Page 43 of The Boss

She nodded toward my weapon, sighing deeply. “I hate guns.”

“You should. They’re dangerous.”

“No, they’re cold, hard steel. People are dangerous.”

“You have a point. Stay here.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m sure you’re thirsty. I know I am.”

She sighed and lay back down. “Okay. I’ll be right here.”

I rubbed my fingers down her arm, enjoying the way she shivered from longing instead of fear. But it could change at a moment’s notice. She wasn’t my girlfriend or even my lover.

She’d become my possession.

The moment I reached the door, I heard her lilting voice again. “How many men have you killed?”

Her question was nothing more than reaffirmation of her earlier thoughts. “Enough, but only the people who deserved to die.”

“How very sad, the world you live in.”

“It’s the world I was born into.”

“I don’t think I like your world very much.”

As she shouldn’t. She was far too vulnerable to embrace or understand the delicate pattern of politics and violence.

And I hoped she’d never be forced to learn.

Sad.

She was right to a degree. With all the success I’d achieved, the ache in my heart outweighed all the money in my bank accounts. I headed out of the room, still thinking about all the ways I wanted to defile her.

That made me a very bad man indeed.

After all, I’d captured an angel.

I took the stairs slowly, feeling more than just an ache in my heart. My gut told me to remain on guard at all times, ensuring that I wouldn’t lose anyone else in some invisible war.

As I walked into the kitchen, seeing her clothes on the floor brought another wave of desire. I knew I wasn’t done with her yet. Not by a long shot. My cravings were the most intense I’d felt in my life.

I pulled a bottle of ouzo from the freezer, remembering more than just events in the past with Leandro. How many bottles had I shared with Gregory over the years? Too many to count. We’d often ended up skipping classes, we’d been so intoxicated from the night before. I found myself smiling as I grabbed two glasses.

Maybe my captive would enjoy sharing a drink from my country. Nothing else sounded good at this point.

With the exception of her sweet pussy.

Her taste lingered on my tongue, her scent imbedded in my skin. I was at a point going back wasn’t going to happen. For some reason, I found myself in the living room. The entire house was covered in pictures of us as kids and other family members. I’d neglected to take them down, but I was at the point where I couldn’t stand seeing them any longer.

I wasn’t the boy standing on my father’s boat with a fish handing off a pole and grinning from ear to ear any longer. One picture in particular had bothered me since the moment I’d agreed to spend more time in the house.

It had all four of us boys chumming together, laughing at whatever conversation we were having while Pops had taken the photograph. I placed the glasses and bottle on the coffee table and inched toward the bookshelf where it sat proudly, framed in gold. As I picked it up, I remembered the day clearly. The sun was bright in the sky, the waves thrilling. We’d been surfing, enjoying the freedom of being rich kids on a private beach.

Little did we understand the horrors and tragedies that would await us.

Leandro was smiling the biggest, maybe only eight years old but allowed to frolic with the big boys. He’d been a little comedian then and all through his life.

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