Sweet Stalker: Mafia Romance

Liam draws a very long-barreled automatic from inside his coat. Slowly and deliberately, he aims it at Daddy.

Drago bursts through the line of men at the door, knocking my lying Romeo O’Malley to one side. And everyone’s pulling their guns. I don’t know why I didn’t think to bring one.

The lights go out. The room plunges into thick, black velvet darkness.

A shot rings out. Furniture falls, or something heavy. Then there are two more shots from different directions.

From behind, I’m grabbed and wrapped in something black. A coat or a blanket or something. And I’m dragged away.

Chapter Nine

Peter

I hammer the McLaren Senna down the Strip. Moving at more than a few miles an hour is always a challenge here. A getaway drive takes nerves of steel and very aggressive driving. A car like this helps. But even in black, it’s conspicuous.

It roars like a metal tiger raging to battle. We spear through the traffic, slicing between lights and across tiny gaps, arcing around busses and trucks, shooting by limos, the McLaren’s roof lower than their windows. The engine whines, full-throated and fierce, as we dart between lanes, cut over a junction and wiggle at blinding speed out of town.

Finally, I zip across Dean Martin Drive. The tires smoke as I floor the pedal and flip the car onto the Las Vegas Freeway.

She shouts, “What the fuck are you doing?”

She’s strapped in the passenger seat with a coat over her. Her voice is high and strained. She’s wearing an exotic, heady perfume. It’s not nearly as enticing or arousing as her natural scents, which are hot and strong right now. She peeks out and her eyes stretch wide.

Banking and flicking side to side, then blasting up through a closing space, I say, “Keep the coat over your head.”

I find space as we pass the vertical beam of the Luxor pyramid, and she’s rammed back into the seat. Flipping the nimble McLaren left, then right, accelerating hard, I smile as I tell her, “If you haven’t ridden in one of these, it can be terrifying. Especially in traffic.”

“We’ve got Lamborghinis and Ferraris coming out of our wazoos, asshole.”

“Yeah. They’re pretty. The McLaren is really fast, though. Stay strapped in and cover your eyes.”

“Look, Romeo fucking O’Malley, just stop.”

I give her a grin, but I don’t take my eyes off the road. We’re coming up to an intersection. “I’ll have us clear out of town in less than five minutes. Relax.”

“Relax?” She punches my arm. Not the best idea under the circumstances. “My family could be hurt.”

Traffic thins as we pass the Drive Carefully side of the Fabulous Las Vegas sign.

I tell her, “All your family are fine. The big, ugly goon caught one. I think he’ll live, though.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were a fucking mobster?”

“Strange you didn’t mention it yourself.”

“I’m not!”

“Oh, did you wander into the wrong party by mistake back there?”

“Let me out.”

“Sure.” There’s a turnoff into the desert in about four miles. About a minute away. “Soon.”

The Strip is behind us, and we’re far enough down I-15 South that traffic’s almost non-existent out here. Meaning I can really speed up.

She bangs on the dash. “I believed you! I believed you ran into me by chance at Spades Royalle. I even believed in your fucking lucky number.”

“It’s all–”

“You know what gnaws me the most?” She’s on a roll. Damn, she’s a hell of a sight to see when she’s mad. “What really bites? I wanted to keep you from knowing who I was. I believed you were a man who would turn and run if you knew my family history.”

She doesn’t wait for me to reply.

“You fucking lied to me.”

“I did fucking not!”

“Well, you should have told me who you were.”

She’s thrown hard against me as I spin the car off the highway, onto the side road.

“I was trying to. But you kept changing the subject. Heading me off so I wouldn’t find out who you were.”

“Well, do you blame me?”

“No. Except that I knew.”

“How?”

I skid the car off the road, onto a patch of flat scrub. We spin and I bring us to a stop.

“Because I’m in love with you.”

“Oh. Oh, well, that’s sweet.” She quiets down some. “At least I gave my virginity to someone who thinks he loves me.”

“I was in love with you long before that.”

Her eyes blaze, and her voice darkens. “How?”

“I’ve been watching you.”

She slaps my face. “What?”

“I had your compound under surveillance.”

She slaps me again. Her face reddens. “What?”

“Do that again,” I dare her.

“And what will you do?”

“I’ll fuck you till your eyes pop.”

She slaps my face again. This time, really hard.

I laugh and tell her, “You don’t mean that.”

Her hand stings my face once more.

I snap off her seat belt. She squeals as I lift her onto my lap.

“This isn’t like your jeans and tee-shirt look.” Her ass slides on my thighs, making me even harder.