Page 23 of Filthy Little Games

What is it about this woman that made me throw my body onhers without thinking when there was gunfire, wanting to save her from a gunman, and now…this mess with Izaiah?

Zara winces and drops her arms. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t intervene. Eugene is a regular. He’s just a kid.”

“A regular…customer or robber?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve never reported him to the store or to the police?”

“No. He’s only seventeen, and he’s raising his two little sisters. I just gather products that are about to expire to give to him.”

The fact she didn’t run to the police about an armed robber but instead decided to help him on a weekly basis makes me worry a tiny bit less about her turning me in.

Then again, murder and a few bags of expired products aren’t in the same league.

“I’m not going to go to the police,” she says as if reading my mind. “In fact, how about after we get him down the chute, we load him up in your car and then just forget this all happened? You go…do whatever you need to with him, and I’ll go to sleep. I won’t ever tell a soul. Besides, I’ll be an accomplice after I help carry him out of here, right?”

Zara’s naivety is actually cute as she stands before me all confident and sexy, pressing her tits together on purpose. In fact, there’s surprisingly only a faint hint of fear showing in her cat-like green eyes.

“This isn’t something we can pinkie promise about and go our separate ways. You know I can’t let you walk away now,micetta mia.” I inwardly cringe after the words roll off my tongue.

She shivers, making me feel like a dick for refusing to give her clothes. Slipping off my jacket, I remove my phone from the inner pocket, then hold it out for her to take. It’s already evidence, and I can’t think with her so close to me, naked.

“Thanks” She shoves her arms through the sleeves, as if she genuinely appreciates the gesture. She’s an unusual girl. And I hatethat she’s covered up all that tempting ivory skin, but it’s for the best. “So then, what happens next? After the cleanup?”

“I’m still figuring that out.” I unfasten my cuffs and roll up my sleeves. What the hell am I going to do with her? There’s no one I can even ask, since I don’t want any of my men to know Izaiah Rovina is dead.

When I’m done securing both of my sleeves, I watch Zara button the front of my jacket. And damn, I like the way she looks in my coat that swallows her whole, brushing her knees, leaving only her lower legs bare. She’s sexy as hell in my jacket and nothing else over her succulent breasts and incredible ass that I haven’t gotten a chance to examine close enough.

I clear my throat. “For now, let’s get him out of here. I’ll worry about his car tomorrow. Grab some trash bags while I retrieve his keys and phone.”

Zara inhales a deep breath. “Oh shit!”

“What?” I ask in concern. Her outburst is so sudden and unexpected, given she’s been calm this far. Maybe it’s finally hitting her that he’s dead…

“You sent him messages from my phone, right? Even if we delete them, won’t there be records on the cloud or from the phone company the police can get?”

“Yes,” I answer honestly as I go over to search Izaiah’s pockets.

“Fucking A!” she mutters. My lips twitch, despite the current circumstances. The swear word sounds hilarious coming from the twenty-something, innocent-looking, Shirley Temple.

“So, it’s a good thing I employ some cyber geniuses. They can hopefully make the messages permanently disappear.”

“And if they can’t and the police suspect me?” she asks. “Oh, right. You would absolutely kill me to prevent me from talking to the cops.”

“One step at a time. Now find us some trash bags.” I pocket his car keys and begin to scroll through his unlocked phone.

7

Zara

Ferraro deletes my texts to and from Izaiah on his phone and mine, then destroys the device, frustrated that there were no messages tying Emilio Rovina to the club raid.

After that was handled, we covered his upper body in one bag, lower in another, then we rolled him up like a joint, starting with the part of the rug that’s stained, along with his knife. To ensure he stays rolled up and spreads the least amount of DNA and fibers possible in the chute or dumpster, I wrapped an entire roll of plastic around him.

Then, somehow, Ferraro deadlifts and holds him in front of his body while I quickly cleaned the floors and even the walls with Clorox wipes. I get on my knees and search for even the tiniest drops. Once that’s done, I wipe down my door, window, and laptop, erasing any of Izaiah’s or Ferraro’s fingerprints.

“That’s good enough,” he says.

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