The Butcher. My nickname isn’t really a nickname. It’s a calling. An identity that I was born with, and one that’s as much a part of me as my heart or my liver. I’m violent, remorseless, and I delight in causing pain.
I’ve never made any apologies for my nature. Never felt the need to … until I saw Bianca. When I glimpsed her, something inside me shifted. Before I even knew what I was doing, I’d kidnapped her and stolen her away.
Once I have her, I realize I have no idea what to do with a young, innocent girl. And for the first time in my life, I don’t want to cause pain. I don’t want to hurt her. All I want to do is the one thing I have no idea how to do—I want to love her.
MINK’s Note: Grab your fluffy friend and a hot coffee for this tale of unexpected love.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
BUTCHER
“Do you think I can call my sister? She’ll worry.” Bianca sits on the bed, her big eyes following me as I pace in front of her.
“No.” I can’t do that. I … Fuck, I don’t even know what I’m doing!
Something inside me just snapped when I saw Bianca talking to her sister, Angelica, via Skype. It’s like I went into this fucked-up headspace and couldn’t get out. I left Antonio and Angelica’s house like a man possessed, and I didn’t stop until I got to the Larone compound. Then I broke in, took Bianca Larone, and stole her away.
Now I have her trapped in my safehouse, the one in the hills far outside the city. Antonio has been calling me, texting me, doing everything but sending a fucking pigeon. But I don’t care. I have bigger problems–namely, the woman sitting on my bed.
She’s still staring at me.
It should make me uncomfortable. It does anything but. Heat flicks along my skin and tightens my muscles. My cock is almost painfully hard, and pacing back and forth has done nothing to restore blood flow to my brain.
I’ve fucked up. I glance at her. No, I’ve royally fucked up. Bianca Larone should be safe at home, waiting for her marriage to one of those dickhead Frangiones. But the moment I have that thought, rage boils in my blood, and I have to take a deep breath to keep myself from punching a hole in the wall.
“You, um, you seem upset,” she says quietly. “Are you okay?”
I stop and scrub a hand down my face. Why is this innocent, perfect woman worried about me? I’m a goddamn monster, and I like it that way. I have no business doing what I did. No business with this curvy goddess of a woman. I should take her back. Maybe it would keep the hammer from dropping on Antonio–and it will drop. Once Constantine Larone realizes I’m the one who stole his prize daughter, he’ll come for Antonio, and he’ll want blood.
“I’m so fucked.” I put my hands on my waist and lean back, letting out a deep sigh.
She shifts, yanking down her skirt to cover her knees. “If you want my father to pay my ransom, you should probably take pictures or record me saying I’m alive and the time. He’ll want proof of life before he’ll pay you.”
I turn and face her.
She blinks several times as she takes me in. I’m a giant. I hit the gym every day to stay that way. When I put the hurt on some mafia asshole who thinks he can cross me and mine, I want him to tremble in fear and piss himself when he sees me coming for him. But when I see her lean back just a little, it makes me wish for the first time that I wasn’t so hulking. Then again, this is who I am. I’m the Butcher, and I can’t change that fact. I don’t want to. But what I do want is to understand why the fuck I just kidnapped Bianca Larone, brought her to my safe house, and sat her on my bed.
I arch a brow. “Why aren’t you screaming for help?”
“What?” She darts her tongue out and wets her plump bottom lip.
I shrug. “Generally, when I have someone in my clutches”—I gesture toward her—“like you are now, they start screaming for someone to come save them. You’re not screaming. Why is that?”
Her light brows draw together as she thinks it over, then she lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “I guess it’s because I’m not scared.”
I never work off my back foot. I’m never at a loss for a clever quip or a knife in someone’s gut. But this time, this time I have no fucking clue what to say. She’s not scared of me? Everyone is scared of me. She must be lying.
“Are you trying to play mind games, Bianca?”
“Mind games?” She shakes her head. “You’ll have to talk to my dad if you want mind games. They’re his specialty.”
I step closer to her.
Her eyes widen a little, but she doesn’t lean away. Fuck, why does that please me on levels I didn’t even know existed?
“What’s your specialty, Bianca?” I look her over–the doe eyes, olive skin, delicate neck. She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen and also the most fragile. I could break her in my hands the same as snapping a twig. Fuck, that thought is sobering. I step back from her.
She cocks her head to the side as if she’s confused, but she answers, “I don’t have a specialty. I’m just supposed to look pretty, be obedient, and marry whoever my dad tells me to.” Her tone turns bitter as she goes.
“I take it that’s not what you want to be?”
“No.”
“Then what do you want?”