by Soto, S. M.
My gaze shifts toward my Glock resting on the end table. Of its own accord, my arm reaches for it, my palm wrapping around the cool handle. With my heart pounding against my rib cage and my chest heaving, I place the trembling barrel of the Glock against her head and close my eyes. All I need to do is pull the trigger and it will be over. I’ll be saving her from a fate worse than this. I’ll still get my revenge. Everything will go back to the way it was before her. Before she came barreling through my life and ruining everything I thought I knew.
My finger rests on the trigger. Just one small press and she’d be done. But instead of doing it, I click the safety on and toss the gun onto the floor away from me. Away from her. She doesn’t know it yet, but I’ve just made our lives very difficult. Not only does she have a bounty on her head, but I’ll have one on mine too. You don’t cross Arthur and live to tell the tale—and not following out on a hit? That’s just as bad.
I waiver back and forth with my decision.
My hand trails across her skin that’s warm with sleep. My fingers drift up Blossom’s rib cage and over her throat. The muscles itch to tighten around the slender column and end it all. I could make it all go away right now. Fuck pulling a trigger.
She moans something in her sleep, and my eyes move toward her face. She isn’t awake. Her perfectly angelic face is still soft with sleep. She moans something again, and this time, I hear it clearly.
Percivale.
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter.
I lean down and kiss her. I haven’t a clue why other than the most basest need to feel her lips against mine.
“You’ve fucked everything up, Blossom,” I whisper across her sweet mouth, and she whimpers as if she understands she practically signed our death sentence.
We’ll both be dead in a matter of days. There’s no way around it.
The Beginning of the End
Blossom
Percivale is quiet the next morning. Well, quieter than usual. He moves around the motel with a tightness in his shoulders that wasn’t quite there the night before. Not that I remember much from the night before—everything is a blur—but what I do remember is feeling nothing but pain, then immense pleasure.
I pull the sheets against my naked body, using it as a shield as I watch him move about. He goes from the bathroom, showering and brushing his teeth, to the table and shuffles through his black duffel. He then paces the floor, doing something on his phone, not even bothering to glance up at me.
“Good morning.” My voice is scratchy with sleep, and probably from the activities last night. I blush just thinking about it.
Percivale glances up at me once. His dark eyes trail from my head down my body, giving me a once-over in the sheet before he looks back down at whatever else he’s doing.
My brows furrow at his brush-off. I mean, normally he isn’t the happiest person—it’s not like he kisses me on the forehead every morning and brings me breakfast in bed—but usually he’s more receptive than this. I go over everything in my head, from last night to this morning, thinking about what could’ve possibly made him so…broody, but nothing stands out to me. After sex, I knocked out, so it couldn’t have been anything I did, right?
I rub my lips together nervously, trying to find a way to get through to him when it suddenly hits me. Last night, he came inside of me. He’s never done that before. Sure, we’ve never used a condom, but usually he pulls out to avoid any…accidents. I was so lost in him last night that it didn’t even occur to me. As I watch him, his face shadowed with something akin to anger, I know that this is logically what’s got him in a pissy mood.
“I’m on birth control, you know. You don’t have to worry about me getting pregnant.”
Percivale whirls on me so fast, a startled yelp squeaks past my lips. I suck in a sharp breath. If possible, his face looks much angrier than before. His jaw ticks, like he’s grinding his teeth together, trying to gather his thoughts before replying.
“Get dressed. We’re leaving.”
There’s no emotion in his tone. Just the stark order that he expects me to dress. I consider ignoring the command and pushing the issue, but I don’t feel like trying my luck. Not today. Especially not after last night. Tossing the sheets off my body, I push off the bed and pad toward the bathroom, I pause a few feet away from him and glance at him; his gaze is already glued to his phone.
Changing directions, I close the distance between us, and summoning brazen courage, I slide my hand around his neck, jerking his attention to me, and I rise onto my tiptoes and kiss him. I slip my tongue into his mouth, enjoying the reaction I get out of him. His hand slides around my waist and squeezes my hip. I pull away and smile up at him before I turn on my heel, striding into the bathroom for a quick shower before dressing.
