Chained Hands (Chained Hearts Duet 1)

“Good. I’ll send the details through for you to go and check it out. Your name will be on the list so the doorman will let you in. I’ll call tomorrow to organize the signing of the paperwork. Congrats and enjoy the apartment, it’s beautiful.”

“I got an apartment,” I tell Keir.

“Want to fuck?” he asks me as he continues to drive.

“I really hate you,” I say, pocketing my phone.

“I take that as a yes.”

I don’t respond.

“That wasn’t a no.”

I hit him on the shoulder, and all he does is smile.

Asshole.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Keir

Sailor’s moved into a new apartment. One more central to the city.

Joey walks in after spending the day helping her and flops down next to me at the dinner table. “She asked for you.”

It’s been three days since I’ve seen her.

The settlement of Dillan’s debt is in a few days. I will get what he owed me, and she will get a new life away from him. Since I killed him, that is.

Joey picks up an apple, throws it up into the air, catches and bites into it. “Said you are an asshole, and she never wants to see you again after this.” Joey laughs. “You really pissed her off.” He takes another loud bite, and the crispness of the piece breaking off resounds around the room. “She made me lift everything. She’s a bossy bitch.” He bites into it again, obnoxiously.

Picking up the knife on the table, I throw it. It hits his apple in his hand, and Joey freezes, eyes wide.

“What the fuck was that? You nicked me.” He pulls the knife out of the fruit and on it is a small amount of blood. Not enough to cause damage, but enough that stops his chewing like a damn horse. He places the knife on the table and bites into his apple one last time, just to rub me the wrong way before he also sets that down. “You could have at least told me to stop chewing before throwing a knife at me.”

“It’s my house, shouldn’t have to fucking tell you.”

He waves me off before he stands. “I’m tired, I need to sleep. And you need to get laid. Call someone.” Joey strides out and shuts the door behind him.

Call someone?

I don’t want just someone.

I want a little honey-brunette with a fucking attitude and sweet-ass pussy to match. How can a woman get you so fucking twisted while only knowing her for such a short amount of time?

I mean, I could kill her.

It would be so fucking easy to end her damn life.

She has no one but her parents. No friends would rally for her either. If I went to her right now, I could slice open her throat and she would bleed out. I know how much she likes the fucking knife.

I could never shoot her, that would ruin that perfectly pretty fucking face. What a disaster that would be, to ruin something so beautiful. I have seen and fucked a lot of incredibly beautiful women in my time, but, for some reason, that little smart-ass mouth of hers makes her top them all.

I’ve been reared to be desensitized to love. To not care. My father raised me to be as ruthless as they come. Same as him and his father before him.

You can’t be soft in my line of work. Desperate men come to us because they have no other option. And we take full advantage of it. We’ve been around for generations, and our family name means something. If we marry, we marry to reproduce and to keep our line going, preferably with a son. We have women in our family, but they don’t play the same roles as the men. It may sound sexist, it may sound old school, but it works—and maybe it is sexist, but so fucking what. Women don’t belong in a mafia man’s world.

Growing up, I knew who I was. As a child going to school in New York City, other kids knew who I was, who my family was, and because of that, my only friends were my family.

I sometimes hate everything about my life, but it’s never something you’ll hear me say out loud.

It’s a lonely life, and despite all the bad, I enjoy it. Not many people could do what I do. Not many people understand what I do. I’m the one your family has nightmares about. We have no rivals and it’s simply because no one is dumb enough to go up against us—go up against me. And that’s the way I like it—keep them scared shitless. Not one of my men would ever betray me. If they did, they would end up in a fate worse than death. They would wish death would find them quickly by the time I’m finished with them for betraying me. And believe me, death would never find a betrayer quickly. It would be slow, long, torturous, and excruciatingly agonizing before death would claim them.