Vengeful Lies

His house is lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. I’m beyond ready to blow it up with how painfully welcoming it is, and I know it’s purely for me. Despite him technically inviting me, I refuse to waltz in like a guest. We’re anything but friendly.

I know the layout of this house; I made it my personal fucking mission. Now I just want to remind him, yet again, that I can break into his home anytime I want. I scan the usual spots, knowing well where the cameras are positioned and how not to set them off.

He’s always had security on the outside of his house; on the inside I get to wreak unchecked havoc. I wait until the security guard takes his cigarette break, and then I sneak in through the side garden, which is a minor blind spot. When I reach the door leading to the garden’s courtyard, I quickly pick the locks and sneak into the only room that doesn’t seem to be lit up.

“So that’s how…” I freeze at the voice and am caught red-handed by the light switch flicking on. Eli is leaning against the door frame. “I told you to use the front door.”

“I don’t give a shit what you told me,” I snap, crossing my arms over my chest.

He stands there, tilting his head and staring down at me through his eyelashes. I should just kill the motherfucker right now and be done with it, but how the fuck will I get my guns then? It would be satisfying, though.

“If you kill me now, you won’t ever get your guns back.”

My jaw falls open. How did he know that’s what I was thinking? He pushes off the doorframe. “It’s written all over your face, Kitten. You might be good with a gun, but subtlety is not your forte.” He turns his back to me. “Come, let’s eat. I made us dinner.”

I scoff, grumbling under my breath, “Come, let’s eat in my evil lair.”

He turns, appearing offended. “What is it with everyone mimicking me lately? I don’t even sound like that.”

I flick my hair over my shoulder. “Have you heard your own voice? You’re kind of fucking annoying.”

He turns again, trying his best to hide the smile. “Someone is sensitive about their guns being taken.”

My fingers curl into my palms until his previous words finally hit me. “Wait? You cook?”

“I do. Now, fucking move,” he grumbles and reaches for my hand. I pull away from him. This motherfucker might have me here willingly, but that doesn’t mean he has permission to touch me. Especially when I’m fucking furious.

Remind me why I haven’t killed this motherfucker yet.

Oh, that’s right, because my client still wants him alive.

That makes this asshole one lucky bastard.

It’s the fragrant aroma that hits me first as we enter the kitchen, and I try not to show my surprise. Is this guy just good at fucking everything?

“Sit,” he instructs, without so much as looking in my direction. I bite my tongue to keep from grumbling under my breath again.

I take a seat at the island, sweeping my gaze around the grand kitchen. I hadn’t made it this far the last time I broke in. I’d only crept up to his bedroom. I hate the fact his home is beautiful. But it also feels empty. Probably because of the soulless asshole who owns it.

I wonder if my guns are hidden here somewhere.

I twist and look over my shoulder, trying to peer out the doorway that seems to lead into a dining space.

“Your guns aren’t here if that’s what you’re looking for,” he states casually as he plates up what looks to be chicken smothered in a cream sauce and vegetables on the side. Well, don’t we have a fucking Michelin chef in here.

“You get that out of a box?” I snidely remark.

“In my family and heritage, you say thank you when someone serves you food.”

“In my upbringing, you don’t steal,” I snap back.

He pauses mid-scoop with one eyebrow raised, that scar splitting through it. It’s disgustingly beautiful to see this deadly god of a man do something so fucking mundane while still well-dressed and perfectly put together.

“You stole my watches first.”

I go to speak but immediately close my mouth.

Fuck.

He has a point.

I have to look away when his arrogant smirk kicks up again.

Fucking asshole.

“If you want your watches back so badly, I’ll even spit polish them before I return them. Just give me my guns back,” I say, getting irritated. One of them was my father’s. I should kill him now, fuck the contract. Those guns are my life, and nothing can replace them.

“You seem to really care about your weapons. Let me guess… a gift from your father?” The aroma of the food wafts under my nose, and I have to give credit when it’s due; it smells fucking amazing, which only pisses me off more. He called me over for what? Fucking dinner? At my silence, he seems proud of himself. “Okay, so I did hit home. Maybe they were your father’s.”

“I hate you,” I mumble. The corner of his mouth tilts up at that as he carries the plates toward the dining room, where a pre-lit candle stands in the center of the table.

Vomit.

When I make no move to join him, his voice carries between the rooms. “Jewel, you’ll only make this harder on yourself.”

I hop off the stool, knowing he’s right. He has to have a reason for me being here; it can’t be to just wine and dine me. The room is just as beautiful as the rest of the mansion I’ve seen so far and just as soulless. Or maybe that’s because of the monster standing at the head of the table, pulling out the chair beside his and waiting for me. Between the two dishes is a bottle of white wine, and he pours us each a glass.

