Page 198 of Safe Word

His weight shifted backwards as he took a shallow breath, then flicked the black cigarette from his fingers like it didn’t matter. Mistake. His DNA was all over it. But I let him have that little comfort.

Because he had just made the only right choice left to him: he turned and melted into the crowd.

I exhaled slowly, the hunger curling in my gut.

I would hunt him.

I would break him.

When I was done, there wouldn’t be an inch of him left unscarred.

THIRTY-FIVE

One moment I was burning with vengeance, the next, Paula was pointing directions to her uncle’s place. Vinnie wasn’t answering the phone, so I had no choice. We could have gone to a hotel, but a little voice in my head was telling me this had been the safer choice.

Half an hour later, I was sitting in Paula’s uncle’s living room, sinking into a horridly soft sofa that felt as if it were trying to eat me. I was built for steel, wood or leather – anything but this marshmallow death trap.

A tiny, rat-looking Pomeranian sat at my feet, gazing up at me adoringly.

It was unsettling. Every time I moved, the damn thing inched closer, as though planning the best way to ambush me.

Across from me, her uncle sat with his arms crossed, radiating prison-yard energy, his stare unblinking.

Instead of a cop, he rather looked like a man who knew a good place to bury a body. Or twelve. His skin was weathered, darkened by years of sun and salt air, his forearms covered in faded tattoos that looked earned, not decorative.

And those were not desk-job hands.

I locked eyes with him.

He locked eyes with me.

And the silent, gladiator-level battle of dominance went on.

Her brother was supposedly here, but was nowhere to be seen. And I had a few questions for him, too.

In the background, the house buzzed with the sound of women talking over each other in a blend of Italian and English, fussing over Paula’s bruises. Their voices overlapped like some chaotic symphony that grated at my nerves, but my focus stayed locked on the ex-con-lookalike in front of me.

Because, and I made no mistake, he might’ve been a cop, but he was definitely on both sides of the law.

I wasn’t intimidated. I didn’t do intimidated.

But I was in a bad fucking mood.

Firstly, Paula had clearly lied to me. Lied straight to my face about her family, their background. And that meant I had to teach her a lesson in trust.

Secondly, my fucking bed was a smoking crater, and I had nowhere to sleep tonight. Or any other night. The real-estate was a fucking circus, which meant I wasn’t going to find something I liked any time soon. And I was fucking picky.

And thirdly, that motherfucker was still out there – walking, breathing, unbroken and unflayed.

I flexed my fingers against my biceps, resisting the urge to grip the knife strapped to my shin and growl like a fucking animal.

The uncle finally spoke in a rough voice that was clearly used to barking orders in places where orders meant life or death. ‘Can you fight?’

I blinked.

‘Yep,’ I said flatly, arms still crossed, returning his stare with all the warmth of a loaded gun.

He narrowed his eyes, assessing. ‘Can you fight well?’