Thirst a dark stalker ro.., p.7
Thirst : A Dark Stalker Romance, page 7
“I hate you,” she whispers, looking into my eyes.
“Why?” Something slices through my chest I haven’t felt before.
“Because each day I stare into your eyes when I look at the man I love.”
Rage fills my veins, and I grab her neck, pressing Pax hard against the bed while I move on top of her. She doesn’t struggle but keeps staring into my eyes like she sees someone else.
“Who? Tell me who the fuck he is, and I’ll kill him.” Pushing her into the sheets, my knees on either side of her body, I want the fucking truth.
She shakes her head as tears stream down her beautiful face. “Your son,” she whispers struggling to breathe. “Ignatius is your son.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I pull my hands back. After a long pause I ask, “My son?”
“Iggy is your son, Jonathan.”
I grab my chest, and for a second there I forget to breathe. I feel sick, leaning forward I put my head between my legs. Resting my forearms on my knees, I try to breathe out hard through my nose. The bed dips and I feel a hand on my back. Goosebumps cover my arms and I pull back, snapping out of my trance. No one touches me without permission, not even her.
She has a far-off expression on her face, and somehow managed to put on an oversized shirt when I was losing my shit. “Jonathan, is that your name?” she asks, sitting back against the pillows
I nod. “Yeah, I wasn’t lying,” I grunt, swallowing hard. “But Salvatore is the name my father gave me.”
“You’re Italian?”
“I am,” I nod, catching her shocked gaze. “What is it?”
“Iggy wanted to move to Italy, and we spent the last few years there.”
“How did you escape me every time?”
She swallows hard. “I asked a friend.”
“You asked a fucking friend!” I shout, starting to pace the room, muttering Italian swearwords under my breath.
“I did it to protect Iggy and me. I thought you were coming after us,” she sounds so hurt, and I want to slam my head against a wall, but instead I punch my fist in the plywood leaving a dent. I didn’t want to hurt her, but in the end I did it anyway.
“To do what?” I growl, pulling at my hair. “I told you I would never hurt you.”
“Only fuck me, is that it?” she asks, crossing her arms.
I reach for her, but she shoots to the end of the bed and grabs a switchblade I missed before pressing it against my chest. “Tell me the truth, why did you fuck me?”
“Because I wanted you,” I tell her sincerely. What is she getting at? She is mine. The one, the only one I ever had. “I didn’t fuck another if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“Excuse me?” The hold she has on the blade faltering.
“The Catholic in me couldn’t,” I grimace shrugging. “I might not have a fucking soul, but I promised myself to protect you when you became mine.”
“When I became yours, are you crazy!” she shouts, throwing the blade on the other bed. She clutches her face in her hands, and while she starts to sob, her whole body shakes. I know she’s not going to kill the father of her only son, fuck, my son, I have a son.
I’m not good with emotions and damn I have no idea what to do. Should I hug her? Should I go down on her? Thinking about my son, the same feeling slices through my chest, what the hell is that?
I swallow a couple of times before I ask, “Is he like me?” Praying to the great spirit in the sky he isn’t. I know there’s something wrong with me. I like pain, I like to kill men who deserve it. I liked fucking her until she was a sobbing mess. I like control, the bruises I gave her when we fucked are a testimony to that fact. I’m the boogeyman, John Wick without a fucking soul.
She shakes her head and looks at me with big, red-rimmed eyes. “No, I mean yes. He has your eyes, but he loves so deep. Iggy cares about everyone. He wants to be a veterinarian when he’s older.” She breathes, rambling on. “But I’m scared, Salvatore,” she says, nibbling on her bottom lip, “that he likes violence as much as you do.” Tears rush to her eyes.
“Has he?” I ask my voice sounding a little hoarse. “Has he killed anyone?”
“No,” she frowns. “He’s still a kid.”
“I was eleven when I killed my first man of many, and it’s Sal.”