When I climb under the warm spray, I can’t help but smile as I think about the look on his face when I kissed him. He looked shocked. And so young.
Boyish—that’s what he was. He looked boyish.
And I vow to bring out that look on his face as often as I can.
* * *
The car is silent. The sound of the tires rolling over gravel and the low beat of the music pumping from the radio is all that can be heard. We’ve been driving for about an hour now, and the only reason Percivale has spoken to me is to tell me we’re stopping in Hammond for food.
There’s this tension between us, even after that kiss, and I’m not sure why. I don’t know what I did or if there’s something deeper that’s happening that I haven’t been made aware of.
“Are you mad at me?” I break down and finally ask him.
His hand tightens on the steering wheel, and he blows out a gruff breath, shooting a glance in my direction. “No.”
“Well,” I counter, “it kind of seems like you are.”
His jaw ticks and of course, just like he usually does when he’s stressed, he snatches a cigarette seemingly out of thin air and lights it up with a flick of his lighter. I frown at him.
“You really need to stop smoking.”
His face sours. “I don’t give a shit what you think I need.”
I raise my brows in surprise. “So, you are mad at me, then.”
Percivale barks out a sharp laugh, not even bothering to spare me a glance. “What the fuck do you think, Blossom?” he suddenly snaps. “You’ve fucked up everything. It was supposed to be easy. Keeping you was never supposed to be an option.”
My breath hitches my brows crease. “What is that supposed to mean?”
His lips thin into a grim line. “Forget it. We’re here.”
He pulls the car into a parking lot, and we get out, heading toward a spot that reads The Waffle House. I follow Percivale inside. He seems to know the place well. Or I could just be imagining things. But I don’t think I am. We sit at a random table. It isn’t as secluded as the other ones have been, but it has just enough privacy.
Halfway into our meal, I notice Percivale stiffen. He pauses with a fork halfway to his mouth, and his body goes completely still. I glance up at him from my plate of food, brows furrowed in question.
“Perc—”
A deep, masculine voice cuts me off as it approaches the table. Now I know the cause of what had Percivale stiffening.
“Well, well, well, fancy seeing you here. Little early for the gathering, don’t you think?” the man says, eyes trained on Percivale. His gaze is calculating and alert, much like Perc’s always is.
“I could ask you the same thing,” Percivale grits out.
The man chuckles. The sound rains nails down my back. I clear my throat, hoping to cut through some of this tension that seems to be thickening with each passing second. As if he hadn’t noticed me before, he shifts his gaze to me, his eyes widening for a fraction of a second.
“Look at her—she’s much too sweet to be hanging around the likes of you. I wonder if Arthur knows about the female company you’ve been keeping.”
Percivale’s eyes flash with anger, and he
bares his teeth in a snarl like a wild animal. This makes the man smirk. He shifts his gaze from me to Perc, and his smile widens, like he understands a bigger picture I’ve yet to see.
“I’ll keep you both in my prayers, Percivale. You’re going to need it, especially when he finds out about this one.” He jerks his thumb toward me, then drums his hands on the table, announcing his departure.
Who the hell is this Arthur guy to these men? And why would we need this guy’s prayers?
I risk a glance at Percivale, who looks like he’s seconds away from pulling his gun on the man that is now retreating away from our table. After he leaves, the bell above the door chiming with his departure, I turn toward Perc with raised brows.
“Are you going to explain?”
He doesn’t respond. Instead, he knocks back his coffee, slaps a hundred-dollar bill on the table, and before I realize what’s happening, he has a firm grip on my arm and is dragging me out of the diner toward the car.
