1
Colm
The rooftop is silent, the wind whipping quietly around my face as my eyes narrow at my target. She can’t see me, though I can see her, right through the living room window of her fourth-floor walk-up apartment. Blonde hair cascades across her face, hiding those gorgeous baby blues I know she’s got. Her body sways, her hips roll, and my cock fucking aches for her.
She always makes me hard. Every single time I see her like this, which has been a lot these last six months. She could be fully dressed or fresh out of the shower—bare skin blushing and beaded and glistening with water. It doesn’t matter. One glance at her. One thought of her. One mention of her name, and my cock is harder than steel.
It’s always been that way.
She’s not aware of the eyes I’ve had on her these last few months, of course. Hell, I know damn well it’s why a woman like her would dare waltz around her apartment naked. She’s not that type of girl. She’s no exhibitionist, or tease. Well, not a conscious tease, at least. The building I’m perched on top of which faces her windows is abandoned—windows boarded up and everything. But up here? Well, up here, I’ve got an unfettered, unrestricted view of what’s mine.
Tonight, she’s somewhere in-between clothed and naked—a flimsy tank top, braless, and little black panties. She twirls, and I grin. She’s listening to her favorite song again. I know it’s Peter Gabriel’s In Your Eyes even with the windows closed. Hell, I’d know the sight of her dancing like that to that damn song anywhere. I’d know it blind and deaf, so long as I could lay a hand on that swaying hip.
Her soft, full tits sway gently under that cotton top, nipples hard and straining at the soft material. I growl, feeling my balls swell and my cock throb hotly against my thigh within my jeans. She turns again, giving me a flash of that perfect, utterly fucking bitable ass. That spankable ass. The kind of ass a man could find God in. Her little black lace thong splits up the back, letting my eyes feast on the sight of the twin tight globes. My jaw tightens, and before I can even stop myself, my hand slides down to cup my swollen bulge. I grunt, feeling how fucking hard I am as my eyes drink her in.
There’s a pitiful sounding whimper behind me, and I whirl, furious, the moment shattered. I snarl at the piece of shit lying there on the flat-top roof, and before he can utter another fucking moan, I’m crush my fist across his jaw. He slumps unconscious again, and my eyes narrow to slits before I spit on his chest.
Fucker.
My eyes drag up from him, darting over the roof at the five other men who’re now also slumped over and unconscious. A trail of destruction leading from the access doorway to the stairs over to my perch across from her windows.
A trail of destruction. My whole damn life has been a trail of destruction.
Except for her.
I pull the gun out of the shoulder holster under my jacket and check the magazine. I snap it back in with a satisfying click before I turn back, my eyes settling on her. She’s still swaying those goddamn tempting hips, none the wiser about what’s gone on across the alley from her apartment. I groan, watching her dance, my cock aching, my balls desperate for release.
It’s been months. Months since my trail of destruction caught up with me.
With us.
Abby knew what I was when she married me. She knew part of the job that came with marrying me was full-time taming the beast inside of me. And she did, for years. But, you work for the mob long enough doing the kind of shit I do for them, and it hits a boiling point. And it did.
She got tired of the late nights, and the things I couldn’t talk about. She got tired of the demons eating me through, the blood under my nails and on my clothes. She called it a “a break.” “Some breathing room.” But I know what it was. It was survival. It was desperation not to get dragged into the same darkness that was slowly eating me alive from the inside out. And with a girl as pure and as good as Abby?
That wasn’t a world for her, and she had to swim for land. I don’t blame her, but I never should have let it get to where it got.
No, it hasn’t taken six months for me to understand this. It hasn’t taken six damn months without her to “get it.” But it’s taken six months for me to hit my own fucking breaking point. For the last six months, the plan has been to leave. I’ve had my fill of this life, and of drinking the poison of the Lucreta mafia family. Abby walking out the door was my wakeup call, and I’ve spent the last six months building something new—my secret empire. I’ve been planning my escape from this world ever since she left.