Chapter 12- The Devil

Angel eyes. Gorgeous, intense, irresistible. I just can't get enough of them. Yet they ignore me as I stand to the far end of the shooting range, hands in my pants' pockets. 

"I thought we agreed to go easy on her," Guzzo says beside me when he catches sight of Thirteen stepping out of the line-up of women to be evaluated for their shooting aim. "It's just been two days since she woke from coma, and you already have her working her ass off in training?"

"And how else am I supposed to see her?" 

He shakes his head. "Fucking asshole."

"She can handle it." My gaze goes to Thirteen, who is currently putting on padded headphones and picking up a loaded gun. "She can't have a tongue that lethal and not have the will to endure the consequences thereof. This is just the punishment for her lack of discretion when she awoke from said coma, and I know that she would sooner grow another arm than show weakness. She's fine."

When I glance at her again, I see her aim at the 3D dummy up ahead, just before she shoots. Then shoots a couple more. Two headshots, one neck, one arm. 

"Not bad," Guzzo says. "Best I've seen so far. She's going to make the cut, won't she? Add two other top scorers and you have your team for this weekend."

I am barely even listening, attention divided between his sensible comment and Thirteen's frame in the distance. She is now headed back for the group as someone else is called up, that sexy ponytail swinging behind her. I try to meet her gaze again, but just as it drops on me, she averts it. She's definitely trying to avoid me... And now I'm swearing under my breath. I didn't know it would annoy me this much. 

"Leone?"

I turn to Guzzo. "No, she's not coming."

One of his brows climb higher over his head. 

"If she comes with, I'm definitely going to fuck her," I say. 

His raised brow rises even higher. 

"She doesn't want me to."

Guzzo laughs raucously and I light myself a cigarette as I stew in my annoyance, my gaze drifting to Thirteen every so often. 

"You're a fucking asshole, that's why," my cousin quiets enough to say. "And unlike everyone else in your harem, she can see that."

I blow out a puff of smoke, my cigarette stick hovering just before my lips as I hold it free of my mouth enough to speak. "It's not a fucking harem for fuck's sake. You know I never mix my business with pleasure. As a rule, I don't play with the dolls." I pause. "Well, except Thirteen. I'm definitely going to play with her." I won't have any peace until I do. 

"I guess rules were made to be broken."

In ten more minutes, the evaluation draws to a close and the girls start to pack their gym bags to exit the hall, smiling or waving at me as they pass by, like I give a fuck. A few stay back though, chattering leisurely amongst themselves, knowing that training is over for the day. Thirteen is one of them. She is standing before a table that is lined with all kinds of semi-automatics, talking with Verdi who had been handling the entire evaluation process. And as I watch them converse, a surge of annoyance rises within me for some reason. 

Two girls walk by, smiling sheepishly like they recently lost their wits, and Guzzo draws my attention to them. "Honestly, Leone, I don't see why one stubborn-as-fuck chick who hates your guts is your current issue. Don't you find it problematic that you have twenty girls in one facility and on an average, eighteen or nineteen out of them are all in love with you?" 

"I pay their fucking salaries. Of course they are," I reply. 

"Maybe, but it's obvious that they would have liked it if you did more than just paid them to kill for you and look pretty while doing so." 

I shrug without sympathy. "If only wishes were horses..." Thirteen would be strapped to my bed now, riding me like her life depended on it. 

Guzzo checks his watch. "Are we still making that trip to Rimini today?"

I nod. "You go on. I'll meet you in the car."

While Guzzo makes his way out, I head for the shooting range. "Everyone out." But when Thirteen starts to move in the direction of the doors, I pin her with a gaze. "Except you."

She stays back as all the others leave, exchanging curious glances. And as I watch them go, I take a long drag of my cigarette and puff it. She coughs, the annoyance on her face as plain as the jealousy eating me up. But I stare back at her without remorse. 

And it really upsets her... Which is good, because now we're both mad, not just me. 

"You know, I would kill you," she starts, "but you're already on your way there."

I grin, thoroughly amused despite myself. "I actually prefer dying at your hands," I answer, dropping my stick of cigarette on the floor and stuffing it out with my oxford. 

But she says nothing in response. And as the silence between us stretches, I hold her gaze. 

"Do you want to get Verdi killed?" I ask, and she looks quizzical for a few seconds, just before understanding dawns on her. 

She scoffs. "What, I haven't fucked him yet."

The balls. 

"So you plan to," I clarify. 

"I am not fucking either of you." She folds her arms across her chest and my eyes go there, watching the swell of her breasts as she breathes. "I will first kill you both before I do. All men are crazy assholes."

"Not all men," I correct. "I, for one, am psychotic to a degree that is concerning, so if you care about Verdi's life one bit, you will ask him not to wink at you again. You are my doll, not his."

Her eyes widen. She had no idea that I had noticed that. But then I had been watching her like a fucking hawk, begging for the same attention she so freely gave one of my assassins. Of course I'm mad. 

"Tell me then, do you always get this mad when other people play with your dolls?" She asks, taunting. 

"No, just you." I slip my hands in my pockets, countenance plastic. "You're my favorite doll. I get a kick from cutting your braids and dunking you in water. I like the thought of shredding your clothes with scissors and leaving you in a cold, dark corner. I like breaking you." I pause. "If only you would be a good doll and let me break you properly. I know you're just dying for me to."

Her eyes are wide- those gray irises lit with sin and sweet seduction- and her lower lip is between her teeth, paying the price in her need to hide her obvious heat. Her breaths are so deep they are all I hear, and the look that crosses her features, all I needed to see. She wants it. Fuck. She wants it all.

I breach the distance between us, hardly a breath of space left, but she steps back... and then turns away, headed outside.

But I already know the truth. She aches to break for my thrill, to be pleasured as she does so. And I know that she will break beautifully.