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The desk drawer is heavy as I tug it open, the dark wood cracking. The moment my eyes fall on the items along the bottom, I almost slam it shut and walk right out of here. But that would mean poking the psychotic bear, and I don’t think that’s a good idea. With a deep breath, I lift the gun, knife and rope from the drawer and quickly make my way from the room. I’ve held weapons, I’ve even shot guns, but never one that was about to murder someone in cold blood.
When I step back into the hallway my eyes dart to the men still in the same place I left them. Elijah standing with his arm wrapped around Dwayne’s neck, restricting his breathing. The sight shouldn’t turn me on. It shouldn’t make me want to drop my robe and allow Elijah to have his way with me, but there’s something inherently sexy about a man being willing to kill for you.
I take measured steps toward the men, keeping my eyes on Elijah because something tells me he’s barely holding on to his composure, and if I allow my eyes to wander to the man kneeling at his mercy, he’s going to lose it.
He tracks my every move, not taking his gaze off me as I cross to where he’s standing, walking against the wall as I pass Dwayne in an irrational gesture of fear. He can’t hurt me, not with Elijah holding him by the neck and restricting each breath he’s dragging into his lungs.
“Good girl,” Elijah praises as I step toward him. “Hand me the rope first.” He holds his palm out expectantly and I quickly move to obey. A smirk of approval tugs at the corners of his lips but his attention quickly turns to the task at hand.
I step back until I hit the wall, my hands still held out in front of me with the weapons. My fear of them is irrational seeing as I know how to use them, but it’s different when it’s a real-life situation and not target practice.
Elijah works methodically to tie Dwayne’s arms behind his back and then hooks the knot around his ankles to ensure he can’t run. “What did you think was going to happen when I found out you touched my woman?” he asks, the venom in his voice would make even the bravest of men tremble, but Dwayne is holding strong, I’ll give him that.
There’s only the slightest amount of fear in his eyes, and if I hadn’t spent most of my life manipulating the people around me, I probably wouldn’t notice it.
“She’s the enemy’s whore, I didn’t think you’d care who touched her so long as she wasn’t knocked up.”
My stomach churns painfully at the words. What if Elijah didn’t come home? What if I was held at his mercy without anyone to come to my rescue?
Elijah lands a heavy punch to his stomach, the wind audibly knocking from his lungs. The man slumps forward, his torso hitting the carpet and making him groan. The way he’s tied allows no room to escape, no way to protect himself, and a sick part of me likes it. My brothers have never allowed me to see them hurt anyone, always doing it behind closed doors out of sight of my curious gaze, but this is going to happen in front of me. Elijah’s nostrils flare as he circles Dwayne, like a caged animal circling his prey. I’m sure it’s not the first time he’s been likened to a predator, but something tells me it’s the first time the brute who lays bound and immobile has ever been compared to little more than someone’s dinner.
“Let me get this straight. You thought that the woman I stole from her family, the one I’ve been stalking for ten fucking years because my obsession with her runs so fucking deep, you thought she was some disposable piece of meat I would let any of my men take a ride on?” Elijah’s words are barely human, the anger beats heavily against the walls to the point I wonder if the neighbors can feel it. Can they feel the chaos that descends upon us?
His words make me flinch, because there’s a good chance that’s exactly what Dwayne thought. I know how the Mafia normally works although my family has always been different, and more than that, I know how the Russo family works. Women are little more than baby makers and a trophy to wear on your arm, who cares what happens to them when they’re not doing one of their two duties?
Dwayne pales slightly as if it’s only just occurring to him that maybe things aren’t going to go the way he thought they would. “She’s not even your wife yet, thought you might like her broken in on your wedding night and we both know that slut is anything but a blushing virgin.” His eyes capture mine as I look on with horror, my back pressed so tightly to the wall the cornices dig into my shoulder blades to the point of pain, but the pain keeps me grounded, it reminds me I’m safe… well, as safe as you can be while watching the man who’s about to force me to marry him kill another man for daring to lay a hand on me.
The loud crunch that fills the hallway turns my stomach even before I realize what has happened. Elijah’s heavy boot retreats from Dwayne’s ribs and the next thing I know I’m watching kick after kick land as the other man lays helpless, his screams of agony tearing through the house. Each blow is louder than the last as Elijah descends into the brutal man I know him to be. There’s none of the softness I see in his eyes when he looks at me. No, he’s like a crazed man craving blood, taking everything he has and delivering it in harsh kicks.
“If you thought you couldeverbe good enough formywoman, you’re sadly fucking mistaken, and you’re going to pay for that mistake with your life.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize,” Dwayne gurgles, lines of blood dripping from his lips.
“You didn’t realize she belonged to me?” he bellows, the sound bounces off the walls and echoes through the house. “You didn’t realize that not all men are willing to share their belongings?” Another blow and a stomach-churning crunch fill the space. The weapons lay heavy in my trembling palms, and I wish for this to end. My eyes fall on the pistol in my hand, a thought dawning on me.
I’m holding the key to my own escape, so what the hell am I waiting for?
32
Elijah
I’m known for violence.
The underworld in Chicago bleeds with the evidence of my victims, and even the strongest men in the city cross the street when they see me walking toward them.
But I’ve never known the thirst for blood like what’s beating through my body right now. The motherfucker must have a death wish because that’s the only way he would be talking like this about my woman.
Part of me wants to put a bullet between his eyes and rid the earth of his filth, but the other part, the part of me that craves blood and cruelty, wants to drag his death out for hours, maybe even days, making each form of torture worse than the last.
I land another harsh kick to his ribs, making sure to hit the same spot over and over again. It hurts more that way, makes my victim wish for death even though he should know he won’t get away with it that easily.
Movement in the corner of my vision tears my gaze from the man crumpled at my feet, and when I bring my eyes up to meet icy blue, my cock twitches in my sweatpants. I’ll be the first to admit to being turned on by some fucked-up shit, but this is the first time I’ve ever had a hard-on while looking down the barrel of a gun.
The corners of my lips quirk up at the sight of Snow holding the weapon in shaky hands, her wide stance is perfect, and her grip on the trigger should worry me, but it doesn’t.
She’s not going to shoot me. She might think she will, she might even try to, but when push comes to shove, she’s going to come to her senses and realize what I knew the moment we locked eyes all those years ago.
We belong together.
