Vicious Hearts: A Dark Enemies To Lovers Mafia Romance

The world is full of pain and sin, Una. And it is the job of the righteous to send the wicked to Hell, so the rest may go to Heaven.

His grip on my hand is firm. The hum of his pulse against mine, the feel of his skin on my own, and the raw power that emanates off this man has my core tying into knots and my heart beating double time.

Or maybe that’s just because a terrifying yet gorgeous beast of a man, built like a god with the heart of a devil, is dragging me away from a literal orgy to a more private room.

Where we can be alone.

Where he can do with me what he wants—which is clearly marked on the band around his wrist.

Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

At the end of the dark, black hallway, golden doors open to a small, dimly lit elevator. Cillian pulls me in, and I shiver when the doors slide closed again, boxing us inside.

Away from the rest of the world.

The rabbit alone with the wolf.

The elevator begins to rise to the higher floors of Club Venom, reserved for patrons who want more privacy. The seconds tick by, and my pulse begins to thud even harder. I can feel my skin tingling, and even though the elevator is at a normal temperature, a sheen of sweat begins to glisten on my back.

“You’re nervous.”

Fuck.

His hand is still holding mine. He can fucking tell. He knows I’m a fraud. He knows—

I close my eyes, taking a slow breath and shoving all of that down.

He doesn’t suspect anything or he’d have never gotten into this elevator with you.

With me, and with the instrument of his impending death, which is currently pinning up my long, blonde, and fake hair in a knot on top of my head.

This is happening.

I’m doing this. Now. Here. Tonight.

I’d do anything to save Finn. Even if it means sneaking into a notoriously dangerous and edge-pushing sex club, and deliberately putting myself alone in a room with a psychopathic sadist.

Even if it means letting that psychopath—and however gorgeous he may be, Cillian Kildare is a monstrous psychopath—do whatever he pleases to me to get us to the part where I get to watch him bleed out.

It’s nothing personal, even if he did once put my father behind bars, and then later was instrumental in killing him.

My father Seamus O’Conor was a true monster. One even more dangerous than Cillian. He was brutal, and cruel, and insane. I haven’t shed a single tear or spent a single second mourning his passing.

This isn’t revenge.

It’s payment.

A life for a life.

If I kill Cillian Kildare, then the devil currently holding a blade to my brother’s throat lets him live. So no, this isn’t actually about my father at all. This is about doing whatever—whatever—it takes to save Finn, who did everything when we were younger to keep me safe and guard me from monsters.

I force another sultry smile as I turn toward the demon standing next to me. I slink close to him, brushing my other hand across his abdomen and trembling with surprise when I feel rock-hard, chiseled muscles beneath his black shirt.

According to my research, Cillian’s forty. Apparently, his abs still think he’s twenty-two.

“Not nervous,” I purr, standing up as high as I can on my tiptoes to nuzzle his neck. “Just excited.”

Play the part. Be the temptress.

My eyes close as my lips brush the skin of his neck—first kissing, then sucking slightly against the throb of his jugular.

“Did I fucking say you could touch me?”

I flinch, taken aback. Shivering, I pull back, quailing under the intensity of those supernaturally green eyes.

“W—what?”

“Did. I. Fucking. Say. You. Could. Fucking. Touch. Me,” he rasps thickly, his jaw clenched.

I shake my head. “I’m sorry.”

He tilts his head.

“No,” I murmur. “No, you didn’t.”

“No you didn’t…what?”

Heat floods my face.

“No, you didn’t…” I swallow thickly. “Sir.”

“Good girl.”

An outrageously inappropriate throb pulses deep within my core, clenching my thighs the second he says those two words together.

Jesus, keep your shit together, Una.

Mercifully, just then the elevator doors silently slide open. His hand tightens around mine, making my pulse jump as he pulls me from the elevator into a sinfully dark hallway. We turn to the left, moving until he comes to a stop at a door with a capital L—the Roman numeral for fifty—in metallic red against the matte black door. He holds his wristband to a sensor, and the door unlocks with a weighty click.

