Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 48018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
Angelo reaches out and puts his hand on the back of my neck, scratching lightly at my nape in a consoling manner. He does not speak, but I can feel his contentment and his pleasure. He is proud of me.
I think I might be proud of myself too, but not in a healthy way. I am proud of myself in the way someone who has torn themselves out of the fabric of society is proud. There’s no going back now. Even if I were never found out by anybody else, I would know. I am a cold-blooded revenge murderer now. I am living by Angelo’s code, and not mine.
“You took what was yours,” Angelo tells me. “He forfeited his life the moment he pulled the trigger. He was fortunate to have as many days left as he did.”
Alternately comforted and praised, I am transported back to the latest lair of the House of Vitali, no longer a guest, but a full-blooded member of the family.
13
“Did she do it?” Bobby greets us back at the new safe house with an enthusiastic, wide, psychotic grin. Nobody good has this much anticipation about hearing the outcome of a possible murder. But we both know Bobby isn’t a good guy. The light from good guy doesn’t reach where Bobby lives.
“She did very well,” Angelo says, his compliment unreserved. His words make me beam on the inside. The warmth of his approval is intense. I feel as though an entire solar system of blessing is shining on me.
“I’m just fucking with you. I know. It’s all over the news. There’s a manhunt underway. Guess they don’t know it was a woman behind it, huh!?”
Bobby is practically prancing with excitement as he joins us walking back indoors. This new place is a big stone construction, one of many mansions Angelo moves between. I’m not sure if he owns them, leases them, or if this is some kind of criminal airbnb.
“It’s been so long since we did anything that made the news. This is real. This is…” Bobby chatters away happily, thoroughly immersed in the joy of it all. Nobody takes as much joy in death and destruction as Bobby Vitali.
“I am so proud of you,” he says, wrapping his arms around me, and lifting me up in a tight, squeezing hug. “You gave that asshole what he had coming.”
Surrounded by this much positive reinforcement, how can I not be pleased? Bobby is a psychopath, and Angelo is worse, but they are the only two people on Earth willing to help me. Loyalty breeds loyalty as far as I am concerned.
Angelo extricates me from Bobby’s grip and takes me inside. He is not immune to the excitement of chaos and death. When he looks at me, it is with unbridled desire. I have done as he wanted. I have embraced my new becoming. And I have pleased him.
There are great rewards for pleasing Angelo. I find that as I am stripped of my clothes by strong, masculine hands. I melt into his embrace and to the tender caresses of the beast in human form. Murderer is not enough of a word for Angelo, but it is enough of a word for me now.
He takes me to the bedroom and throws me down on my back on the bed, following after me, stripping his shirt and pants, making himself as naked as I am. The sight of Angelo Vitali bared to my gaze is an overwhelmingly hot one. He is made of muscle, bone, and skin. My eyes roam his body but are always inextricably drawn back to his face.
His eyes are locked on mine as he lowers himself between my legs. I let out a soft moan as Angelo’s mouth engulfs my clit. I arch my back and press my pussy into his mouth, letting him taste me, wanting him to consume me. I surrender to him in a way I have surrendered to no other. He does not only have claim to my body and my mind. He owns my fucking soul. I have turned over every part of it, becoming the pretty, murderous creature he saw me to be in the very first moment he laid eyes on me.
Angelo has always seen my potential, always known that it was hampered by my association with the law.
I do not know if the man who died today was truly the man who shot me. I do not care. His blood amounted to a sacrifice that has appeased the dark god between my thighs.
Angelo consumes me as if I am one of the most delicious treats he has ever encountered. His tongue performs sacred rites between my legs, making me contort and writhe with pleasure, little orgasms rippling through me several times like waves rolling up on the shore. He is not giving me any great crescendos yet; instead he is stoking my need, allowing me small releases that compound upon one another. My toes curl and my breath becomes ragged as his tongue bathes my clit and lips, paying reverent homage to my body.