Page 135 of My Pucking Crush

Stupid moron. And he’s the enforcer? Maybe I just give that good head.

I lower my mouth and swallow his dick. Deep. I need him on the edge. I need him close. And with just a few pumps of my lips up and down, his cock twitches. I’ve sucked his dick enough to know when he’s coming.

I let him come. Not because I’m a nice guy and think his last moments on earth should be in the throes of aeuphoric orgasm. I need him distracted.

I pull off, his hot cum spilling over his dick.

It takes Nero a second to open his eyes and when he does, I put a bullet right between them with his own gun. Blood splatters all over the place. And that’s the messy flaw in my plan.

“What the fuck?” the driver cries out, looking behind him. He reaches for his gun, all while swerving into oncoming traffic. Not knowing what he’ll do, I have no choice and blow his head off, too.

Now the damn windshield is covered with blood.

I reach forward and try to steer. With my knee firmly on the console, I use my hand to wipe away the blood.

“Oh shit!” The first thing I see is the guardrail for the bridge over Bay Street Canal.

Water. Fuck.

We smash the guardrail to pieces, and the nose of the car hits the water with such force that we begin to sink to the bottom at an alarming rate.

SEVENTY-TWO

Luca

The force of the car hitting the bay tosses me into the front dash like I weigh nothing. I break the closest window with the butt of Nero’s gun, cracking it enough to kick my way out. Water pours in at an unbelievable rate as I squeeze through. Holding my breath, I swim to the surface.

People are gathering on the bridge, and lights from Stamford’s Bravest are already headed this way.

I keep my head down and swim in the opposite direction, away from the debris. The darkness hides me as I float down the canal, thanking fuck this isn’t Florida. An alligator would have chewed me up by now.

Studying each of the houses, I find a dark one and push myself up on their dock. I check that I still have my phone. Mywaterproofphone.

I break into the nice house and cut off the alarm system as well as the cameras. One of those electronic calendars sits on a fancy granite countertop.

“Thank you... Whoever the hell lives here, who’s at a play in Manhattan. And won’t be home for a few more hours.”

Checking out the rest of the house, I make my way to the second floor. I remove my clothes and put them in a plastic bag I grabbed from the kitchen. This is an expensive house and the guy who lives here is close enough to my size.

I don’t bother with a suit that could be recognizable. I don’t bother with track pants and a hoodie. That’s too shady. I grab a pair of designerjeans, a nice sweater, and lay them out on the bed.

Like I own the place, I take a shower to remove blood, bone fragments, guts, and bay water off my skin and out of my hair. Finding a spare unopened toothbrush, I brush my teeth and rinse with mouthwash.

Dressed and refreshed, I make a call using the encrypted app on my phone.

“Who the fuck is this?” Giancarlo Byrne answers.

“Daniil Korolev. Do you remember me?”

“I do. Messina and Daria mentioned you dropped my name as a reference.”

“I want to work for Mr. Daria.”

“Calling me on this app means you’ve gotten yourself into trouble.”

“I just killed two of Belova’s men.”

“Nice,” he praises me, sounding impressed. “Where are you?”

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