Page 26 of Ruthless Sinner

Iplanned for Kennedy and me to have a nice shower to clean up, then fall into bed and sleep in the next day. I knew she worked the following evening but her shift didn’t start until around eight so no reason for either of us to be up early.

It was nearly two in the morning by the time we rolled in, and all I wanted to do was clean myself up and collapse into bed with my girl.

But my damn fucking phone rang.

“What do you mean you need me to deliver a fucking package?” I snapped at Toby.

Kennedy, half undressed on her way to the shower, raised an eyebrow at me.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” I added, even though I knew that Toby was well aware of the time.

I didn’t understand what the hell my brother was playing at. Or Dad, since he was probably involved in whatever this scheme was, too. You needed me to take care of a late-night shipment coming in? Understandable. You wanted me to take out some idiot who’d seen too much or flapped his jaw at the bar? Not a problem. I was happy to do late-night runs when they were actually fucking necessary.

But a package? This couldn’t wait until tomorrow?Latetomorrow?

Toby sighed. “Marco, you and I both know that your brother and your father don’t do things without a great deal of thought. We need someone we can trust on this and I would suggest you take the late hour as a sign of how important and urgent it is rather than an attempt to piss you off. I’ll text you the information.”

Nowhere in his sentence was there a chance for me to say no or refuse. As if I would ever try to. I’d been born into this world and this family. I knew you didn’t say no to yourdon.

I hung up and looked over at Kennedy. “I have to go.”

She nodded. “Are you okay?”

“Irritated as fuck but fine,” I grumbled. “I should be back soon.”

She didn’t seem at all upset, and even kissed me on the cheek as if she was trying to reassure me. I still didn’t understand how she could be so nonchalant about my up and leaving at all hours of the night. Did it truly not rattle her?

I entertained myself with thoughts of Kennedy on my bike as I went to pick up the package. Fuck, she’d been so damn sweet and tight. And the way the vibrations had gotten to her—she’d been grinding on that bike like an animal, an almost drugged look in her gaze. And how she’d reacted when I’d manhandled her… fuck. I wondered…

For all my fun with women, there were some things I didn’t get to do as much as I would’ve liked simply by being a son of the Russo family. Most women, if they knew, liked the thrill but there was still that… well. If you’re a big tough guy covered in tattoos and you told a woman you’d like to tie her up, a lot of women get concerned, and who could blame them? How were they supposed to know if I was a good guy or not, when abusive assholes were so good at acting like good guys right up until it was too late?

But Kennedy… could I ask her? Would she be into that? Would she want every part of me, from the vulnerable parts that I was still oddly uncomfortable with to the darker parts that I tried to hide from my other flings?

Not that Kennedy was just a fling. I could admit that to myself, at least. I wasn’t quite sure what she was to me, but she was sure a hell of a lot more than that.

I rolled up to the back of the post office where I was told I’d be handed the package. It was a smaller box, they all had been, and I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe there were ears or fingers inside them. But the packages never felt cold, and body parts were generally sealed and then put on ice to preserve them.

Hmm.

Getting the package went off without a hitch, but once it was in my possession and I walked back to my bike, two men appeared out of the shadows as if from nowhere.

It was annoyingly dark, but I could tell by their jackets that they weren’t Yakuza. Our Japanese rivals like to announce their identities with their tattoos. Not loud or crazy enough to be Irish, and most of them were up in Boston hoarding the city like dragons, anyway. I doubted any of the Italian families had turned on us.

Most likely Russian, then.

There were no words, no warning, just two men emerging from the shadows as if made of smoke.

I really hoped this package wasn’t full of breakable shit.

The one on my right lunged forward with his right arm, down towards my stomach, and I dropped the package and dodged. It was only after I moved that I saw the gleam of the knife in the moonlight, the one I’d already known would be there. I swung my elbow up and caught the guy neatly on the nose, the angle perfect to shove it back against his skull and break it with a nicesnap.

The other guy, as I’d suspected, dove for the package. I grabbed him by the ears and smashed his face into my knee.

Now that they were both reeling, I grabbed the package and dashed for my bike. Nobody could catch me when I was on that thing.

The first guy had recovered enough—faster than I’d expected—and I felt a stab of pain as something embedded itself in my shoulder. Guy could fucking throw knives?

Thank Christ he was a lousy shot, though, or maybe I was just moving fast enough. I was sure he’d been aiming for the back of my neck.

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