Taming Seraphine

LEROI

Seraphine charges toward the man holding the hose, her newly darkened hair swinging behind her like a war banner. The man, who I can only assume is Pietro Fiori, glances in her direction for a few shocked seconds before dropping his hose and making a run for it.

I grind my teeth, shut off the engine, and reach for a lightweight mask. Disguises can only do so much to hide a person’s true appearance. If this man has been ferrying Seraphine to and from her missions, then I’m certain he knows to be wary of the tiny, harmless-looking young woman.

By the time I slip the mask over my head, Fiori is already halfway to reaching the entrance to his house.

Seraphine is quick on her feet, but at five feet nothing, her petite legs can’t keep up with the long strides of a man running from a furious assassin. I catch up to Fiori in a few fast strides and slam him into his front door.

He’s six-two, with the soft build of a man who doesn’t work out to compensate for spending all day behind the wheel of a vehicle.

“Who are you?” Fiori pushes back against my weight.

I pull out a gun and press it into his temple. “Make a sound, and you’re dead.”

He sucks in a breath through his teeth, his body trembling.

“What are you doing?” Seraphine hisses from my side. “He’s mine.”

Fiori shudders. “Oh my god, oh my god. You’re alive.”

Ignoring them both, I unhook the gun’s safety, producing a click that makes him stiffen with a noisy gasp.

“What did I say about making a noise?” I snarl.

Fiori swallows, his head darting toward Seraphine. “Please, don’t kill me,” he whispers. “I was only doing my job.”

My brows rise. I’m the one with a gun to his head and outweigh him by at least fifty pounds, yet he’s begging Seraphine for mercy? Interesting.

“Do you live alone?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

He nods furiously.

“Open the door and let us inside,” I say. “Answer our questions and nobody gets hurt.”

With shaking fingers, he unlocks the door of his house, letting out a cloud of nicotine. Keeping my gun to his head and an arm around his shoulders, I push him forward. Seraphine slips in behind us and closes the door.

We step into a small, tidy living space combined with a kitchenette, with nicotine-stained walls unadorned with art or photos. The only prominent feature is a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall.

“I thought we were going to drag him to the car.” Pouting, Seraphine walks into view, making Fiori flinch.

“Well, I’d planned on attaching a tracker to his exhaust and catching up with him in an area less populated by Capello’s associates, but you decided to act alone.” My grip on Fiori tightens. “Since we’re here, let’s get the information and get out.”

The man shrinks into my chest, his breath coming in panicked gasps. “Keep her away from me. Please.”

My gaze darts down to Seraphine’s scowl. No matter how many times I look at her, I can’t see what’s so frightening. After all, I’m the one holding the gun.

“Where’s Gabriel?” she asks.

He recoils so closely into me that the pounding of his heart vibrates against my ribs. “W-who? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I press the gun harder into his temple. “Don’t lie to us.”

“Please. I swear, I’ve never heard of him.”

Seraphine glances around the room before striding to the kitchenette. I follow her gaze to a magnetic strip on the wall, holding a set of knives. Instead of approaching them, she opens up cupboard after cupboard before extracting a bottle of lighter fluid.

Fiori whimpers.

“It’s in your best interest to answer my questions before she gets creative,” I mutter.

“Where did they keep my brother?” Seraphine asks with a scowl.

“I swear, I don’t know who that is!” Fiori cries, his voice rising several octaves.

When Seraphine brings the fluid to a pack of cigarettes and lighter at a low table, my stomach forms a knot. If I don’t get this guy to talk, Seraphine might start a fire that will attract unwanted attention.

“Did any of your employers order you to make regular deliveries to an address?” I ask.

“Wh-what kind?”

“Food.”

“N-no,” he shakes his head.

“Not even monthly?”

“The twins drove their own cars. They only called me when they needed me to pick them up from bars and clubs when they were too fucked up to function.”

“What else did you do for them?”

“I…” He swallows, turns to Seraphine, and shivers. “I drove her around.”

In a much smaller voice, he adds, “She’s a killer.”

“You had to know they were holding her brother hostage,” I snarl. “Didn’t you question why someone so young would assassinate dangerous men?”

“They said she was a psycho.”

Seraphine splashes the lighter fluid onto the man, hitting me with several droplets. My heart jumps, and a bolt of excitement surges straight to my balls.

Fuck.

No part of me finds being burned alive while clinging onto another man arousing, but my libido thinks anything Seraphine does is a sexual wonder.

“See?” Fiori screams. “I heard she sucked one of them down to the root, bit it off and swallowed it so there would be nothing to reattach. She’s crazy.”