My heart climbs into my throat.

We step into a dark and sultry room: the walls are a deep blood red, the floor and ceiling the same matte black as the door, and the furniture is all in matching tones of matte black, blood red, and gold.

There’s no windows.

My pulse skips when my eyes land on the huge four-poster bed against one wall, covered by a deep red duvet with the golden Club Venom emblem of the viper emblazoned on it. Surprisingly, after he shuts the door behind us with an equally weighty click, Cillian doesn’t move to the bed. Instead, he strides easily and confidently across the room to a bar cart next to a gas fireplace.

He pushes a button on the mantel, bringing the fireplace to life and casting flickering shadows across the dark and sensual room. I stand motionless, still by the door, using every ounce of my willpower not to fidget or pick at my nails.

Or turn and run.

Cillian pours himself a glass of what looks like whiskey. He turns, his green eyes cutting through the dim light of the room.

“Drink?”

I nod.

“Yes, please.”

He lifts a brow.

“Yes, please, Sir,” I whisper, my face heating.

He beckons me with two fingers. Shivering, I teeter across the room in my heels until I’m standing in front of the fireplace, between two richly-black leather sofas. He hands me a crystal tumbler—whiskey, like his—which I take and quickly bring to my lips.

“Sláinte,” he murmurs, lifting his glass in a toast before taking a sip.

I down mine in one gulp. Cillian lifts a brow behind his gold and black mask.

“You’re still nervous.”

“No, just exci—”

“Stop lying to me.”

My pulse skips, sweat sheening across my back again.

“This is your first time here.”

It isn’t a question, and there’s no reason to lie when he obviously already knows the answer. It can be my first time here. That changes nothing in this little game.

“Yes,” I murmur. “Yes, Sir,” I quickly amend, trying to ignore the thrill that rushes through my core when I say it.

This is not a fantasy. This is not one of those videos you watch late at night online. This is real, and you need to get your fucking head in the game right now.

“And you’re perfectly fucking clear on what the band you wear on your wrist means.”

I nod quickly.

“Yes, Sir.”

His eyes narrow as he sips his drink, slowly walking around me, his appraising gaze leaving burning, tingling trails in its wake.

“Rules,” he growls. “First, once we begin, we don’t stop—for anything—unless you say the safe word. Tonight, that will be the word blue. You say blue, and we stop. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Second. I don’t do humiliation.”

“Me either.”

Wait, what? It just tumbles out, and I don’t know why. This isn’t real. The kinks inside of me are, yes. The darkness that I explore alone, with the help of the internet—as testified by my questionable search history—is real. But all of this?

Not real. So why the hell did I just spill that?

Cillian’s brow arches, and I tremble at the sadistic way the corners of his lips curl before he continues his slow, methodical walk around me.

“I will hurt you, though.”

My thighs clench traitorously.

“I will control you.”

My nipples harden.

Fuck you, subconscious.

“And, should I decide to…”

I shiver as I feel him come to a stop behind me. And when his lips brush near my ear, I bite down on my lip hard to stop from gasping.

“I will chase you, and pin you down, and savage you.”

There’s a chance I’ve bitten off way more than I can chew.

Oh, you fucking THINK?

Cillian continues to prowl around me, finishing his drink and setting the empty glass on the mantel. He shrugs his jacket off, methodically folding it and draping it over an arm of one of the sofas. He plucks my empty glass from my fingers and sets it next to his before he continues his slow walk around me.

“Strip.”

I tense, my pulse thudding as every nerve in my body screams that I should run. I can feel the heavy clasp pinning my hair up in a knot—a golden, ornate thing that Apostle gave to me for tonight.

Very pretty, very expensive-looking….and very lethal, given that concealed within it is a razor-sharp five-inch blade that flicks out butterfly-knife style with a simple twist of the wrist.

For a second, I imagine myself exploding into action—reaching up, grabbing the clasp from my hair, and whirling to plunge it into his heart.

Not yet. Not now.

