Page 91 of Dirty Mafia Torment
“Hand me your gun. I’ll save you the trouble.” I lie back in the hay, suddenly exhausted.
“Don’t you pass out on me,” she growls. The hay snaps, and then she’s in the dirt next to me. “We need to talk.”
Persistent as ever.
I breathe her in. She’s agitated, brushing loose strands of hair from her face, but underneath the fire there’s a calm confidence, like she’s finally settled into her own skin. And that body—Christ—she’s more luscious than I remember, curves softer, breasts fuller, every bit of her begging to be touched.
Yeah, Italy’s been good to her.
I’ve made a lot of shitty decisions in life. Killing Accardo wasn’t one of them.
“Are you listening?” she snaps.
I raise my cuffs. “About the kidnapping?”
“Would you rather I left you?”
The answer’s no. Although the circumstances could be better, I crave her company. Still, I say, “I didn’t ask to be saved.”
“Doesn’t mean you didn’t need it.”
Damn it. Everything I’ve built—my shot at redemption, my name—might be trashed.
“You had to come to Rome.”
“And you had to revert to your former antics by stalking me.”
She flinches, but recovers fast. “My antics? Look at yourself and the state you’re in.”
She’s right, take a fucking gander. You don’t give a recovering addict a shot of painkillers and then leave him on his own. That part is that motherfucker’s fault.
“You jumped in front of my target,” she says. “Do you have a death wish?”
“If you killed Massimo’s man, there’d be fallout. As it is, things as they are aren’t adding up. I did what needed doing.”
“So unlike you. You avoid messes.”
That hits harder than I expect.
I point to her hand. “No ring, I see.”
She stiffens. “Got lucky.”
“That so?”
“I hate you.”
Her voice cuts sharper than any blade. But it’s the way her eyes linger, too long to mean nothing, too fast to mean everything, that gives her away.
“That why you dragged me here?”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“Neither did I.”
She’s keen on fighting, like she’s been saving it up for years. “You were too busy getting high and screwing anything that moved.”
Shame floods in, fast and sharp. I allowed myself to be taken advantage of. Exploited. I chased what was painfully familiar instead of prying myself away from temptation.