She keeps looking at me, the corner of her mouth hikes up a little. “When I look at you, I see him; he has your smile.” Then anger flashes through those blue-green depths like she is waging a war with herself.
I run an awkward hand through my hair. Suddenly self-conscious. I wanted her for myself, now I have to share her. Fuck, I don’t know what to do. What do normal people do in situations like this? “Do you have a picture?” Not knowing if a monster like me deserves to even have a child.
She nods and motions to her bag on the floor, “On my phone.” I reach out and hand it to her. I hold on to it, and she shakes her head.
“I’m not going to call the fucking cops, or my family. Not even my brothers who want to shoot your ass.”
I chuckle and watch her flick through a couple of pictures. She hands me the phone and I stare straight into my son’s face. She’s right, he looks like me, and my stomach does a summersault. The only difference is my hair is lighter than his. It’s like seeing myself as a kid. “He looks strong,” I cough, trying to hide the sudden emotion in my voice. I don’t like to feel, feeling leads to attachment, and in the end, death. I quickly give her the phone back before I do something stupid.
“Is he in school?”
“I homeschooled him the last years before moving to Italy. We spent two years there before we went back to New Orleans.”
“Why were you on the run?”
She takes a deep breath and shakes her head. “Wanna guess, asshole? Because of you.”
“Me?” I ask frowning. “Why? I told you I would never hurt you.”
She pushes me away from her when I reach out, runs both her hands through her curly hair and starts to pace. I watch her. My eyes trailing over her body in a caress. The shirt obscures the place between her thighs but when she turns, I can see the curve of her naked ass. Suddenly she stops. “You took everything from me, and then you left me with the broken pieces. I was barely eighteen.”
I shake my head. “Don’t pretend you didn’t want it. You begged me to fuck you in the end. I still have the marks on my back you left with your nails.”
She shakes her head, eyeing the guns lying on the other bed but doesn’t make a move. She looks so lost and sad. “Maybe I did, and you know how long I hated myself because of that fact?”
“Why?” A happy laugh slips from my lips.
“Damn it, Sal,” she seethes, and I have to fight against my grin, she called me Sal.
“You know what it was like after you fucked me in the shipping container, and promised you would come back?”
“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice sounding hollow.
“Don’t pretend like you care, asshole.”
“I do. I mean you are the only one who has ever mattered in my life.”
“Before we go any further down memory lane, who the hell are you?”
I sit back against the headboard. “You know who I am.”
She shakes her head and takes her seat on the bed. “Tell me.”
I look at the clock. It’s almost six in the morning. “You want to go out and grab something to eat?”
“No, I don’t want to go anywhere with you.”
“I’m hungry,” I say, waggling my brows as I trail my eyes over her curves.
She flips me off again, and I chuckle. “Fuck, babe.” I run a hand over my hair. “I haven’t had this much entertainment since I chased a guy in the Namibian Desert.”
Her eyes widen in response, like she’s remembering she’s in a room with a natural born killer.
“Let me eat you out before we go out,” I purr, raising one brow. And my stomach rumbles in response.
“No,” she replies, the corner of her mouth twitching.
“It’s not going to take you long before you’ve got your ankles hooked around my back. Remember how you begged me to go deep?” I ask, and press my tongue against my cheek.
“I’m going to fucking kill you,” she seethes, tugging on her leather jacket and jeans before stomping outside.
Grinning, I run after her, and together we walk to the twenty-four-hour diner down the road not saying anything.
I let her go first, and as the little bell above the door jingles, the girl standing behind the counter gives us both curious eyes. I’m still wearing my all-black, custom-made suit, and Paxton is wearing her combat boots and big shirt under her black leather jacket. She looks edible to say the least, but I haven’t eaten in almost thirty hours after catching a cargo flight out of Afghanistan, and I’m fucking starving. The young girl guides us to the last booth far from the other costumers and we both make a move to sit on the right side with our eyes to the door.
