Cruel Paradise (Beautifully Cruel Book 2)

The heavy back door of the bar closes behind me with an ominous bang. I step out into the alley.

I’m greeted by the unnerving sight of five black SUVs lined up in a row, windows blacked out, engines running. Exhaust from the tail pipes steams white in the night air.

The driver’s door to the SUV in the middle opens. A big guy in a dark suit steps out, buttoning his jacket. He’s got jet black hair, ice blue eyes, and a hard, handsome face.

Like his boss, he’s disturbingly good-looking for a gangster.

Most of them have smashed noses or beady eyes or any number of scars and deformities from their time in the trenches. When my father and his associates get together, it looks like a gathering of trolls.

The driver opens the back door to the SUV and stands aside, waiting.

I hesitate, trying to muster my courage.

He says, “In you go, lass. Mr. Black doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Funny how a lilting Irish brogue can make everything sound lovely. Even a threat.

I walk forward, head held high, until I’m within a few feet of the car. Then I stop and skewer the driver with a look. “For future reference, I don’t like being rushed.”

He gazes at me like he’s trying to restrain himself from rolling his eyes. He says drily, “I’ll make a note of it, Your Highness. Now get your arse in the car.”

“Declan.”

The sharp reprimand comes from inside the SUV. It’s Liam, leaning forward in his seat, gazing with steely-eyed disapproval at the driver.

“Sorry, boss.” He inclines his head to me. “Apologies, lass.”

Sincere apologies from not one but two killers in a single evening. I’m on a roll.

“No worries. I’ve recently been told I have a forked tongue, so I can hardly blame you.” I shoot a glance at the car and mutter, “Plus, working for Prince Charmless must take its toll on your temper.”

A ghost of a smile flits across his mouth, but he quickly suppresses it.

I climb into the car. The driver shuts the door behind me. In a moment, we pull away.

All heat and coiled tension, Liam simmers in the seat beside me.

After we’ve gone three blocks, he says, “How long are you going to make me wait until you look at me?”

“I’m working on regulating my breathing so I don’t pass out. Maybe ten minutes?”

His chuckle is low and sensual, raising my blood pressure by at least two hundred points.

“You’re tougher than that. I’ll give you ten seconds.”

When the seconds have ticked by, I turn my head and glance at him warily from the corner of my eye.

He stares at me with such blistering intensity that for a moment, I can’t breathe.

His voice husky, he says, “Hullo again.”

Holy crap, he’s handsome. How can someone so evil be so hot?

My exhalation comes out in a burst. It’s accompanied by a shudder. Then I clear my throat and pretend I’m a mentally functioning adult. “Hi.”

He lets his gaze drift over me, head to toe, taking in every aspect of my clothing, posture, and expression.

“You still don’t trust me.”

I make a sound that’s supposed to be a laugh, but it sounds more like a small animal being strangled. “Trust? I’m sorry, did you just say trust?”

“I did.”

He’s serious. I stare at him in astonishment. “Of course I don’t trust you! You’re…you!”

The driver pipes in from the front seat. “That’s hardly fair, lass. You’ve only just met.”

Through gritted teeth, Liam says, “Declan.”

“Right. Sorry.” Falling silent, he turns his attention back to the road.

Liam smiles reassuringly at me. “It’s so hard to find good help these days.”

I look back and forth between them, gobsmacked by the whole situation. I could be hallucinating. Maybe that hipster bartender put something into my drink.

I’m still pondering that when Liam leans over and settles his huge, hot hand around my throat.

I grip his thick wrist in both hands, gasping and shrinking back into the seat.

Looking into my eyes, he murmurs, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

My voice comes out high and panicked. “This is a shitty way of proving that.”

“I’m not trying to choke you, lass.”

It’s true, the pressure of his hand on my throat is gentle, but still. “Then what the hell are you doing?”

He slides his thumb back and forth over the throbbing vein in my neck. “Feeling your pulse.”

Heart hammering, I stare at him. “Why?”

“Because I want to see how fast it gets when I kiss you.”

I freeze. “Don’t you dare.”

He quirks one dark brow. “Why not?”

“I don’t want you to.”

He leans closer, his eyes burning into mine, his body heat and the warm scent of his skin surrounding me. He growls, “If you were telling the truth, little thief, I’d honor that request.”

I blurt, “I’m not ready for that!”

Instantly, he stills. His dark gaze searches my face. Then, slowly, his full lips lift into a smile. “Then I suppose I’ll have to wait until you are.”

He stares hungrily at my mouth for a moment before releasing me.

I remain where he left me, frozen and wide-eyed, slumped against the door, staring at him and trying to convince myself of several important facts.

One, that I should be afraid. Because two, that there’s at least a fifty-fifty chance he’s going to snap my neck. And three, that I really didn’t want him to kiss me.

Especially that I didn’t want him to kiss me. Because what would it say about my sanity if I did?

Adjusting his tie and looking straight forward, he says, “Don’t overthink it. But thank you for being honest. If this is going to work, we have to be honest with each other.”

My laugh is weak and disbelieving. “This? There is no ‘this!’”

He turns his head and sears me with his gaze. “Aye, lass,” he says, his voice thick. “There is.”

If my body hadn’t just detonated with heat, I’d tell him to jump off a bridge, the arrogant prick.

Anger gives me the strength to sit upright. “I can’t believe I have to say this, but I don’t date gangsters. Gangster.”

Looking at my mouth, he moistens his lips. “Who said anything about dating?”

Holy guacamole. He’s not going to make this easy. My cheeks heating, I say primly, “I don’t sleep with them either, okay?”

His eyes, good god, how darkly they burn. “I didn’t say anything about sleeping, either, lass. Spend time with me, and you won’t be getting any sleep at all.”

