How could I? Aiden had been the face of my nightmares since I was little, and he would haunt my very dreams until the day I died. I knew he would. There was no question about it.
That was why I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t kill him. I had to leave.
As much as I wanted to go right now, I couldn’t. I had to shower, had to wash my parents’ blood off my body and try to scrub away the ghostly feeling of his hands on me… along with other body parts.
How many times had I gotten sick? How many times did my body start to change after those midnight visits? I couldn’t even say. To count would be to lose myself to a worse madness. I’d lost track of how many times my mother took me to a doctor, paid them to make me better. Eventually, it’d become too much of a hassle, so my parents paid the doctor extremely well, and he fixed me up.
No more bodily changes. No more morning sickness. No more babies in my belly from my brother.
The water pelted my head, and I brought up my hands to my face, staring at them. They shook, trembling, and I watched them clench. No more feeling sorry for myself. No more sitting around and waiting for him to come to me again. I was going to leave this fucking house, to run and never look back—and when Aiden got home, he’d find our mother and father dead and know it was me.
I could only wish he would send the police after me, pray that he would have them follow me, find me, and arrest me. In jail, at least I’d be safe from him.
But he wouldn’t. Aiden would never be able to stand not having me at his disposal. He would say I was mentally unstable or something, pay off everyone involved. He would somehow get his wish, and he’d keep me forever.
Fuck that. I was not going to sit around and wait for a life like that. I would make my own life out there.
And that’s what I did. I left that house, not once looking back. I took all the cash out of my mother’s purse and my father’s wallet and took a bus out of Lionsgrove. It was almost funny; my family had always assumed I’d stay close, go to the nearby university after high school and forever remain under their thumbs.
Things had certainly changed, hadn’t they?
I was able to find a few nice people in the world, mostly women who looked out for other women who didn’t want to talk about their pasts, and all the while I waited to hear something. A prestigious, rich family, murdered in cold blood? Something like that graced the news, or at least flashed temporarily across the headlines.
Aiden had to have a hand in it, because I never saw anything. I never heard about the massacred Hardings or their missing daughter. I mean, since I was missing and I didn’t exactly try to hide the murder weapon or clean my bloody footprints, you’d think they’d be searching for me. You’d think they’d put out a wanted memo or whatever it was called, plaster my face on the evening news and have newscasters tell their audience if they saw me to contact the authorities immediately.
But they didn’t. Nothing ever happened, and that, I think, was worse, because I spent so much time waiting for it, wanting to see the fruit of my labor. My parents weren’t good people. I wanted the world to know they were dead. Was that too much to ask?
Money solved everything in this world, I discovered. Money, money, money. If you had the green, literally nothing was impossible—and that gave me the idea.
I wanted the world to know someone was watching, someone was aware of the injustices and how incompetent the law was. I wanted the world to know how utterly sick and twisted most people were. So, I started to hunt, only this time I didn’t hunt the rich. This time I hunted those who were less well-off than my parents. I’d call them normal people, but normal people didn’t try to rape others or take advantage of them.
The first few times were messy, sloppy. I didn’t use a disguise. I made mistakes, but I learned from them, and I did not linger in any city long enough for them to find me. Oh, those kills made the news, especially when the authorities started to link the separate slayings. They all had the same M.O., and that was because it was all me.
Lola Harding, the girl who had lost everything, the one who decided to turn the tables onto those who were used to getting their way no matter what. The men who hunted the drunk girls, the ones who drugged their dates and tried to take them home. Really, I was just cleaning up the streets, you know? Because the police sure as shit hardly took rape and sexual abuse seriously.
Sure, some of the crime was investigated, but even in the courts, it seemed to be stacked against us. If the guy was white, he got off. If he had money, he got off. If he was from a well-respected family or even a small town, he got off. The judge apologized to him, not the girl, not the person that was hurt.
