Page 27 of Cruel Lust

Though the memory is foggy and faint enough that I can almost pretend I imagined it. That’s the hold Luca has on me. It’s what’s going to get me killed if I’m not careful—letting down my guard, letting go of everything I am in hopes that he’ll touch me.

And he knows it.

His smile widens as a wicked gleam sparkles in his eyes. “I thought so,” he murmurs, then raises himself away from me, off the bed, leaving me shaking, wanting, and hating us both. “Now go to sleep. I have shit to take care of.”

He leaves the door open, and I hear his feet hitting the floor for what seems like hours, pacing like a caged animal.

How much longer before the animal attacks?

12

LUCA

I should kill her.

She doesn’t mean shit. Right? She’s already gotten in my way. I’ve neglected the club and my responsibilities to the family.

All for her.

I know that will be the first question out of everyone’s mouths when we reconnect once this is over.

How will it all end?

I don’t know. I only know that it must, at some point, be the way everything ends. I can’t live the rest of my days in limbo.

So why can’t I get it over with? It would be so easy. A bullet to her pretty head, maybe somewhere out in the woods where the animals will take care of what’s left. Nobody comes out here. If she ever was, it would be ages before humans found her.

There would be no problems with the police. I am always careful never to leave fingerprints, and the freelancer my father sent to the apartment wore gloves as well. A piece of shit building like that sure as hell didn’t have security cameras mounted anywhere. There’s no proof of us having anything to do with her.

We are safe.

So why does the thought of leaving her body here to rot fill me with so much dread? Hell, I didn’t feel this way when I found out about Frankie. There was that moment of shock when grief washed over me, and I saw everything laid bare. All the times I made excuses for him, covered up for his lack of discipline, poor habits, and poorer judgment, part of me knew it might end that way. Deep down, I knew Papa was right. He was always going to be a liability.

You’d think I would know better by now than to let a liability drag me down. I rid myself of one that night, only for another to immediately take its place.

It’s enough to make me laugh in disbelief, shaking my head as I pound my fist into my open palm and turn on my heel, prepared to walk the length of the living room again. There isn’t much space to cover, meaning I’ve paced in tight ovals long enough for the fire to die down until it’s barely more than a few weak flames licking at what’s left of the wood.

I take a few logs from the wood pile beside the fireplace and toss them inside, willing the fire to catch and grow. Gripping the mantle, my mind refuses to settle. There shouldn’t be a choice here, yet I can’t seem to commit.

What is it about her? She’s nothing, she’s no one, and unless I’m careful, she’ll get me killed. I know better than this.

I know what I need to do.

She is in bed right now.

Why don’t you go and do it?

My fists clench, and I grind my teeth, looking from the fireplace to the open bedroom door. Is she asleep? I wouldn’t be surprised if she were lying there, cursing herself the way I plague myself.

The way she reacted to me left me disappointed. I could practically smell her arousal. She wanted to give herself to me, wanted it with everything in her. I held back thanks to what was left of my good sense stopping me. I know with what’s left of my soul that fucking her would only take a shit situation and make it worse. It’s bad enough, the way I’ve wanted to claim her all this time. Once I do, there won’t be any hope of getting out of this unscathed.

Kill her. Claim her. Abandon her. Fuck her. On and on it goes, my head spinning as the conflict rages. I grip the mantle tighter as if my grasp on it will help firm the hold I have over myself, as if that will help somehow.

“I need to use the bathroom.”

My head snaps up at the sound of her voice, and something in me rejoices at how she falls back a step when she sees what I can only imagine is rage embedded across my features—anger at her, at myself. I could snap her neck easily, quickly. She wouldn’t suffer.

My blood simmers at the sight of the fear in her eyes. She’s right to be afraid. It might be the smartest, most authentic impulse she’s had so far. She should be frightened of me.

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