Page 28 of Murder & Mayhem

He snorts, walking across the room toward me. It’s only then that I notice he’s only wearing boxer shorts, showing off every inch of his tattooed body, from his broad chest and toned abs to his tree-trunk thighs and lean calves. So much skin. So many tattoos. My poor eyes don’t know where to look, and instead, my gaze ends up darting all over the place, probably making me look like I’m having a seizure as I struggle to commit every inch of him to memory.

“You’ve got a little bit of drool there, Red,” he teases, pointing to the corner of his lip.

Snapping my mouth shut, I flip him my middle finger as he walks past me into the adjoined bathroom, laughing. He doesn’t even bother to close the door behind him, subjecting me to the sound of him pissing before he finishes up and re-emerges. He barely spares me a glance as he climbs back into the bed. Only when he’s gotten himself comfy does he spear me with a quirked brow. “Well, are you gonna sit over there all night or come and get some sleep?”

My lips purse as I try to figure out if this is a trick and whether I want to be that close to a basically naked Cain. I mean, yes, every womanly part of me is screaming at me to climb under that sheet with him, but the tiny rational part of my brain that is functioning knows how bad Cain’s close proximity is for my health.

“Fucking hell, Red,” he grumbles when I show no sign of moving. “Just get into the damn bed.” He points at the blade still in my hand. “But no fucking knives.”

After another moment's hesitation, the need to stretch out on a proper bed overrides everything else. I shuck out of my jeans, setting my holster and blade on the bedside table before sliding under the sheet. I’m careful to keep my back to Cain as I curl up on my side, but when he makes no effort to turn out the light, I look back at him over my shoulder, finding him watching me with a strange look on his face. He shakes off whatever he was thinking as he switches off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness once again. There’s the rustling of the sheet as he gets comfy, and I swear I can feel his body heat radiating across the bed. I don’t dare move. Hell, I barely breathe. His bed is incredibly comfortable, though, and soon my consciousness gives way to dreams.

Hours later, the unfamiliar feeling of heat at my back wakes me up, and as I shift under the bed sheet, something tightens around my waist. Glancing down, I find a fully tattooed arm wrapped around me as the source of the searing heat finally registers. Cain. I tense, but as I listen to the soft sounds of his breathing, I realize he’s still asleep, and I slowly relax. Peering up at the window, the sun appears to be low in the sky, the pre-dawn glow barely enough to light up the room. It must be crazy early. Usually, I’d get up and work out, but I find myself not wanting to move, and the longer I lie there, the more relaxed I become until I drift back into a deep sleep. When I peel my eyes open a couple of hours later, I’m alone in the bed, but Cain’s side is still warm, so he mustn’t have gotten up long ago. I have no idea what to make of everything that transpired between us last night. Will it change anything? Or do we both sweep it under the rug and go back to our usual bickering and angry, lust-filled glowers?

Chapter 11

Fire trucks and ambulances block the street by the time I pull up outside the charred remains of La Puttana. Smoke is thick in the air, and the firefighters are hard at work putting out the last of the flames.

“Fucking hell,” Dante grumbles from beside me, taking in the pits of the building.

Tearing my gaze away, I survey the small crowd still gathered in the streets—primarily women that worked in the club and nosey onlookers.

“What the hell happened here?” I demand, striding up to the scantily clad woman closest to me. Her eyes are dilated in shock and only grow bigger when her gaze darts behind me, and she notices Dante. Her lower lip trembles, although I can't be sure whether that’s from tonight’s events or my presence.

“I, uh, don’t know. The fire alarm went off, so we all came outside, then a few minutes later, the whole place exploded.”

“You didn’t see anything unusual? No one who didn’t belong?”

She shakes her head adamantly. “No. It was just the usual crowd.”

“Did everyone make it out in time?”

“Uh, yeah. Yes, I think so.”

My lips purse as I try to figure out whether or not this could have been an accident. It seems too coincidental that the fire alarm went off just in time for everyone to escape before the building went up in flames.

“Talk to the other girls. Find out if anyone saw something. If they did, I want to know.”

“Yes. No problem.” She immediately moves to talk to another similarly dressed woman, and dismissing them, I head toward where Dante is talking to one of the firefighters. He steps away as I approach. “Apparently, the place was rigged with C4.” My eyebrows hitch at that piece of information.Definitely not an accident, then.

“Who would be stupid enough to blow up one of our clubs?”

“No idea,” Dante responds. “Grim Bastards?”

I shake my head. “Not their style. Whomever it was set off the fire alarm first, they didn’t want any casualties.”

My phone rings in my pocket, and I go to decline the call. However, the name of our head of security gives me pause, and instead, I lift it to my ear. “Yeah?” The muscle in my jaw grows tighter as I listen to what he has to say, and I don’t even bother with a response before hanging up. “There was another attack.”

“Where?”

“Escotica. It was closed for renovations.”

“Fuck me,” Dante growls, ensuring he keeps his voice low so no one around us can overhear.

I glance warily around the crowd before jerking my head back toward the car. “We should discuss this elsewhere.” Besides, there’s nothing else to be gained by hanging around here.

Dante agrees, and I fire off a quick text to our head of security, telling him to get someone down here in case anyone did see something worthwhile. We’re both quiet as I navigate through the otherwise empty roads, all the way to the very edge of Antonelli territory, where a row of apartment buildings line the Black Creek river, separating our part of the city from the downtown area and eastern side.

Pulling into an underground parking lot, we both get out. Neither of us speaks as we get into the elevator and ride it to the third floor before walking along the hallway until we reach a door with the number eighty-two attached to it. Digging the keys out of my pocket, I jiggle them in the lock and step in. I flick on the lights, illuminating the compact yet modern open-plan kitchen and living area, before grabbing two tumblers and a bottle of whiskey off the kitchen counter.

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