Those girls didn’t deserve to be treated like that by the police or the courts. They didn’t deserve to watch their attackers leave with a tiny slap on the wrist. They deserved vengeance, and I was going to give it to them.
I had nothing more to lose. I had no life, no future. If anyone was going to stalk the streets, the clubs, and the bars to turn the tables on the sleazy men, it would be me.
The so-called nice guys out there had nothing to worry about. I only hunted those who deserved it, the ones I’d seen try stupid things. I didn’t care who they were or what their names were, what career they had or what their future aspirations were; I only cared that they were dirty, gross men who only thought with the heads swinging between their legs. Their dicks.
It wasn’t long before I earned myself a name, and it was a name that actually made me smile. A moniker that gave this gal a new breath of life. Call me a killer, call me mentally unstable, what the fuck ever. I was the goddamned Night Slayer, and I wasn’t going to stop slaying until I died.
Hopefully that would be soon, because I sure as shit couldn’t see living like this until I was eighty.
When would my sweet death arrive?
Chapter Two – Lola
You know, I used to think my death came in the form of the Lucianos. I’d killed their youngest member, a man I still liked to refer to as Dickless, but a man they called Mario. He’d tried to take me home one night, thinking I was drunk.
The problem with that? Drunk girls can’t give consent. So he got a knife in the throat. Put up a bit of a fight, but the stupid dude pulled out the knife and only caused himself to bleed out faster. Stupid fool.
They were going to kill me, but Sylvester Luciano had the idea to use me before killing me. Daddy Luciano agreed, much to Mad Maddox’s horror. That one, oh, he hated me, and I couldn’t blame him for it. I did kill his brother, after all.
And, hey, maybe they were still going to kill me. I mean, it wasn’t like I thought they would adopt me into the family and I’d become their girl or something. I wasn’t stupid. When I said people like me didn’t get happy endings, I meant it one hundred fucking percent. Still, though, it was nice for a gal to think she might be wanted, that she found a place where she belonged.
Too late, mind you, since I killed one of their own, but I still found them.
And, fuck it all, they made me feel alive. Silly as it might be, I liked their brand of crazy. Maddox’s darkness, Sylvester’s calculated obsession, even Viper’s unwavering loyalty. I wasn’t used to feeling anything at all, so when I started to feel things for these guys—for guys who wouldn’t hesitate to kill me should their daddy say so—it came as a shock to me.
I had a motto, you see, after everything that happened with my family. No one could steal it or take it from you if you were giving it away. I’d been so dead and so cold inside for years that the feelings building inside of me had come as a shock. They wanted me, and I wanted them, which was a far cry from how I felt about the first boy who wanted me so badly he decided he had to have me.
Aiden. My brother.
Don’t get me wrong, I knew it wasn’t so different, but the Lucianos and those who followed them were not my family. Maddox and Sylvester were not my brothers. Liking them and what they did to me didn’t mean I liked what my brother had done to me all those years ago. May
be it was a teeny, tiny bit related—not saying your girl wasn’t fucked up, because I totally was—but I just couldn’t help it, you know? I liked these guys, and I didn’t want my time with them to end, even though I knew it would.
Not for a while yet. They had me singing at a club, the Gilded Rose. Opening night for the public wasn’t for a while yet, but there was a pre-opening night I was booked for. I had the voice of an angel, and the Lucianos were going to use it. I wasn’t too happy about that in the beginning, but I got over it. I was a big girl.
I kind of went batshit crazy though, tore my hands up to hell after going Rambo on a mirror in their house. My knuckles, my palm… I really did a number on myself. The wounds were scabbing over and starting to heal, but until they did, I’d be wearing silk gloves while I performed.
And leather gloves while I was out on what I liked to call date nights with the guys… which led me to where we were now.
It was a beautiful night, and I didn’t say that every night. No, there was something special about tonight—maybe the way the stars seemed to shine brightly even though they were usually blocked out by the pollution and lights from the city. Maybe it was the way the moon seemed to hang a bit low, its circle full, its craters visible to the naked eye. A girl could get lost in a night sky like that, all the possibilities and wonders it held, the whispers it sang to you when the wind blew gently.
