Whiskey Poison - A Mafia Romance

I

f my case file ten times in a row, I

I mutter, repeating one of

, it sounds like as good a solution as any. Especially when I ca

oblem. Maybe a next week problem

vation tank. A place to exist without the past, present, and future crushing

y meaning to,

ist, more like a fog than anything. It

ingers wrap around my biceps and jerk me into the

Helpless.

ck wall, but this time, it's spongy aga

ugh the rain to reveal himself. I should have recognized

" I b

his full mouth could do that. I've only se

ere's danger here. I was being att

It's just the two of

upright, I'm flat on my back with the beast looming

and tremble as he pins me to the bed limb by limb. I'm like a butterfl

u can't defend yourself," he says. This time, he isn't chastising

reathless as his lips graze acro

s, nipping at my earlo

e up

'm sure is a bruise from my tumble to the pavement last night. I inhale t

oes keep the score,

The blue-eyed beast was an asshole in reality, but he

een is on full brightness and I hiss like a vampire in su

shoulder and my hip, I lurch ou

e. Beyo

second, I'd be forgivably late. But I'm still stan

r associated with the case file to let the potential parent know I'm d

ome blush and mascara between stops. My claustrophobia doesn't act up so much o

s in my folder and sprinting through the neighborhood that I

edged in by what seems to be a

off in the dista

new one,

o apartments with four mattresses on the floor and cockroa

y to skip

ing like that. Instead, as I'm reaching for the buzzer butt

r. But the bus is long gone and it's ee

g driveway. It takes almost twenty minutes of power-walking, so I have more

a mile. The front door, when I reach it, is solid wood with a gold spherical knocker. And when

d disapproving. "Ms

te. I meant to be

nd leads me into the ho

the door behind me

tsteps. The arched ceilings should make this place feel like a church, but there is e

he owner with a child. I mean, they probably have enough money

day might turn out to be a mu

pen a door. "Mr. Viktorov, M

voice grumbles fro

but I can't blame the m

through the door. "Hello, Mr. Viktoro

intimidating desk in the center of

blue as they w

were in the al

can't be real. I'm still asleep. Then the blue-

y not a d

keep up with my brain, a

ou

I

Mr. Viktorov, apparently. "I see CPS

his shoulders wasn't meant to be contained to an office chair. The tattoos I know cover his arms are h

most talkat

lift my jaw off the floor. I close my mouth

ved my life

ded to haun

s in fro

embling logic, but I come up empty. Instead, I

an ask. "You're in the right place." He settles back

"How did you-do you know m

ly." I don't miss the note

'm aware of that. But you don't find that a little odd

f my brain. A suspicion I can't

surprised to see me," Mr. Viktorov answ

ay me enough to be in it for the money. So I want to argue that of c

ere for the worst part of it," I say. "Excuse me f

ave our w