Sexual Deception (New Adult Interracial Romance, Bad for You Series Vol #1) (5 page)

Well, it looks like Kane doesn't disappoint.

“I'll be fine.”

“I hope so.”

Something buzzed behind me. I jumped up and aimed toward the noise. The wall popped open.

A narrow staircase appeared.

“Relax. I'm not interested in hurting you tonight,” Kane said. “If I wanted to kill you, I would've done this.”

A bullet whizzed past me and slammed into his desk. I dove to the ground. Splinters sprayed from the new hole in the wood, but other than that no sound came.

Well, it seems Kane is a worthy player.

“Get up, sweetheart. I don't want you to wrinkle your dress. Wrinkled ones tend to be harder to slip off.”

I rose from the floor. “We can't have that. Can we?”

“No.”

I set my gun on his desk.

“I'll let you keep the tiny one in the halter around your inner thigh.”

I cringed, but hoped that on my face remained expressionless. “Gentlemen don't watch women undress on cameras.”

“I've never claimed to be a gentleman.”

I rounded his desk and entered his secret stairwell. The wall shut behind me. Darkness blanketed the area.

“There's a light switch on the wall next to you.” Kane's voice rose in the enclosed stairwell.

“You're not afraid of the dark are you?”

I should try to move through here in the dark, but if he's gone to this much trouble to have
complex entrances and exits, then I'm sure the cameras have night vision.

I flipped it on. Gray walls and a black floor glared back at me. I lifted my view and realized that the stairs went up for four levels. I climbed. “No. I'm not afraid of the dark.”

“What are you afraid of snakes, monsters, or needles?”

“People.”

“Smart answer. You should be. Climb the stairs to the second level and come on in.”

I did with ease. Although he knew my gun was on my inner thigh, I relaxed a little that it was with me, close enough to grab for it. Worst case scenario, I would kill myself then let Kane take me back to Miguel or just murder me himself. I'd done enough to Miguel that he couldn't forgive me and save face in front of everyone.

Miguel will give me no mercy, and I wouldn't want it from him, anyway.

I opened the door and entered a living room. Black carpet covered the floors. White couches outlined the brick walls. A red table rested in the center. Like his office, no photos or personal memories hung on the wall. Just empty walls and book shelves, even more than in his office due to the living room being huge.

“I'm back here.” Kane's voice sounded from a white hallway.

I traveled that way.

“Do you like red or white wine?” he asked as I rounded the corner.

“No, thank you.” I took in his kitchen. Various colors of paint splattered against gray tiles.

Other than that, gray decorated everything else from the floor to the ceiling. A savory aroma drifted my way. My stomach growled while my mouth filed with saliva.

Keeping his back to me, Kane moved around the kitchen like a top chef—stirring red sauce in a pot, turning off the fire under a pan searing shrimp, and tasting a yellow liquid in a bowl in front of him.

“Grab two bowls for us in the cabinets above your head,” he called over his shoulder.

“I'm not hungry.”

“Grab two, please.”

“No.” I leaned against the counter. “You get it.”

Chuckling, he turned off all of the pots, slung the towel to his side, and got right in front of me.

My fingers itched to grab my small gun, but instead I slowly licked my lips. His gaze followed the movement before shifting to my eyes. “Will you still be singing for me this Saturday night?”

“No. I'm afraid I'll be too busy.”

“Do I get a chance to renegotiate? I'm sure I have several offers that could make you reconsider your new plans.” He placed his hands on the sides of my body and trapped me into his grip.

“What's your offer?”

He raked his fingers through my curly afro. “If you lay in my bed tonight, then I'll give you a head start. You’ll get three days to run.”

“Hmmm.” I raised my arms and rested my hands on his shoulders. “And who will I be running from?”

“Me.”

“I'm not really afraid of you.”

He picked me up within seconds, placed me on the counter, and yanked my skirt up enough so he could press his stiff erection against me. My core warmed. The biggest problem with using my body as a weapon was that at times it became hard to not get turned on. Most never triggered my arousal, but there was always exceptions.

