Page 111 of Thorns of Deceit
“You’re scaring me right now,” Athena grumbled.
“Shouldn’t we be scared of the dead body in the middle of our kitchen?” Phoenix cut through their nonsense.
“Before the police find themselves at our door,” I supplied.
“I’m legit freaked out,” Isla chimed in. “And why is Reina just staring at him?”
Reina murmured that we should cut him up, and the dark part of me, maybe the small ounce that belonged to my father, relished in the idea of making this dead criminal pay—even in death. Angelo Leone—much like my own father—deserved to be decimated.
“Okay, so we have the first part figured out,” I stated matter-of-factly. “We’ll cut him up.”
I moved, slow and methodical, and everyone followed suit. We shifted the body, lifted it, dragged it, our small apartment filling with low grunts and the thin soundtrack of retching and whispered orders. I kept my hands steady. My gloves went on like armor. My mind compartmentalized. And my lips chanted things to be done: slice, dice, shower, bury the body parts in the catacombs.
That night, justice smelled of bleach. That night, we were judge, jury, and executioner. My mom didn’t deserve it, but this man sure as hell did, and I couldn’t help but wish the same destiny for my own father and Jack Callahan.
But even then, I couldn’t wish the same fate on my husband.
Aiden’s voice cut through the memories of that night. “Mo cuishle, what are you still doing awake?”
I looked up, finding his tall frame filling the doorway of the bedroom. His broad shoulders were drawn tight beneath the black three-piece suit he still hadn’t changed out of.
“Is everything okay?” I asked softly, noticing his appearance and tense jaw.
“Just a long day,” he murmured. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“I couldn’t sleep without you,” I admitted.
“What were you thinking about just now?”
“I was just thinking about the Romero sisters and…” I trailed off, still holding back certain parts of myself. The video Aiden had shown me didn’t capture the actual murder, just the aftermath: the five of us, hacking into Angelo Leone’s body like something out of a horror movie. What must he think of me?
Without a word, he crossed the room, lifted me effortlessly from the sill, and sank into it himself with me in his lap. The heat of his body melted into mine.
Being in his arms… It felt like home.
“I got rid of it.”
“What?” I twisted to look at him, confusion clouding my thoughts. “Got rid of what?”
“The video with you and the girls slicing and dicing,” he said wryly.
“But… why?”
He shrugged, his expression unreadable. “I want you to stay with me willingly. Plus, I’m not taking any chances with that video getting out and jeopardizing the mother of my child and our unborn baby.”
My hand instinctively reached forward, cupping his cheek. The roughness of his stubble scraped against my palm, and a lump formed in my throat.
“Thank you,” I whispered, leaning in to kiss the side of his neck as tears welled in my eyes. “Thank you so much. I won’t betray your trust.”
It was my sacred vow to him.
Pressing a kiss just below his pulse, my hands slid under his suit jacket, grazing the cold metal of his gun. He hadn’t taken it off yet.
“Fuck, you make me greedy,” he murmured, his hand moving to cradle my nape. He angled my face, then crashed his lips onto mine, his hunger matching my own.
I parted my lips, letting him in, his tongue dancing with mine and the ache between my thighs intensifying.
“You and I… We would have found each other in every life,” he murmured against my lips.
