Page 31 of Dark Romeo

“I’m coming with?—”

“Merc, it’s my father. He won’t hurt me.” At least, I hoped not. “He probably just wants to talk to me.” I hoped. I wouldn’t put anything past my father.

I opened the car door and stepped out.

“Roman,” Merc called.

“Yeah?”

“Call me if you need me, k?”

I nodded, patting my jeans pocket to make sure my phone was with me. Then shut the door so I could face Abel.

They say that you should never judge a book by its cover. With Abel, he was every bit the monster on the inside as on the out. He was a wiry man, a few inches shorter than my six foot two, a scar that ran down from his left ear, down to the corner of his lip, as if he had once been caught in a fish hook and torn away from it. For almost as long as I could remember, he wore black leather gloves so he’d never leave a fingerprint anywhere. It wasn’t his strength or fists you ever had to worry about. It was the various knives he always had in his possession and his ability to wield them like scalpels. And the fact that he had no soul. No remorse. No conscience. He would gut his sister’s baby in front of her if it suited him.

He strode towards me, hatred rolling off him. I stood my ground. If there was one thing my father taught me, never let them see you flinch. If you flinch, you’re dead.

Abel sneered and his scar puckered. “Your father wants you.”

A black limousine rolled up beside us and stopped, the passenger side door by my side. Abel opened the door, holding it wide open for me. “Get in.”

“I have a plane to catch.”

Abel pulled out a gun and cocked the weapon, pointing the black barrel at my head. I had no doubt he’d shoot given half the chance. “Get. In.”

JULIANNA

____________

I stepped in through my front door and dropped my keys into the bowl on the side table.

“Where the hell have you been?” a voice behind me demanded, making me jump. A tiny figure stood in my doorway, hands on hips.

“Nora.” I let out a breath of relief, stepping aside to let her in. “Jesus Christ, you scared me.”

I walked towards my kitchen for a glass of water. She swatted my ass as I passed her.

“Ow. What was that for?”

“That was for making me worry when you didn’t come home last night.”

I stiffened. “How did you know I didn’t come home last night?”

She gave me a look. “Firstly, I waited up for you so long here that I fell asleep on your couch. I wanted to tell you about my date.”

“Oh.”

“And secondly,” she waved her finger at my tight black dress, the one that I had been wearing for almost twenty-four hours, “that is a walk of shame outfit if I ever saw one.”

“Nora! How do you even know what a walk of shame is? Wait…wait. I don’t want to know.”

She snorted. “Please, I might be old but I’m not dead.”

I turned back to my glass of water, hoping to avoid all further conversation.

When I didn’t answer, she swatted me again, making me hiss. “And that is for making me wait to get all the dirty details.”

I rubbed my ass, glaring at her. “Remind me to get my spare keys from you.”

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