“Sit,” he says without looking up at me. I’m uncomfortable by the ambiance that seems to swallow us whole. The dim lighting, the candle flicking back and forth in the center of the grand wooden table that could seat twelve people. I feel so small in his home, and it mostly has to do with him leaving me unarmed by taking my most precious items. I shouldn’t be here. I should not be dining with my target. If Craig discovers this, he’ll have a fucking heart attack.

I drop into the chair, arms across my chest. He seems amused as he goes to place the napkin on my lap, but I snatch it from his hand.

He takes his seat at the head of the table, and I dreamily look at the sharp knife positioned beside my plate. Then again, a fork can be used as effectively as any weapon, I suppose, especially if it’s going into those beautiful fucking eyes.

“Eat,” he commands.

“I’m vegan.” I lean over to grab one of the small bread rolls from a basket.

“Liar. You think I haven’t seen photos of you eating sauced ribs and the like?”noveldrama

I shrug. “I just enjoy licking off the sauce.”

“That’s not vegan. And I’ll have you know, my mother is vegetarian, so if you want to play that game, I can easily accommodate you. We can do this dance all fucking night.”

This guy wants to fucking dance?

He took my guns and invited me over for dinner like it’s the most natural thing in the world. This guy is under my skin, and the rage begins to bubble over within me.

Why the fuck is he starting to get pissy with me when he did me dirty?

My fingers curl around the knife as I stare at the vein in his neck.

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” he growls out.

It snaps the last of my restraint as red hazes my vision. I lunge across the table, my blade to his throat. He grabs my wrist at the last second, so the knife barely hovers at his jugular.

“How many times do I have to tell you I don’t take orders? Especially from assholes like you.” I push against him with all my strength, but he easily keeps me in place, that lethal edge crossing his gaze.

“This is nothing but foreplay, Kitten. And if you keep acting like this, I’ll restrain you and fuck you with this very knife. My patience will only hold out so long.” He leans into me. His lips are so close to mine, his hot breath washing over me. “If you want your guns back, you’re going to sit down and shut the fuck up, understand?”

We stare for a moment longer, his firm grip around my wrist holding me in place. I fucking hate this man with everything I am. But he has the only thing of value to me. The red haze dissipates, and I slowly retreat, taking the knife with me.

He adjusts his crotch, and I can’t believe this mother fucker actually gets off on this shit. Then again, he definitely has a screw loose, so it’s not that much of a surprise.

He nods to the food in front of me. “Eat.”

I grudgingly put the knife down and stab my fork into the piece of chicken. The moment it hits my mouth, I stifle a moan so he doesn’t know how good it is. That’s all his ego needs—a boost from me.

“Good, right?” He takes a mouthful of his wine as if we’re having the most civilized dinner together.

I say nothing and take another bite.

“I like that you dressed up for me. Do you wear your leather often when you break into my house?” he asks, admiring my attire. I hate how it elicits goose bumps along my skin, and I can only think about the way he handled me the other night.

“Yes.”

“Damn, next time, bring your leather whip. I’m sure we could have some fun.”

I glare at him when I puncture a piece of vegetable, and he seems to enjoy the way he so easily riles me.

He takes another bite. The silence stretches and stretches and stretches, my frustration teetering on the edge again.

“You don’t plan to give me my guns back, do you?” I ask.

“I do, but first, you have to do something for me.”

“And what is that?”

He nods to the food, and I take another bite. Chewing it, I wait for him to speak.

“Wine?” he asks, nodding to the two full glasses on the table.

“No, you probably laced it with something.”

A knock sounds on the door. “Come in,” he commands, and the double doors open. Two of his security guards enter, dragging in the man I’d smashed over the head with the glass at Lucy’s. His clothes are covered in blood, and he looks like he hasn’t changed them since that night. His face is beaten up, so he clearly, didn’t leave the club unscathed, and I’m wondering if instead of escorting him out, they trapped him in some little dungeon.

When his eye—yes, only one because the other is swollen shut—finds mine, he moans something that sounds like an attempted apology. I look back at Eli, who is watching me expectantly.

“You remember our friend, right?”

“Yes,” I say, slightly confused as to why he’s even here. He’s a nobody. What is this, some knight in shining armor bullshit?

“Good.” Eli reaches under his suit jacket and pulls out a gun. His gaze remains on me as he aims it at the man and shoots him in the chest twice. The man crumples to the floor, dead, most likely put out of his misery from whatever satanic torture he was going through up until now. “I told you last night that you now belong to me. And that means in every sense of the word. If someone moves against you, I take it personally. If someone so much as looks in your direction, I’ll remove their eyes and feed them to them.”

The man is twisted in thinking this is what I meant by a love letter, and the declaration is far from gentle poetry. But if Eli is good at one thing, it’s making a point.

“Now, Kitten, let’s discuss a deal. One that might get you out of this alive.” He puts the gun on the table within reaching distance from me and starts to eat again.