The next moment he broke the staring contest, picked me up on his shoulders "What the fuck are you doing ?" I screamed before he threw me on the bed and ripped my shirt apart exposing my bra " I can't fucking resist you" he whispered brushing his li...
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"They're dead?"
"What? Who?"
"I can't exactly describe how I'm feeling right now, but it's not a good feeling."
"Care to explain that feeling?"
"You need to be here again, brother."
And here I am. Again. This Italian mafia group is a goddamn headache. Is the female dead? Why can't we just execute people properly anymore?
Opening the door to the house, I spotted Liam lounging casually next to *her*. God, at least I’m relieved I didn’t make a mistake leaving her alone with them.
Why do I keep calling her female? Fine. Woman.
"I heard someone died," I said, stepping further in, my eyebrows furrowed.
Liam sat there like it was a Sunday brunch, not a massacre scene. I gave him a questioning glare, standing a few feet away, making direct eye contact.
"Yeah, they're dead. The mafias," Liam said, picking imaginary dust off his jeans. Did Liam kill them? Thank God. But why so suddenly? Were they—
"She killed them," Liam cut into my thoughts, casually pointing at her like she was a damn pancake he made.
My emotions shifted to full-on what-the-fuck mode. Her delicate-looking hands… killed them?
"Did she?" Words flew out of my mouth before my brain could process. "How the hell can you kill your own members?"
I couldn't stop staring at her — battered, bruised, and still somehow looking like she'd just been mildly inconvenienced. Like she'd burned her toast. Not killed twenty armed men.
"You were warned not to leave me alone with them," she said, voice calm like she was discussing the weather.
Moving soundlessly, I approached the room where they had been locked. The handle was stained with blood. A pool of it seeped out from under the door, slowly creeping into the luxurious oak-leaf carpet. Father’s gonna have a stroke when he sees this mess.
The door wasn’t even locked. I grabbed the handle, the cold wet blood making my fingertips stick. With a push, the door slammed into the wall with a loud bang, and a cold shiver raced down my spine.
There they were. All dead. All blood.
"A mafia scared of a little blood, huh?" Her voice behind me was dripping with amusement.
I turned to see her casually holding a glass of water— A glass of water, mind you—with bloody fingerprints sliding down its sides, she's holding a glass of water. Drops fell onto the already crimson floor.