Miguel and now Kane.

He slipped his hands along my thighs. The warmth that had entered me, rose to a boil. Just like that, with no warning or notice. His fingers made contact with my flesh and I heated.

He decorated my ear with a few kiss and then whispered, “Take the deal, Melody.”

“Why?”

“Because I don't want to kill you. I would rather someone else did it.”

A sliver of fear crawled up my spine at his relaxed tone in discussing my death. Instead of shuddering in front of him, I exposed my teeth with a wide smile. “Why's that?”

“A female's death is the hardest to forget. Add the fact that you’re a black woman and I'll have nightmares for years. It would be like killing my sister.” He released my thighs, opened the cabinet on the side of my head, and pulled out two bowls. “Women formed from black smoke come to me at night and they scream for me to not cut their throats or twist those tiny necks. They beg and cry. Then right at the moment when I can't take anymore, I rush up to them, slashing at the smoke with my hands. Do they go away? Never. They turn into familiar faces.”

“Who's?”

He clinked the bowls together and departed down another hallway. “Do you like spaghetti? I put shrimp on mine. Out here in Miami, I have to watch my weight. There's just too much competition.

Handsome guys are a dime a dozen in this city.”

What is this? Is he trying to show me he's unpredictable or pretending that he isn't afraid of
me? Either way, this isn't the Kane I've heard about.

I slid off the counter and followed him. “So you only eat seafood?”

“Yes.”

In the dining room, he set the bowls down at a small table with two chairs that sat on opposite sides. A large window served as the wall and displayed the art district's scene—free-thinking hippies gripping teas or whatever veggie drink crap they'd decided was more healthier than regular food, graffiti artists with loads of colored spray cans leaning out of the top of their book bags, and the couple or two who walked hand in hand to the few lounges I spotted blocks away. Book shelves crowded the rest of the dining area's walls.

Kane and his books.

Violin music played in the background. When I would set traps for the men I killed, it always started this way, a nice dinner with classical musical. Food drew their senses away as they smelled, looked, and tasted whatever dish I prepared.

A tight dress helped too, but the biggest factor was always the music. It messed with the human brain. Scientists realized songs' magic. When companies played hold music on the phone, they used the tunes to give their customers the impression of time shrinking and make them ignore the fact that they’d been on the line for ages. Even department and grocery stores played it for the same reasons.

Classical music distracted the human mind with its nuances of sophisticated notes and forms. It made the guy that I was trying to kill less likely to notice odd details like the amount of sharpened knives on my side of the table or the fact that I never once took a bite of the poisoned meal that they so lovingly shoveled in their mouths.

But does Kane get the power of classical music or does he just like it?

I sat down in the chair as he escaped back into the kitchen.

Stay focused.

In less than five minutes or so, he brought everything out—a bottle of wine, two solid black glasses, bowls of simmering shrimp, chunky tomato sauce, and buttered pasta. Steam rose from all of the containers. That captivating smoke continued to tease my senses. My mouth watered some more.

My stomach was a fit of grumbles.

Kane got in his seat and made both of our bowls. “Go ahead and eat. When I kill you, it won't be by food poisoning.”

I tossed him a skeptical look. “Then how will it be?”

He formed his hand into a fake gun, aimed at my heart, shot out an imaginary bullet, shifted the target to my forehead, and blasted again.

“Shooting my head and heart isn't really the most gentleman thing to do,” I said.

“Miguel requested it.”

Of course he did, but not from you. There was no way Miguel would use one of his most
important pieces so soon.

“Did Miguel ask you to kill me?” I asked.

“I'm actually interested in your opinion. What do you think? Did Miguel as me?”

“I think there's no way he asked you to do it.”

He put my bowl of food in front of me. “Why do you say that?”

“Miguel understands you better than you get yourself.”

“I doubt that.”

“For the ten years you've worked with him, how many women did he give you to kill?” I asked.

“Two.”

“I bet those two jobs were simple but went horribly.”

The line of Kane's jaw twitched.

