Kissing the Killer: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Barone Crime Family)

by Hamel, B. B.

  Dante smoked cigarette after cigarette, staring off into the distance. I sat down on an empty barrel near him. “Anything else I should know about this?” I asked him.

  “What? No. Why?”

  “Just that everyone here seems on edge,” I said. “We have big numbers, so it’s a little curious.”

  He sighed. “Fuck. Well, there’s one small detail. See, every time the Spiders attack, they don’t leave survivors.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah. They kill everyone, except for the girls. They steal the girls for themselves.”

  “Shit man. No wonder everyone is on edge. They think there’s a chance we all might get slaughtered.”

  “See? That’s why we need people like you.”

  I shook my head, annoyed. “You should have told me sooner.”

  “Why? Risk you not coming?”

  “No, you dumb fuck. I would have brought a bigger gun.”

  He laughed and stubbed out his cigarette. “Too late for that. Here they come.”

  I followed his gaze and saw a semitruck pulling down along the road and angling toward us. The container on its back was big and white with no markings at all.

  The other men all reacted. Some went to open up the doors of the trucks we had with us and some got their weapons out. A few were sent to scout out the perimeter, make sure nobody was out there watching.

  This was a fucking death trap. The Spiders were slaughtering us and I was sent to be a part of it. I couldn’t decide if it was because they thought I could help or if they wanted me dead. But if Dante was here as well, it couldn’t be because they thought we’d all die. He was too important to waste on something like this.

  No, if Gian requested me, he hoped that I’d be able to help.

  So I kept my head on a swivel. While I didn’t know the guys around me, that didn’t meant they weren’t trustworthy. The mafia didn’t employ men for these sorts of things who weren’t good with a gun, and these men all looked hardened and like they knew what they were about.

  No, it wasn’t going to be brute force that I brought to the table. It was going to have to be something else.

  The truck slowly pulled up closer toward the warehouse. The outer fence was opened up and the truck drove straight toward us. The men made room as the truck drove straight in through the enormous steel doors and stopped right in the middle of the warehouse itself.

  I stood off to the side as men opened the large back doors of the truck.

  “Here we go,” Dante said. “The pussy train is coming.”

  Ignoring him, I watched as, one by one, young girls began to climb out of the back of the truck.

  There must have been thirty or forty of them, way too many for the trip to have been anything resembling comfortable. Those container trucks were hot and sticky, not to mention rough. I could imagine them huddled together, barely able to breathe the humid, stifling air.

  They looked thin and hungry. Sunken eyes, dirty clothes, and the occasional track mark from needles getting shoved into their arms defined the group. Some of them were beautiful and some of them weren’t, but it didn’t really matter. There was some sick fuck out there for each and every one of them.

  The men began to herd the women toward the trucks. I watched as they were piled in, and soon every one of the cars were full of these young, half-dead women.

  “When do they usually come?” I asked Dante.

  “Now,” he said. “They attacked just as the truck pulled in last time.”

  The warehouse seemed silent. The men who were scouting had returned, and it seemed as though everything was going well.

  Dante got up and clapped me on the back. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get moving before the pussy train pulls out without us.”

  I grunted and followed him toward our car. We got in and fell in line in the caravan as the group of cars, the women in the middle, began to head back toward the city.

  I couldn’t help but think about the girls shoved into those trucks. Young and stupid, they had no life ahead of them, not while they were slaves to the mafia. I didn’t love that my people did things like this, but I knew they had to if they were going to compete. Our operation was nothing compared with the Russians; they imported thousands of girls a month to our hundreds. The Latinos were pretty bad themselves, bringing girls up from South America, nice and addicted to Colombian heroin.

  The club we were headed to was in the middle of a seedier neighborhood on the edge of downtown. The city flashed past the window of the truck as we moved, heading farther and farther into the city. I kept expecting the Spiders to hit at any second, but all was quiet.

  The caravan eventually made it to the club. We pulled down an alleyway at the back of the club. It was a tight squeeze getting all of the cars in there, and there wasn’t much space to maneuver.

  “Whose decision was this?” I asked Dante as we stopped and got out.

  “What do you mean?”

  “This alley is a fucking death trap.”

  He gave me a look. “Shit,” he said.

  The girls started to get out of the trucks up ahead. We had some room to move around, but not much. The trucks and cars were parked bumper to bumper, and there was no way to get out unless the cars on the ends moved first. Basically everyone was boxed in with nowhere to go.

  The muscle got out and stood around, looking uncomfortable. I couldn’t tell if they were thinking the same thing, but this was bad. There were too many people jammed into this small space. Back when it was just three or four trucks bringing the girls in, this drop-off was probably fine, but now it was jammed with men standing around with weapons.

  I wasn’t surprised at all when the gunfire started.

  It happened fast. As the first group of girls got out of their truck and moved toward the back door, bullets started raining down on the trucks. Men scattered and started yelling orders as I found cover behind our truck.

  “Fuck!” Dante yelled. “The roof!”

  I looked up, and sure enough there were men up there in black masks firing down at us. The girls were screaming and scattering all over the place.

