her. My breath catches and my muscles tense, blowing my load one tug away. My phone chimes, cutting through my Ali induced state of pleasure and pain. Ignoring it, I let it ring out. Damn it, all I want is to come, let out my frustration, it’s the one thing I can control. But when my cell rings the second time, I drop my dick. Cursing, I reach across to my side table to pick it up.
My brows furrow. Not recognizing the number I answer, my tone abrupt. “Tate.”
“Roamyn?” a small voice muffles through the static on the line.
The hair on the back of my neck rises and I freeze.
Ali.
I climb off the bed and grab my clothes from the floor, tucking my still hard dick against my stomach just so I can pull up my pants.
“Where are you? What’s wrong?” I ask, tucking the phone into the crook of my neck so I can zip up.
“I’m at home. Lucio—”
My nostrils flare. I cut her off, knowing where this is headed, yet not wanting to hear it. “How badly are you hurt? Doesn’t matter. I’m coming to get you.”
Worry filters through her voice. “No. You can’t come here to the house. If he sees you we’re both dead.”
I take a deep breath and try not to crush the phone in my hand. “All right. Meet me a block up around the corner. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Okay. And Roamyn? Thank you.”
I swallow past the pain cutting the back of my throat and hang up. Grabbing my keys, gun, and badge from the side table, I shove my phone in my pocket. When I shut the door to my apartment behind me, dread hits my back thinking about what I could be walking into.
Thunder cracks above me like a warning sign.
Go home.
Turn back now. While you still can.
I push my car keys into my back pocket and pull up the hood on my jacket, hiding my face along with my nerves. Unease winds through me, pulling me so tightly I all but jump out of my skin when a drunken homeless man trips, wandering out of the alley behind me. My heart thrashes in my chest. I shake it off, but the feeling of impending doom doesn’t leave me. I could be walking into my own demise, not that it’d matter because apparently my heart doesn’t care much for my own wellbeing when it comes to Ali. Why? I haven’t a fucking clue. Maybe it’s the longing for retribution. Craving for blood to be shed, just as my mother’s was. An eye for an eye. Maybe my mind’s using this girl as another reason to go after them. To walk up to Giuseppi Marino’s door tonight, kill him with my bare hands and then sleep soundly with not a drop of regret. Either way, my pulse’s racing, fingers itching. I’m bound to find out soon enough.
I shove my hands in my pockets. Walk with my head tucked low, and make it to Ali without being noticed. When I realized those few nights ago it was her in my bed beneath me, my breath caught in my throat and time stopped. Memories of the scared girl I met four years ago flashed before my eyes. But looking at her now, after having her in my arms—it was clear she’d changed. Grown. She wasn’t a girl anymore. She had perfect perky tits with rose-tipped nipples that hardened under my touch. She had long legs that carried on for days and a look in her features, aging her by years. She’d seen a lot, been through even more. It wore on her face, within the lines around her eyes. Gone was the innocence and naiveté of youth.
Ali’s pale skin flashes as lightning illuminates the night sky with angry strikes. I suck in a harsh breath at the red and purple hues covering her face. My hands move without thinking. I cup the sides of her head and turn her, inspecting the damage. She hisses, her features contorting with pain. Gritting my teeth, I try to keep my anger in check. I want to kill them all. For me. For Ali. For every life, they’ve brought irreparable damage to. I check over her eyebrow that’s crusted with dried blood from a small cut before grazing a thumb over the bruise and swelling around her right eye.
“Look at you,” I whisper, pulling a loose strand of her hair out of her face.
My tone