“It’s all yours,” I tell Paxton, and watch her perky ass sway in her tight jeans when she takes a seat.
“Can I get you something to drink?” the girl asks. I nod, opening the button of my jacket, careful not to flash her the four guns I’ve got hidden under my suit. A little excessive, but I travel in style, what can I say.
“A coffee,” Paxton and I say at the same.
“I’ll be right back with those, and here are your menus for you to look over.” She smiles, looking between us and scurrying away when she sees the murderous look in Paxton’s eyes.
“So you wanted to talk,” she says after the girl brings us our coffee and takes our order. “So talk.”
“I did,” I begin. I can’t believe I’m sitting in a fucking diner with her across from me.
“Why, out of all the girls in New Orleans, did you pick me?”
“What do you mean?”
She taps her black painted fingernails on the table before taking a sip from her coffee. “You know what I mean. Do I have to spell it out for you? I’m average, there are Instagram models with more cleavage and thinner waists than me. Judging by your custom-made suit, money isn’t a problem.”
Doesn’t she know she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on? Those other chicks don’t hold a candle to her. I stretch my legs out under the table and rest my arms on the leather of the booth. I need to settle for something safe. “You bumped into me on Bourbon Street when I was on leave.”
“Leave?”
We both thank the kid when she brings us Paxton’s scrambled eggs with toast and my stack of pancakes. I smother them in maple syrup and Paxton flashes me those curious eyes again. “I’ve got a sweet tooth, what can I say?” I smirk, taking a big bite.
She gives me a small smile. “Iggy orders the same when we go to a diner.”
When I hear his name, I cringe. My son, I have a fucking son. I want to know everything about him but first I have to tell her my story. I owe her that much.
“Tell me about your life,” she challenges. “Although sitting here across from you freaks me the fuck out, I need to hear it.”
Taking a deep breath, I know I can’t bullshit her. “I grew up in Vatican City. My father was a priest.”
“A priest?” she asks curiously.
“My mother met him when she went to confession. And they fell in love. I don’t know the particulars but she died when I was two, and I went to live with him at the Vatican,” I tell her with my mouth full of pancakes.
She raises her fork in the air. “Hold up, you mean the Vatican, Vatican?” Her eyes grow big.
I nod, taking a sip from the coffee.
“He didn’t know how to take care of me, so the nuns raised me instead, and he visited me on Sundays. We walked around the city, and I watched people stop and talk to him, but I knew I was nothing but a nuisance to him because he wanted to move up in the ranks. After I got in a fight with a boy and almost beat him to a pulp, he arranged for me to live and train with the Swiss guard. They taught me every move in the book, and I loved it. They honed my skills, and it didn’t matter I didn’t feel a single thing.”
“You didn’t?” she asks, her eyes narrowing.
“Not until you, babe.”
She doesn’t cringe at my words like I thought she would but stares at me and closes her eyes for a second, like she’s finally getting used to the fact that I’m hers, and she’s going to be mine.
We finish our food, and I leave the girl a hefty tip before we head outside and walk to a small lake. I lean against the railing, and we watch the sun change colors on the water.
She is quiet for a while before she asks, “How did you end up with the CIA before you went rogue?”
I chuckle, not bothering to correct her. I’ve always been rogue. “It wasn’t hard, they needed a skillset and I happened to possess them.”
“What?” she whispers, grabbing the wooden railing.
“You know what I can do to others, you’ve probably read my file. I bet it’s a big one.” Waggling my brows.
She nods and stares out over the water.
“How did you know I was CIA?” I ask.
“I didn’t, you just confirmed it.”
“Well played, babe.” I know I need to tell her more, but I haven’t done this before.
I know I need to tell her more, but I haven’t done this before. Something tells me I can be honest with her. “Later I saw this girl getting raped by a guy in an alleyway, and something clicked. They found me sleeping in my bed with blood still on my clothes. After those two incidences my father stepped in and sent me to the Swiss guard when I was twelve. There I expanded my skills and entered a secret chapter of the Company until I found a way out, well kind of anyway.” Not telling her the whole story, me and the guys are still knee deep in Uncle Sam’s shit.
