Going After Heaven (Mafia Romance)

Chapter Two

Who the fuck is this madman?

If he heard the sound of my cocked gun, he didn't show. Instead, he stretches his hand to push a stop button on the elevator. His eyes never leave mine.

"Excuse me?" I scowl.

I have seen men. Madmen. But this man has gone rogue.

"If you're going to give a private show down there, I can double the amount" his deep soporific voice croons.

I keep our eyes cinched no matter how scalding his fiery flecks burn into my beads of blue. The very heat licking down to make my throat patch.

"How dare you?" I swallow a dry gulp and pout. My lips pressed in a fine line.

"You're not a stripper?" He asks and I bite down on my teeth to keep my seething at bay.

Stripper?

I do not have a problem with that profession, but what would give him the impression that I am one?

Yes, it's a strippers club, but that doesn't mean everyone that walks in here wants to be a part of the party. Or every woman that is found here came to strip.

"Stripper?" I spit the word.

"no?" He lifts his pierced eyebrow.

Who lets this fucker out of an asylum?

Something about what he said and how he said it disturbs me. Like the only people here for business are the men and a woman has no place but on the dance floor or any corner she chooses to give a show.

"I am not a stripper" I grit and move away from him. Leaning on the wall of the elevator.

I don't know the guy, but he might be a friend of Gael.

I mean he was allowed entry into the private elevator that leads underground to Gael's office and exclusive quarters. I am trying hard not to pump some bullets into his smug balls.

"I overstepped then" he clips his lips and I give a curt nod.

"You've got guts for gods" I scoff. And you look like one.

He does. The fucker does. A twenty-first-century manifestation of an Olympian god with nothing to falter.

"I am a god alright" he shrugs curtly.

That confidence is offensive. So I give him a look over to see if he's here for business. Since I can't read him, maybe his outfit would give him off and say what Empire he's from.

Unfortunately, he's wearing a plain black button-up shirt on black dress pants, nothing to give him away.

Still, his outfit might be a message to whoever cares to pay attention. He's announcing that he's a freeman.

But I might just be overthinking and giving meaning to a guy that is here to find his next fuck.

People usually walk into a place and pump their energy into the air, they don't always know. But people like me can sniff it. It's an advantage, it's also a curse because sometimes I might get lost and can't find my own emotions.

It is why cigars have been my anchor. They help sieve my emotions. But him. He's just plain.

"Push the button, this place is beginning to suffocate and I've got business to attend to," I say using my eyes as a pointer to the buttons.

"We've got two minutes left" he replies, looking at the timer on the elevator.

"Do we?" My fingers trail my gun. He looks unarmed but I wouldn't bet on it.

"That depends on you" he starts to strut towards me.

Each step oozing debonair. Bland expression, blazing eyes, sooty curls draping to his lower back, stuffed behind both ears, with two piercings on each.

One piercing on each earlobe and one conch piercing on each ear. Both hands are still buried in his pockets.

All his piercings are black stone rings. And he's got six piercings altogether. Four studded earrings, one loop ring on his eyebrow, and one loop ring on the left side of his nose.

I am not keeping tabs, this guy is literally in my face.

"And what would that mean?" My fingers clutch tighter around my gun.

"Are you naked underneath your coat?" He stands in front of me, lofty.

If I haven't been trained to conceal facial expressions, my mouth would fall apart.

I am naked alright. I am mostly naked underneath when I wear my coat on sweltering days like today.

The only thing I'm wearing underneath my coat is a holster. It's the only thing I need. More than any cloth.

But why is my no cloth underneath coat a topic for discussion, with a fucking walking dead of a stranger in a private elevator?

"And if you are, will I find you wet?" He places both palms on the wall, by the sides of my head.

Seriously who is this man though?

He is playing the game of seduction. I think. When men come around me, some tremble, some feel intimidated, some worship at my feet, and most hate me.

But this one here, this one looks like he is a man that loves the dance of death. Because whatever he's playing can only mean one thing.

He wants to die. And by my hand.

I exhale sharply but his scent is stifling. He smells like a cigar box with sprinkles of a floral mix.  And those eyes like the balls from Shaolin soccer are searing.

I feel a trickle trail down from underneath my waves to my bare butt.

"I am not interested"'I say matter of factly.

"In fucking me or in fucking?" His tongue rolls the words around and delivers them thick and accented.

"I am married, asshole" I spit, and he shrugs.

That shouldn't be an excuse. My answer should be a  blatant no with no place for doubt.

"So if you weren't you'd fuck me?" The smug son of a bitch spews.

"You're fucked" I break our stare but I'm met with the silk fabric of his black shirt and a sneak peek of black ink from three undone buttons.

"That's not an answer to my question" he tilts his head to the side slightly, lowering it to meet my gaze.

Don't we just hate tall people?

"You don't respect that union?" If eyes could kill, mine would be an ocean drowning him right now.

"It depends on the occasion, do you want me to respect that?" He lifts his pierced eyebrow.

I've had enough. I pull out my gun gently and point at his groins.

He doesn't give any reaction other than a throaty growl. He doesn't cower or grovel like some will do at the sight of a gun.

"I said, I am not interested, so fuck off," I say in an attempt to grind my teeth to chaff. Standing tall and looking him dead in the eyes.

"Seeing how long it took for you to bring that out, I will say otherwise" he drawls.

This is the farthest anyone has gone with crossing my line.

"You want death?" I keep my hold around the trigger firm. Tilting my head to search his eyes for any sense of fear. 

"If it looks like you" he breathes down. "Send it my way"

I push the muzzle of my gun further against his groin. Waiting for his eyes to beg.

They don't. They burn instead. It's insulting. It's disturbing.

He's a threat. To what?

Well, I guess we'll never know.

I pull the trigger...