Once I’m inside, instead of him climbing into the passenger seat like I expect him to, he walks around the car, and as I glance in the rearview mirror, I can see him on his phone. He brings it to his ear, and I can hear the deep timbre of his voice, but I can’t understand what he’s saying. He’s pacing, his movements stiff. He looks incredibly irritated as he runs a hand through his hair roughly. The pacing slows, and finally he lowers his phone, staring at the screen for a beat before he rounds the rest of the car and slides into the driver’s seat. He takes off without so much as another word.
* * *
*PERCIVALE
I hadn’t expected to run into Niko so soon. Him seeing us at the diner made shit real. He was part of the Cavalieri; he knew Arthur just as well as I did. Knew what he was capable of.
I had to make the call. I couldn’t put it off anymore. Seeing as I was due to meet with Arthur in a few days, I knew this call would be like signing my death certificate, as well as Blossom’s. There was no way around it. I needed more time. More time to figure out the next steps. To appeal to Arthur. To promise the girl wouldn’t be a threat.
The line rings two times before his crisp voice erupts over the line. “Percivale.”
“I have the girl” is all I can manage to say as my mind whirs with ways to get us both out of this. A way to save us both.
“You’ll have to freshen my memory, son.”
I grit my teeth. “Blossom Jaymes.”
“Ah, yes. Our sweet baker. And? What about her?”
“And she’s innocent,” I reply, a little more snidely than I should’ve. The line is quiet. So quiet I almost have the urge to check and see if the call dropped, but I know it didn’t. Arthur makes a contemplative noise before replying.
“That may be true. But just because she’s innocent doesn’t mean she isn’t a threat to my organization.”
My lips curl. “And what if she wasn’t?”
“Wasn’t what exactly, Percivale?”
“A threat. To the organization.”
“That would change things, wouldn’t it?” he says quietly, almost a challenge. “I’d never be able to trust her and give her freedom. She’d have to become our property, work for me at the club. Become one of ours. And still, that’s a big risk, Percivale. Are you willing to risk your life for hers? Because if you’re wrong, and she is a problem for the organization, it’s you who will pay with your life. Is that clear?”
“Crystal.”
The call ends, and I climb into the car, driving to our next stop for the night. My place in New Orleans. It’s risky, especially after the call with Arthur, but it’s our only option. If he decides to send someone to look for us, this is the first place they’ll come, and eventually, when they do, we’ll be ready for them.
His last words weren’t a blessing in disguise. It was a warning. One I know all too well.
When we pull up along St. Charles Avenue and continue driving down into the Uptown area, Blossom’s eyes widen and her mouth drops open as she takes in all the properties. Under normal circumstances, her reaction would be funny, but humor isn’t exactly at the forefront of my mind.
“Whose place is this?” she asks as I turn and pull the car down a long, narrow drive. I bought this property a few years after I started working for Arthur and sitting at the Tabella Della Morte. The way the multitude of oak and willow trees are strategically placed throughout the property makes it hard for anyone along the street to view the home. Privacy is obviously of utmost importance, and this place is private without being too private or arousing any suspicion. It’s my fucking sanctuary.
The long, whimsical branches of the willow trees give way to the front entrance of the property. Lush green grass spans across the entirety of the lawn, leaving the stark white brick house the only pop of color. A cemented stairway leads up to the glass encased around the limestone pillars of the property.
Once the car is hidden in the trees and I’m sure it can’t be seen from the road, I throw it in park and kill the engine. As I climb out, I say, “It’s mine.”
Blossom scrambles out of the car, and her gaze swings to mine over the hood. “You mean you’ve been letting us stay in those crapholes when you had this place”—she jerks her hand toward the old-time Creole structure—“this whole time?”
Her outrage and the incredulity tinging her tone make me laugh. I run a hand over my head and shrug because I have no other explanation. The place is like a fucking fort: top-notch security, bulletproof windows and glass, you name it. But that still doesn’t make it safe enough to bring her here.
