Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 23250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 116(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 116(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
All of a sudden, a hand clasps my bicep, and I’m hauled upward from the chair. The touch is somehow both constricting and surprisingly gentle. Delicious spicy scents of his cologne flood my senses, and I have to stop myself from whimpering. His jaw muscles impatiently tick, yet when they still, he bows his head to press his lips to my ear. “I show you mercy and this is how you respond?”
Would we really call allowing an innocent woman to live…mercy? Isn’t that just courteous?
“You want me to look like a pussy in front of my men.”
I don’t, but I’m not exactly used to asking “how high” when someone says “jump”.
“Put on the shoe.”
He pulls back just enough for our glares to lock. It’s hard to stall the jitters fluttering through my abdomen, but I force myself to. I can’t show fear. I can’t show weakness. I can’t tremble in apprehension or arousal. I finally move to do what I’m told; however, it’s clear by the narrowed gaze, it’s not fast enough.
“Mickie,” Nero states while keeping his eyes buried in mine, “grab the keys from Patricio.”
My voice is barely above a whisper, “Where are we going?”
“Not far, twinkle toes.”
Is this nickname shit supposed to be endearing?
Does it really fucking matter, Elle?! Hello…killing you is on the menu!
With Nero’s hand still claiming my arm, he holsters his weapon, and escorts me behind the goon he called Mickie. To no surprise, there’s no objection out of my so-called family. Not an attempt to stop them or even a single word of worry about safety.
I swear, if my mom hadn’t loved them as much as she did when she was alive, I would’ve cut ties long ago.
The darkened corridors of the basement floor wreak of sewage and decay.
A pair of rats scurry across our path causing my heart to stop beating and plummet to the pit of my stomach. In the same quiet tone that I previously used, I plead, “I’m sorry. I’ll put the shoe on. I’ll-”
“No, no, no,” his voice goes deceptively soft and undeniably delectable in my ear. “This is a teachable experience for you, Elle.”
“I’m a quick learner.” I sassily state at the same time I attempt to wriggle my slender arm free. His grip seems unbreakable in spite of my increased efforts, and I helplessly beg, “Please, can we just turn around? You made your point. I learned my lesson! I-”
“Boss,” Mickie’s actions stall upon our arrival at the door. “You sure-”
“Open the door,” the authority in Nero’s tone jumpstarts my previously still heart.
Oh shit…
I’m gonna die.
I’m gonna die in some cruel, deleted scene from The Godfather kind of way!
“Yes, sir,” Mickie respectfully acknowledges prior to unlocking and opening steel doors.
“Patience is not one of my more developed skills, Elle.”
“I-”
“All you had to do was put on that shoe-”
“I-”
“And if that shoe had fucking fit – which I am pretty sure it would – you would be on my private jet right now, sipping champagne while I would be on my fucking knees, worshipping your cute little toes, waiting for takeoff.”
The shoe that’s still in my grasp is waved desperately around, “I’ll do it! I’ll put on the shoe! I-”
“Too late, twinkle toes. Now, this ‘pretty boy’ has to prove to you he isn’t afraid to get blood on his favorite Italian suit.”
We enter darkness with nothing more than the putrid, copper scent of blood, and another foul stench leading us forward.
It smells like something’s been burning. And not just anything random, no. The odor reminds me of when you’re curling or straightening your hair with the heat too high and you burn it as well as your fingers.
Ohmygod.
That’s the smell.
Fried.
Fucking.
Flesh.
From behind us a click suddenly occurs illuminating the entire room.
At the sight of a mutilated man tied to a steel beam, I hastily stumble backwards, trying to run away, only to have my current captor keep me in place.
While my stepbrothers were a bit scratched and bruised – prior to Drew getting a hole in the foot – this guy’s skin is blistered and peeling. It’s covered in gashes and gaping holes. There are red stains from where his blood has dried on him and dripped onto the floor. Carving knives, scalpels, and a blowtorch are on a tray next to him, and I can’t deny the feeling that each one was used to turn him into something that barely looks human.
Nero steadies my frame and uses the back of his calloused knuckles to caress my cheek.
All hope that I was wrong about him is swiftly smothered out.
He’s not a boss that’s afraid to get blood on his suit or his hands dirty.
He’s a cold-stoned killer who really does rarely show mercy.
Mesmerized by his dark, adoring gaze, I listen intently as he says, “It’s so unfortunate that it’s come to this, Elle. Grandmother would hate for you to step into such a room. To witness this. She believed the beauty that belonged to a DeLuca should never be forced to witness his savagery.”