Sonata (Butcher and Violinist 2)

What did you take that people are killing others to get?

I got out the car, saw my men in different parked vans around the block, and moved deeper into the shadows near the apartment building. Shalimar had found a rental that provided lots of dark nooks and corners. Good hide-and-seek spots, in case one needed to rush away.

I thought of Jean-Pierre and my old fort. We’d pretended to build it for fun, but really, we’d been scared. Both our fathers had been killed—one way or the other. Our mothers had been in control, but when kids lost too early, they built a mistrust with the world.

And we’re still walking around trying to build forts. Now we’re just trying to put women in them.

I passed my men who’d been guarding her place and knocked on the door.

She didn’t answer.

I knocked again. “Open it up, before I kick it through.”

The door clicked.

It opened.

A pissed Shalimar stood on the other side. She hadn’t put the dress back on. Instead, she had a thin shirt and small shorts on. The dragon tattoo peaked out from her right thigh. “What were you doing on my site?”

“Watching you touch yourself for a couple twenties.”

“Fuck you.”

“Please.” I walked in.

She hissed behind me.

“That’s not a warm welcome.” I strolled into the apartment’s small bedroom. “Where’s the camera?”

“In the bedroom of course.”

“Good.” I headed back that way.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting rid of it.” I pulled out my gun.

“Rafael!”

My temper flared. I reacted. With force, I yanked the bedroom door open, entered, spotted the camera, pointed, and shot three times.

“Rafael, really?!”

I put the gun away. “Okay. That’s over. Now get back on the bed and finish my session.”

“Or you’re going to shoot me?”

I glared at her.

“Don’t look at me that way.”

I couldn’t hold down the rage anymore. “You need money. You come to me!”

“I don’t love you.”

That hit me just as hard, as if she’d slapped me.

“It doesn’t matter, Shalimar, I would still give it to you.”

“I do what I have to do.”

“Which is stupid.” I set my gun on the nightstand. “Who’s after you?”

“Not this again.”

“Celina is in Paris.”

Shalimar widened her eyes.

“Why is she here?” I studied Shalimar. “I’m not leaving until you tell me everything.”

She raised her hands to the top of her shorts and slipped it down. The fabric fell to the ground. The bra and panties greeted my eyes.

Now so close, I would have no control. My mind went instantly to lust. I closed the distance between us. “Why do you make me so crazy? Why do I want you so much?”

“Because I cursed your dick.”

I paused. “What?”

“I went to an old French woman down the block in Belladonna and gave her two thousand dollars to curse your dick.”

“Well, it didn’t work.”

“It will.”

“Let me make love to you tonight, Shalimar.”

“And what would I get out of it?”

“Money. Anything you need. I want to touch you,” I begged. “Please. Let me taste you.”

I walked across the room, closer to her. I pulled her into my arms and slipped my hands down to her behind. For the first time in a long time, I cupped that soft ass in my hands. “It’s that simple, Shalimar. Give me the amount. Give me the price. Say the words. I’m desperate.”

A wicked grin spread across her face. “Just to touch this pussy?”

“Yes.” I slipped my hands down to her ass, moved them lower, and slipped my fingers into her panties. For a few seconds, my fingertips were wet with her, before she moved them away.

Sad, beautiful eyes stared at me through long, dark lashes. “This isn’t going to go the way you want it to, Rafael.”

“Yes, it will.”

“You’re not Jean-Pierre. You’re a piece of shit and a monster.”

“Am I?” I crashed my lips against hers, kissing her as if it would mean death, if I didn’t. She moaned. I pulled her against me, deepening our kiss. My tongue searched for hers, sweeping through her mouth, reminding me of how much I loved her taste. How I’d longed for it. Craved it.

Her soft moans filled the air between our mouths. Her body trembled against mine. The more I kissed her, the stronger my desire for her became. Sweet lips of ecstasy tempted me—seduced me into wanting so much more, leaving me unsated, if I didn’t have all of her.

I moved a hand up her shoulder, fingers weaving through her silky black hair. I fisted it in my palm, forcing her head back. My lips slipped from hers, lapping down the skin of her neck. More moans echoed from the back of her throat. I could feel her resistance crumble with every passing second my mouth remained on hers.

“Rafael,” she whispered against my lips. “Please, stop.”

With heavy reluctance I pulled away just an inch, closing my eyes from the ache of wanting her, but knowing it wasn’t that simple.