It has nothing on Arthur’s place, the Cavalieri headquarters. His place is like Buckingham Palace on crack with a Creole twist. But this place…it’s mine. It’s hidden well and because the property is so old, the tunnels beneath the home that lead into the city make for easy access in and out of the French Quarter. When I first bought it, the Realtor had no clue of the tunnels, but once I found them? I worked on them, made them even better than what they were. Now, they’re hallways that are dimly lit and breathable. Arthur’s place has tunnels just like mine. Though his place is much bigger, so his tunnels lead to different places. There are some that lead into the city, like mine, others that lead down underground to the brothels where he keeps his women. There’s another section deep inside the tunnels where there are dungeons for his prisoners. There’s no way in hell I’m letting Blossom be kept there. Keeping her alive would mean placing her in Arthur’s hands, and I refuse to do that. But any chance I have at keeping her alive meant I had to tell Arthur; if he found out any other way, both of our deaths would be gruesome.
Arthur has a section on the estate that’s used strictly for surveillance throughout the entire city and even beyond. Since he’s a man who thrives off being invisible to others and keeping his face and identity hidden, he uses the surveillance as his eyes and ears. From his underground fighting ring to the Cavalieri Della Morte’s other criminal activity, he watches it all from the safety of his estate, never having to step outside and put himself at risk. Anyone who owes him money, wronged him, or did anything else to warrant being on Arthur’s radar, they’re brought straight to him at the estate to be dealt with, and chances are, they don’t leave. Ever.
The only other time Arthur has showed his face in public is the day he saved me—the day my life changed. After that, I trained with him at his estate, beneath the cold earth. It makes what I’m doing—going against his orders—that much more of a backhanded slap from me. Because he gave me this life and now…now I’m risking it all for a woman I barely know. Weakness isn’t something Arthur can relate to, and before Blossom, the only weakness was my dead family. But I used their deaths to fuel my vengeance and bloodlust, not make me weak like this. I’ve fallen, I’m certain not just from his good graces, but into the depths of hell.
Striding toward the back entrance, I jerk my head over my shoulder, indicating for Blossom to follow and lead the way inside. The beeps sound automatically, but I enter in the code, shutt
ing them down before I drop our stuff off at the door as we file in. I give her a quick tour of the place, showing her around the main rooms. I lead her through the industrial-looking kitchen to the foyer and then up the spiral staircase, skipping the main living rooms downstairs to avoid wasting time. I need a plan. I need to think. I need to do everything I can to keep Blossom alive.
I’ve had the entire floor plan redone to accommodate my needs. And by the widened set of her eyes and gaping mouth, I’d say she notices every bit of the work. What she doesn’t see is the hidden compartments in the walls, along the floors, in almost every nook and cranny of the estate. If there’s anything the death of my father and brothers taught me, it’s to be prepared, and even though he was murdered, he was prepared. For us. That hidden compartment in his office wall saved my life. It’s my turn to save Blossom’s. Though my feelings for her are still conflicting, I know I don’t want her dead. I want Blossom Jaymes very much alive. I want to continue pushing her buttons, peeling her layers, shedding her of that halo over her head while keeping her angelic light intact. I wanted to dive between her legs and make her moan, hear her heart pound in her chest, her lungs work with screams.
Blossom glides her hand along the wrought iron banister of the spiral staircase. She takes her time climbing up and takes even more time glancing around the second-story floor plan. Gripping her hand, I bypass all the rooms in the hall—they aren’t anything she’d need to see anyway—and I pull her inside the master bedroom. Her gasp of awe stirs my dick as she walks into my quarters, but she doesn’t have long to explore. The second she crosses over the threshold, I’m on her. My mouth devours hers, and I don’t wait for her to oblige before my tongue demands entrance. Her moan is full of surprise and fuck me if it doesn’t make my cock harder. Backing her up into the wall, I press her body into the Sheetrock and kiss her like a man starved. My lips trail down from her mouth to her slender neck where I suck and bite on the skin, enjoying the way she groans with pleasure and hisses with pain. Blinded by my lust and need to be inside of this woman, I yank her top down, exposing her bra and tits, and take her rosy nipples into my mouth.