Patience. Have pat—

My entire body jolts, my eyes bugging out of their sockets and my mouth falling open in shock as a powerful hand wraps around my throat from behind, squeezing. Cillian growls, pressing hard against my back and making my legs shake. I feel his breath and smell the heady scent of him—a mix of leather, whiskey, and tobacco—swirling through my senses.

“I will not fucking ask again.”

Heat explodes through my core—raw, sensual, illicit. But it’s not from fear. It’s worse. It’s from excitement. It’s the combination of his grip on my throat, the harsh, demanding tone in my ear, and the pure power of him swirling around me like black magic.

It’s the beginning of countless of my filthy fantasies. But now is really not the time nor the place to play them out, however ironic that may be.

Shivering, I bring a hand up to the nape of my neck. My fingers unclip the clasp on the delicate gold chain there, and suddenly the entire flimsy dress tumbles away from me. The silky material slips from my nipples, slides off my hips, and pools on the floor around my ankles.

I stand there, doing everything I can to keep my hands at my sides—to keep my posture casual and calm, like I’ve done this hundreds of times instead of never—and to refrain from wrapping my arms around myself to hide my nakedness.

“I’m sorry, did you misunderstand the fucking order?”

I flush deeply, shaking my head.

“No, Sir.”

My entire face turns red as my fingers slip into the waistband of my black thong. Burning hotly, I bend at the knees, my ears ringing as I slip the panties down my legs, then kick them off.

And then, except for my shoes, I’m completely naked.

With him.

When I hear footsteps moving away from me, I frown, puzzled. I turn slightly to glance over my shoulder at what he’s doing. And when I see, my core throbs with deviant desire.

Cillian walks to a table against the far wall covered with…tools. Not tools for building, like hammers or saws.

Tools for destroying.

Leather wrist and ankle restraints. Ball gags. A riding crop. A—fuck me—a whip.

Strap-ons, butt plugs of various sizes, butterfly nipple clamps, paddles, floggers, blindfolds, hoods, and a dozen other leather and gleaming gold implements of pleasure and pain.

Tools that I’m ashamed to admit I’m far too well-versed in.

Thanks, internet.

I stare, my heart racing with—well, with what I want to say is fear, but is actually more like forbidden excitement—as Cillian traces a finger thoughtfully over each object on the table. He lingers on a paddle—the size of a ping-pong paddle, but covered in raised metal studs—and my heart skips. But then he keeps moving down the line.

Finally, his hand stops again, this time on the riding crop. When I watch his lips curl, I shiver as he picks it up and turns back to me, his eyes glinting wickedly.

“Eyes forward.”

I tremble, my entire body thrumming with anticipation and nerves as I hear him walk back to me.

“Remember the word, little rabbit.”

Before I can even try to remember what it is, fire explodes across my skin. I yelp, gulping and—shamefully—whimpering, as I feel the sting of the crop against my bare ass.

He does it again—not hard, but hard enough to make me gasp as the slim leather bit at the end stings my tender skin. The fire ignites a third time, and my whole face goes red when I realize the sound that tumbles from my lips this time is a very obvious and very needy moan.

Behind me, Cillian chuckles darkly as I shiver in the aftershocks of the assault on my flesh.

“Such a greedy little girl,” he growls, tracing the tip of the crop over my skin.

I whimper deep in my chest, my whole world slowly turning to fire and need. Everything else begins to fade away, until all I know is the feel of the leather crop teasing slowly over my hip, and then up my ribs as he circles me, like a shark smelling blood in the water.

A quick thwack against my ribs has me mewling. The tip of the crop tracing up the underside of my breast and flicking over my aching nipple brings a shiver and a gasp of anticipation to my lips.

Thwack.

I yelp, moaning, my brain short-fucking-circuiting as he flicks the end of the crop against my other nipple. It hurts—I mean, it really fucking hurts. But the rush that immediately follows—the pure ecstasy that floods into the space pain made—is euphoric.

And it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before with just myself.

He knows it, too. Because suddenly, he’s doing it again. And again. And again, punishing my nipples with the end of the crop until my legs are shaking. Until my pulse roars in my ears.

