Page 21 of Filthy Little Games

She talks about Emilio like she knows him personally. What the hell is her connection to the Rovinas? And why is she so blasé about Izaiah’s murder?

I’ll figure that out later.

First, I need to deal with my impulsive, idiotic decision. “Well, this obviously wasn’t the ideal location for a hit. Removing him without any residents or the apartment cameras noticing is going to be…challenging,” I say, mostly to myself.

Eying the deceased man with lips pursed as if she’s annoyed more by the inconvenience of his death than his loss of life, the naked woman says, “There are two cameras at the front of the building, so we could put him in trash bags, roll him up in the rug that’s ruined anyway…and send him down the trash chute.”

“Whoa. What? You want me to just throw him down the fucking trash chute like garbage?”

“Yes. Fitting for him, right?” she replies coolly. “The landlord is too cheap for a compactor, so you don’t have to worry about that. You can drive around back where there are no cameras that I know of, prop open the door, and fish him out of the dumpster.Unless you have a better idea that can get rid of him within the next few minutes?”

There has to be a better idea, but I’m not coming up with anything right now. Probably because she’s still kneeling on the floor buck-ass naked with the heaviest, most delicious pair of swaying tits I’ve ever seen.

I haven’t been alone in the same room with a naked woman in over a year, much less one on her knees. My tightening pants are causing a huge distraction that I sure as shit don’t need at the moment.

As if suddenly remembering her nudity herself, or more likely because she caught me staring at her tits, Zara slaps one arm over her chest and the other over her lap. “I’m going to put some clothes on while you make a decision.”

“No.” The word leaves my mouth before I can stop it. And since I’m still waving my gun around in my hand, it sounds like a command. Grasping for a valid reason to keep her beautiful body bare a little bit longer, I tell her, “You’re going to help me get him out of here and clothes are just more evidence we’ll have to destroy later.”

We? Fuck. I’m not sure when this turned into a team effort, but since I can’t bring myself to put a bullet in her head, I guess…I guess we’re in this together now.

Besides, I have her phone in my pants pocket, so she can’t call anyone. If she tries to run, I’m certain I can chase her down.

And if she’s naked, it’s an even bigger incentive for her not to take off running down the streets of New York. Although, I would give up my new Lamborghini Urus for a chance to watch her run a naked mile.

Either my reasoning is solid enough, or I look threatening enough, that Zara doesn’t get up from the floor.

“Are you going to do something about that knife sticking out of your leg?” she asks rather than argue about the lack of clothing.

“If I pull the knife out, I’m going to bleed everywhere, leaving behind more of my DNA.”

“I have an idea. May I get up?”

“Yes,” I agree, thoroughly enjoying this power dynamic where she asks my permission. I’m certain that the longer a man goes without sex, the stupider he becomes around women. At least, that much is true in my case. “Don’t even think about trying to bolt, though. I can run you down, even with the knife.”

Nodding, Zara pushes herself to her feet, then literally tiptoes over, the soles of her feet never touching the floor, to pick up her discarded towel. I’m about to protest her putting it on and hiding her lovely curves when she says, “Could you jump over him?”

Jump over him, she asks, casually referring to the corpse like he’s an ordinary obstruction.

She is by far the oddest woman I’ve ever met, and this is the strangest fucking encounter of my entire life. Those two things are increasingly becoming reasons why I think I want to keep her rather than kill her.

Certain Izaiah is good and dead, I flip the safety on my gun, shove it in the back of my pants, and step over his prone form. Lifting and lowering my left foot sends jolts of pain through my entire limb that I have to grit my teeth to get through. Instead of the discomfort, I focus on following Zara’s lead, staying on my toes until I clear the blood pooling around him on the rug, careful not to get any on my shoes.

Once I’m clear of the corpse, she grabs the towel she was wearing and kneels on the floor again within touching distance, her face directly in front of my crotch.

“What are you doing?” I ask her, confused, about to take a step back before I remember the corpse.

“Studying the wound. I’m going to pull the knife out, then quickly wrap the towel around your leg so it won’t bleed everywhere. You can move easier without it, right?”

Oh. Knife removal makes much more sense than a blowjob at this particular moment in time. I can literally feel the stupid growing stronger within me.

I need to get my head out of the gutter and take my eyes off her tits before the distraction kills me. This is certainly not the time or place to be horny.

“Well?”

“Fine. Do it fast,” I tell her while staring up at the ceiling. I’m not sure why I trust she won’t remove the knife then immediately stab me in the dick, but I do. Probably because I know she needs my help hauling the dead body out of her apartment. Without me, she would have two to dispose of.

Before this rash decision, I’ve always been meticulous and strategic to avoid mistakes, never making assumptions, which is the opposite of this quick-thinking woman’s plans that have plans so far tonight.

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