Page 4 of Savage Debt (The Debt Tales 2)

He’s not a boss that’s afraid to get blood on his suit or his hands dirty.

He’s a cold-stoned killer who really does rarely show mercy.

Mesmerized by his dark, adoring gaze, I listen intently as he says, “It’s so unfortunate that it’s come to this, Elle. Grandmother would hate for you to step into such a room. To witness this. She believed the beauty that belonged to a DeLuca should never be forced to witness his savagery.”

“I’ll-”

His fingertip drops over my mouth to silence me. “Don’t. Move.”

He steps away, and my body remains paralyzed in place. I watch Nero gingerly remove his jacket. His expensive cuff links. I nod silently when he asks for me to hold them and wordlessly stare during the meticulous peeling up of the sleeves of his dress shirt.

Tattoos momentarily flash in full as he saunters over to take a boxer stance in front of his victim.

Not wanting to see or hear what I have no doubt is in store, I shout, “I’m sorry, Mr. DeLuca!”

“I much prefer the phrase ‘I apologize’,” he states at the same time he meets my gaze. “It feels more submissive.”

“I apologize a thousand times, then!” The attempt at a smile falls from my lips once I see him doing the same.

Sadly, my apology and shot at humor are not enough to deter him from landing a punch in the man’s gut, reviving him from his unconscious state.

I look away. Shut my eyes. Pretend I can’t hear each blow being delivered or the breaking bones some of the strikes cause.

“This little piggy tested my patience, too,” Nero announces between additional pounds, stirring up the microwaveable diet-meal I ate for lunch. “Didn’t think to tell me sooner that the Feds not on the payroll have been putting their noses where they don’t belong.” Sounds of a fist landing into flesh occur again and again and again. “He made a pricey mistake!”

Another round of beating begins and between Nero’s grunts of frustration and the man’s begging groans around the wet, blood noises, I can barely keep down the bile that’s burning my throat.

Without warning, all of the violent banging ceases, and I look over just in time to see Nero taking a steaming hand towel from his henchman. “Thank you, Mickie.”

“Of course, Boss.”

The drop-dead gorgeous nutcase I made the mistake of pissing off gently washes away any remains of blood from his fingers while callously insisting, “I feel better.”

He offers the soiled towel to Mickie who immediately transfers it into his grip for disposal.

“Have we learned our lesson, Elle?”

“I’ll wear the-”

Nero unexpectedly unholsters his weapon and fires three consecutive rounds right into the limp head of his human punching bag.

The end of my sentence is barely spoken due to the tears and vomit mixing in my throat, “Shoe.”

He puts away the freshly fired gun, spins on his heels, and arrogantly coos under his breath as he passes by, “Good girl.”

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