Kissing the Killer: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Barone Crime Family) by B. B. Hamel Page A

myself.
    It wasn’t like I really cared about him one way or the other, but he was the only person I had in the world at that moment. I needed him, as much as I hated to admit it. I needed him to help me start my life, to get myself together, to escape my father’s long shadow.
    I didn’t know how these security things normally went. I felt exhausted but too wired to sleep. I needed to know if he was coming back or if the mafia was going to kick down that door and drag me away to be killed. Or worse, they’d take me and sell me to one of those sex brothels you heard about on the news sometimes.
    I couldn’t imagine a life worse than my own, but maybe living as a drugged-up sex toy for rich, sick perverts was worse. Maybe I’d had it good, living with my abusive and thieving asshole father.
    The world could be a dark place, and right now, Brooks was the only good thing in it, or at least I hoped he was good.
    When three rolled around, I found myself getting up and going back into his closet. I took out that gun, and although I knew it wasn’t loaded, it made me feel safe. I didn’t know what I’d do with it, probably just throw it at someone.
    As I carried the empty gun out into the living room, the apartment door shuddered. I took a step back and stared as the lock slowly opened and the handle twisted.
    The door flung open. I raised the empty gun, horrified.
    Brooks practically fell into the room, his face twisted in pain. I let the gun drop as I ran to his side.
    “What happened?” I asked, trying to help support his weight.
    “Job went bad,” he grunted. “Fuck, I’m in a lot of pain. Help me to the kitchen.”
    He leaned on me as we limped together. I sat him down on a chair and he groaned in pain.
    “Where are you hurt?”
    “Chest.” He took his shirt off and I stared at the bulletproof vest. He showed me the two bullets lodged in the vest, one near his heart, the other lower down.
    “Come on, let’s get this off.”
    He grimaced as he unstrapped the vest. I helped him gingerly pull it off, his breath coming in shallow and fast. I could see the pain on his face, but he was trying to hide it.
    Finally, we got the vest and his shirt off. I stared at the large, blooming black bruises along his skin.
    “Shit,” I said. “This looks bad.”
    “You don’t have to tell me that,” he said. “I can fucking feel it.”
    “What happened?”
    I went into the cabinets and finally found a clean towel. He sighed, shaking his head.
    “You don’t need to know.”
    “You got shot, Brooks,” I said. “I feel like I need to know.”
    “Job went bad. That’s all.”
    I sat back down next to him and began to dab gently at the cuts all over his face. He flinched back.
    “Relax,” I said. “I just need to clean this up.”
    “You a nurse or something?”
    “Not exactly,” I said. “I used to take care of my dad a lot. Unsurprisingly, drunks get hurt all the time.”
    “He ever get shot?”
    “Only once.”
    He looked away. “Sorry.”
    I shrugged. “I’m not.” I dabbed at his cuts, trying to be gentle.
    “What was it like, living with him?”
    “Not great,” I said. “He was a violent piece of shit, but that wasn’t the worst part. He was controlling and stole most of my money.”
    “Why didn’t you get out of there?”
    I clenched my jaw. “It’s not that easy,” I said. “He was my father. I couldn’t just leave him to die in a puddle of his own vomit.”
    “Maybe you should have.”
    “Maybe, but I didn’t. Plus, I tried to leave, but every time I had enough money saved, he’d find it and gamble it away.”
    “Been a hard life,” he grunted.
    “Yeah, and it’s not looking much better right now.”
    He nodded. “I know about hard lives. Yours isn’t done just yet.”
    “I have no friends, Brooks. Most of my friends either drifted away, went to college, or got sick of me constantly dealing with my insane father. It’s hard to be optimistic.”
    He grinned at me despite the