NEFARIOUS: B723 SERIES BOOK THREE, page 38
I’ve already asked enough of him since I’ve known him. He forgave me, and that’s really all I deserve.
Anything else is just him being kind.
“I wanna hear you say it,” he gravely presses, his thumb grazing my cheek. His eyes never leave mine, spying into my soul with the amount of focus he’s putting in. “Tell me you won’t hate my fucking guts if I take them out.”
The strings to my heart tear for him. The anguish and pleading for me to understand sits front and center in my head.
He needs this.
And I’m standing in the way. So, what does this make me? Because honestly, my sisters and mother have it coming.
Mills very faintly squeezes my face, soliciting an answer that’s lodged in my throat. There’s only one thing that I know now that doesn’t have a problem running from my lips.
“I’m not going to hate you,” I recite softly and honestly. “I don’t think I could.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.” His frown doesn’t fit him. It’s unnatural because, before me, I think he laughed a lot more. I believe he was more than all this.
“I’ll survive.”
“Will you?” There’s no condescending tone to his voice, for he sounds genuinely worried for my sake.
And he doesn’t need to be.
Laurent will never be threatened again. Dad will have to get over it. I know he’ll grieve the loss of whatever Mills decides to do, and I can’t bring myself to want to save them anymore.
Not after this.
And they’d never do it for me.
I bob my head in response, and Mills then leans down to press a tender kiss to the top of my head. I selfishly want more.
“You didn’t need to make the trip.” He pulls back to look back down at me again and drops his hand from my face to my dismay. “You should be out celebrating, Rus, not driving around.”
His words aren’t meant to be cruel, but they hurt anyway. I know I’m invisible in his eyes, maybe just something to pass the time with, be with during this challenging time, but I’m stupid enough to desire more.
“I was worried,” I counter. “And it wasn’t that long. I know I should’ve said something, but I thought the worse when you didn’t answer my texts. I called up the hospitals, but I didn’t know your mom’s first name. Odette didn’t mention your grandmother, but I saw pictures.”
Mills tenses and averts his attention from me. Overlooking my head, I can see him swallow and feel the wheels in his head turning a mile a minute.
“Your grandma is going to heal alright?” He nods but doesn’t offer anymore. “Is there anything I can do?”
“No, Rus, everything is fine here.”
I take that as my cue. He’s upset and my being here is a reminder. I’m sure he needs sleep and get things settled in here, so I should take off back to the penthouse and order some food.
“I’m going to head out,” I tell him. “I’m sure you have a lot of things you need to do for—“
“You’re not driving back,” he claps back through a twist of his features. “It’s late.”
“It can’t be past eight, Mills.” ‘
“So?”
I scoff-laugh. “I don’t have a curfew.”
“And I’m not there with you for one of your crazy sisters to fuck with you,” he chides. “I’m not dealing with you too.”
“They’re not going to kill me.” His palm finds my hips, and he squeezes, breaking my skin out in goosebumps and my body leaning into his.
“Think I’m gonna chance that?”
I shake my head, but I still say, “You can’t babysit me against everything. You have your family that needs you.”
“And I have that covered. You think your sisters hold a chance with what I have in that house?” I shake my head. “You’ll stay with me tonight, ‘kay?”
“I couldn’t.” I back away because I don’t know his family, and staying in their home is not only uncomfortable but inappropriate.
Mills chuckles before bending over closer. “I won’t fuck you under my mother’s roof if that makes you nervous.”
“Will you be sleeping on the couch?” I blush through my question, and he smiles. A natural and cocky lift of his lips that I’m sure happened more times than now.
“That’s cute.”
I inwardly growl in my head because I seem to lose all sense and manners whenever he's near me. I’m like a wanton woman with zero fucks given on what’s proper.
“I really can make it home. I’m not tired.”
“I am. And I really want you with me, Rus.” His hand slowly rounds the curve of my waist and dips dangerously low to my ass. “It’s been a traumatic day for me. I could use the comfort. You’re not going to deny me, are you?” He heaves on his brows, challenging me to hammer in that he doesn’t need me.
Fuck.
“No,” I finally reply as my cheek flush my least favorite color. “You win.”
“I always do.” He dips his head low and brushes my lips with his, sending a chill of raw need coursing through my body. “Congratulations on your dress, baby. I’m proud of you.”
The boys were surprised that Amirah was staying but, like always, when there’s a problem, they’re on high alert.
I know Rus didn’t bring her sisters along with her and, even if she did, I’d wish them all good luck in the world. My brothers are starving for blood and a good time, their fingers itching to slice through skin and hear the cries of the sinful. I wouldn’t want to be those three chicks in a million years with everything I know they can do.
Amirah refused to get out of her clothes when I offered her the full-sized bed that I used to sleep in as a kid. Nothing has ever filled it out like Amirah with her tight jeans and the pink Gucci shirt she’s wearing that teases the waist of her pants.
I hate to think back about the girls I’ve had in this bed. Teenaged blondes and brunettes that wanted me to make the first move. Who liked to shove their tongues down my throat and fondled my cock with zero to limited experience.