“You were still a kid,” she says, locking eyes with me. I spot something else in them besides anger, is it sadness?
I run a hand over my stubble. “You don’t have to feel sorry for me. My father told me when I visited him last year I was never a kid. I know how people see me.”
“Like the angel of death.” She laughs but it sounds pained.
“No, I’m the one they confess to in the end,” I counter.
“Before you kill them,” she whispers, and I nod.
We are quiet for a while, and I watch her from the corner of my eye. She’s still as beautiful as the last time I saw her. But there is also a strength to her she didn’t have before. Her curves are more pronounced and her tits bigger. My dick grows in my boxers, begging me to fuck her. Damn my girl looks beautiful.
“I want to meet him,” I tell her, but it comes out like an order.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she whispers.
I grab her by the throat and press her against the railing. She clutches at my hands trying to get me off, but I’m much stronger than her.
“You’re choking me,” she gasps, while I apply pressure, and her eyes flutter closed as I step between her spread legs.
A moment passes between us, and I think she might kiss me, instead she kicks me in the balls.
“Fuck,” I roar, grabbing my junk while I let go of her throat a little, and she takes in a lungful of air.
“He is my fucking son, I have a right to see him,” I bark through clenched teeth, adjusting my throbbing cock.
She shakes her head, blinking away the tears I see forming in her eyes. “You don’t deserve to know him.”
“Why?” I bite out, choking her again. But the way she looks at me with those strong defiant eyes, the grip I have on her neck falters.
“Because you threatened to kill me.”
I frown. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I got an email after what happened in the container; you wrote you were coming after my parents and brothers to kill them because I talked with the police. I didn’t talk to anyone, not even my parents or my brothers.”
I let go of her, and she pushes me away, wiping at her tears before turning around and stomping in the direction of the motel.
What the fuck? I never sent her any fucking email. I don’t care if she talked to the police or her parents. She is mine; no one is going to keep me away from her. But someone did, and I intend to find out who the fucker is and kill him.
“What the hell? Is this why you ran?” I shout after her.
She turns around but keeps walking backward. “What do you think?” she says, opening the door of her room and disappearing inside.
Damn, I grab my phone and dial Vasily’s number.
“Privyet, asshole,” I hear at the other end.
“Can you trace an email from thirteen years ago?” I ask in Russian.
“Well hello to you too, sunshine. No ‘how are you? Thank you for tracing her after years of trying.’ I’m doing fine by the way; just got my dick sucked by a ballet dancer. You don’t even want to know how flexible the guy was?”
“Lee,” I bark out, “Can you do it or what? I’m sending you her cloned phone info.”
“Yeah, I can do it, sweetheart. So, still in stalker mode I see. Hey, and I guess she didn’t shoot your ass if we’re talking.” He laughs while I stalk back to the room, cursing under my breath because I let her go in front of me. Now she’s definitely going to shoot me in the fucking dick.
“Got it, so what the hell am I looking for? Hey, cute kid. Is he hers?”
I roll my eyes. I like Vasily, he’s my best friend. Hell, some people call it love, if I could be capable of loving someone. The guy is always happy. I have no idea why after what happened to him. Growing up in poverty in Russia before he came to school in Switzerland with me changed him for sure. The guy can flip his mood switch in a second. I once saw him kill a guy in the middle of a Russian strip club, safe to say he likes killing as much as I do.
“Hold up, suka,” he says. “You know he kind of looks like you did when we were kids in Switzerland.”
“He’s my son, Lee.”
“Sheesh,” I hear on the other end. “I knew you had ice in your veins but damn, dude. Fuck, how did I miss that?” he says, his Russian accent thick, and I grit my teeth. “Wow, you really knocked her up back then?”
