Page 29 of Niccolaio Andretti (The Five Syndicates)
She rolls those emerald green eyes of hers and turns around, giving me her back. It’s a nice back, lean and trim, but what it leads to is even nicer. I take a moment to stare at her ass. Round and perky, it’s nestled beneath God’s gift to men—yoga pants.
Without hesitation, I eye her retreating body and make a dumb decision. Leaning back into my house, I grab two guns off of the entryway table, tuck them into the back waistline of my dark jeans, and chase after her.
The spontaneity feels like freedom amidst my perfectly planned life.
She glares at me, hostility and—dare I say—sadness extending from her in waves. “I’m not in the mood for this. What do you want?”
“I’m bored,” I say honestly.
“Bored,” she repeats drily. The word sounds foreign on her lips.
“Yep. That’s what I said.”
“What do you expect me to do about it?”
“You’re already doing it.”
And she is. Just being here with her, with someone other than myself and the two guards that man my security room, is doing wonders for my brain. Truthfully, it could be anyone, and I would be satisfied.
Seriously.
Anyone.
Except Asher, Vincent, Lucy, my guards, a Romano, an Andretti, my brothe—
She turns to me, stopping us both, along with my train of thought. “Stop. Whatever you think you’re doing, just stop.”
“Stop.” I play with the foreign word on my tongue, the sound of it unfamiliar to my ears.
I’ve never been told to stop before.
That’s a first.
And it’s sexy.
I like the word. I like the sound of it on her pouty lips. I like that she’s not giving me the time of day. And I should probably stop talking to her. It’d be for the best. And I will. One more minute, I mentally promise myself—and her. I need one more minute of this. I was being honest earlier when I said she was curing my boredom.
The corners of my lips tilt upwards again as I wait for her to say something else.
“Yep. That’s what I said,” she mocks me.
I’m about to reply with something that w
ould have undoubtedly been smart when I hear a familiar clicking sound, and I spur into action, diving over her body and shielding it with my own.
Not even a second later, there’s a distinct whish sound.
A muffled gunshot.
Chapter Twelve
I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath,
my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