Of course, when the wind blew, you also got to smell the stink of the city, and that was enough to knock you out of whatever trance the pretty sky put you in, trust me. This city might have its clean areas, but it was as dirty and rotten as a place could be. There were no righteous souls here, and that was reflected in its back alleyways and its abandoned districts.
One of which Sylvester, Viper, Tony, and I were at. We were waiting for someone to show their face, and once they did, I’d have a little fun. Sylvester, the cool cat, didn’t want to take me on this date, but I wore him down. I think I was a weakness to him, somehow, don’t ask me why.
The river that ran around the city was near, the docks on the warehouse nearby long since decayed and forgotten. I stood near the river, the concrete walkway fifteen feet above its water. It wasn’t too long of a fall, but I heard this river was so filthy, so nasty, that it caught fire quite a few times from all the trash and oil in it. The latest time it happened wasn’t even that long ago.
My arms were crossed, metal tucked neatly between my jeans and the skin of my back. I wore a thin leather jacket, its shoulders studded in spikes. I held onto my mask, running my gloved fingers along it absentmindedly, ready to put it on. My blonde hair was down, free to wave in the breeze that swirled off the water. You couldn’t hear a thing here, other than the water’s movement. It was kind of nice.
Viper was only here because he and Big Mike were still my guards. Well, not my guards in the sense they were guarding me from something else; more like the opposite. They were guarding everyone else around me from me. Silly, right? I mean, if I wanted to kill the Lucianos, I would’ve tried it by now.
I was just along for the ride, and I planned on enjoying the ride for however long it lasted.
Oh, don’t get me wrong. I was under no impression anything I had between Sylvester or Maddox would save me. This family would kill me… it was only a matter of time.
Time. Ain’t it funny how time was supposed to be the great equalizer, the thing that affected everyone equally? It wasn’t, not when your past always lingered in the back of your head, not when things had fucked you up so badly you didn’t care whether you lived or died. Time could never help me. No, I was too far gone for that.
Sylvester moved to stand beside me, his hands stuffed in his pant pockets. He wore a dark, sleek suit, an outfit he was usually in. Maddox was a caveman when compared to Sylvester where clothes were concerned. The blonde Luciano brother beside me had style, I’d give him that.
He also had a way with his dick, but that was neither here nor there.
He also wasn’t technically a Luciano. He wasn’t born to the family; Daddy Luciano found him after a particularly bloody job, and he decided to take the homeless boy in and raise him as his own.
I know. Talk about fucking lucky. Sylvester didn’t remember what his life was like before, what happened to his parents, only that he’d been on the streets, fending for himself for what felt like forever before Richard found him. Hell, Sylvester wasn’t even the name he was born with, but once he became a Luciano, it became his name.
His blue eyes were on the water, though they soon moved to me, staring at me with an expression that felt doubly heavy in the darkness of the night. “How are your hands?” The breeze blew by, and for once I didn’t smell the reek of the river’s trash. Instead, I smelled him.
It was a nice scent, too. Manly, musky, the kind of scent that lured you in seconds before swallowing you whole. I didn’t think I’d mind getting swallowed like that, not by him.
I didn’t take my gaze off the river, knowing where my mind would go if I did. Standing so close to Sylvester, smelling him in the air, seeing him in his suit and knowing what he was packing beneath it… it wouldn’t take much to get my mind traveling in the wrong direction, the inappropriate direction. Couldn’t have that. Had to keep my head on my shoulders, at least until the job was done.
What was the job tonight? Nothing too big. Just a little questioning, a few threats here and there, and if we found out good ole Danny had been turned by the DeLucas, well… then I’d get to use the steel tucked between my pants and my skin.
