Charming Killer: A Dark Mafia Romance

“Let me go, asshole.”

“Admit you’d rather have my tongue between your legs.”

I leaned forward and glared into his eyes. “If you don’t let go of my wrists in two seconds, I’m going to knee you so hard in the crotch that you’ll pee blood for a year.”

He kissed me hard. I moaned into that kiss and brought my knee up, but he twisted out of the way. I bit him hard, but that only made him pull my hair and slam me harder against the wall. I gasped in pain and excitement, the thrill running down my spine like lightning. I loved when he acted like this, like he was a vengeful angel come from the heavens to slay my enemies and to fuck me into submission. It was sick, and more than a little twisted, but I’d left traditional morality behind a lot time ago and was beginning to embrace the depravity lodged deep in my care.

The door opened. Palmira cleared her throat.

Redmond released me and pulled away from the kiss. I stood there panting as Palmira grinned at him.

“The lawyer would like to talk now.”

Redmond nodded, glanced back at me, then walked into the office.

Palmira winked and followed him.

I left them alone for a few minutes. I had to calm myself down before I could follow. Visions of Redmond taking me here in this man’s house, of fucking me savagely, of making me scream and come—then making me his wife—fluttered down my brain and made my legs writhe and cross. I wasn’t sure when the idea of becoming Redmond’s wife stopped being utterly horrifying and began to seem exciting, but I was dizzy with lust for the first time in my life, and I wanted to see how far it could go.

I found Redmond holding out his phone as the lawyer spoke quietly into it. The man’s clothes were a mess and his face was bloody. His lips were split and his eyes were red and swollen, and a patch of hair was missing. I could only imagine what the rest of him looked like—bruised, battered, and broken.

Palmira looked at her nails like she was bored.

When the lawyer finished listing all of Cosima’s known locations and homes, Redmond patted the man on the shoulder, put his phone away, and left the room. I hurried to follow with Palmira bringing up the rear.

“You’re not going to kill him?” I tugged on Redmond’s wrist.

He stepped out the front door. “Not necessary.”

“What if he warns Cosima?”

“He won’t.”

“Why?”

“Because if he does, Palmira will be back. He’s not stupid enough to risk that.”

I glanced over my shoulder at Redmond’s associate and she grinned back at me, twirling her hair around one finger and chewing gum.

She looked like a Valley Girl, except the gun at her hip seemed natural, and her shirt had blood on the sleeve.

As I turned back to Redmond, I nearly ran into his back. He stood still, lips pulled back in a snarl. I didn’t understand until I saw the dark SUV roll down the street and pause out front, the windows rolling down.

“Down!” Palmira yelled.

But too late. Redmond turned and threw himself on top of me as the gunfire started.

It was deafening. Hot lead poured all around like molten volcanic rock. Palmira screamed and dove sideways, returning fire, and the guards still in the Rovers sprang into action. They shot at the SUV, breaking glass, smashing a headlight. The gunfire stopped and the SUV peeled out, pulling away in a scatter of sparks and black smoke as Redmond’s guards chased it away.

He was a weight on top of me. Something warm and sticky covered my stomach. “Redmond,” I said, pushing at him. “Redmond, are you okay?”

Palmira appeared. She clutched her arm, grimacing. “Red,” she said, yanking him off. “Oh, fuck, Red.”

I got to my knees and covered my mouth with both hands.

A red hole gaped in his chest.

“Get up,” I whispered as Redmond bled.

“Help him,” Palmira screamed at the guards. “Get him into the Rover. Fucking move!”

The guards sprang into action and I watched them drag Redmond’s motionless body away, and my world focused down into a tiny window as I stumbled after them.

Chapter 22

Erin

I sat beside the bed and held Redmond’s cold, clammy hand.

The doctor wiped his face with a towel. He adjusted the blood bag as the transfusion filled Redmond’s veins. The doctor was a young man in his mid-thirties with bags under his eyes and dark, shaggy hair.

Redmond breathed in a slow, steady rhythm.

“How bad?” Palmira asked. She’d hovered over Redmond since he was shot, despite the wound in her arm. The doctor had insisted on looking her over once Redmond was stable and the transfusion began. She was bandaged and pale, but otherwise seemed unhurt.

“We can’t know until the transfusion is over and we get him to a hospital for imaging.”