  “The girls!” Dante yelled.

  I watched as a group of thugs tried to round the girls up, but they were gunned down as soon as they moved.

  “We have to move the trucks,” I told Dante. “Come on!”

  “Fuck that,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  That fucking coward. I moved fast, heading toward the last car in the caravan. I felt bullets smashing all around me as I moved, but I kept my head down and stayed close to the cars. Soon I was pressed up against the last car.

  I flung the door open. The driver was dead, a bullet in his skull. I dragged his body out and got in, starting the engine. Bullets instantly exploded all around me, but I threw the car into reverse, flying out of the alleyway.

  I stopped and dove out, running low back into the alley. More bullets, but this time the other men on my side figured out what I was doing. They began to return fire, causing the men on the roof to back off as I got into the next car and pulled it out.

  The next two cars drove out as well, clearing space in the alley. I dove back in, keeping close to the walls, picking my way up toward Dante.

  “We have to get the girls in the cars,” I yelled.

  “No way. We’re pinned down!”

  I could see fear in his eyes, and I realized he was useless.

  I moved away, heading toward the front of the line. The girls were mostly huddled together still in their trucks.

  That was when I saw them.

  Spiders, their masks on, walking into the alley from the other end. They had heavy weapons out and were walking casually, like it was no big deal. Their dark clothes and heavy armor made them look like demons from another world.

  “Line up and fucking fire!” one of the goons on our side yelled. The men began shooting at the Spiders, but they just kept coming, unleashing hell into the alleyway.

 
I dove into a truck full of girls toward the front of the line. There were two cars still ahead of me, but I didn’t care.

  “What are you doing?” one of the girls screamed in my ear. The rest were speaking a language I couldn’t understand.

  “Tell them to hold on,” I yelled over the gunfire. Then I floored the car.

  The sound of twisting metal filled my ears as the car smashed into the one ahead of it. That car smashed forward, hitting the next one, and I kept the motor revving, the tires spinning. Burnt rubber replaced the smell of blood.

  Slowly the truck pushed the two cars forward. We were moving, slowly but surely, up and out of the alley. Bullets rained down on the truck, but they were being careful, too careful.

  It hit me instantly. They were trying not to hit the girls. I kept going forward, my confidence swelling. The other mafia thugs were firing back at the Spiders, but they were still coming. The thugs were dropping one by one, though some emulated me and got back into the trucks.

  Five feet, three feet, and suddenly the two cars were pushed out into the street at the other end of the alley. My wheels were spinning as I turned the wheel, heading away.

  And then two loud bursts made the car swerve.

  “Fuck!” I yelled, and the girls screamed as our truck went out of control, slamming into the side of the club.

  Bodies were rocked all over the place, limbs twisted with limbs. Girls were screaming and complaining, but we hadn’t been going too fast and nobody seemed hurt. Coughing from the smoke and the steam, I stumbled out of the car. I went around front and threw open the back door, looking at the girl who spoke English.

  “You!” I yelled. “Get these girls out of here.”

  “What? Where do we go?” she asked.

  She had big brown eyes and long blond hair. She looked like she hadn’t eaten in a week.

  “Run,” I told her. “Run as fast and as far as you can. Go to the police if you have to, but get the fuck away from here.”

  “Why?”

  “Those men will take you and you’ll all be slaves.”

  The girls stepped out of the car and were looking around. Gunfire still screamed in the alley and more trucks were coming out, plus bloodied, angry men.

  “Fuck, go!” I yelled, pushing the woman.

  She looked at me strangely and then spoke to the other girls. She looked back at me. “What’s your name?”

  “Brooks! What are you waiting for?” I yelled. The Spiders came around the corner next. “You have to go!”

  “Thank you,” the girl said, and then she yelled something else. The girls scattered, running as fast as they could away from the violence.

  I pressed myself up against the car, firing my gun at the Spiders as they came. I knew I wasn’t going to stop them, but at least I could slow them down.

  The Spiders were coming, and I was trapped. Trucks were peeling out and driving away, and the goons were scattered, either running away or returning fire. The Spiders just kept coming, unceasing and unflinching.

  I finished my clip and released it. I tucked my gun away and then moved to dart away, trying to put distance between me and the Spiders.

  That was when I felt something like a hammer strike me in the chest. Pain lanced down my spine and ribs, white hot and terrible. Another hammer blow took me lower down in the stomach.

  I stumbled back and then fell face-first onto the concrete.

  Pain rocked my whole body, bloody and searing.

  The last thing I remembered was seeing the girls disappear around the corner up ahead as the world turned to darkness.

  8

  Emma

  He still wasn’t home at two in the morning, and I was beginning to worry despite myself.

  It wasn’t like I really cared about him one way or the other, but he was the only person I had in the world at that moment. I needed him, as much as I hated to admit it. I needed him to help me start my life, to get myself together, to escape my father’s long shadow.

  I didn’t know how these security things normally went. I felt exhausted but too wired to sleep. I needed to know if he was coming back or if the mafia was going to kick down that door and drag me away to be killed. Or worse, they’d take me and sell me to one of those sex brothels you heard about on the news sometimes.

