Bad Medicine (Underworld Kings)

“I take it plans have changed, sir,” a British-accented voice speaks from in front of us, I assume from the driver seat.

I feel the rumble of my captor against my side as he replies, “Yes, straight home this time, Maxwell. No need to stop beforehand.”

I wonder what the original plan was, but I’ve read enough thrillers in my life to make a guess. And it surprises me when I actually voice it. “Were you supposed to kill me?” I swallow, hearing the slight tremor in my tone. But I know in my soul the fear is coming from the fact that someone wanted me dead, not from the man currently holding me tight against him.

He doesn’t answer at first, and enough time passes that I don’t think he will. But then his deep murmur comes right by my ear beneath the hood. “That will no longer be happening.”

The answer gives more away than if he’d just said yes or no. But it also raises more questions. Now, I have to wonder…

Who wanted me dead? And also…

What will happen to me now that I’m not?

4

DeLuca

What the fuck are you doing? I admonish myself. But even as the voice inside my head revolts against what my body and soul are doing without its consent, I can’t help but breathe in the intoxicating scent of the woman in my lap. She’s tiny, not just in comparison to me but in general. I can feel the toned muscles of her arms and back beneath my biceps wrapped around her. Her little ass nestles between my thighs and against my cock, and my legs barely have to spread to accommodate it. She obviously takes care of herself. Maybe obsessively so. Maybe to an unhealthy degree. I don’t know. I don’t know anything about Arabella, because I never dive too deep into the background of the people I’m hired to kill. Seeing as I take jobs from only the highest ranking people in The Ruin, I’ve never had to. All I require knowing from them is whether they are on the side of good or evil, and her husband portrayed her as the latter. For the first time, I feel like I should’ve done more research.

Now that I’ve laid eyes on her, now that I have her pressed against me, I have to wonder if I’ve gone into this profession too blindly.

But no.

The other before her were so obviously evil. Men who’d raped, murdered, and—if one can imagine—even worse.

I should’ve listened to my gut when Ferro first mentioned it was a woman, his wife, he wanted me to kill. Because certainly the piccolina—little one—in my arms is harmless.

He said she has information to take down the entire Ruin. That doesn’t take physical strength, you idiot.

Either way, I have her now. She’s no longer a threat to The Ruin, even if it was true, if she has no way of informing anyone of what she knows.

Surprisingly, Arabella doesn’t struggle at all on the ride to my home. In fact, she seems to relax into me, a nearly weightless blanket atop my body. Her hooded head even comes to rest against my collarbone, and if it weren’t for the occasional fidgeting of her bare feet, I would think she fell asleep.

I didn’t have time to think of what taking a woman captive would’ve been like, but if I had, it certainly wouldn’t have gone this smoothly. I don’t have to worry about Maxwell ratting me out to anyone. He and his family have worked for mine for generations. He’s practically family himself. Not to mention he’s used my services before—the ones inside and outside the hospital. You wouldn’t turn in a man who not only saved you from colon cancer, but who also suicided a drug dealer who sold your brother marijuana laced with Fentanyl.

Arabella is in no way a threat to The Ruin now.

Brilliant. Now, what do you plan to do with her after this is all said and done? Keep her forever?

No.

Yes.

Maybe?

Fuck, I silently curse, berating myself for the impulsive decision I just made out of pure desire for this intoxicating woman. I’m either a fool or the smartest man who ever lived when it comes to keeping her with me in captivity. I’ve not only practically signed her death certificate, but probably my own as well. But in this moment, with her tight body in my lap, I’d take that kiss of death without hesitation.

I'm a damn moron.

We pull into my hidden oasis or, as the people who have been here—mainly Maxwell—have called it, my castle in the woods. The two-story brick home is guarded by an iron fence, one no one could climb without being noticed quickly by my top-of-the-line security system. The far left side—the tower where I sleep when I need an escape—is covered in ivy and roses, the vines intertwining and growing along the dark-gray brick. I don’t personally bask in its beauty, but I can see how some would say it's magical-looking, gothic and morbid but still breathtaking.