Beautiful Criminal (Omerta Law 1)
They always want more.
The way her eyes glimmer with hope for another taste of forbidden. Not happening.
“I gotta work,” I explain, and she doesn’t take the hint. They never do. “You need to leave, sweetheart.” I keep my eyes on her reflection, not turning around. She scoffs, pulling the sheet over her chest.
I turn. “Aw, don’t be modest on my account.” I smile before walking across the room to the wet bar for a drink.I always keep it fully stocked and only with the finest spirits. Johnny Walker Blue being my favorite. It has this smokiness that has me coming back for more, and a slight sweetness that reminds me of chocolate I can’t get enough of. Pouring me two fingers worth I put the slick bottle back in its place. I keep my place sharp and clean. I don’t have pictures or art on the wall, I don’t care for curtains as I like to watch life walk amongst the streets, and most of everything I own is either white or black. I’m a simplest.
She shakes her head, her teeth nibbling her bottom lip. There is something on her mind. I don’t particularly want to know, but alas if I throw her a bone of my attention, she’ll leave with less drama.
“What is it?” I ask, but I don’t really care.
“I always go for the assholes.” Her eyes snap to mine with anger and sadness. Poor thing, who knows how many guys she’s met and thought ‘he’s the one’ only to find out, he’s not. Women can’t help the magnetism of a bad boy.
“It’s not your fault, baby. No woman can resist a bad guy who is good to only her.” I take a sip of my whiskey. That’s what every girl wants, right? That guy who is unruly and mean to the world. Yet, they treat that one girl as if she’s special, like she’s number one and if you come near her you’ll face her man’s wrath? Yeah, well… I’ve yet to feel like that with any girl I’ve come across in New York, and with the shit I see every night, I doubt I’ll find a woman I think is special enough to endure my darkest days. I know the monster that lives inside of me. “Unfortunately for you, I’ve had my feel of being a nice guy for the night and need you to leave so I can do very bad things now.”
Looking through fake lashes she slides off the bed, grabbing her skimpy dress that I peeled off of her in seconds. She slips it on, and I hate to see those big titties go, but when the moon comes up, it’s time for me to work. I mean, you can’t bury bodies in the daylight, right?
Her bare feet with perfectly painted toes come toward me, her hand sliding down my bare chest.
“I’ll be a good girl for you… we could have fun, Kieran.”
Mmm. Tempting. It is fun to ruin them. To know she’ll wake up broken-hearted and run to daddy with eyes full of tears. He’ll hand her his credit card and a therapy session later, I’m forgotten. It happens more often than you think. Only, I have work to do, so time need not be wasted further. “That’s the problem dear, you have a heart of gold.” I click my tongue to my teeth. “Reality is, I need a woman who is just as dark as me on the inside. And, sweetheart, you should know I’m as black inside as they come.” I tilt my head to the side after hearing myself say that out loud. It’s cheesy but fucking true. This sweet little thing would off herself if I told her what I really do.
“Ooh, so the papers are true. You’re a scary, dangerous mafia guy?” She giggles as if any of this is funny.
My face falls, and I’m done with this conversation. The bad thing about having the first name Kieran is, it’s rare. Everybody knows the name Kieran, and Kieran is affiliated with an organized crime family formally known as the mafia. I’m an underlying boss right under my father. A Made Man, and the fucking tabloids tell stories about our family like it’s a goddamn sitcom. I know the FBI have to be close by. Hell, this bitch could be an undercover cop for all I know trying to get me to slip up and admit to something. It won’t happen, but I’ll commend the chick for her hustle to try.
Keeping my features stone-cold, I inform her, “You’re a gossip reader, Shauna. You know what the papers say about those mafia men then, right?” She looks up at me with a fading smile. Yeah, it’s all not so funny now. “So if I were a DeAngelo, you would’ve known you were climbing into bed with a monster without any motive for this relationship to go past the bedroom. Just like I knew the minute you threw yourself at me pretending to be drunk, that you were full of shit and just looking for attention, possibly from the press?” The tabloids love it when they catch me with women, they throw that shit across the cover of the newspaper in big black bold letters how the alleged murderer is playing the playboy.