  I couldn’t imagine a life worse than my own, but maybe living as a drugged-up sex toy for rich, sick perverts was worse. Maybe I’d had it good, living with my abusive and thieving asshole father.

  The world could be a dark place, and right now, Brooks was the only good thing in it, or at least I hoped he was good.

  When three rolled around, I found myself getting up and going back into his closet. I took out that gun, and although I knew it wasn’t loaded, it made me feel safe. I didn’t know what I’d do with it, probably just throw it at someone.

  As I carried the empty gun out into the living room, the apartment door shuddered. I took a step back and stared as the lock slowly opened and the handle twisted.

  The door flung open. I raised the empty gun, horrified.

  Brooks practically fell into the room, his face twisted in pain. I let the gun drop as I ran to his side.

  “What happened?” I asked, trying to help support his weight.

  “Job went bad,” he grunted. “Fuck, I’m in a lot of pain. Help me to the kitchen.”

  He leaned on me as we limped together. I sat him down on a chair and he groaned in pain.

  “Where are you hurt?”

  “Chest.” He took his shirt off and I stared at the bulletproof vest. He showed me the two bullets lodged in the vest, one near his heart, the other lower down.

  “Come on, let’s get this off.”

  He grimaced as he unstrapped the vest. I helped him gingerly pull it off, his breath coming in shallow and fast. I could see the pain on his face, but he was trying to hide it.

  Finally, we got the vest and his shirt off. I stared at the large, blooming black bruises along his skin.

  “Shit,” I said. “This looks bad.”

  “You don’t have to tell me that,” he said. “I can fucking feel it.”

  “What happened?”

  I went into the cabinets and finally found a clean towel. He sighed, shaking his head.

  “You don’t need to know.”

  “You got shot, Brooks,” I said. “I feel like I need to know.”

  “Job went bad. That’s all.”

  I sat back down next to him and began to dab gently at the cuts all over his face. He flinched back.

  “Relax,” I said. “I just need to clean this up.”

  “You a nurse or something?”

  “Not exactly,” I said. “I used to take care of my dad a lot. Unsurprisingly, drunks get hurt all the time.”

  “He ever get shot?”

  “Only once.”

  He looked away. “Sorry.”

  I shrugged. “I’m not.” I dabbed at his cuts, trying to be gentle.

  “What was it like, living with him?”

  “Not great,” I said. “He was a violent piece of shit, but that wasn’t the worst part. He was controlling and stole most of my money.”

  “Why didn’t you get out of there?”

  I clenched my jaw. “It’s not that easy,” I said. “He was my father. I couldn’t just leave him to die in a puddle of his own vomit.”

  “Maybe you should have.”

  “Maybe, but I didn’t. Plus, I tried to leave, but every time I had enough money saved, he’d find it and gamble it away.”

  “Been a hard life,” he grunted.

  “Yeah, and it’s not looking much better right now.”

  He nodded. “I know about hard lives. Yours isn’t done just yet.”

  “I have no friends, Brooks. Most of my friends either drifted away, went to college, or got sick of me constantly dealing with my insane father. It’s hard to be optimistic.”

  He grinned at me despite the pain. “You got me,” he said.

  �
��Oh great. I have a complete stranger who kills people for a living.”

  “Better than the alternative.”

  “Which is what?”

  “Being dead, probably.”

  I laughed and stood up. “Maybe.” I went over to the freezer and opened it. I began to pile ice into the towel. “How’d you end up as a killer anyway? They take auditions, read your resume?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “So how then?”

  He looked away as I sat back down and pressed the ice against his bruised body.

  “The Barone family took me in when I was young and had nothing else. They taught me things, how to shoot and how to get away with it, how to stalk my prey, that sort of thing. Turned out I was good at it.”

  “They just stuck a gun in your hand then?”

  “More or less. There’s a man named Gian, a boss in the family. Back then he was just running a local crew. He took me in and trained me, and he brought me up through the ranks as he climbed.”

  “So you had a patron in violence.”

  “Yeah,” he said, smiling. “Something like that.”

  “Here. Hold this,” I said, taking his hand and pressing it against the towel.

  I felt something rush through me as he looked at me, his eyes intense and hungry. His hand pressed against mine sent chills down my spine as I imagined what this killer, this man, could do with those hands. I realized that I was dripping wet.

  “Have you thought about my offer?” he asked softly, his voice deep and smooth.

  “What offer?”

  “To make you feel good,” he said. Lightning struck my body. “I can make that body bend over, your skin on fire with pleasure.”

  “I haven’t thought about it at all,” I lied.

  He smirked at me. “I doubt that. You’ve been thinking about what my thick cock would feel like between your legs. You want to slide that wet cunt down my length and shiver as I fuck you deep and rough.”

  “You’re in no condition to be doing any of that,” I said, standing quickly and pulling my hand away.

  “I think you’d be surprised by what I’m capable of,” he said.

  I walked away from him, grabbing another towel. I began to fill it with ice again.