Until I’m so wet, I swear to God, it’s going to drip right down my legs.

He circles me again and again, teasing and then hurting, teasing and then hurting, leaving stings and explosions of raw pleasure across my breasts, my inner thighs, and my ass. Until finally, I’m so delirious with forbidden pleasure that the room is spinning.

That’s when he’s suddenly on me.

I gasp as his hands come at me from behind—one wrapping around my throat, the other dragging over my hip as he pulls me back against him. My pulse roars and my eyes go wide as I feel the thick, heavy bulge in his pants pressing hard against the small of my back.

His lower hand keeps moving, and my mouth falls open in desire when it suddenly plunges between my thighs. Two of the thick fingers on his veined, muscular hand delve between my folds, and I can’t help but cry out desperately when he begins to rub my clit.

“Such a messy little girl for me,” Cillian rasps darkly into my ear. I whimper, choking as his hand tightens on my throat, sending my body into orbit. His fingers push lower, and my eyes bulge as he suddenly sinks not one, but both of them deep into me in one rapid, brutal thrust.

Oh my God he’s going to make me come.

If he keeps this up, he really will. Maybe it’s the two glasses of champagne followed by a whiskey. Maybe it’s my jangling nerves.

Maybe it’s the fact that despite all the reasons I’m supposed to be here, the fact that I’m truly exploring the dark kinks in my head for the first time ever has me clawing at the edges of my sanity already.

Cillian growls low against my neck as his fingers pound into my soaking pussy—the wet, sloppy sound lewdly filling the room as my legs buckle. He rakes his teeth across my neck, and when he suddenly bites down hard, my entire world throbs, and I teeter on the brink.

“I was going to take my fucking time with you,” he hisses darkly. “But I don’t think you or your greedy little wet pussy can wait, can you?”

In one motion, everything shifts. His hand slips from between my legs. He whirls me around, and I’m gasping as I’m suddenly lifted, my legs wrapping around his waist before he slams me against a wall.

One of his big hands grabs both my wrists, shoving and then pinning them above my head. And when I hear the jangle of his belt and the tug of his zipper, my eyes start from my head.

Oh my fucking God…

I whimper when I feel the thick, hot, pulsing weight of his cock against my bare thigh. I gasp as he rocks his hips, pushing the huge, swollen head over my skin until it bumps right up against my clit.

My world blurs. My breath chokes.

This is really happening. He’s going to fuck me like this. Oh God.

Cillian growls savagely. The hand not pinning my wrists slides up my body. His fingers find a nipple, and I cry out, shuddering and whimpering as he brutally pinches it. He does the same to the other nipple, then moves back again, alternating between the two until I’m delirious with pain and pleasure. Until I’m so wet, I know I’ve got to be dripping all over him as he rubs my clit with his head.

He’s right there.

He’s so close.

One thrust…just one move of his hips, and he’ll be inside me.

Except he’s not. Not yet, at least. He just keeps brutalizing my nipples and dragging the head of his cock back and forth over my clit, and lowering his mouth to bite and suck at my neck savagely as my reality blurs.

“Is this what you came here for…”

He bites one of my nipples, making me scream in pleasure.

“To be fucking used?”

He bites the other as his hand wraps around my throat.

“To prance into the fucking wolf’s lair like a little rabbit, begging to be fucking devoured?”

“I…”

I’m going to come.

I’m going to fucking come.

And that’s exactly when he rolls his hips and sinks the head of his cock right between my lips, against my opening.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

His teeth clamp down on a nipple so hard I think he’s going to bite it off. His hand tightens around my neck until black spots swim in the corners of my vision.

Don’t forget what you came here for.

Above my head, my hands clench and unclench, twisting under his merciless grasp, trying to reach for the blade hidden in my hair.

I came here prepared to do anything—anything—for Finn. But am I really ready to—

Cillian thrusts.

Hard.

And suddenly, his cock rams inside me to the hilt.

Every. Single. Fucking. Huge. Inch of him.

