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1046 Words
I scoff. “Aye. Many feelings. Annoyance. Aggravation. Exasperation. I could go on.”
When he only keeps staring at me with that look of dismay, I decide to prod him a little. “I admit, her t**s are bloody amazing. And that arse…well. You know.”
My smile suggests I’ve seen quite a lot of her perfect arse. Suggests that I’ve taken it. As I knew it would, the idea drives him insane.
“f**k you!”
“No, thanks. Back to Sloane.”
He seethes for a while, debating whether to scream more obscenities at me or obey.
“I won’t talk to you about her.”
I remove my gun from my waistband, lean forward, and shove it against his kneecap. “How about now?”
He’s sweating. The veins in his neck stand out. He licks his lips nervously, takes a breath, then shakes his head.
His courage surprises me. Deeply. After twenty years in the syndicate, I’m rarely surprised. “You’d give up your boss for nothing, but you won’t talk to me about a woman you’re not even with anymore?”
“Not for nothing. For her. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
He’s so frightened, he’s almost shitting himself. But he’s also defiant. Willing to get his kneecap blown off to defend her honor.
Goddammit. I refuse to like this kid.
I lean closer and shove the gun into his crotch. He emits a small cry of terror.
“Let’s try this again. What is it you love so much about her?”
He spends a few moments hyperventilating and convulsively swallowing the excess saliva in his mouth. I give him some leeway to pull himself together and wait calmly until he manages to speak.
“S-she’s the smartest person I’ve ever met.”
Fuck. I was hoping he’s say something shallow about her body so I could shoot his d**k off. I say drily, “She agrees with you. What else?”
“She isn’t afraid of anything. She’s thoughtful and kind. And funny. You don’t expect a girl so hot to be funny, but she is.”
“But irritating, though, right? Didn’t she irritate you something brutal?”
He looks appalled by the suggestion. “No. She’s not irritating. She’s a goddess.”
I’m beginning to see why Sloane got bored of him. His earnestness is tiresome. This kid is as dry as unbuttered toast. She’s so far above his head, they’re not even in the same atmosphere.
I shove the gun back into my waistband and consider him.
Apparently, he thinks I’m plotting his murder. He turns a shade paler and starts to shake.
“I’m not going to kill you, Stavros.”
“You’re not?”
“No. It would be too depressing.”
“I don’t understand.”
“That’s because life hasn’t sucked all the joy out of you yet.” I stand and start to pace in front of the chair. “But I can’t let you go, either. Not only did you have the extremely stupid idea to try to shoot your way into my building with your pathetic rescue attempt, you also shot two of my men at La Cantina in Tahoe.”
“I’ve never shot anyone.”
I stop short and look at him.
“I haven’t. Unless you count fish.”
“So those two men killed themselves?”
“No. Alexei shot the two who came to our table. Kazimir shot the other two.”
I already knew about Kazimir. But the intel I have is that Stavros was the shooter at the table. Then again, he and his dead friend Alexei look very much alike. Tall, slim, dark-haired, the same tattoos on their knuckles. Almost like brothers.
He says, “I don’t care if you don’t believe me. It’s the truth. I actually hate guns. I’m more of a computer nerd.”
“Let me get this straight. You’ve never shot anyone before, but you decided it would be a brilliant idea to come to Boston to try to rescue a woman you dated for a few months from a man who has shot people before. Many of them. For far less stupid things.”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“We always have a choice.”
“The heart leads where it will.”
“What is that supposed to mean? You’re her puppet?”
He smiles wistfully. “No. I’m just in love. It doesn’t matter if I live or die, as long as I’m near her.”
I glare at him. “Are you trying to get killed here? You have a death wish, is that it?”
“I wouldn’t expect someone like you to understand.”
I growl, “Don’t get snippy with me, boyo. I can shoot plenty of things off your body and still keep you alive.”
A sudden vivid image of him on top of Sloane, thrusting between her spread thighs as she moans and arches beneath him, sucks the breath out of my lungs. In its place comes poison.
The poison of pure jealousy.
He sees the look on my face and swallows again.
I return to my pacing. Back and forth I go, thinking. Stavros sits silently, watching me with trepidation.
Like Sloane, he’s not at all what I expected. He’s not a hardened killer. He’s not loyal to anything but romantic notions of true love. He’s young and idealistic, brave and intelligent, and—if I’m honest with myself—is probably a better person than I am.
A person who’d make a good father.
I turn to him and demand, “So you want to marry her?”
He blinks in surprise. “I don’t understand—”
“Answer the bloody question.”
“All right. Yes, I want to marry her.”
“And children? You want those with her, too?”
His eyes shining with emotion, he says roughly, “As many as she’d agree to, yes. I’ve always wanted to be a father. And she’d make a wonderful mother. I’d give it all up if she asked me to. The life. The money. Anything. The only thing that matters to me is her.”
- Writer
