Page 119 of Adam
“Really? He was such a crybaby.”
“He has people everywhere. People who would do anything to have my head on their plate.”
Slowly, I prowl closer. “I guess that makes a lot of us.”
He backs the fuck up, fumbling for the desk like it’s going to save him—or maybe he’s scrambling to call his buddies.
“Don’t be afraid,” I say softly. “Tell me about your pure intentions.”
I shoot his good leg. The pain tears a sound from him that’s too rough to be a scream. He drops hard and grabs his cane out of reflex, like an idiot.
“Ouch. I guess now you’re a real limp.”
“Ti seppellirò vivo, pezzo di merda!”I will bury you alive, you piece of shit!
Oh, there’s that panic again.
It’s too much and not enough at the same time. My thoughts start tripping over themselves, racing, spiraling, chewing on the sight of it like a bad habit I can’t break.
It nourishes me. It feeds the sickness I carry, the one that only stirs when someone finally understands how powerless they are.
I march up to him, but he swings the cane from the floor and cracks it against my cheekbone.
That’s it.
Something in me breaks loose again. It’s not a thought or a feeling anymore. It’s noise and heat and need, pounding behindmy eyes, crawling under my skin. The hunger comes all at once, and I can’t hold it back. It wants out. Now.
I grab him by the collar and smack his head against the desk. “You wanted to sell her,” I say, over and over. “You wanted to sell your own daughter.”
I let go of his collar and punch him instead. “She’s mine,” I snarl, the words tearing out of my throat. “Mine. Mine. Mine.”
Something presses against my skull. Then I hear it. The unmistakable click of a gun’s hammer being cocked.
Fucking snake Wes.
“Move,” he hisses lowly.
“What makes you think you’re scaring methistime, Leslie?” I mock, not moving a muscle.
“Then, please. Try me,” he growls, leaning in, pressing the cold steel of a blade against my throat.
My breathing calms down and my heart beats slower.
“Kinky,” I murmur, lips curling into a smirk. “Full house, isn’t it?”
“Back off,” he repeats.
“We’re not done,” I mouth with wide eyes to Calvano.
I let Wes pull me back to stand and lazily fold my hands behind my back.
“Get out. Not on my carpet,” Calvano rasps, breathless. “Dispose of him. Make sure he never comes back.”
“Yes, boss.”
I scoff. “Cocksucker.”
“I’ll send help,” Wes reassures and pushes me to the entrance.