It hurts. Badly. Brutally. Except, that’s not all it does.

It also makes me come.

Instantly.

All the anticipation. All the anxiety preparing for this and coming here tonight. All the build-up, the atmosphere, the hedonism downstairs, and finally—finally—meeting my fantasies and my depraved kinks in the flesh, and seeing if they still make me weak in the knees when they’re happening for real and not just in my fantasies.

It all hits at once, just as the beautiful and sadistic psychopath I’m supposed to kill drives every inch of his hard, thick, huge cock deep inside of me.

I scream as I come harder than I’ve ever come before by a mile. The waves keep coming, over and over and over, until they threaten to pull me under. My back arches off the wall, my hips grinding into him through the pain and the pleasure and the whirlwind of it all.

My heart is still racing. Every inch of my body is still on fire, electrified. Slowly, I open my eyes, only to shiver as they’re instantly swallowed by his venomous green ones.

“Good girl,” he growls quietly. His cock flexes powerfully inside of me, making me whimper as a fresh wave of pleasure ripples through my core.

Under the black and gold mask, his brow suddenly furrows.

“What were you reaching for?”

I blink. “What?”

Do it.

“You were reaching for something.”

My pulse skips. He’s still all the way inside of me, but he’s fully dressed, and I can see the glint of a switchblade at his hip.

Do it now. NOW.

His green eyes slowly narrow viciously. His hand drops from my wrists, moving to grip my hip tightly. The other hand stays wrapped around my throat, and when it starts to tighten slightly, I have a moment of clarity.

This isn’t about facing your deep, depraved darkness.

This is about Finn.

Do what you have to do. Now.

Cillian’s eyes thin to slits. “I asked you a fucking question.”

Go. Do it.

Fucking DO IT.

“What the fuck were you reaching f—”

“This.”

I’ve practiced pulling the clasp from my hair and flicking my wrist out a hundred times. Even so, doing it now, with the rush of all the endorphins still roaring through my system, it’s like I’m moving underwater or through molasses.

But I do it just the same.

My hand drops to the knot at the top of my head. My thumb flicks the clasp open, rolling it into my palm as my arm snaps out, flicking open the five-inch blade.

In one motion, with his hands still on my throat and gripping my ass—and with his cock still hard and buried balls-deep inside of me—I swing my arm down and bury the knife deep in his left side, right by his heart.

Cillian’s green eyes widen, and his teeth flash fiercely.

“What the fuck…”

His hand drops from my throat. And my hips. And suddenly, we’re both crashing to the ground. I hit the floor with a gasp, rolling away from him, wincing at the pain when his enormous cock slips from between my legs.

I scramble to my feet, backing away from him as if he might lunge up and strike me down.

No. He’s not going anywhere.

The brutal, vicious, gorgeous Irish crime boss lies on the ground, wincing and gritting his teeth. My knife is still buried to the hilt in his side. Blood—a lot of blood—pools beneath him. His devilish green eyes roll, but then snap to mine as they start to fog.

“What the fuck…”

“The blood of the innocent washes away the sins of the wicked.”

I don’t know why I say it. I don’t know why in this moment I feel the need to repeat the words the monster who was my father used to say. They just slip out.

No matter.

I’m shaking all over as I grab my dress and quickly yank it back on and clasp it at the back. My fake blonde wig tumbles down over my shoulders as I straighten up, tuck my breasts back into the dress, and whirl around.

I don’t look back.

I just leave.

When the elevator doors shut, I suddenly fall back against the wall, clutching my chest. My heart is racing so hard it feels like I’m going to go into cardiac arrest.

Breathe.

Breathe, Una.

I let out a soft sob, shaking as I hug myself and suck in a lungful of air, then blow it out. I do it twice more, then twice more again, and finally, the shudders leave me. I stand, taking another deep breath and exhaling slowly.

It’s done.

For Finn. It’s done.

The elevator doors slide open. I step out, swallowing and letting calmness settle over me.

It’s done. It’s over.

Hell of a way to lose your virginity, though.