Page 118 of Taming Seraphine

“You really care about him, don’t you?”

“Of course. He’s like a little brother.”

I pause, my fist stilling on the bag. The implications of his words wrap around my throat with a leathery grip. If rescuing a younger person while on a job makes them family, does that explain why Leroi keeps pushing me away?

Without looking in his direction, I ask, “Does that make me your little sister?”

“No,” Leroi replies. “You’re something else.”

“What?”

He places a gloved hand on my shoulder and lowers his lips to my ear. “Keep punching.”

My hackles rise. I deliver a flurry of jabs to the bag, resisting the urge to bite back with a retort. The imaginary version of Leroi reels back from each hit, while the real one watches on in my periphery.

“This would be so much more satisfying if I had a knife,” I say from between clenched teeth.

“Still frustrated?” he asks.

“Yeah.” My left fist slams into the bag. “Punching bags don’t bleed.”

He huffs a laugh. “Are you feeling murdery?”

“That isn’t even a word,” I say with a scowl and deliver a right hook.

Leroi places both hands on my shoulders. “Cool down, drink some water, and come with me. If it’s blood you want, I have exactly what you need.”

FORTY-FIVE

LEROI

It’s early evening by the time we arrive at the outskirts of Beaumont City. Seraphine slept for most of the journey, exhausted from a day of vigorous training. I’d meant to teach her a lesson, and it worked. After the training session, she didn’t think of demanding her usual reward.

The last vestiges of sunlight color the sky a vibrant shade of red, reminding me of the poker night bloodbath. I glance across the passenger seat and smile at my innocent little serial killer. She’s curled up with her feet on the seat, and her head is resting against the window.

She looks like an angel. A dark angel. A fallen angel. An avenging angel. My angel. I want to brush the coffee-colored strands off her face, but she’d cut through at my already fraying resistance.

I didn’t like the way she used Miko to make me jealous, even though it partially worked. I can’t deny that I have feelings for her, but there are reasons why she’s off-limits.

She’s exactly the kind of woman who knocks me off-kilter. Getting involved with her means losing control.

For one rage-fueled minute, I saw Miko as competition. I should never have agreed to training her with orgasms, but it’s too late to renege on our agreement.

After pulling in outside the warehouse, I turn off the engine, climb out, and walk around to open her door.

“Wake up.” I slide my fingers through her strawberry-scented hair.

Her eyes flutter open. “Are we there already?”

“Can you handle seeing Paolo Rochas so soon after the last one?”

All traces of sleepiness vanish, and her blue eyes sharpen into slits. She unbuckles her seatbelt and scoots out of the car and squares her shoulders. “Where is he?”

The walk through the abandoned building is silent, save for her furious breaths. In no time, we’re through the doorway of the room where I deposited Rochas.

My nostrils twitch at the mingled scents of urine, sweat, and ass. I step aside, letting Seraphine stride in. Rochas sleeps with his head resting on his chest, his features obscured by a mop of greasy black hair. Both the chair he’s slumped on and the floor beneath it are covered in a film of yellow liquid.

Seraphine rushes forward, but I grab her shoulder. “Wait.”

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