Back in those days, shit didn’t matter. A girl playing with your dick and letting you fondling her tits got your ego stroked. However, nothing calls out like the woman who didn’t fidget on my bed but moved over against the wall and left room for me.
Mind you, her back is flush against the damn thing, but she’s not going to wait for me to give her direct orders on what to do either.
Shredding my shirt, I hear Amirah make a small noise, and I fidget with something on my dresser to hide the smirk.
Yeah, we’re fighting this.
We both know what it is.
I’ve casually dated before, but I’ve never brought anyone home in my adult life or to B723. I think I ran into Bishop once at a diner on a date, but he didn’t even acknowledge her existence and, truthfully, now that I think about it, I didn’t give him shit over it either.
I let his broody stare fly earlier with Amirah because he needs to warm up to the idea even though he told me to date her. After his dark past, I get it, and I’m not going to bitch about it. I’m still on the fence about where this is even going to go to even put any energy into it.
Marty, on the other hand, is testing her, and she’ll pass. Her snapping back at him would only be the start.
Regardless though, does it matter?
No matter how I feel about the topic or don’t feel, this is some made-up soap opera bullshit that I didn’t and don’t want to star in. Except I’d play in every scene with Amirah’s lips, pussy, ass, and tongue are involved. So I guess I’d take the role if it was offered up even though I know the consequences of afterward.
“I’m not a bed hogger, Rus,” I state as I step to the side and peer down at her looking up at my ceiling. “You don’t have to become best friends with my blue paint tonight.”
“I’ll settle in,” she replies, hugging her middle like she’s wrapping herself in a safe cocoon.
I climb in, turning on my side to face her and watching her purposely avert her gaze.
So we’re playing that game tonight.
I guilt-tripped her to stay, I know. However, I meant what I said. After Odette’s bullshit, I can only imagine what Solange is planning. This isn’t going to stop here, and it’s not about just her anymore with their threats. They’re trying to bend me to their entitled little games too. Only, they’ve never heard of my job position since it’s so elite and baller.
“When’s Fashion Week?” I ask, attempting to find some common ground through the wafting silence.
“This weekend.”
“You got a date?”
“Yeah.”
Okay, I was really expecting a fucking no there. My body immediately grows taut and irritated, and my eyes narrow like they have a right. When the fuck does she even have time to talk to anyone but me?
“Who?” I practically growl out, immediately rearing back on the alpha male shit that I have no right on inflicting.
Amirah meets my gaze placidly, unaffected by the surge of jealousy that just popped in to say hi. “My dad.”
You’re a fucking idiot, Mills.
I nod against the cool pillow as my body begins to plunge back down to mellow. “I’m sure he’ll like that.”
“He asked me first.”
Hint, you didn’t.
Um, I shouldn’t. Fuckin’ A, man, this on the fence mess is really fucking with me more than what I want to do with the Van Doren cunts.
Amirah gives me a small smile. “Sweet dream, Mills.”
“Hitting the hay already, Rus?”
“I have to leave earlier in the morning,” she replies.
“You don’t have school on Tuesdays.”
She smiles at my knowing that. “I have lunch with Laurent about—“ She waves a hand in the air. ”—all this.”
“And what is it that you and your brother think you’re going to do, Rus? I got it handled, trust me.”
“I won’t intervene,” she mutters, her gaze falling to my chest. “It’s that…well, our dad.”
“And your brother’s going to step back too?”
She lifts her shoulders and blows out a breath. “I’m not sure. But I want him to be ready, on the lookout.”
Right, I didn’t think about him.
Rolling from the bed, I grab my cell on the small wooden desk I used to do my homework and pull up Blue’s number.
“What are you doing?” Amirah asks when I quickly type out a text.
MILLS: Need you to have eyes on Amirah’s brother, Laurent Van Doren.
MILLS: Can you grab the details from Ems?
“I’m making sure your brother doesn’t become collateral damage,” I reply, coming back to sit on the edge of my bed.
“I don’t think—“
“Rus, trust me when I say your sisters are psychos, and they want to hurt people when they don’t get what they want. I got the backup, more than enough, right at the tip of my fingers.”
I feel her shift behind me. “Who are you?”
And there it is.
I knew we’d get her one day, but it’s better now than later, isn’t it?
If she can’t handle what I can tell her right now, it’s best we stop whatever this is. I’ll still protect her until the job is done, but after that, it’d have to be a clean break.
“I’m an assassin,” I blurt out, waiting for something to hit the back of my head, for her to scramble off the mattress and want to leave immediately. For a million and one questions, some I won’t be able to answer because I trust her, but I hold my second family closer to my heart than a crush on a girl that should’ve never gotten one from me.
Because this is what it is.
I like her.
I want to fuck her.
I want to take her on dates and lie in bed talking. I’d like to hold her in my arms and listen to her sleep and bring her to Pittsburgh to meet Emmy along with my niece and nephews one day.
I know that’s a long way down the road to even be thinking about it, but there it is.
