Sleep wasn’t going to happen tonight, so Azriel didn’t even bother trying. Everything about his own behavior puzzled him. Twice more he’d taken Michelene until she was sobbing. Then he fed her, and then fucked her again. As she slept peacefully in his bed, he had to get up. That woke her up, he guessed, though she made no move to let him know. So he said nothing. And he didn’t go back to the bed. There was no lying next to the woman and not wanting to fuck her. So he sat in a chair across the room watching her watch him. There was no way she wasn’t exhausted, yet she wasn’t any closer to sleep than he was.
Maybe despite finding obvious pleasure in his arms, she was afraid of him. That would be wise. He was not an easy man. Hell, he was barely a man at all. He was a machine of death. That was what he lived for; it was all he did. But he seriously doubted that bothered her at all. And she did know who he was. He’d seen the recognition in her eyes. And why wouldn’t she? The life she lived before her barren existence downtown would’ve have given her knowledge far beyond that of the average person. There were so many questions about Michelene Brown-Cadeau, but it galled the shit out of him to have to ask them. People volunteered information to him—not that it would stop him from killing them. By the time he was hired, it was too late for the mark. But her? His Michelene gave him nothing.
Damn it, he was going to have to ask.
“I’ve heard of your family,” he finally said, really unsure how one went about interrogating their lover.
“Most people in your line of work have.” Smooth reply. Still gave him jack shit by way of answers to the puzzle of how she ended up hiding from her family.
“I like killing.” That wasn’t going for the shock factor so much as it was the absolute truth. He’d just never said the words out loud before.
“You can just ask me what you want to know,” she replied, rolling onto her back. The wall of windows let in more than enough light to make out that body sprawled on his bed. So fucking gorgeous. Hills and valleys, plump in all the right places; she was a fucking goddess. His cock started to jump. He’d just fucked her no less than four times and he still wanted her.
“Your father was Pierre Cadeau from Haiti—ran women and drugs until his death. Then your mother May Brown took over and combined it with her family business, adding slave trading to the mix just because she’s a sadistic bitch like that.” Azriel knew calling her mother a sadistic bitch was a bit much perhaps, but that was exactly what the woman was. “Your mother never remarried but has had a string of lovers, usually her bodyguards. You have a brother, Pierre Jr., who is a year and a half older than you. He can’t stand your mother but is her second in command anyway. Did I about cover it?”
He didn’t mention how he knew because it didn’t really matter. He’d expected her to be
…
something. Shocked? Impressed? Maybe both. Just not neither.
“My brother goes by Pierre,” she stated calmly. “Don’t ever call him Junior.”
That was it.
Maybe she thought he would be intimidated by her family. The very idea that he would be intimidated by anyone at all was offensive, but they
had
just officially met. Funny how it kind of felt like they had been dating forever, but just finally had the chance now to consummate their relationship.
With a heavy sigh she sat up. To her credit, she didn’t try to cover her nakedness with a sheet like he hadn’t just screwed her silly.
“I know my brother is probably looking for me, as well as a few other people.” She spoke softly, as though she felt bad about something. “I think he has to punish me for what I did. He doesn’t really have a choice. Not to exact retribution would make him look weak. I just don’t think he has looked very hard for me. I would like to think a part of him doesn’t want to ever find me.”
Punished? Retribution? He hadn’t heard anything like that. Only that the spoiled daughter of Madam Brown ran away from an arranged marriage. Things like that were big in the underworld. Why did she believe only her brother was looking for her and not her mother? Moreover, why the hell would she voluntarily hide in the slums? If her brother and her mother were at odds, couldn’t she have just gone to him to get out of a marriage she didn’t want? Azriel was damn glad she had run away, but nothing about Michelene made rational sense.
“Yes,” he answered carefully. “Your brother is looking for you. As is your mother. But I guess for different reasons. I can understand that.” Only he really didn’t. Rumors were always rife among the criminal classes, so he had never paid close attention. Before today the missing daughter of a flesh peddler meant nothing to him. “Whatever the reasons are
…
”
There was something about her that wasn’t quite right. One second she was fine, the next she was staring at him, eyes wide, her mouth slightly open, looking very much afraid. No, she was terrified. He didn’t think she was even breathing. What the fuck?
