Page 90 of The Mafia Enforcer's Temptation
Fucking fine by me. I kick open the door to the diner. I don’t look at the body behind the counter. It isn’t visible if you come in directly from the front door. But if you arrive from up the street like me, you can see someone there.
I pull my gun, the rain sluicing off me as the guy turns, throwing Ava as he reaches for a weapon.
He’s fucking huge, and I don’t even bother asking questions. I just shoot him dead. And then I stand over him and proceed to empty my clip into him. I’m in the middle of kicking the shit out of his bloodied, bullet-riddled corpse when Ava staggers into me, dragging me away.
“Let me go. This fucker deserves to be nothing but pulp.” I don’t even recognize my voice. It’s thick and savage, and it’s only when she stumbles back that I come to my senses.
“Seamus, I’m… sorry, I came to meet Claudetta. I work here. I…” She looks around, bleeding from her lip, this time for real, and a bruise is going to bloom on her face. “I don’t know where she is. I don’t know where Johnny is. I thought he was downstairs, but… why isn’t he here?”
Fuck.
I’m an ass.
I gently take her and sit her in a booth, way in the back of the small diner, a corner booth, one that faces the windows. “Stay here.”
I march off, lock the fucking door, flip the sign to Closed, and look for the lights. I find them to the side behind the counter, near the kitchen, and I flip them all off, including the lights outside. Everything goes dark and there’s no sound, nothing but the rain and thunder and the occasional flickering crack of lightning. I text the cleanup crew the address, let Cal know I have her, and then I have to shut everything in me down as I go and move the fuck to behind the counter. Near where I presume Johnny lies dead.
I get a cup, a clean bar rag, and hit the ice button on the soda machine. I bring the rag and the cup to her, and a million things are in my head, but I shove them into the dark recesses, hammering down the fear and the rage and the anger I have reserved for my sweet thing.
I slide in next to her, pour some ice into a rag, and I touch her hand. She’s fucking ice, too.
A nasty, unwanted, undeserving to the dead thought lands. She’s seen death before. Fuck, she’s probably killed. I’m sure she’s killed. I don’t know if she shot someone shooting at me and got Anton, or if someone else shot him to shut him up. Eitherone of those could be true. But I know she’s not an innocent. And it’s one of the things… one of the few things l like about her.
I’m not sure if I should ask the question, or any of the others in my head, so I just kiss her instead, long and hard. She kisses me back. She doesn’t hiss in pain or pull away, even though based on the blood caked on her lip, he must’ve busted the inside of her mouth.
And I’m enough of a cunt to probe it with my tongue as I change the kiss, soften it. Then as I lift my head, I lick her blood from my lips and from the cut outside her mouth.
Dec would accuse me of being part vampire, and maybe I am. Because I’m fucking hard and I fucking love the taste of her blood.
But she’s warmer now, and if I am, too, it’s just for her.
I lift the wrapped ice to her face and hold it there to help stop the bruising.
“It’s cold.”
“Does it hurt?” I ask, sliding my hand up her thigh and holding it against the heat of her denim-wrapped pussy.
“Like a bitch, as they say.” And Ava smiles.
Remarkably that complex smile reaches her eyes. It’s a tired humor, a sad and worn warmth, like she understands the horrible nature of the world.
We’re more alike than I’m comfortable with.
Sure, I get that we both like to hunt and chase. She probably would love to hunt me down, and unless it’s with a fucking gun or a spectacular ass fuck or blow job at the end, it’s not going to happen. At least, I don’t think so, but I’m open to it. And for thecraic, I just might even take a good old regular fuck, too.
Not that there’s anything good, old, or regular about fucking Ava.
It’s all spectacular and filthy, and even when it’s soft, it’s gloriously wrong, like there’s a dark edge that just might make a consecrated place burst into flames beneath us if we tried.
“You didn’t stab him,” I say, tucking a strand of hair away behind her ear. “It’s why I got you the special combs. You could do some damage.”
“I didn’t think. Too busy being punched and strangled.”
I get up and hunt under the counter for some booze. There’s a bottle of sherry and I open it. My mouth twists at the sweetness that comes from it obviously sitting so long, but it’ll do. I take the bottle and leave it with her, then move the big prick and look him over. Ankles included.
He’s tattooed heavily already, so I’m not shocked there isn’t a special tattoo for the Lev group there. This one would wear it loud and proud… actually… I check his fingers, too.
He’s a fucking member of the X gang. They’re a New York specialty, and they like to play big. They’re not your usual gang. They dress in suits, nice clothes, just like this one. The XO on each of his knuckles is a giveaway.
