Never Have an Outlaw's Baby (Deadly Pistols MC #3)(85)

Gazing at him too long was like staring into the sun.

Jesus. What happened? Was I seriously getting hot and bothered by this sick demon who'd rip me limb from limb if he knew who I was?

I didn't understand the illusion in my brain, and it scared me. When I looked up, he was close, and I forced myself to see him for what he was: a giant, a killer, more dangerous than a tiger – now separated by only inches of glass.

The identical chair on his side was small for me, but it looked like a child's seat when he plopped down in it. I swore I heard the legs groaning, ready to bust apart under the heavy, livid muscle piled on it.

That shudder I'd suppressed earlier was back. I barely caught myself before I started shaking in front of him, gripping the little notepad until my knuckles were white. He turned his head slowly, a sly smile pulling at his lips, motioning for the phone next to him.

Of course. There was an identical one on my side.

I ripped the old phone off its receiver and pressed it to my ear, watching as he did the same, slower and more fluidly than me. When Anton's face was level with mine again, that smile was bigger, but it revealed nothing.

I held my breath, waiting for his first word.

“You're Sabrina?” He asked, so much like a king talking down to his subject.

The whole world ended in the thud of my heart. I took a long, jagged, ice cold breath. Hearing my name on his lips brought a sick pleasure humming to my skull, like he'd just whispered some dirty, private secret in rich, smoky baritone.

Jesus, girl. You're losing your shit. Screw your head on and remember why you're here.

Don't blow this. It's your lucky day.

It was hard to obey the voice in my head. But I met his eyes and forced my lips to work.

“Yes. Thank you, sir. Thanks for agreeing to talk to me today.”

“Sir? Nobody's called me that since I was a kid, playing assistant manager at my father's club.” He smiled, this time wider, baring several square white teeth. “You've gotta be f*cking with me. Come on. Get on my level. You wanna interview me, or sit there worshiping my dick all day?”

If I'd been drinking something, I would've spat it out. Bastard. He had my attention.

I stood a little taller, hid the red blood raging to my cheeks, and nodded.

“Then cut the shit, Sabrina. Call me Anton and let's get this f*cking show on the road. You're here to find out why I blew Club Duce to kingdom come, right?”

“Only if you're ready to tell me,” I said, trying to keep the calmest voice I could.

Good luck. The last couple words ended in a tremor. It didn't help that his eyes stayed on me every damned second, heating my skin like he had x-ray vision, a super villain power to match his evilly long gaze. His eyes started where my middle met the little table and went up, stopping at my face.

He was inspecting me – every inch of me – right through my clothes. Fuck.

Yep. My skin was on fire, roasting in his baby blue beams.

“All right. I'll talk. Let's make this quick, clean, and easy.”

Shit. If I thought I was going to keep my breathing steady, I'd just lost my last chance. I held my breath, reached for my marker, and pressed it to the paper, waiting.

“It was a simple job. We were gonna decapitate the Ligiottis in one strike, finish this little war going on between their f*cked up family and mine. Gioulio and his boys were gonna be there. Our intel was always good, never failed us before – until that night. The old bastard decided to host a big dinner party for his biggest, best clients. We ended up with a buncha dead businessmen, a couple f*cks on the city council and the school board, some Naperville high rollers. No Italians, though – unless you count the bartender, who was supposedly a distant cousin or something.”

Distant was right. I heard about Raphael getting killed in the attack, but Uncle Gioulio wouldn't let me attend his funeral. Too dangerous, he said, and why did I want to waste my day on a second cousin I'd only met three times at reunions anyway?

That was before Anton was singled out on the security footage, backing the explosive into the club's loading dock. The danger faded everyday after he was arrested, and soon my Uncle wasn't handing out constant warnings. If only he knew I'd gone right into the tiger's den.

“So, you slipped up?” I asked, tapping the marker on my notepad. Wasn't much good for writing anyway, and I was too glued to his rough face to remember to move it.

“Yep. Me and my brothers f*cked up bad. Worst mistake we ever made, short of giving the go ahead plastered after our last bash. We were drunk and naked. Took turns on every one of those bitches just flown in from Europe. I f*cked them deep, Sabrina. Took my time railing 'em, feeling my balls bouncing on their asses, gave 'em a hello and welcome to America they'll never forget. Damned good thing too, considering where I'm at now. Last hot piece of * I might ever have.”

I blinked. The fire his eyes kindled on my skin became an inferno. I shook my head, wondering what the hell just happened.

He's talking about sex. Fucking. Trying to throw you off.

“Um, you want to say that again?”

Anton threw his big head back and laughed, fixing his gemstone eyes on me when he came back down. “What? You think all this f*cking and killing makes me a bad man, don't you? I'm waiting. You gonna call me on my shit, or just lay down and take it like those Latvian whores?”