Page 63 of King of War

“Ten thousand,” he sniffs.

I almost smash his skull open with the wood but restrain myself. That would be far too easy. “Ten thousand bucks to ruin her life and get your brother killed?”

I can barely hear anything for all the goddamn fucking crying. God, he needs to shut the fuck up now. “Rayne told me you stuffed her panties into her mouth to keep her quiet,” I say, grabbing a serrated blade from my bag. I yank down his dirty sweatpants and his screams grow louder. “So I think you deserve some similar treatment, don’t you?”

I cut off his cock with one smooth slice of the blade, and while he’s screaming in agony, I stuff it into his open mouth, finally muffling his goddamn crying. He almost chokes on the flaccid flesh. “Could be worse, Ethan. At least it’s tiny.”

I take the rest of my tools from my bag, making sure he gets a good look at each of them as I do. Predictably, the useless motherfucker passes out, and I administer the first shot of adrenaline.

It works like a charm. Now he’s all wide-eyed and alert again. Exactly how I want him. “Do you have any idea how much I love her? How much it fucking hurts me to imagine her in pain? The kind of rage I feel when I think about what I did? The years I lost with her?”

He stares at me, his mouth still stuffed with his own cock.

“I don’t think you have any idea what love feels like, but if you can think about the worst pain you’ve ever felt in your life, then multiply it by infinity, you might have an idea of how much it kills me to see her hurt. And that might give you some small indication of how much I’m about to make you suffer.”

Three hours later I walk out of Ethan’s flat, covered in his blood and shards of bone matter. I have tortured men before—for information, for revenge, to send a message. But never like that. I’m good enough at what I do that I can get what needs to be done quickly, and with minimal mess. But not tonight. Tonight I did things that I never imagined I was even capable of. Every time my conscience told me he might have taken enough, when his entrails were hanging out and his eyes were all he could plead for mercy with, I remembered what he did to her, and it filled me with a fresh anger that I could only take out on him.

I left the two-by-four inside him. I’d have taken a picture to show Rayne if I’d thought it would have brought her any comfort, but I know it wouldn’t. She’s not made that way.

I pick some of his soft tissue off the back of my glove, flick it onto the ground. Then I climb into my car and head to Frenchy’s, where Luca’s waiting for me with a clean set of clothes and some industrial strength cleaner. I suspect no amount of scrubbing will get his stench off me, but I refuse go home to her smelling anything like him. There’s already a clean-up team on the way to dispose of his body, scrub his flat with bleach, and do whatever else they need to do.

By tomorrow, no trace of Ethan Fiorelli will exist. Apart from the trail of destruction he left behind in our lives.

Chapter

Thirty-One

ENZO

Pretty sure I’m hearing music, and very loud mediocre, bordering on terrible, singing when I step out of the elevator into my penthouse. I follow the sound—“Style” by Taylor Swift if I’m not mistaken—which, of course, I only know because it used to be one of Rayne’s favorite songs. She would dance around our apartment to it at least once a day.

I find them in the den, her and Rafael, each with a microphone in hand, standing in front of the huge TV and belting out the lyrics. Not wanting to disturb them, I lean against the doorjamb and watch. Well, I watch her. Her ponytail swishing from side to side. The wide smile on her face every time she tips her head back. She jumps up and down, spinning in the air, and then catches me looking.

She laughs, beckons me inside. Transfixed, I flop onto the sofa and stare at her. I see the carefree girl she once was before Ethan hurt her. I see the strong courageous woman she’s become, and between the cracks of her smile and the lyrics of a pop song she loves, the girl I broke. Absentmindedly, I run the pad of my thumb over the broken skin of my knuckles, feeling a million miles away from the man I was an hour ago. She does that. Transports me to a better place, where I’m a better a man. The kind she deserves. Her and Raf dance and sing, and then her hazel eyes meet mine and stay there as she sings the lyrics. Like she’s singing them to me. I’m mesmerized by her. My girl. The one person I should have protected at all costs and the one I so horribly failed.

She dances closer, still singing, laughing, pulling me out of the darkness and into her light. Raising her free arm in the air, her tank top rides up, exposing the tan skin of her hip and that little daisy tattoo she got when she was eighteen. I held her hand the whole time and she giggled with delight when she saw the finished design. Christ, she’s so damn beautiful.

My body responds to her the only way it knows how. My dick aches for her, hardening in my pants with every second she’s in my orbit. Every part of me needs every part of her.

The song ends.

The tension lingers.

Her eyes stay locked on mine, daring me to do what we both need. I’m off the couch before she can change her mind, taking her in my arms, I lift her, wrapping her legs around my waist.

“See yourself out, Raf.”

He grumbles something about ruining karaoke night, but I’m focused on nothing but Rayne. Her arms snake around my neck. Her breath, laced with a hint of vodka, warms my face. The scent of her skin has my mouth watering. My need for her feels infinite and unquenchable, but I’m sure as fuck going to try and sate it. I press my lips against hers, and she parts them on a gasp, allowing me to slide my tongue inside. And now she is the air responsible for my breath, the oxygen in my blood, the only reason I exist. She tastes of cherries and vodka and redemption. She tastes like she belongs to me. I kiss her like I’ll die if I don’t, because I think I might.

I carry her through to my bedroom and lay her down on the bed, not breaking our kiss until she’s lying beneath me. She pants, her eyes shining, the amber flecks flickering like flames. I run my nose over her throat, drinking her in and savoring every single moment that I don’t deserve.

“Enzo,” she whines, rubbing herself against me.

Quickly, I pull off her jeans. Then taking her hands, I pin them above her head. “Baby, I know that I owe you a million apologies, but right now, I don’t want to fuck anything up with words.”

She wriggles one hand free and tangles her fingers in the hair at the nape of my neck, legs still wrapped snugly around me so that my aching dick is pressed right against the heat of her pussy. “So, stop talking.”

That’s an order I have no problem following. “Yes, ma’am.”