Seraphine picks up the cigarette lighter, and my dick stirs. I have never in my entire thirty-four years of existence been erect in such close proximity to another man, yet this woman’s antics has my dick in a death grip.

“Stay still,” I growl, pushing him back to the wall when Fiori presses his skinny ass so close to my crotch that it’s torn between hardening or shriveling.

“They were controlling her through her brother,” I snarl. “Tell me what you know about that.”

He shakes his head. “They never mentioned a brother, and neither did she. There was only a remote and a chip.”

My jaw clenches. He sounds so convincing that if I hadn’t seen footage of an emaciated man tied to a chair, I would believe every word.

She flicks the lighter, creating a spark.

“Who else might know about the brother?” I ask.

“I don’t know!” His voice becomes shrill.

“Can I burn him now?” Seraphine asks, her voice quickening with impatience.

“Not unless you want to be put to bed with another spanked ass and no orgasm.” I adjust my grip around his shoulders to form a chokehold and snarl into his ear, “You’re not doing yourself any favors. Give us some names. Tell us what you heard while working for those bastards.”

Seraphine flicks the lighter again, this time bringing up a flame. For entirely different reasons, both Fiori and I moan.

“Alright.” He wails and trembles. “The twins worked for old man Capello, and he had mistresses all over New Alderney. Maybe the brother lives at one of the places he visited.”

“Who would know these addresses?” I ask.

“Bruno Capello.” He gulps. “He’s Mr. Capello’s driver. a third cousin once or twice removed.”

“Where do we find him?”

“His house is inside the gates.”

Shit.

Seraphine flicks the lighter again and steps closer. “Call him.”

“No!” Fiori raises a hand and produces a tiny flick knife. “Stay back.”

I hiss through my teeth. How the fuck did I miss that weapon? My gun presses into his temple. “Drop it.”

Seraphine rushes forward and reaches for the blade. Before I can order her back, Fiori slashes her palm.

She falls back with a yelp.

My stomach plummets to the floor. My gaze locks onto the blood pooling in her palm. Every barrier I erected over the years to contain my fury disintegrate into nothingness in the presence of her pain.

He hurt Seraphine.

He made her bleed.

My vision fogs with red rage. Rage at letting Seraphine get hurt. Rage at the powerless boy I once was who couldn’t stop my bastard stepfather from hurting the two women I was supposed to protect. It clouds my senses, grips my throat, and fills my lungs until I can’t breathe.

Fiori gasps. “I’m sorry. It was a reflex. I didn’t mean to⁠—”

I tighten my arm around his neck and lift him off his feet. His face turns crimson, and he stares up at me through bulging eyes.

“I can’t breathe,” he rasps.

“That’s the point,” I growl.

Fiori wriggles, writhes, and retches for air. I barely notice his struggles because I’m transfixed at the sight of Seraphine’s fascination with her bleeding palm.

She gazes down at the blood, her lips parted, her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. Pink stains her cheeks the way it did when she talked about wanting to have an orgasm.

Seconds pass, and the man continues to fight against my choke hold. Seraphine gazes up at me through those artificially colored eyes and all I want to do is tear off her disguise. I want to see her–not the facade. I want to witness the softening of her features as I end her pain.

Fiori stops struggling and falls limp, his death pushing away the bloody haze. I release my grip around his throat, twist his neck, and let him fall to the floor with a heavy thud.

“Seraphine,” I say.

She offers me her wounded palm, her eyes bright. Blood spills from her fingers and down her arm, dripping DNA onto the floor.

I take her wrist. “Let me take care of it.”

“Wait.” She drops into a crouch and picks up Fiori’s dagger. “If he had a knife all along, why didn’t he use it earlier?”

“He was waiting for the right moment.”

I guide her to the kitchenette, to the first aid box in the corner by the stove. After lifting her onto the counter and opening the kit, I hold her hand under a stream of running water.

“Why are you washing it away?” she asks, her voice breathy.

“You like blood?” I ask with a smirk.

She grins, her eyes sparkling. “It’s beautiful.”

So, Seraphine smiles at Farfalla, at the woman at the fetish store, and at blood. Interesting. I pat the wound dry with a wipe, only for it to start bleeding again. The cut isn’t deep enough to need stitches, so I apply some ointment, gauze and medical tape.

She watches me work with rapt attention, her cheeks still flushed.

“Next time a man comes at you with a knife, don’t run toward its blade,” I say.

“Alright,” she grumbles.

Her delicate fingers close around mine in a grip so tight that my heartbeat doubles. I’m about to ask if she also likes pain when something cool lands on my throat.

It’s Fiori’s knife.