Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 48371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 242(@200wpm)___ 193(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 242(@200wpm)___ 193(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)
“She’s not my girl. Not after this.”
Fuck! Panic claws at me—the need to fix this coupled with total impotency. There’s nothing I can do to change what Pepper saw. I can’t make this assassin undead. I can’t wash the blood off my hands. The stains are too deep.
“Where is she now?” Nico asks. The question is deceptively casual, but really, I have a witness on the loose.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “She ran from me.”
“You gotta get that shit in hand,” Stefano warns.
I shoot him a dark look. He’d won his fiancée Corey by essentially holding her hostage after she’d witnessed a ‘situation.’ While I’d love to tie Pepper up and give her orgasms until she forgives and forgets that I’m a killer, I don’t think that shit’s gonna fly. And I’m not the guy who’s gonna force her. And I’ll fucking kill anyone else who tries, my best friends included.
“I’m sure Tony will handle it,” Nico says mildly.
I don’t have it in me to be grateful for Nico’s support. I don’t know how I’m gonna pull off any of this. And the part I especially can’t wrap my brain around is living without Pepper. Letting her go.
But I know that’s what needs to happen. She and I weren’t made to last, no matter how much she captivated me, lit up my world.
“So what’s the plan with this guy?” Stefano kicks the laundry cart.
“I’ll dumpster dump it. Cops will recognize him when they fish him out. They’re not gonna look too hard for his killer. Figure I did society a service today.”
It doesn’t feel that way, though. Not when it means losing Pepper’s regard.
Fuck.
“Good plan. Then figure shit out with Pepper. This is already starting to go off the rails. The last thing we need is Junior coming back and throwing his weight around.” Nico shoves his hands in his pockets.
“You don’t think Junior sent Denesto?” I have to ask it.
“No,” Nico says immediately.
“Definitely not,” Stefano concurs. “Not his style.”
“What if he wanted me gone without you two knowing it was him?”
Nico considers, then shakes his head. “I still don’t think so. You haven’t done shit to Junior. If he were mad, he would’ve punched you in the gut when he was here.”
It’s true. Junior thinks a good beat-down and a heavy dose of fear solves everything. In his world, I guess it does.
“Then who? Any guesses at all?”
“No idea. Too bad you silenced the one guy who could tell us,” Stefano says.
“Enough.” Nico shoots him a sharp look. “What’s done is done. We just gotta figure out where to go from here. Let me see if I can get someone on tracing money deposits to his bank account.”
“Thanks.”
He thumps my shoulder—the macho version of a hug.
I thump him back. “I appreciate the support.”
And I do. I know Nico and Stefano have my back. I just wish I believed they could help me this time.
But no one can.
There’s no helping the damned.
Chapter 12
Pepper
Mom: Pepper, where are you? Everyone’s worried.
Me: I’m safe. Taking some time off for a few days.
Mom: You have responsibilities here. I understand you weren’t supposed to leave the Bellissimo. You’re already in a lot of trouble. Hugh is beside himself. Don’t make this worse.
I don’t answer. The mention of Hugh means they didn’t hear me when I said I was done with him. They can worry their little pants off. All of them.
The one person I haven’t heard from is Tony.
I’m not saying I want to hear from him. I don’t.
But I feel the absence of him everywhere. My body grieves his touch. My soul longs for his quiet presence, his protective strength. My heart? My heart breaks and breaks and breaks.
And breaks.
I can’t cry. I’ve tried—I feel like I need to. But I just can’t get the tears to come. Instead, I’m locked in a semi-numb state.
It’s far too much like the one I’d been living in before Tony, and for that reason alone, I want to throw things. Break things. Rant and rave and tear my hair out until something changes.
The good news is I wrote four songs in the last two days.
I haven’t slept, though.
I spend all night waking up and looking for him. We only spent one night together. I mean one sleepover night. So it makes no sense that I’d miss his body in bed. But nothing makes sense.
It doesn’t make sense that a hardened, violent man could be so gentle. Doesn’t make sense that I bloomed in his presence—shook off the sleeping potion that had kept me locked in a stupor for the last few years. The depressive shell I’d retreated into.
It doesn’t make sense that I want to rationalize it all. Make excuses for what he did. Forgive him for choking a man to death.
And yet I already have.
But that doesn’t change the fact that this isn’t a healthy relationship. I can’t be with a man who gets in high speed chases with hitmen. I can’t associate with killers.