Page 1 of Depraved Lust
1
Anthony
I stare at the picture from the envelope and feel so damn conflicted. I crumple the edges in my hand, not knowing if I really wanna go through with this. My eyes travel along each feature of her face, pausing to admire her large, brown eyes and long, thick lashes. She has gorgeous full lips I want to bite but also see wrapped around my cock. Her nails are done in a classic shade of red, and her light brown hair hangs over her shoulders in loose curls. Her breasts peek out just above the neckline of her flowing blouse. I wish I could slowly strip her out of those clothes. But I can’t. She’s not mine. Even worse, I’m supposed to kill her.
I shove the slip of paper back into the envelope containing the other photos, those hits I couldn’t give two shits about. They're for assholes who have it coming to them. One stole and ran in order to keep up with his addiction. You don’t steal from a mob boss and think you can get away with it. The second killed a made man. He knows it’s coming. Neither are doing a good job of hiding. They’ll be easy hits.
I take another swig from my beer and debate on taking the sheet back out. But I have her face memorized already. I want her. More than that, I want to break her. My thoughts are depraved, and I know it. I think back to the last chick I had. She liked to play. But that’s all it was to her. Play. I want the real thing. I want to earn a woman’s submission, earn her desire to please me through training. So far, it’s always been pretend. I’ve never had an opportunity like this. But it’s wrong. It’s so fucked up and wrong.
But then again, so am I.
I carve up assholes and kill them for a living. The torturing and their screams don't affect me in the least.
This broad has it coming to her, even if she doesn’t know it. She probably thought she was doing the right thing by going to the cops. She probably thinks she's safe in the witness protection program. She’s not. She didn’t know what she was doing, and now it’s my responsibility to make her disappear. She cost the Cassano familia a lot of money, but more than anything, they lost face. The fucker she was involved with doesn’t care that she’s on a hit list. He’s just pissed she ratted on them, even if the charges didn’t stick.
Killing her is purely about their pride and the deal they lost.
I grind my teeth and slowly peel back the label on my beer bottle. I have to be delicate, so it doesn’t tear apart.
Patience. I need patience. With everything I do, I need patience.
I’ve been looking into her, and I know she’d fit the part. Poor girl didn’t know what she was getting herself into when she started fucking around with a member of the Cassanos. She's a sweet little thing who thought she’d like a taste of the more dangerous things in life. I can give her more than a taste though. I can give her exactly what she was looking for and fulfil those fantasies I know she has. And she can give me what I’ve always wanted.
I spied on her again last night. She was reading one of her books, and I watched as it turned her on. Of course she had no idea, but I was right fucking there. The only thing separating us was a brick wall. With her window open, I clearly heard all those soft moans coming from her lips. I had to know what she was reading, so I snuck in and took a look around.
I Googled that book the second I got home. Her own dark desires sealed her fate.
She has deviant fantasies just like me. She’s fucking perfect.
“Anthony, you wanna talk now?” I hear Vince ask as he pulls up the stool to my right. I messaged him earlier. I place my bottle on the bar and push it to one side as the bartender slides Vince his usual Jack.
I lean back a bit and tap my knuckles on the bar before facing him. Vince is a ruthless fucker, and he doesn’t take any shit. He’s also my cousin, so I feel safe with him. But this is the mob, and he’s the Don. I’m never that safe.
“It’s about the hits we got in,” I tell him in a low enough voice that no one else present is going to hear. Not that it matters. It’s our bar, and we know everyone in here.
“You need help? Tommy’s not enough?” he asks, cocking a brow. Tommy’s my brother, and he's also my second-in command. Technically we’re both contractors for the familia. We only do hits, and we don’t bother with that other bullshit.
“No,” I say with certitude. I never need help. Hits are easy for me, in addition to being good money.
He takes a sip and licks his lips. “What’s the problem, then?” he asks.
“There’s one that I’d rather not do,” I tell him.
“Why’s that?” he asks, setting the glass down to face me with his shoulders squared. He’s in business mode. Right now, he’s not a friend, and he's not my cousin. Right now he’s the boss.
“I want to make them an offer instead,” I explain.
His brow furrows as he replies. “I’m listening.”
“One’s a woman.” His eyes flash with sympathy. None of us like taking women out. It’s something that rarely happens, but when it does, we don’t like it. We make it quick and painless for them. Maybe it’s sexist, but I don’t give a fuck. I’ve tortured a lot of men for information. Never a woman though. That’s where I draw the line.
“They won’t let her walk.” His words are said with finality. “I want to ask if they’d accept a substantial monetary offer from me to buy her.” I feel my blood rushing faster and hotter. No one knows about my perversions. I’m sure they can all guess. But I’ve never said a thing about my tastes, and they’ve never asked. They keep me on the edge of the social circle for the most part. I’m fine with that. It’s better that way.
“Buy her, and then what?” he asks with his eyes trained on the back of the bar.
“I want to keep her.” My voice is low, but steady.
“As a pet? As a slave?” Equal amounts of disgust and disbelief colour his voice, and it almost makes me regret letting my dark desire come to light. Almost. But I want this. I want it more than anything.
