Page 91 of The Mafia Enforcer's Temptation
But they don’t do mafia work, and they sure as shit don’t hit diners.
I did a good job destroying him, but in the wreckage of his face, upper chest, and neck is a medallion. I can’t make it out since a bullet hit it, but I’m sure it’s cartel. I pull it off and pocket it.
I’ll have to leave the girl outside in the rain for the cops, but the crew will remove gang guy and Johnny. I blow out a breath. “Ava?”
“Yes?”
I almost jump, she’s standing right there, staring at Johnny and the other man.
“Did Johnny have a family?”
“A mom, maybe. I don’t know. He works the night shifts. Worked.” She looks at the lump of meat I shot. “Did he kill Johnny?”
“I’m assuming.”
“And you did all that to him?”
I don’t remind her that she was there, I know how the shock thing works. And I’m betting she’s thinking if Johnny’s dead, then so is her friend. Or maybe she’s not. But she touches me, and for a moment I think she’s going to hug me, but she doesn’t.
She takes my gun and then feels my jacket pocket for the spare clip I always carry. Ava switches the empty one for the full one.
“Is my friend alive? Claudetta? Latinx, pretty, long hair, short.”
“I don’t think so.”
Ava nods. “Where is she?”
“Ava…”
“Where. Is. She?”
“We can’t move her.”
“I don’t have my phone. Someone needs to tell Onyx.”
“The biker?” I shake my head. “I wasn’t out the entire time when he hit me. I heard parts of the conversation. And no, we can’t call him. You’ll start a war that’ll wipe out his club. When this is done, I promise I’ll help him get revenge, but not now. Got it?”
“Yes.”
And she points the gun at the already disfigured corpse and shoots it twice. “I’m glad you mutilated him.” She hands me my gun back.
A stupid man could fall for a woman like her.
And then she goes to a cupboard under the register and pulls out a bottle of gin and drinks from it. She shudders. “Disgusting.”
I take it and do the same. Agreed. It’s vile.
I set the bottle down and look outside. The storm’s a little worse as I watch the unmarked van pull up on the street. I take her hand, and as they get out, I grab her and head out into the storm.
I kiss her in the middle of the street when we’re halfway home. We’re soaked to the bone, and all I want is to bury myself inside her. She wraps herself around me, kissing me back like she craves it, like we’re more than what we are. Like nothing at all just happened. If she’s going to cry, this is the time to do it, with the rain, where no one will notice.
When we get home, we’re drowned rats in pools of rapidly growing water. I strip her down and throw a coat of mine that hangs from a rack in the hallway around her, and I strip down to my boxers. I leave the clothes in a pile and lead her up to our room.
“If you’re going to cry,” I say, stalking off to the bathroom to turn on the shower, “do it in here. I don’t like tears.”
I turn and she shoves me, sending me stumbling back into the water. Her face is a storm of fury, one to rival the weather outside.
She shoves off the coat, yanks the combs from her hair, and comes at me. “I don’t fucking cry.”