In seconds he was by her side, the instinct to protect so strong he wanted to kill someone. He just had no idea who he should kill.
“No one will touch you.” Not ever. Even after death he would protect his woman with the sheer force of his motherfucking will. “Tell me what scares you and I
will
eliminate it, no matter what it is.” What the hell had he said to scare the shit out her? He couldn’t recall anything she didn’t know already.
Plucking her up, he sat her on his lap, cradling her in his arms like a baby. How natural it felt to hold her like this. Generally, Azriel couldn’t stand any touch that wasn’t necessary to achieve a goal. Getting close to a mark, sex, or his parents were the only time he could recall experiencing a voluintary touch. It wasn’t something he encouraged. But this—this just felt right. Great, now he was getting redundant in his own damn head.
“I thought I killed her.” It was nothing more than a broken whisper. Just a wisp of air carrying the faintest amount of sound. “I meant to kill her. God, I wanted her dead so bad. I slit her throat and ran. I didn’t stop; I just took off. There was so much blood I thought she had to be dead. How could she still be alive?”
Azriel said nothing. Confessions—any kind, really—couldn’t be coerced no matter what the movies and popular fiction led one to believe. If you tortured some helpless sap, they blurted out whatever the hell they thought you wanted to hear. If you tried to coax it out of someone with sweet talk and bullshit, you would get a load of bullshit in return. This wasn’t war; they weren’t dealing with soldiers. Criminals lied; the families of criminals lied even better. Truth was often subjective in this life they led. True confessions? They came from the gut, an overwhelming need to purge, and there was no way of guessing the trigger. It could be apple pie for some.
What Azriel needed from Michelene now was a true confession, because he needed to know what he was dealing with. There would be no letting her go, not even back into the bosom of her family. He didn’t fucking share—he could give a shit if they were talking about her mother or brother—she belonged to him now. Her family had quite obviously failed in protecting her, otherwise she wouldn'tbe here now. Whatever scared her would be dealt with. Then she could call her family members or some shit. Maybe once a month visitation. Supervised.
In any event, he just held her, silently willing her to keep talking. Eventually she did.
“She was never much of a mother, I guess.” Thank the fucking cosmos her voice had gotten stronger. The pain that had been there before, the hopelessness ripped at his gut. He didn’t want to tolerate her pain; he wanted it dead. “Most of the time she left Pierre and me with whoever was available. When my father was alive it was always him, even though she knew what he was like. Who he was.”
Son of a bitch
. Sucker punched didn’t even begin to explain how he felt. It was too bad the son of a bitch was dead. But he could still kill her mother. “Then my father was dead, and we got a real nanny of sorts. And I grew up. My mother noticed. There are a lot of men she dealt with who—”
“Stop.” Fuck, he couldn’t take it. He’d thought he could, but shit. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before, but he’d never heard it from her. The pain all bottled up inside this woman was killing him. He needed to brace himself, then help her deal with it. But fuck, he had to deal with it his damn self. “She’s dead.” And he would kill that bitch unfit to be called a mother. It was as good as done.
Just because he didn’t understand maternal love didn’t mean he didn’t know what it was supposed to look like. It was
not
like this.
“No, she is mine. I will finish what I started.” Okay, that shocked him. It was the last thing he’d expected her to say. “Only I won’t fail this time.”
“No, baby, you won’t,” he promised holding her tighter. Because he would be right there by her side to make damn sure that bitch was dead.
***
They weren’t here. It had taken him all day to find which damn beach house belongd to Seth. Then he’d had to find the perfect hiding spot in a place far too exposed for his tastes. He should’ve brought along a weapon—a gun, knife, something. But that hardly mattered because they weren’t fucking here! Where had that animal taken his angel? What the hell was he doing to her right now? He had to find her! She was his! His only hope.
Head throbbing, he had to slow the rising tide of his rage. When his anger got the best of him he couldn’t think clearly. This was not over. Sooner or later, Seth would be found. He would turn over every rock until he discovered where the filthy bastard had taken Michelene. She was his! She was the promise of a normal life.
