Page 5 of Christmas Mafia Prince
I’m still on the ground, rising to my knees, and unsure what I’m looking at, but the angle at which Happy’s head is makes my stomach twist. “Wha… what…?” I ask, inching toward my ex on hands and knees.
Damen kneels at my side and exposes my skin to the cold air. “Fucker… your ribs might be broken,” he says, pulling me up with no care for the man lying a step away.
My breath quickens, this time for all the wrong reasons. “Is he… dead?” I utter in disbelief. And yet the way he touches me with such tenderness, how he stepped in to protect me without question, make me melt with affection. I’m so fucked up.
Damen doesn’t even bother to look down when he pulls me back to my feet. “Yes. He hit you, how did you expect me to react?Nobodyhits my boyfriend.” He cups my face with hands that have just committed murder and kisses me as if any of this makes sense.
I’m becoming painfully aware I know nothing about who this man is.
“Um… yeah… wait till I’m your husband, then they shouldn’t even look at me.” I choke out a nervous laugh to make him feel at ease, but I’m terrified of what I’ve gotten myself into. As soon as I’m out of this back alley, I can try making some noise, alert people, or… something.
Damen’s mouth crooks, and he adjusts my clothes before stepping past Happy as if he’s a branch lying in his way. “Careful. Don’t trip,” he tells me and holds my hand, as if he expects me to need assistance.
Or does he want to make sure he can grab me if I try to flee?
“Do you… need help with him? Do we need to hide the body?” I whisper, looking back.
I’m strangely numb. I don’t feel sorry for Happy. He’s made my life a nightmare in the past few months. Maybe he deserved it. But I’m now holding hands with a killer who wants to take me to ‘the mountains’ tomorrow. I might be positively dick-struck, but I’m not stupid.
Damen looks down and lets me go to put on a pair of leather gloves. “No. It’s better if he is found,” he tells me, then leans down to hold Happy’s bald head. I stare at him, as if this were only a dream, but when he raises his shoulders to slam my ex’s head onto the edge of the step, I fall back with a choked cry.
“There,” Damen says, offering me a smile. “He fell and broke his neck.”
I assess how far away I am from the lit street. I’d need to turn a corner, but if I scream, help might come.
My feet move before my brain can finish that thought, and I run faster than ever before. My legs might be short, but they’ve saved me countless times.
I’m almost at my destination when strong arms pull me back. I thrash in Damen’s hold, attempting to kick at him, but then he presses a small mask to my face, something hisses, and everything goes black.
Chapter 3
Killian
Myheadisheavyas though it’s made out of cast iron, my eyelids two curtains I can’t seem to open. It takes me minutes to go from making my fingers twitch to slowly opening my eyes, but my mind isn’t connecting what I see with reality.
I was at the club… Then I saw Happy …
Then…
Damen.
My gaze lands on the handsome monster who couldn’t look more put-together if he tried. He sits opposite me in a leather seat, book in one hand, a dainty tea cup in the other, dressed in an elegant brown turtleneck sweater and dark green pants made of tweed. Could this perfect gentleman really be a killer, or was I drunk and hallucinated it all?
I glance to the window next to me and I finally understand where I am when I’m treated to a view of serene clouds on the background of a blue sky.
“Hey, sleepyhead. I’m happy you’re awake,” Damen says and puts the book he’s been reading on the empty seat next to him.In Cold Bloodby Truman Capote. How appropriate. The cup goes on a side table attached to the wall, and as I rise, taking in the white-and-gray space we’re in, it becomes clear this is no ordinary plane. Not just because of its size and the fact that we’re on our own, but because everything looks clean and polished.
“Is this a private jet?” I mumble, surprised when a plush blanket falls off my shoulders and pools in my lap. I half expect to be cuffed to the seat, but I’m not. I guess I can’t run away mid-flight, but it does tell me he’s not afraid I’ll attack him with a plastic knife. Going by how proficient he was with Happy, I’d rather not try.
Damen smiles. “Yes. The chef will prepare your breakfast whenever you’re ready.”
“I’m guessing I don’t have a choice about where I’m going?” I swallow, pretty sure alerting any of the staff on board is pointless.
Damen sighs and picks up a frosted bottle of water, then pours some into a glass, which he then nudges my way. “We’re going to spend Christmas with my family, just as we agreed. Here, you must be thirsty.”
“And if I say I changed my mind?” I ask but greedily drink the contents of the glass, because I’m parched. I don’t know howlong I was out, but it must be the next day, since that’s when we were arranging to leave.
“Why would you do that?” Damen asks, as if he hadn’t murdered someone right in front of me, then put me to sleep. His eyes look so nice in daylight. Fuck. He was a fallen angel at night, but now he could play the role of God’s own herald. Even the way an unruly strand of wavy hair falls on his forehead is stuff straight from a romance novel.
