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I won’t.
Amara sells flowers for a living, for fuck’s sake. The furthest thing from the violence that bleeds into every part of my life.
The members of our hotel—the only ones who get to stay there—are nothing but criminals and lowlifes. Hitmen, drug dealers, serial killers, money launderers, politicians, and so forth. Then there’s everyone who works for them such as their lawyers and accountants.
Amara knows shady people check in there. She just doesn’t know it’s what our operations are based on.
The burglar mumbles against my palm. He’s more awake than before. Good. I need him to spill who he works for in case he came here to hurt me through Amara.
He’ll scream the second I let go.
Years of hurting people have turned me into a creative, resourceful monster.
One second, I remove my hand from his mouth. Next, I slip my pocket knife into his gaping hole. I’ve been meaning to sink the blade into his palate. Unfortunately, for both of us, dipshit moved and the blade sliced into his tongue.
Blood gushes on my wrist, hot and thick.
Jesus, fucking tongues. Once they start bleeding, you can’t stop them.
Normally, I wouldn’t give two shits about some dick bleeding out. But he’s moments from bleeding on top of Amara and her rug. So far, his back has bled onto the hardwood floor and my clothes, so that’s fine. Easy to clean up.
Rugs or her body? Not so much.
“Come on, buddy.” I drag him toward the doorway, careful with the knife buried in his tongue. “Slow and steady.”
An inch to the left or the right, and he’ll bleed out before I get to interrogate him. That can’t happen. I have to find out what this guy’s doing here. Who sent him. Who I have to kill. Or if he’s a free agent.
Whatever it is, I have to find out. Have to rule out every other option before I kill him.
If he’s here to hurt me through Amara, I have to know.
I’ve been so careful. Since the moment Amara and I started dating, I’ve been on edge. Constantly vigilant. Working hard on hiding the fact that we’re dating for her sake. We’ve been staying in or hanging out where we won’t stand out. I’ve been buying her coffee—fucking coffee—when all I’ve ever wanted was to pamper the shit out of my princess.
I could’ve too, if not for scumbags who might see my feelings for her as a weakness. Killian and I are the classic description of filthy rich. The rates we charge for a hotel membership and our other services line our pockets, and then some.
Still, I can’t spoil Amara. Because of the company I keep.
One of these days, I’ll tell her who and what I am. Then, she’ll be aware of the dangers and I’ll have someone on her all the fucking time. Watching her, tailing her, protecting her. For the time being, it’s my secret. Mainly due to the fact I don’t want her to run off screaming. I just don’t know if she’s ready to see that side of me yet.
So I hide the truth. Hide her.
At least I thought I had.
Time to find out.
“As I mentioned…” When we reach the door, I use one hand to slam it shut and lean my weight against it, taking the big fella with me. “You won’t be troubling my Amara anymore.”
He grunts, splattering blood over the front of his shirt. It hangs loose down his shoulders, exposing the pimples on his collarbone.
“Game time is over.” The view of Amara lying there on the floor infuriates me. Snaps me back to the present moment, to why I’m doing this. “Who sent you?”
“Grgrgrgrgr.” More blood spurts instead of answers.
Fuck, I should’ve aimed better.
Since his speaking abilities have been impaired, I don’t get the answers I need. He growls, his eyes searching the room frantically for something or someone to save him.
Yeah, right.