I flexed my hands, the sound of leather tightening filling the air. Not gonna lie, the leather gloves made me feel like a badass. Like a fucking badass who could take the world on and win. An impossible feat, but then again, when I’d woken up tied to a chair, being stared at by a few handsome strangers, I thought living to see another night would be impossible, and yet here I was.
Here I was. A miracle. Or just prolonged torture. We’d have to wait and see which one.
“My hands are fine, for the thousandth time,” I said, not wanting to tell him that my scabs had turned itchy and I’d accidentally peeled one off and reopened the wound. If there was someone here with willpower, it obviously wasn’t me.
If I had an itch, I scratched it. If I was hungry, I ate my fill. If my core burned with the need to be filled by a thick, fat cock, then I got laid. That’s how life should be. Do what you want, when you want, and never have to apologize for it. We should all be more like dogs. Humans… humans just suck.
Sylvester turned toward me, one of his hands slipping out of his pocket only to be placed on my side. His fingers curled up my shirt, beneath my jacket, and I fought the instant shiver that threatened to sweep over me at his touch. “I’m only worried about you.”
It took everything in me not to roll my eyes. Sylvester could be sweet sometimes, but most times, a sweet guy wasn’t what I needed. I needed the rough and wild one. I needed someone who didn’t look at me as if I was their whole world, like I could break further. Someone like me… I’d only disappoint the nice ones.
Him. I’d only disappoint Sylvester.
But, hey, maybe that feeling stemmed from the fact that no one had ever been nice to me in my entire life, but whatever. I had issues. Lots of them. Way too many to waste time and count them.
“Don’t be,” I said, folding my arms over my chest as I looked at him for just a split-second before turning and walking away, away from the water, away from Sylvester and his heavy gaze and worried expression.
Viper and Tony stood near a stack of wooden crates. Tony had a leg kicked up, leaning back on the crates, while Viper held his hands before his stomach, ever the watchman, those hazel orbs on me, as they always were when he was around. His arms were free of any jacket or sleeves, the snake tattoos on his arms visible in the silver moonlight.
He was tatted up and beautiful. There was nothing else in the world sexier than a man who had loads of tattoos and wore them well.
I guess I
could say the same thing about Maddox, but that fool wasn’t here.
Moving to lean beside Tony, I smiled at him. Tony hung out at the house a lot, he went out on jobs often for the family, but out of everyone, I felt like I knew him the least. He was not a Luciano, but he might as well have been.
Know what they called him? Tony the Tiger. Like, a play off that old tiger character for that one cereal brand. I thought it was hilarious, and when I heard Sylvester call him that the first time, I could not stop myself from laughing—which, I think, kind of ticked Tony off. Poor Tony.
“Feels like we’ve been waiting here forever,” I said, whining just a bit. “What if Danny doesn’t show?”
Sylvester had followed me away from the water, shadows dancing across his handsome face as he muttered, “He’ll show, or we’ll track him down and make him wish he showed.” A threat I knew was more like a promise. Just because he was the gentler brother didn’t mean he couldn’t be as vicious as Maddox. He was just more calculated in letting his monster loose.
Headlights flashed in the distance, a car heading towards us.
I pushed off the crates as Tony smirked and said, “Well, well. It’s like he heard us.”
Before coming out from our hiding place, I put my mask on, hiding the lower half of my face with its skeletal, beautiful design. My heart had felt strangely full when I’d gazed down at this mask sitting inside a box, a present for me, something that was made specifically for me.
Couldn’t have me all dolled up and singing at the Gilded Rose while also doing jobs for the Lucianos, could they? So, clearly it served another purpose; I knew they didn’t get it for me just to get me something nice.
But, still, it felt kind of good to think that they did.
Together, the four of us waited for the car to slow to a stop. Fifty feet away, the man I assumed was Danny stepped out, his car lights still on. Don’t know why he didn’t turn them off when he got out of the car. Maybe he wanted the ambiance, or something.
Crooked Heart (A Death So Sweet Book 2) Page 2
