Page 66 of Carnal Urges
“No. Alexei shot the two who came to our table. Kazimir shot the other two.”
I already knew about Kazimir. But the intel I have is that Stavros was the shooter at the table. Then again, he and his dead friend Alexei look very much alike. Tall, slim, dark-haired, the same tattoos on their knuckles. Almost like brothers.
He says, “I don’t care if you don’t believe me. It’s the truth. I actually hate guns. I’m more of a computer nerd.”
“Let me get this straight. You’ve never shot anyone before, but you decided it would be a brilliant idea to come to Boston to try to rescue a woman you dated for a few months from a man whohasshot people before. Many of them. For far less stupid things.”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“We always have a choice.”
“The heart leads where it will.”
“What is that supposed to mean? You’re her puppet?”
He smiles wistfully. “No. I’m just in love. It doesn’t matter if I live or die, as long as I’m near her.”
I glare at him. “Are youtryingto get killed here? You have a death wish, is that it?”
“I wouldn’t expect someone like you to understand.”
I growl, “Don’t get snippy with me, boyo. I can shoot plenty of things off your body and still keep you alive.”
A sudden vivid image of him on top of Sloane, thrusting between her spread thighs as she moans and arches beneath him, sucks the breath out of my lungs. In its place comes poison.
The poison of pure jealousy.
He sees the look on my face and swallows again.
I return to my pacing. Back and forth I go, thinking. Stavros sits silently, watching me with trepidation.
Like Sloane, he’s not at all what I expected. He’s not a hardened killer. He’s not loyal to anything but romantic notions of true love. He’s young and idealistic, brave and intelligent, and—if I’m honest with myself—is probably a better person than I am.
A person who’d make a good father.
I turn to him and demand, “So you want to marry her?”
He blinks in surprise. “I don’t understand—”
“Answer the bloody question.”
“All right. Yes, I want to marry her.”
“And children? You want those with her, too?”
His eyes shining with emotion, he says roughly, “As many asshe’d agree to, yes. I’ve always wanted to be a father. And she’d make a wonderful mother. I’d give it all up if she asked me to. The life. The money. Anything. The only thing that matters to me is her.”
Fuck. This isn’t how I wanted this interrogation to go.
I drag a hand through my hair, exhale hard, and close my eyes. When I open them, Stavros is staring at me like he’s been washed overboard in a raging storm, and I’m the life jacket someone’s about to throw him.
Which I am.
Trying not to sound as depressed as I feel, I say, “All right, boyo. It’s your lucky day. Let’s make a deal.”
TWENTY
SLOANE
