Page 21 of Midnight Wedding

“That’s pretty much the exact wrong thing to say.”

“But it’s true. I mean, maybe notliterallybut whatever happened out there had nothing to do with me. I didn’t mean to?—”

I hold up a hand and she stops chattering at me. It’s obvious she’s terrified, and I can’t blame her.

I haven’t decided whether I’m going to kill her or not.

Tigran would’ve done it already. If I hadn’t talked him out of hunting the girl down at the club, she’d be a corpse sinking alongside Saro in the harbor. Instead, I told my brother that I’d take care of this myself.

He was skeptical, but he trusts me.

I have the whole family to think about.

Frustration burns in my guts. I march into the kitchen and pour two drinks. I throw mine back and offer her the other.

“It’ll just make me more nervous,” she says, shifting between her feet.

I have hers too then. I’m not about to force the girl to drink if she doesn’t want to. Although I don’t know why I care.

I’m going to kill her.

It’s the only logical option here. She witnessed me and Tigran murder Saro. If she talks to the police and they decide to press charges, her story’s going to hold up. That would cause me a lot of fucking problems.

I’m thepatron. I don’t get the luxury of caring whether some girl lives or dies. The future of the Brotherhood is bigger than me, than anyone, and I have to put the well-being of the organization before my personal feelings.

She’s nothing. Just some good pussy. That’s all.

Except when she looks at me with those big eyes of hers, all I want to do is walk over there, grab her by the hair, and dominate her mouth with mine.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I should’ve killed her already. It’d be so easy. Break her neck, wrap her body in plastic, and carry her down into my car. She’d be gone, problem solved, Brotherhood protected.

“You’re going to work,” I say instead of strangling her to death.

She nods awkwardly. “That was the plan.”

“Even though you watched a man die there yesterday?”

“I can’t take time off.”

“Why not?”

“My mom’s sick. We really need the money.”

Sympathy echoes in my dark, cavernous heart. “How sick?”

“Cancer.”

I grunt and pour a third drink. She turns it down again. “Sorry to hear that.”

“Thanks.” She watches me take a long sip, savoring the burn this time. “Are you going to kill me?”

“I haven’t decided.”

“That’s not very comforting.”

“I’m not trying to comfort you right now, little thief.” I rub my forehead, skull pounding. “Why’d you come outside?”

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