Page 39 of Liberated By Sin
“Bullshit, Santino. If that were true, you would have followed Cambri the night she left with that bastard—the night he almost killed her.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Yeah, Cambri doesn’t have the fucking flu. She’s in the hospital recovering from a concussion and multiple fractures, courtesy of Tarasov.”
Her words reeled in my gut, not because I felt guilt over what had happened to her friend, but because I felt like I’d somehow failed her, and she’d hold that over my head and perceive it as a weakness.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“What difference would it have made?”
Amara was right. I wouldn’t have lifted a single finger to avenge Cambri. But I would have torn Tarasov’s head from his body before he stepped foot inside my club and set his sights on her.
“Is that why you did what you did? Was it your goal to kill Tarasov tonight?”
Her narrowed eyes cut into me, hands clutching the hem of her skirt as she seemed to debate answering my question.
“He deserved it.”
“Agreed. But one doesn’t kill a man on a whim, Amara. Not in the way you did. That takes training, sharp instincts and reflexes—and a stomach made of steel to empty a mag into another human’s face.”
She looked away as I pulled into traffic.
“So I ask you again—who are you?”
“A woman with a lot of demons. And I don’t kill men on a whim,Santino. I kill them because I like it. Men like Tarasov deserve to die like dogs.”
She hadn’t given me a moment to process when the barrel of her gun was pressed to my head.
Again.
“You missed the exit. Turn around and take me to my car.” Her voice was tight.
“I’m not going to worry about whether or not you make it home.”
“I never asked you to drive me home. And how am I not surprised you know where I live?”
I released a slight chuckle. “I hate to disappoint you, but your address is on file, too. Although that’s not where we’re going.”
“Do you have a death wish, Mr. Leone?”
“Not particularly.”
She shoved the weapon with more force, asserting the threat. “Turn. Around.”
“Have you seen yourself? You look like you’ve slaughtered a man—or three. You’re willing to risk someone seeing you the moment you step foot inside your apartment complex?”
“I’m insulted you think it’s my first time.”
That earned a laugh. “Maybe not. But something tells me you’re not usually this—messy.”
“You really are fucking crazy, aren’t you? I have a gun to your head. I tell you that I enjoy watching men bleed; you saw what happened back there, and yet you still insist on helping me.”
“I’minsulted you think I’m fazed by murder. I’m a Leone,preziosa.”
“Is that supposed to mean something to me? And stop with the damn pet name.”
Squeezing the steering wheel, I leaned my head back and whistled out a breath. “If you trust that I won’t out you to the cops about what happened to Tarasov and his men, then you can trust that you’re safe with me.”