The One (Untouchables Mafia Series Book 3)

For the first time in a long fucking time, a scream cuts through me. They are normally not something I pay much attention to. In fact, I can even tune them out. Not this time. Not hers. In the entry bay, the light in the warehouse starts to flicker on.

“Angel.” I try to soothe her, but I know I am failing. I don’t know how to calm someone down. I have spent my whole life doing the opposite: trying to instill fear in them, never mind soothing them. I flick her seat belt off, hoping that maybe not being constricted might help. It doesn’t. I grip her precious face between my hands to make her stare into my eyes. “You’re safe.”

She holds on to my wrist without attempting to pull my hands away, her face still etched with terror. The screams are a million little cuts to whatever soul I might have left inside of me. I don’t know what comes over me, but I have to get her to stop screaming. I can sense myself starting to become untethered by the sound.

I press my mouth against hers. The second I do it, it stops. A small gasp comes from her. I keep my mouth pressed firmly against hers. Her lips are softer than I could have ever imagined. Everything about her is so damn soft. I could sink into her and get lost forever.

Angel’s eyes start to soften. The terror is melting away as she leans toward me more. Looking for comfort? I don’t know, but I don’t want her to ever stop. A loud meow has her making a small jump, causing her mouth to leave mine.

That damn cat. I should have known that keeping it around would be a bad idea. I’m not sure why I did it, but I’m doing a lot of things that I shouldn’t be doing. Not that I’m going to be stopping some of them.

‘I think I’m okay,’ she whispers. I’m not sure if she’s trying to reassure herself or me at this point.

“Are you sure?” If not, I could kiss her again. It was quite nice. Getting into one’s personal space isn’t something I enjoy, but it often comes with the job. With Angel, I enjoy everything. She even smells nice.

“Was that a cat?” Angel tries to peek out of the corner of her eyes. I still have her face in my hands. She’s not trying to get away from me, but I know she wants to look for herself. I reluctantly release my hold on her, knowing that part of this battle I’m going into is winning her over. That’s new to me. I’m used to using brute force to get what I want.

“It’s a cat.” Angel peeks around, trying to find it. “Shall I get rid of it?” It was because of her that I acquired the cat. She would often draw these doodles in the corners of her papers of them. One had been roaming around outside. I thought she might enjoy having one. There had been no pets in her father’s home.

The little asshole cat has grown on me over the past few days. Normally, when I say get rid of something, I mean send it to whatever maker they believe in, but I could drop him at a shelter. Consider making a donation to facilitate his adoption. He might be an asshole, but I like having him around.

“Get rid of him?” Her eyes widen, this time not in terror but in sadness.

Fuck me. She has a broad range of emotions, and they also stir my own.

“He scared you.”

“PTSD.” She waves her hand like her screaming fit is nothing to worry about. I almost had a goddamn heart attack. I fight a growl and want to rip into whatever the fuck has given her PTSD, but from digging into the people closest to her, I have a feeling I know the source already. “Kitty?” Angel calls, trying to open the door again. ‘Okay, this is getting old.’ She lets out an adorable huff.

“Come on.” I pluck her out of her seat and over to mine, opening the door for her. I put her on her feet.

“Where are we?”

“Home.”

“Like you live here.” She scrunches up her button nose.

“It’s better inside.” Why do I sound defensive? Probably because I want her to like my space and be comfortable in my—our—home.

I know she comes from money, but I have more money than her father ever will. There’s a reason why parts of this place appear to be inhospitable.

“Oh, I just assumed it was a company or something. It’s a warehouse,” she points out. True. I am likely the only person who lives in this area. During the day, some of the other warehouses around come to life, but when the sun sets, the streets are vacant.

“It’s a converted warehouse. You’ll see.” I grab her hand and continue to walk. She doesn’t resist; instead, she wraps her fingers around mine. The thought of holding someone’s hand has never crossed my mind. Well, not in this manner anyway. But I like the way her soft delicate hand feels in my big one.

“What about the kitty?” She peers back over her shoulder.

“Trust me. He’s coming.” We make our way across the entryway of the inside of the warehouse to the stairs that lead up to where I crash. I have a handful of places. You never know when or where you might need to escape. I stay here the most because it’s convenient and only a few people know about it.

Since I took over the property, only a handful of people have entered this warehouse and were allowed to walk out.

I put my hand on the scanner. The door slides open. “Oh, fancy.” Angel leans forward like she’s only going to peek inside.

The cat comes running right between her legs, sliding past her to get inside. “Kitty!” I release Angel’s hand, letting her enter of her own free will.

I follow after her, the door sliding shut behind me, the locks engaging.

Further sealing her fate.