The Carrero Contract - Selling Your Soul (Mafia Romance)

The car park is less stuffy and a welcome break from the club indoors. Even with all its sexy lighting and modern exterior, it is still a huge black box that has little to no natural daylight inside and the way it is secured means it doesn’t ever have open windows for fresh air. It relies heavily on electrical lighting and air-con to keep the flow and temperature.

It doesn’t compare to coming outside to just breathe and feel some real sun on your limbs. Something I did a lot of when working in the diner, inhaling fried grease all day long.

I perch my butt on a low brick wall that juts out along in front of one the new metal fences. It used to be the old territory marker for where to park, but is pointless since he turned this into a hemmed in paddock and acts as a makeshift bench of sorts. Leaning my head back against the fence I slide my shoes off and stretch out my naked legs to warm in the sun for a while. My dress is knee length and rides up a little as I sit, so it’s glorious.

Closing my eyes and letting the tightness seep out of my body as heat beats down on me, I jump when a tiny little mewl noise startles me from my right.

I flinch a second time, heart jumping, when I notice a little ginger, scruffy furball curled aggressively behind the tyre of the nearest car, glaring at me fiercely. Eyes almost illuminated from his shadowy vantage point and intensely honed in on me. When I lean down to look more closely it growls at me angrily in a long, evil and forbidding noise that sends my nerves rattling, and I recoil apprehensively. He’s a little demonic and wild for my liking.

‘Calm yourself, psycho. I wasn’t planning on touching you.’ I move further along the wall, shifting on my butt to put distance between us and turn away from the scabby little stray. Picking up my shoes carefully and sliding them back on my feet while keeping an eye on it, in case it’s in attack mode for breaching its territory. It makes me nervous with that beady gaze stuck on me relentlessly.

Stray cats are common in New York, especially down the back alleys and where the large dumpsters sit. This one looks like he has been through the wars and is a little worse for wear, hiding in the shadows of one of the four-by-fours. Even from here I can tell it’s scrawny and filthy.

I get up and walk to the back steps of the club and attempt to sit there instead, on the low wall at the base of them. Not really in the mood for taking on a crazy cat, and jump when it appears to my left, crawling out of its little shelter to stare at me from under the bonnet of the car. Slinking after me as though it’s trying to intimidate me out of its parking lot. He doesn’t seem as ferocious in the light and looks more flea-bitten and pitiful than anything.

‘What do you want? Stop eyeballing me. I don’t have anything for you.’ I turn my back on him to get it to go away and head up the steps to the doors to put a little more space between us. I slide down to perch on the top one and lean back against the solid security door as a backrest to watch the little demon sidekick as he snarls at me from his position.

He’s scruffy, skinny and not the most attractive of kitties. Looks like a tom judging by the missing eye and half an ear … probably not had a decent meal for a long time. He is all loose skin and obvious bones, and the funny angle of his tail midway suggests it was broken long ago and has healed crooked.

Despite his little aggressive nature, something in me feels kind of sorry for him, and in this heat, he’s probably desperate for a drink. I wonder how long he has been living out here as it’s the first time I have noticed him.

I yelp in alarm, head torn from thoughts of the cat when I catapult backwards as my backrest caves in with someone opening the door behind me. I land flat on my back with an ungraceful thud, my head in the gloomy hall of the club, facing up at the smug looking prick that just opened it.

Alexi stands over me looking down, obviously amused with this little manoeuvre and fully aware of what he was doing with a smart-arse smile on that clean-cut face.

There’s a camera pointing down on the step and a screen inside this door showing this exact angle, so he saw me sitting here before he yanked it open at speed, purposely.

‘You’re a wanker.’ I glare up at him from my lying down position and he just grins a little harder, still towering over me casually, as though he could do it all day. I continue to lie here , acting like I am quite comfortable and in no way bruised or pissed at him for being a tosser.

his own joke. I just throw him a grim look and bite down the urge to punch him in the balls. Alexi laughing is a rare occurrence, although it is having only a negative effect on me seeing as I’m now lying on a dirty floor

isn’t funny; I think you’re

still beaming in merriment and gets the bird thrown right at him

mucky right up my back, and I have to get up ungracefully while this arsehole watches me. I am in stubborn and

my very tight dress, and spend a few minutes getting up while he leans with one hand on the door, keeping it open and still grinning at me like this is the funniest moment in history. Amused that my tight attire makes getting up like some sort of acrobatic

myself down, not really in the mood for my quiet sun time anymore, but as he’s blocking the hall, I’m not pushing past him either. The frame of mind

outside as I sigh. I can feel a foreboding wave of heaviness that whatever he’s going

has that air of good mood and amusement, and it makes me

been running for months. I just cannot get over how little that seems to mean to him at

he blocks me bodily and I have no choice but to stand

to that is.’ He adds that with a cheeky smirk and I swear he’s

side to him that I have never really been privy too and I don’t get why it’s on show now. An odd vibe coming from him in droves as his eyes twinkle with a little more depth of

for things he could just take before, he’s

aware my insides have

longing to loathe him. I guess that’s how the

swung closed behind me, and I can’t get off the step

the rib softly, jokingly, and I swear I might self-implode with how irritating he is

me! And what’s with this?’ I wave my hand over his mouth area pulling the cringe face dramatically—Irritation hitching along with my

weird and creepy and something you don’t do.’ I sound petulant and stroppy, but he’s

I can’t help thinking maybe this is some weird sociopathic trait. Maybe he has lost the plot in the last months and I am witnessing the creepy, happy calm before he annihilates the world … Or maybe

lazy dialect and flicks my hair with his finger annoyingly, earning himself another hand slap, although this time on the back of his. It stings my palm and I give

screwed up. I don’t trust good guys or the

my finger in mouth

your style and you definitely need work

husky definite flirt mode. The charm and jokes are making me uneasy, narrowing my gaze at him with warning that I am onto his weird little game, even if I don’t know what it

completely new side to him, and I can’t for the life of me figure out what angle he’s playing. Open flirt and chat up lines are never his style and they were never aimed at me. I know he isn’t being serious; I mean he can’t be, surely, and I don’t get if he thinks this is acceptable humour—it’s not. Not

would he want to? He’s the