“How is that even…” Amirah scoots closer and surprisingly sits at my side, dangling her feet over the bed. “You’re telling me you kill people for a living?”
“Yeah. I told you that, remember? Last night.” I keep my eyes on the dark screen of my cell not because I’m afraid of telling her but because I don’t want to freak her out too much.
How many times do you walk up to someone, and they say they take folks out as their line of work?
“Do people pay you to do it?”
“Not people…the government. So technically, yeah, taxpayers do.”
“What?”
I steer my focus to her, gaping at me like I’m a fucking nut job. I simply ignore it. “I make sure nukes don’t get into the wrong hands. That terrorists stay out of the country, and any attempts on important figures are annihilated before they even happen. My parents don’t know about it, but my grands does. I don’t have friends outside of the men you met earlier and two females. I’m loyal to them and them only, and I’d break hell and drag back the devil if it meant saving one of them.”
“That’s how you…” I watch her take a deep breath. “Took care…of those two guys.”
“That’s child’s play; I do worse than that. If it wasn’t for you, things would be different.”
Her features soften. “Me, really?”
“Unfortunately.” I sigh, looking away and knowing that it was a dickhead comment, but it’s true.
Without her, this would be over.
“I’m sorry,” she mutters, and it immediately irritates me. I clutch my phone harder when it buzzes off on cue.
BLUE: Considered it handled.
I power off my phone and jerk my head. “Get some sleep, Rus. I think you’ve handled enough information dumping today.”
“I think I’ll be the judge of that,” she sharply retorts. “Stop making decisions for me. Stop making me a problem. Stop giving a shit about me. Handle what you need to handle, Mills, and stop protecting me from what you think I’ve had enough of.”
“Thing is, sweetheart,” I leer through my tight jaw, drawing my neck to the side to find her glaring at me. “I have a fucking conscious.”
“Do you have the least killings or something?”
I scoff through my nose and push my cheek out with the tip of my tongue. “I actually might. Never counted.” I twist my body and lean back against my pillows, carefully not to kick her in the process. “Your brother is set. Your sisters wouldn’t be able to make a move on him if they tried.”
My childhood room falls quiet as Amirah busies herself looking around it. I never changed it or really got rid of anything. I was one of those kids that didn’t want much, but if I did, it had to have a motor on it or at least wheels. My birthdays and holidays consist of car parts and random tools.
I miss those times.
I haven’t worked on a car in years. As we speak, my Chevy Nova is still sitting out in Ma’s garage, and I don’t think about it much.
Maybe I need another outlet.
Amirah comes back to her side of the bed, her spine still butted up to the dark blue wall. “Thank you.”
“Now, Rus, you know you don’t mean it like that.” I rotate my head to look at her. She’s frowning now, never in her life did she think she would end up here. With a man who slices people’s throats or puts battery cables to people’s fingers. “I like your version better.”
“Killers don’t get kisses,” she pouts.
“And I would if I didn’t tell you?” She doesn’t answer that, probably still stewing over my revelation to her. This could turn ugly really quickly, but I don’t think she’d rat me out.
If she did, I’d have to do the unthinkable and not enjoy a second of it.
Leaning over to her, I kiss the tip of her nose. “Good night, Rus. Sweet dreams.”
“Night.”
Rolling to my back, I close my eyes and demand sleep find me.
It doesn’t.
The week flies by, and no matter how many things I have going on, my brain will not shut off what secret Mills told me.
I’m an assassin.
Like what?
What is the proper response for that? How am I supposed to feel about it?
There’s no Dummy 101 book on handling such a job occupation and how people involved with it are meant to deal.
Thing is…I feel nothing different.
I believe I should; that’d probably and more than likely—to a sane human being—a bright red flag that violently waves around.
However, nothing shifts within me or to sway the things I feel for him other than I miss him.
He hasn’t called or texted since I left Staten Island and vice versa. His mother demanded I take a blueberry muffin that she baked and a coffee before making my trip back home.
I thought I’d be able to get out of the door without incident—meaning missing out on seeing his friends around—however, no such luck. Marty was leaned up against a black SUV in the driveway, manifesting what I can only describe as menacing and risky business mixed in black jeans, a white tee, and a burrowing gaze.
My heart dropped to the pit of my gut when his mixed blue eyes fell displeasingly on me.
“Morning,” he greeted me, leaving the chipperness out of his tone.
I don’t stop walking down the cemented path to my car when I say, “Hey.”
My first mistake is that I thought it was going to be the end of our encounter.
Wrong.
He doesn’t even let me pull at the door when he warns me with, “Break his heart, and I’ll rip yours out. Betray him with your fucked up sisters, and you and I will definitely be meeting again, sweetheart.”
I couldn’t get inside my vehicle fast enough and leave.
Regardless of the threats, the back and forth in my head, or the fact that I’m simply freaking out over my dress being showcased at New York Fashion week, Dad has been a perfect date for such a huge event. He bought me a bouquet of various pink flowers and hired a limo to drive us there with champagne.