Resources. He had resources, and it was high time he used them. His family sneered at him because of the way he was. All he had to do was explain that part of his life was behind him now. All he needed to be well was Michelene. Yes, his family would surely help if it meant he would no longer be an embarrassment. And he knew exactly who to call.
“What exactly did you tell that fucked-up little freak who was here last week?”
Munoz wasn’t the smartest of the young and dumb to grace Pierre’s mother’s bed, but the man was ambitious. That ambition had become his downfall. Pierre had always made a habit of disposing of ambitious men who graced his mother’s bed. They tended to get delusions of grandeur. The Brown-Cadeau family was his. And so he would get rid of the filth his mother had brought into the the family business and get back to good old crime. It would be so much easier to buy into the legitimate world of power. No more slave trafficking, no underage hookers—hell, no hookers at all. And no more fucking drugs. All these motherfuckers who came from narco states were disgusting to him. There was no loyalty, no honor. Yeah, Pierre wasn’t a choirboy. But he had fucking ethics.
But Munoz—this little bitch boy had crossed the line. Selling out his sister to a psycho? Oh, hell, no, this bitch was going to pay.
“I didn’t tell—” Before the lying could even start, Pierre punched him low in the gut, the grabbed him around the throat. He didn’t squeeze too hard, just enough to hurt.
Like most of his mother’s lovers, Munoz had listened to the bullshit his mother spouted about him. They never suspected that underneath the charm and fancy suit, Pierre didn’t give a shit about much. He’d rather kill a man than listen to his crap. They thought him soft, thought he was afraid to get his hands dirty. Nothing could be further from the truth; he just knew how to pick his battles. He watched, waited, listened. Sooner or later a fool would show his hand. And if the opponent wasn’t a fool, well, then he would know how to proceed.
This man was a fool. Worse, he was a threat to Pierre’s only real family. His sister.
“I’m not in the mood to play.” Pierre tsked softly. “Do you really want to test me? Do you think May will miss you? Have you ever wondered what happened to the ones that came before you? You think you’re better? Smarter? You damn sure aren’t prettier.”
The fucker really did believe himself to be smarter. Maybe even prettier. Pierre could see it in the flash of anger in Munoz’s eyes. Oh, but the bastard was going to pay for that. Pierre had planned on giving him a quick death. That plan flew straight out the window. Motherfuckers were really going to have to learn not to piss him off.
Releasing Munoz, Pierre signalled for the men waiting quietly behind the idiot. Men Munoz had believed to be his friends. Men who had always been loyal to Pierre.
“This must be your lucky day.” Pierre smiled. It was far from his lucky day. It was going to be the worst. Finally Munoz understood what kind of shit creek he had managed to float up. The man started to sweat profusely, his eyes darting around the room looking for any kind of help. Help that was nowhere to be seen. “I’ve decided to allow you to continue breathing
…
for now.
It was a lie. Pierre was going to kill him. But he was going to make him bleed first.
Giving Munoz his back, he retrieved his machete from a nearby table. The blade gleamed wickedly as it caught the sunlight. Pierre always kept his favorite weapon close at hand. Watching out of the corner of his eye, he saw Munoz begin to shake as Pierre picked up the machete, saw him shake harder when Pierre nicked his own finger so that a single fat drop of blood welled up on the fingertip. Yeah, the blade was hella sharp. Pierre babied it, polishing and sharpening constantly.
Eyes bulging, Munoz began to sputter out everything, as Pierre had known he would. For one thing, Munoz had no idea why Pierre was really pissed off enough to end him.
“I told him where Azriel Seth’s beach house was!” Munoz cried. “And I told him to make sure to take Michelene somewhere far away so she could never return.” And that was the mistake. But Pierre said nothing, allowing him to continue. “Isn’t that what you want?” No, that was far from what he wanted, still Pierre said nothing. “Your mother wants her to follow in her footsteps! She wants to give the business over to her just because she managed to hook up with Seth.”
That’s because their mother was no fool. Azriel Seth was an independent contractor. The best in the business. If he had gotten with Michelene for more than a night, the rumors alone would be a coup for the family.
