Vicious Neon

C H A P T E R T H R E E

The crimson laser dot burned steadily between Don Salvatore’s widened eyes. For half a second, the entire world seemed frozen beneath the howling gale rushing through the shattered panoramic balcony. Then, instinct overtook shock.

Salvatore lunged sideways, whipping his gold-plated revolver toward the intruder. But Ronin didn't hesitate. Two suppressed cracks tore through the storm. The first round shattered the Don’s right wrist, sending the weapon clattering across the obsidian floor in a spray of scarlet; the second bullet punched directly through his kneecap. Salvatore collapsed against his black marble desk with a guttural, agonized roar.

The reinforced foyer doors began hammering as Marco and the enforcers tried to override the scrambled security grid from the hallway. Shouts and heavy breaching tools echoed through the metal frames.

Ronin stepped forward with lethal grace, rain dripping from the matte black leather of his coat. He kicked the Don’s discarded gun away and grabbed Salvatore by the collar, lifting the mafia kingpin off the floor with effortless brutality. Ronin’s predatory gaze flicked over to Roxy, who stood frozen near the shattered glass, her sequined dress soaked in misty rain, her chest heaving.

— Roxanne... you... you brought him here... — Salvatore wheezed through blood-soaked teeth, his eyes bulging as he stared at her in horrified realization.

Roxy stepped toward him, the fear vanishing from her face, replaced by a cold, absolute fury that had simmered for half a decade. She stopped inches from his face, looking directly into the eyes of the man who had destroyed everything she loved.

— My name isn’t Roxanne, Salvatore — she whispered, her voice slicing through the wind like a razor. — It’s Roxanne Vance. Give my regards to my father in hell.

Salvatore’s eyes went wide with pure terror right before Ronin’s suppressed pistol pressed against the underside of the Don’s chin. A muffled, hollow thud sounded, and the tyrant of the lower district went limp, slumping lifeless onto the polished floor.

A heavy explosive charge detonated against the foyer doors behind them. Marco and three armed guards breached the room, automatic weapons raised. But Ronin was already moving. In one swift, fluid motion, he hooked his arm around Roxy’s waist, pulled her hard against his chest, and fired three precise rounds into the ceiling-mounted fire suppression canisters. Dense, blinding chemical fog erupted throughout the penthouse, swallowing the room in white mist.

— Hold on to me — Ronin commanded against her ear, his voice calm amidst the chaos.

Before Roxy could even grasp his shoulders, Ronin stepped off the edge of the shattered balcony into the open night air. A high-tensile grapple cable fired upward into the skyscraper’s steel crane armature. They swung in a wide, heart-stopping arc through the rainy skyline, descending three hundred feet before crashing through the skylight of an abandoned freight warehouse across the neon-lit alleyway.

They hit the dusty loft floor in a tight roll, Ronin absorbing the brunt of the impact with his back. He disconnected the harness and instantly had Roxy pinned beneath him in the dark shadows of the loft, his tactical pistol aimed at the shattered roof opening. They waited in absolute silence, listening to the sirens wailing in the distance as the syndicate’s empire began to collapse into panic.

No pursuit followed.

The warehouse was silent save for the drumming of heavy rain against corrugated iron roofs. A lone neon billboard from the street outside cast a vibrant, pulsing wash of violet and magenta light through the broken glass above, painting the curves of Roxy’s body and the sharp contours of Ronin’s skull-tattooed face in intoxicating hues.

The adrenaline was a live wire between them. Ronin lowered his weapon, his breathing slow, steady, and dangerously close. His heavy frame was pressed entirely against hers, trapping her against the wooden planks. Roxy could feel the raw heat radiating from his chest through his damp black shirt, the relentless thrum of his heart matching the chaotic rhythm of her own.

Her hands were still resting against the broad planes of his chest, her fingers tangling into the wet fabric. She looked up into his dark, obsidian eyes. The lethal killer who had just executed a mafia kingpin without blinking was now staring down at her with something far more consuming than violence—pure, unfiltered possession.

— You didn’t run — Ronin murmured, his calloused thumb tracing the sharp line of her jawline down to the hollow of her throat, where her pulse fluttered like a trapped bird. — Most people would have panicked and gotten themselves killed.