It feels like my heart is up in my throat, which makes it hard to get the words out. “I don’t want to spend time with you.”

A muscle flexes in his jaw. He shakes his head, like he’s disappointed in me.

“I don’t!”

“You do. You’re fascinated by me. You just can’t wrap your head around why.”

So aggravated I want to scream, I say, “I’d be crazy to be fascinated by you.”

“Then you’re crazy.” He shrugs, as if he doesn’t care. “But you’re interesting, too.”

More whiplash. He thinks I’m interesting? “I stole from you.”

“I know. That’s what makes you interesting.” His tone goes from nonchalant to hungry. “That and that beautiful, smart fucking mouth.”

We stare at each other. Adrenaline crackles through my veins, hot, dark, and dangerous.

Like him.

It occurs to me that perhaps this was inevitable. I was brought up around dangerous men. I was raised by one. Some part of my brain must be wired to be attracted to Liam Black’s particular brand of bad.

It doesn’t help that he’s so damn handsome. It’s effortless to be revolted by a man whose face is as ugly as his soul, but when evil is dressed up in such a pretty package, it’s not quite as easy to resist.

Before he got his ass kicked out of heaven, the devil was the most beautiful angel of all.

He demands, “What are you thinking?”

“That you’re the devil.”

“I went from an ape to the devil? That’s quite a jump.”

I know from my limited experience with him that we could go around and around like this forever, so I cut to the chase. “Where are you taking me?”

“Home.”

That queasy feeling in my stomach tells me he isn’t talking about my apartment. Horrified, I gaze at him.

His voice lowers. “Whatever comes out of your mouth next, please don’t let it be a lie.”

The “please” stops me short. He doesn’t seem like a man who even knows the word, let alone allows himself to speak it.

“Okay. No lies. I’m on board with that. So here are some truths for you: I’m confused. I’m exhausted. I’m worried about my friends. I’ve had several drinks, and I don’t think my brain is working the way it should be. I don’t like you, but I can’t honestly say you disgust me, either, which I very much wish you did. I’m disappointed in myself about that.”

He’s watching me with such blistering intensity I have to take a breath to steady myself before I go on.

“What else? Um. I’m relieved you haven’t killed me yet—”

“I swear on my mother’s grave, I will never harm you.”

His voice is rough and urgent. His dark eyes shine like gems. There’s something raw and open in his expression, something that seems to plead with me to accept that he’s telling me the truth.

We gaze at each other in silence until I surprise myself by whispering, “Okay.”

He seems surprised, too. “You believe me?”

“Yes.”

After examining my face for a moment, he breathes, “Thank you.”

I don’t know why, but it’s obvious what I’ve said means a great deal to him.

“What about my friends?”

“They’re safe. You have my word.”

He gazes at me like the sun is shining out of my head, and he’s getting blinded by it. To be stared at with such unwavering intensity by a man so gorgeous, so powerful, and so completely masculine is disorienting.

It’s also undeniably thrilling.

Except I’m supposed to hate him. I do hate him.

I think.

“About this you-taking-me-home thing.”

“What about it?”

“If I tell you I don’t want to go home with you, does it void anything you’ve promised me up to this point?”

“No.”

“Good. Because I don’t want to go home with you.”

He gazes at me in silence for a moment. Then he smiles.

“Will you stop doing that?” I say, exasperated by his cockiness.

“I can’t help it, lass. You’ve got a face a blind man could read.”

“Please listen to me: I. Am not. Going home. With you.”

“Actually, you are. We’re driving there as we speak.”

This man could make the pope go on a killing spree. “I don’t want to engage in a semantics war, okay? What I’m saying is that it isn’t a good idea.”

“I think it’s the best idea I’ve had in a decade.”

“No! I need to be away from you! I need to process this insanity! I’m not going to your house!”

“It’s not a house. It’s a penthouse. In a skyscraper. The views are incredible. And you don’t need to process anything, except the fact that this is happening. You’ll go to my home, you’ll take a look around, we’ll have some wine, we’ll talk a bit, you’ll get more comfortable with me, and then we’ll do what we’ve both wanted to do since the moment we laid eyes on each other.”

I stare at him. He stares right back, daring me to contradict him.

At least I’m not the only one on the verge of a heart attack. For all his outward cool control, the pulse in his neck pounds as hard as my heart.

“This whole thing is very abnormal. You know that, right?”

“I’ve never lived a normal life. I have no intention of starting now. Here’s the bottom line: I want you. You want me. End of story.”

“I hope you won’t throw me out of the car again, but I have to tell you that your idea of romance is profoundly lacking.”

His voice drops. “It’s not romance you need.”

His expression tells me he’s about to elaborate on that thought. I’m having none of it. “You can just leave that right there, thank you.”

“You don’t want me to leave it. You want me to tell you what I think you need. Then you want me to show you.”

“Okay, that’s just…wow. Your ego needs its own zip code.”

He chuckles softly. “That’s not the only part of me that needs its own zip code, lass.”

I crinkle my nose. “You’re crude.”

“Don’t believe me? I’ll be happy to show you.”

I say hotly, “If you try to unzip your pants right now, mister, I’ll punch you in the throat.”

His voice turns husky. “God, you’re sexy when you’re threatening me. I like it even more than when you’re stealing things I own.”

We’re two feet apart and not touching, but we might as well be naked in bed with him on top of me and thrusting between my spread thighs for how intimate this feels, all this heat and friction and heavy breathing. I’m breaking out in a sweat.

This is a hundred different kinds of wrong. Jump out of the car, Jules. Just open the door and jump.

As it seems drawn to do, his gaze drops to my mouth. When I bite my lower lip, his eyes darken. He leans toward me, his own lips parting.

That’s when the first hail of bullets explodes against the side of the car.