That's a yes.

“You know what Miguel would say to me?” I asked.

“Tell me.”

“He would look me straight in my eyes and say, 'Women will be the death of Kane. If I ever needed to kill him, I'd send a bad bitch his way.'”

Chapter 5

Defenses by black

~Kane

A woman would be the death of me? Maybe. Miguel should probably send a bad bitch, it would
be a hell of a way to go out.

Under my table, a gun attached to it in front of my seat. My left hand held the trigger while I watched the baddest bitch I'd ever met, lounge in the seat in front of me. Luckily only my mom knew I was ambidextrous.

Damn, Melody's hungry.

She finally gave up on not eating her food and dug into the spaghetti. Of course, she waited until I ate my own first as well as sipped the wine. I'd meant what I told her earlier, that I wouldn't kill her by poisoning the food. Not poisoning Melody was my little gift to her for being the first person to catch me by surprise way before Julio asked me to handle it for him. Plus, I kept my kills far away from my living space and nowhere near close enough for cops or anybody else to gain the opportunity to point their fingers at me, not that anybody knew who I was in the first place. I loved the anonymity.

However, I had no idea who knew she came here and what she had planned. Others could be surrounding my spot. If not, then I had to consider the fact that many people would've saw her go in. If she came up missing, and had family out there that cared enough to get the police to investigate, there would be a chance that someone would realize that the last place she'd been seen was my gallery.

So my plan was to keep her alive for now.

But why does Miguel want you gone?

I lived this long around bad guys by answering the questions that came from my gut twisting into confusion. I didn't get why Miguel needed her dead, and why he'd put Julio in charge to do it.

Melody possessed too much of a brain to be taken down by Julio. She also boasted an enchanting face, luscious body, and broadcasted a powerful swagger that no man or woman could deny. Add the fact that she'd managed to destroy Julio's men and get their corpses to his doorstep without waking him up or getting the attention of witnesses and you had the ingredients for the perfect killer. If Miguel met her, then he’d want her. When it came to women, we fell for the same type. It was a regular joke between us.

I don't see Miguel even considering murdering her unless she'd done something to him
personally. But why have Julio be in charge of it?
Anyone who knew her and Julio, would know Julio never had a chance. Did Miguel really want to kill her, or was he simply trying to scare her?
I better
not murder her until I find out more information.

The noise of forks hitting dishes and the smacking of lips filled the space.

After several seconds, she dabbed a napkin at her mouth. “This is good.”

“Of course it is.” I sipped my wine. “I made it.”

“Miguel never bragged about your cooking.”

“That's because he doesn't know me. He just pays me.” I set my glass down.

“I hate to admit it, but this might be the best spaghetti I've ate.”

“You didn't have a grandma or mom that made it better?”

Orphan, adopted, or broken home? Who are you Melody?

“No one cooked this good.”

Nice, vague answer.

“Too bad. Then here's my secret. The key is in the garlic and tomatoes. I roasted large bulbs of garlic while I watched your wonderful undressing on video.” I might've touched myself too, but she didn't need to know that. “Once the bulbs were done, I made the sauce. That's the best part of the whole meal. It's made up of tomatoes, garlic, mushrooms, Parmesan, and my hidden ingredient.”

“Did you masturbate when you watched me change?”

“No.”
But I was damn close.
“By the time the garlic finished you'd already dressed, grabbed your gun, and waited for me in my office. I couldn't keep you sitting there for a long time, not when you and your body must've been as hungry as me and mine.”

She rolled her eyes. “What's your secret ingredient?”

“Everything about the person you kill is a clue. It's another puzzle in destroying the person,”

Miguel would say as he taught me to clean my gun. “Even something as simple as the food he eats or
the clothes he chooses to wear on a particular day. It all helps you get into his head and destroy him.”

I smirked, wondering if her question was because Miguel taught her too or the fact that she attempted to distract me in word play as she figured out why the hell I had her up in my condo to begin with. “You promise not to tell anybody the secret ingredient, right?”