of her breath closer than before.

I opened my eyes and met hers, watching my reflection. Her closeness and the subtle care she displayed shifted the axis of my world, ceasing all debilitating thought. Observing how she sat upright on the bed, seated by my side, so close.

Wow.

“Sorry.” I emitted a long sigh.

“Are you okay? You look …tired, I guess.” She wondered, keeping her hand on my cheek as she lowered it, stroking the stubble on my jaw.

The back of my neck tensed, flaring with heat for some odd reason. “I have…” My mouth went dry as I harshly swallowed, trying to find the perfect excuse so she wouldn’t think differently of me. “A headache.”

She snarled, dropping her gaze to the cemented floor with some disdain. “Sleeping on the floor is really getting to you, isn’t it?”

“It’s better than a prison cell.”

“Well, you’ll never go back.” Her tone was, dare I say, covetous.