Page 76 of Murder & Mayhem

Movement breaks the moment as our victim tries to make a run for it, but Enzo’s quick reflexes have him grabbing the back of the guy’s shirt before he can get too far. “I don’t think so,” he snarls as he shoves the guy toward an alley running down the side of the building.

“L-look, I dunno what’s going on, b-but you have the wrong guy. I didn’t do nothin’.”

“Yeah, that’s what they all say,” Enzo growls as we move further into the alleyway. When we’re far enough down that no one walking by would notice us, Enzo pulls the guy to a stop. By now, he’s trembling, but he hasn’t shouted for help, so either he knows fuck all help will come even if he does or he thinks he can talk his way out of this.

“L-look,” he tries again. “I-I can get you whatever you need. Coke, crystal, meth. You name it.”

“Remember Cassy?” I snap, getting to the point.

“C-cassy? My kid? W-what about her?”

“You violated her.”

“W-what? N-no. No, I didn’t. Is that w-what that bitch is saying?” His temper flares and I can see the aggression glowing in his eyes. “I never touched the fucking slut!”

“Sure you didn’t.” I roll my eyes, having heard the same bullshit far too many times. “Look, you raped a kid. Just admit it, and I’ll end it quickly for you.”

“Fuck no,” he snarls, furious now. “There’s no fucking way I’m going down for that. I told you, bitch, I didn’t fuckin’ do it.”

“So you're saying this isn’t your cum in her underwear?” Enzo questions, pulling a pair of pink lace panties from his pocket and tossing them to the guy.

“No. Those aren’t even hers.”

“How can you be sure?”

“‘Cause hers are cotton.”

“Now, how the fuck would you know that?” I demand.

“Wait, what? No. T-that’s not what I meant.” The guy continues to ramble on, but I’m no longer listening. I never needed a confession from him, I just like making him sweat it out. As if sensing I’m done with this shit now, Enzo hands me his gun.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” the soon-to-be-dead asshole starts up. Before he can try to make another break for it, Enzo reaches out and grabs hold of his top again, holding him in place while I flick the safety off. Without any fanfare, I put a bullet through the middle of his face, obliterating his previously shattered nose. The noise of the gun going off ricochets around the alley, but as expected, no one rushes to see what’s going on, and as the ringing in my ears disappears, I turn to Enzo.

“Feeling better?”

I smile serenely. “Much better.”

***

My outburst seems to have only served to push Dante further away, and I don’t see him at all for the next week.

On Thursday morning, I walk into the large, open-plan, kitchen-living-dining area to find the whole room covered in every shade of white or ivory known to man.

“What the fuck is all this?” I ask, scrunching up my nose at the glaringly white, puffy dresses spread over every available surface in the living room and hanging from rails that have been wheeled in.

“You have to choose a wedding dress,” Enzo states, coming over and handing me a cup of coffee. Thank god. It’s too fucking early to deal with this crap without caffeine.

I groan. “I really couldn’t care less about what dress I wear to a wedding I don’t even want to attend.”

He rolls his eyes at my attitude. “Fine.” Striding past me, into the middle of the rails of dresses, he goes through them until he finds what must be the most hideous one of the bunch. It’s got frills around the neckline and long sleeves—with more fucking frills around the wrists—and a big puffy skirt. “This one will do, then.”

“God, no.” I shake my head.

He smirks, knowing he’s got me. I don’t give a shit about any of this, but I am not about to let him force me into a hideous dress. Glowering at him, I sigh and begin to peruse the stacks with my coffee still in hand. I dismiss dress after dress, and I’m starting to think I’m not going to find anything remotely suitable. I’m flicking through dresses on the last rail when I spot one hidden between two more huge, princess-type dresses—why the fuck are most of them that style? Digging it out, I hold it in front of me. It’s not like any of the others. It’s sheer white lace, with a corset bodice and thin lace straps around my upper arms. Unlike all the others, it drops straight to the ground, with a short train puddling on the floor.

I carry it over to the folding screen that’s been set up in the corner of the room. Stripping out of my clothes, I step into the dress. There are a pair of white Louboutin heels on the floor, and I’m unsurprised to find they fit perfectly as I slip my feet into them and turn to look at my reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall behind me. The dress fits like a glove, hugging my curves and falling to the floor. Holding the bodice to my chest, I step out from behind the screen, calling Enzo’s name. “Can you do the buttons up the back?”

I’m too busy looking down at the dress, ensuring it’s sitting just right, so it takes me a second to realize he hasn’t responded or moved to help. I look up to see what he’s doing, but I find him staring at me with a look I’ve never seen on him before. A mixture of lust and possession that burns like a raging inferno, so hot that I can feel the heat of the flames from here as they lick my skin.

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