As tempting as it was to separate the man’s head from his body, Pierre managed to stay his hand. Barely. He already knew what Munoz had told the sniveling little worm who’d somehow managed to find his sister when no one else had been able to. That wasn’t the information he was after. But damn, it was infuriating to hear out of this snake’s mouth what everyone assumed. Pierre didn’t hate his sister, no matter their mother’s plans. Quite the opposite. There was no one he loved more in the world, but he felt an enormous amount of guilt for never being there when she really needed him. Now he just wanted to make sure she was safe. If it were true Seth had taken a liking to her, then she was in the safest hands she could possibly be in. But he needed to let her know he was here for her now. He would be here for her until the end of time. He only wished she’d succeeded in killing their mother.
“And how would you know the location of Azriel Seth’s beach house?” Pierre asked mildly, though the tip of his machete ran across Munoz’s cheeks. Blood appeared immediately, dripping down his face in a parody of the very real tears that also ran down the man’s face. God, he wanted to kill him. But that was secondary to the main objective. He needed only to find his sister before his mother or the crow man that had come sniffing around.
When Munoz failed to speak to his satisfaction, babbling about how loyal he was to the family, Pierre really did lose patience.
“Put him on his knees,” he told the men holding Munoz. As soon as they did, he ran the blade over Munoz’s shirt. The material fell to the sides without so much of a whisper. Then he ran the blade in an X pattern across the chest. Deeper than the cuts on his cheeks, but not enough to inflict serious damage. “I am not a patient man.” Another cut across the abdomen made him scream. “And I do so enjoy carving
…
things. It calms me.
”
“M-my cousin! Rico—Rico Cruz!” Munoz screeched out. He began to babble as much as he bled. “Rico was pissed because Seth refused a contract—”
“So?”Pierre was puzzled enough to stop and listen. Seth was known for turning down contracts, mostly without explanation. It was all part of the man’s mystique. The other part of his legend was that he never failed to make a hit. Ever.
“The contract was on someone
…
someone in this family. But I don
’
t know who I swear. I am just supposed to give my cousin information.
”
That was a lie. Why did they always try to lie near the end? It never saved their worthless lives.
“
Rico, he is really mad about not getting your sister
…
”
“Not getting my who?” No. There was no way Pierre had heard that right.
“Michelene. Your mother, she sold her to Rico—”
The words were cut off as Pierre cleaved Munoz’s head from his neck. Really he hadn’t meant to so soon. He had wanted to play with the man for a while. But his words were
…
His mother had tried to sell Michelene? Before now he’d had no idea why his sister had tried to slice May’s neck open. Now that he knew, he wanted to kill the bitch himself. But this death wasn’t his to give. One thing was for damn sure, after all the things his little sister had gone through in her life, she deserved ultimate retribution. And Pierre would move heaven and earth to make sure she got it. Madam May Brown was a dead woman; she just didn’t know it yet.
***
Two weeks! That filthy animal’d had his precious Michelene for two whole weeks! Why hadn’t Seth brought her back to the beach house? No one knew where any of his other places were. Rico had sworn to him this was the place Seth was most likely to be found when he wasn’t on a job. Where the hell could he be?
Head pounding mercilessly, he paced the hot, dry sand, trying to put his thoughts in coherent order. How could he find her? God, what was that vile man doing to his angel? Surely by now Seth had touched her, caressed her soft skin, seen her without clothes, kissed those full supple lips—
No, no, no, no! He couldn’t allow himself to think about those things. It didn’t matter anyway. He’d cleanse her, just like he used to. Purge her of the evil inside so she could be pure again, those sparkling brown eyes shining with unshed tears as she felt the forgiveness he had given her, felt the love. Then, then she could be his. His long-dormant cock stirred remembering how she’d looked at him, how she looked as she trudged to and from work, living a life of repentance. Her soul was pure; it always had been.
The apartment! He would start there. Sooner or later she would come back for her things, especially the box under her bed where she treasured his gifts. She loved him, only him. She knew only he could offer her a life lived in the light. Besides, once he was there he could scour the city for any trace the hitman had left. There were always traces. Men were never as clever as they thought themselves to be. He was superior. He had intellect where Seth only had weapons.
They hadn’t left the state; he knew that because Rico was monitoring that. All he needed to do was stay calm, and he could find them—he could find her. Then everything would be okay. She could save him, and he would save her.