— I told you I wanted him dead — Roxy breathed, her voice trembling not with fear, but with a wild, intoxicating surge of euphoria and heat. She arched her neck, leaning into the rough friction of his leather gloves. — You kept your word, Ronin.

— I always finish my contracts, little bird — he growled, his gaze dropping to her parted lips, painted dark and glistening from the rain. — But this wasn’t just a contract.

Without warning, Ronin tangled his fingers into her damp pink hair, tilting her head back, and crushed his mouth against hers. The kiss was ravenous, rough, and demanding—a sudden explosion of the tension that had been building since he first cornered her in the dressing room. He tasted of rain, bourbon, and dark promises.

Roxy gasped into his mouth, but instead of pulling away, she locked her arms around his neck, pulling him down harder. The realization that Salvatore was dead, that she was finally free, collided with the raw, primal magnetism of the monster who had liberated her. She parted her lips, welcoming the demanding slide of his tongue as a quiet moan escaped her throat.

Ronin groaned, a low, guttural sound that vibrated deep in his chest. His hands gripped the sides of her sequined dress, sliding up her bare thighs with bruising intensity. He hoisted her up effortlessly against the rough brick wall of the loft, never breaking the kiss. Roxy wrapped her legs firmly around his waist, her heels digging into the small of his back as her fingernails scratched against the inked skin of his neck.

With a sharp tug, Ronin pushed aside the thin straps of her bustier, exposing the warm, glowing skin of her breasts to the cool night air. His mouth left hers, trailing hot, searing kisses down the column of her throat, over her collarbone, until his teeth lightly grazed the sensitive peak of her breast. Roxy arched off the wall with a sharp intake of breath, her head falling back against the bricks as waves of electric heat surged between her thighs.

— Look at me, Roxanne — Ronin commanded, his voice dark, husky, and thick with desire as his hands slid down to tear away the delicate silk between her legs.

Roxy forced her heavy-lidded eyes open, meeting his burning gaze in the magenta shadows. His skull-tattooed jaw was set with fierce intensity, his fingers sliding between her wet, aching folds, testing her heat with deliberate, torturous strokes that drew a broken whimper from her lips.

— You belong to the shadows now — he whispered against her ear, unbuckling his tactical belt and freeing his heavy, throbbing length. — You belong to me.

— Take me — Roxy gasped, her hands gripping his muscular shoulders, her hips instinctively tilting forward. — Show me what you're made of, Ghost.

Ronin didn't wait. In one powerful, seamless thrust, he buried himself completely inside her tight, dripping heat. Roxy cried out, her fingers digging deep into his back as the sheer fullness of him stretched her, sending a jolt of pure pleasure straight to her core. Ronin gripped her hips with iron hands, holding her still as he pulled back and drove into her again, setting a relentless, punishing rhythm against the brick wall.

Every thrust was deep, possessive, and intoxicatingly raw. The wet slap of their bodies and her breathless whimpers filled the dusty warehouse, accompanied by the steady rhythm of the downpour outside. Roxy clung to him, completely overwhelmed by the friction and the overwhelming power of his movements. With every hard snap of his hips, the coil in her lower stomach tightened toward a blinding peak.

— Ronin... please... — she choked out, her vision blurring under the neon light.

— Come for me, little bird — he growled into her neck, picking up the pace until every stroke hit her deepest, most sensitive spot. His own breathing grew ragged, his grip on her hips tightening until it bruised.

The climax hit Roxy like a tidal wave. Her inner walls clamped tightly around him in violent, pulsing spasms. She threw her head back, screaming his name into the storm as the world dissolved into pure ecstasy. Feeling her shatter around him, Ronin let out a low, primal roar, burying himself to the hilt one final time as his own release flooded deep inside her.

He held her against the wall for long moments, their chests heaving in unison, their bodies slick with sweat and rain. Slowly, Ronin lowered her feet to the ground, though he kept his arms securely wrapped around her waist, supporting her trembling legs.

Roxy leaned her forehead against his chest, catching her breath while looking down at the city lights glowing through the skylight. Salvatore was dead, but as she looked up into Ronin’s dark, possessive eyes, she realized that walking into the assassin's world was a danger she might never want to escape.