“For men like you, nothing ever is.”
“Speaking of men like me,” I say, glancing around the dimly lit living room, “where is Drago Lombardi?”
Her eyes flicker to the side, but she stops herself just short of giving away his position. He’s in here, though. That much is obvious.
I smile. “So the big man is indeed at home,” I remark. “Thanks for the confirmation.”
She grits her teeth.
“You his girlfriend or something?” I ask. What a pity it would be for a woman like her to be with someone like that slimy fuck.
Her body tenses slightly, but she stops herself short of answering that one, too.
“Don’t waste your life on him,” I advise, taking a step forward.
She moves back instinctively, leaving the same four feet of space between us. Like we’re doing some pre-rehearsed dance.
“He’s a nobody with no future. Literally. It ends tonight.”
“You can’t kill him.”
“Why not?”
“Because…”
She looks lost. Like she’s searching for an answer that she doesn’t have. She settles on, “Because he’s going to kill you first.” She looks as shocked by her own words as I am. Maybe even more so.
I stare at her for a moment before my face cracks into insuppressible smile. “Is that right?” I chuckle. “Well, then, should I do the polite thing and wait for him to take his turn?”
She takes another step back.
“Like I said, I’m here for Lombardi. I don’t know who you are and frankly, I don’t give a fuck. But if you get in my way, I will dispose of you, too.”
Not entirely true that I don’t give a fuck. I wouldn’t mind giving a fuck about a woman like her—for a night, at least.
One night only. That’s all anyone ever gets from me. After everything that’s happened, that’s the only way to keep everyone safe.
But fuck, that would be one hell of a night.
“That’s what people are to you, aren’t they?” she accuses, her tone full of a venom that I still don’t fully understand. “Disposable?”
“Yes,” I reply without blinking. “That is precisely what they are to me. Glad we settled that so succinctly. Now, are you going to cooperate or not?”
She takes a moment to think about it. Then her head lowers. Submission—my favorite thing to see in this world.
When I step towards her, she doesn’t back away from me. She just stands there with her head hanging and her hands limp at her sides.
Why the fuck is there this nagging feeling in the back of my head every time I look at her? I want to attribute it to her looks. She’s beautiful. Young. Sexy. Pliable. Young. And young. Did I mention young?
But it’s more than just that.
“Now,” I say, trying to remind myself of the reason I’m here in the first place, “where is Drago—”
The second I’m in range, she drives her knee upwards towards my groin.
She’s fucking fast, but I’m faster.
I shift my weight to the side just enough to take the brunt of the blow in my thigh instead of my balls. But she gets sufficient contact to make my eyes water and slow me down.