Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 151410 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 757(@200wpm)___ 606(@250wpm)___ 505(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151410 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 757(@200wpm)___ 606(@250wpm)___ 505(@300wpm)
Phew.
He stared at me panicky, his mouth ajar.
“Run.”
He staggered back, almost stumbled over the ladder, before he dropped it and fled. I shook my head. Next time, I’d pick decent victims. These motherfuckers were so pitiful. Where was the challenge?
“What are you doing?” Massimo called up from below, dark brows drooping in disapproval.
“Trying to have some fun.”
“Don’t let him escape. There are booby traps down here. He could ignite them from afar.”
I sighed but sprinted after the guy. Within a minute, I had caught up with him. No fucking challenge. I kicked him to the ground and dragged his dizzy ass back to the meth hut. By now, Alessio and Massimo waited in front of the house with the two other assholes at their feet.
“We’ll torture them here. I don’t want their diseased corpses in my car,” I said.
Two hours later, I got my predicted outcome. Cutting them up was hardly any fun. And on Massimo’s insistence, we’d covered up with protective suits.
When we were done, I perched on the truck bed and smoked my usual after-torture cigarette. It didn’t have the intended effect. I still felt restless.
“Don’t mope around,” Massimo said.
I glowered. “This was a mess. I’m not a fucking crime scene cleaner.” I motioned at the blood-covered protective suit I’d tossed to the ground.
“Let’s go grab some tacos. I’m starving,” Alessio said.
I threw the cigarette on the ground and stomped it out. “I don’t know about you, but the only thing I’m hungry for is a decent kill. You can bury your faces in guacamole if you want, but I’m going to find another motherfucker to kill.”
Alessio and Massimo exchanged an exasperated look.
“You need to learn when it’s enough,” Massimo said, sounding like our fathers.
“Not in this lifetime. I want blood, and I’ll get it. You can come along, or I’ll drop you off at Taco Bell. I don’t fucking care.”
I climbed into the car. I knew where I was going. I’d had a backup kill on tonight’s list anyway because I’d anticipated this miserable kill-fest.
I put the address into the GPS while Massimo and Alessio argued. When they got into the car, I knew they’d come along.
“We’ll join you,” Massimo clipped.
Alessio looked pissed.
“It’ll be fun. He’s a former prize boxer turned attorney causing trouble for the Camorra.”
“We’re not in it for the fun but because Massimo wants to keep you in check. We’re your babysitters.”
I grinned. “Good luck.”
The night had been rough—rougher than usual. Our victim had escaped because I had a sick penchant for hunting and had allowed him to run. We almost hadn’t found him.
Massimo sent me a disapproving look. Even with sunglasses covering his eyes, I knew that was what it was from the downward tilt of his mouth and even sharper contours of his cheeks. He was royally pissed at me. He would never risk one of our targets getting away. Not because the police would arrest us—our fathers would get us out immediately—but because our parents weren’t fond of our nightly adventures. Especially if the victims weren’t pre-approved.
When Dad had caught us last time, he’d threatened to split Alessio, Massimo, and me apart and send us to work for Underbosses in different states.
The hunt had been fun, though, even if it took until the early morning hours.
“You know she’s checking you out again?” Alessio said in a bored tone. Like Massimo, he was stretched out on the lounge chair beside mine, with dark glasses over his eyes.
“Who?”
“Aurora.”
I glanced over my shoulder at the spot where Carlotta and Aurora tanned on sun lounger at the other end of the pool. Aurora was indeed looking my way, a glass clutched in one hand, but she quickly jerked her head around, then casually looked back and gave me a forced smile. She didn’t notice her glass tipping over and spilling its ice-cold contents all over her front. She let out a shocked scream and dropped the glass—luckily unbreakable thanks to Kiara’s overprotective nature—on the ground, so it spilled its remaining contents everywhere. Her drink had been red—probably some awfully sweet fruit concoction—and left red splatters all over her white bikini. It was the first time I saw her in a bikini. Up until this point, she’d worn bathing suits or swim trunks and tank tops.
Of course, it would go this way.
Aurora jumped up from her sun lounger, probably to clean up. Her breasts bounced up and down in the triangle bikini top. She filled it out nicely, and the red juice trailing down the valley between her breasts reminded me of blood, which made the sight even more appealing. I dragged my eyes away before my thoughts got carried away. I’d spilled blood last night, and Rory was off-limits.
“It looks as if you got a visit from Aunt Flo,” her younger brother Davide cackled, pointing at her ass. The back of her bikini bottom was indeed red in a very compromising way.