Page 36 of Claimed By Him

It’d been three weeks since I saw her at that club. I stayed away from her for two weeks. In the last week, I couldn’t stay away anymore. I tracked her phone. I hadn’t done it in ages; I usually only did it when I couldn’t find her, but this time I just wanted to know she was okay without actually asking her. I found that she was at the Moretti house most of the time, and that settled my curiosity. At least I knew she was keeping safe.

But tonight, it showed me she was here, and I couldn’t stay away. For some reason, I wanted to be close to her. I didn’t go up, though. I knew she would only chase me away, and with the way I was feeling now, I didn’t want to risk that pain. I walked away from her three weeks ago, and I didn’t think I could do that again. So, I sat back and settled in. Maybe she’d come to the window, and I could see her.

That night at the club was a painful memory. The sex was obviously mind-blowing, but the way it was done wasn’t my best moment. At all. I was so angry and hurt and all that emotion had just boiled up into a fast and wild fuck against the wall.

I knew she cried after that, and it nearly broke me. I walked away from her thinking that was it, I was never going to hurt her again. I was just bad news, and she needed me out of her way so she could go on to live a good life.

But shit… recently I’d been feeling too weak to stay away from her. I missed her. Maybe it was because I’d kept tabs on her for so long that suddenly not doing that left this void in my life. Or maybe it was because I’d finally gotten her, and now I knew what I was missing every second that I wasn’t with her. That made it so much more difficult to stay away.

I sat there for an hour before I saw her light switch off. I toyed with the idea of just sleeping in my car so that I didn’t have to leave her.

That was when I saw a man walk down past her building. He looked sketchy. And he wasn’t one of my guys—he looked different, possibly Colombian. I sank down so he couldn’t see me until he passed my car and walked down one of the dark alleyways two buildings down.

I reached under my seat and pulled out my gun. I checked the chamber, then quietly got out of my car, and pushed the gun into the back of my pants. Looking side to side and seeing no one, I walked quickly across the street and followed the man.

I peeked around the corner of the building he’d disappeared behind and saw him approach a young woman. She looked rough, like a junkie. They did a deal, touching hands, and looking over their shoulders suspiciously. I hid in the shadows behind the building and waited for her to walk past me.

Then I slipped into the alleyway and followed the man who walked in the opposite direction, heading to the next street.

The thing was, this was Romano turf. And yes—it meant a lot to me that Fiona bought her apartment on my territory. It felt like some kind of favor, that she’d positioned herself in a place where I was her actual protector. Anyway, there weren’t supposed to be Colombian dealers on my streets.

We’d managed to kill about five of their guys before they stopped sending them. This was the first I’d seen or heard of in two weeks. I caught up with him silently and made sure we were alone in the alley before I wrapped my arm around his throat and held my knife against his cheek.

“The fuck are you doing selling on my turf?”

The man grabbed onto my arm and struggled, but I held him steady and pushed the knife until a drop of blood ran down his cheek.

“Okay! Okay!” He lifted his hands.

“Who sent you here?”

“It’s my own stash! I don’t work for anyone!”

“Bullshit,stronzo. I’m not an idiot. Tell me who?”

The man struggled again, so I let go, sliding the knife across his face, so he cried out in pain and fell onto his knees. I walked around him, pulled out my gun, and held it to his head.

“Oh!” The stupid idiot started laughing when he saw my face, or more likely, my distinctive tattoos. “You’re the king’s son, eh?”

“I’m the king around here, at least where you’re concerned. Now answer me.” I hit his nose with the back of my pistol, and he cried out, falling back with his hands covering his bleeding nose. Blood gushed out and covered his teeth, making him look like a fucking psychopath when he laughed again.

“We’re everywhere, king,” he said knowingly, and I narrowed my eyes. “You won’t stop us. You won’t stop him.”

“Who?”

“TheIntocable. You won’t find him.”

Untouchable? Why would he think he was untouchable in my territory? It obviously meant he had some kind of an “in.” Maybe he was a politician or a cop. The man used my moment of thought to reach into his jacket and grab his gun. I pulled the trigger, aiming straight for his head, but he ducked to the side and grabbed my ankle.

“Shit!”

He pulled me onto my back and scrambled up to his feet. I swung my knife just in time and sliced his hand open.

“Aah!” The idiot twisted his whole arm and pulled his trigger without aiming. The shot hit my arm, and I roared in pain.

“Aaah, fucking shit sack!” I raged. My gun fell when the shot hit me, and he managed to kick it away from me, then started running. I wasn’t done; I was never out of options—I pulled my second knife out of my leather jacket. I sat up, groaning angrily, aimed my knife, and threw it at him.

Shink!

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