billion book
Chapter 2: 2
Chapter 2: 2
I don’t know why I’m telling him this, I have never had a need to be honest with anyone in my life, but I get the vibe that lying to him about anything would probably be the single dumbest thing I ever did. Possibly the last too, as he seems like someone who can sniff out a lie at a ten-mile distance.
‘‘I’ll take care of it. Call this number in the morning and give my man the details.’’ He extends something to me in the darkness and I catch a glimpse of a card in his hand as he leans in to hand it to me. I take it carefully, my hands shaking so badly and fearful of touching him—in case the devil can suck your soul out by contact alone. That’s the sort of chill I am getting.
‘‘It’s two grand in rent.’’ I blanch at his offer and push the card into the sheet beside me, tucking it under my thigh. You don’t lose someone like Alexi Carrero’s number or leave it lying around for hospital staff to find.
‘‘I’ll add it to your tab ... Do you have a cell?’’ He shifts and moves closer, and I get extremely claustrophobic with the proximity of someone his size; strength emanating like a dark heavy cloak and that aura of an aggressive dominant male. He’s formidable for a man, I remember that much from seeing him in daylight. I wish I could better recall what he looks like, but my memory is hazy with the finer details.
‘‘I tossed it when I ran. I don’t have one anymore.’’ I sink back into my cushions when he steps the last small distance, suddenly right beside me; trying so hard to just make him out when I am blinded by the dazzling light of him switching on the lamp over my bed and I screw my eyes shut. Flinching at the assault, head aching intensely, before blinking myself back to the room and acclimatising slowly as I flutter them open to try and see.
‘‘I’ll have one dropped off in the morning and you can give the details of where to collect your belongings then. When you’re ready for release, you will be taken to my club, and we will talk again.
Until then, Miss Walters, try to make the most of your recovery time. I happen to like a full effort from anyone I associate with.’’ He’s so calm and faultless.
I am literally glued to that face and almost speechless, nodding at whatever he’s saying because I am completely thrown. I clearly never got a good eyeful of him when I was shacked up in the back of that car with Sophie, bleeding myself into oblivion as I would remember someone who looked like this.
Alexi is gorgeous, in a completely devastating, yet almost forbidden way, and I have to check my tongue is not hanging out; I never knew gangsters could be so 'Phwoar'. Black ruffled expensively styled hair, showing hints of a curl if it was left to grow, over tanned skin, and ice grey eyes that almost appear colourless—like a soulless animal searching over his prey for the last scraps to pick.
He is all squared, chiselled perfection, with a clean-shaven face, hints of dark stubble below the surface. A black ink tattoo of a dragon curling up one side of his neck, under a white button down, with a leather jacket moulded and sculpted to a very fit and toned body. Hints of more dark ink peeking over one hand under his sleeve, and I wonder how far his markings go, tempted to see that body with less covering.
He has on expensive clothes and heady aftershave and a face that would not look amiss in a Hollywood mob movie. Alexi is a little too handsome to be real. The accent is slightly Italian; I caught the odd twinge in some words but it’s so minor it’s barely there. He has spent a lot of time in Italy if he wasn’t born there for it to leave its mark. He is not the package I was expecting at all and I would put him in his early thirties if I had to guess; young for a mobster King.
He has that look of mature and filled out though, that only comes when men move out of their twenties and yet, there is still a boyish charm in the depth of that face. I’m not going to lie; I would sleep with him in a second and enjoy every minute of it. He’s definitely one I would notch a headboard space for, even if I have been playing the celibate game for a couple of years. I think he just found the direct line to my libido.
‘‘Until you’re ready to work, I guess. Will be nice to see what you look like under the swelling.’’ He throws me a sardonic smile and I just swallow with great effort, still a little dazed at just how sexy another human can be with so little effort when you have good DNA, expensive taste and a great hairdresser. I have never had a full-blown ‘‘take me now’’ moment over any man before, and I hate that my face must resemble a smashed, bloated pumpkin and I can only see out of one eye.
I am experiencing my first ever ‘fuck me senseless' moment in my life.
‘‘Right, thank you, I guess.’’ I have no idea why that’s what comes out of my mouth. I think the drugs are messing with my ability to flirt my way through any situation with the opposite sex, or maybe it’s just him and I feel completely out of my depth.
I have never been faced with a human that I instantly needed to have naked and inside of me before. It’s messing with my brain. My body is warming up to searing levels and I'm squirming in a bid to calm the tingles between my thighs.
Get your shit together Camilla! You are well versed in the arts of seduction and playing it cool.
‘‘Try and stay out of trouble. I don’t happen to have any patience for women who cause me any — bear that in mind.’’ The statement is made with a completely charming expression, but the intent is clear and not too veiled for me to extract the meaning. He’s polite, well-mannered, and precise. It’s in his neat attire and groomed appearance and the careful slow way he talks while boring your eyes with his unflinchingly; everything deliberate, calm and cool, in a well-played way. This is a man who knows how to get what he wants in life and knows what poker faces to play with which people.
That means he’s smart, and behind that face, that could either be your ultimate fantasy, or your worst terrifying nightmare, is a fast brain and keen eye that adds another layer to an already formidable player. I can see why he’s known as New York’s crime boss of the century—he is a born manipulator who reads people in the blink of an eye. He has summarised what he thinks I am in a heartbeat.
Alexi Carrero is a predator in expensive tailoring and smiles, yet he has the black soul of someone who has killed without remorse. I know his family's body count must be immense by now, being four or five generations of underhand dealings and back-alley negotiations. They are infamous for who they are, even if some of them have turned legitimate and steer clear of the crime world publicly.
‘‘I don’t intend to make any.’’ I falter, lacking conviction, even though I truly do not want to end up on this one’s wrong side. He just wipes away all my wiles and confidence, while I am laid up black and blue and swollen beyond recognition. Wait until I have my heels, my face, and my killer wardrobe ... an even keel to deal with Sexy Alexi! Tyler was a playground bully compared to this one and I know without a shadow of a doubt I have my work cut out.
This one might as well be Lucifer himself, but he just met himself a Lady who’s well versed in taming beasts and not afraid of the challenge. A match made in heaven, or hell, I guess. We will just have to find out and I may have use for this one if I can train him to heel.
It’s going to be interesting, peeling off his layers to reveal what weaknesses I can. And I fully intend to exploit every single little one of them.