Beautiful Thief (Omerta Law #2) Read Online M.N. Forgy

Categories Genre: Crime, Dark, Erotic, Mafia, Romance, Suspense Tags Authors: Series: Omerta Law Series by M.N. Forgy
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Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 59448 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
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“Forget trying to get her out.” Leona laughs. “By the looks of it, you won’t forget a woman like her, not easily anyway,” Leona says with a smile.

Kieran opens the door, letting Leona go first. Their parting just as cryptic as his fucking help.

My back against the wall, I slide to the floor, hands in my hair. My heart is beating so hard I can hear it in my own ears. I’m frustrated and dare I say, scared, to have her here. I don’t trust myself. My anger comes out of nowhere and I can’t control it, what if she pisses me off? What if I hurt her? Usually I channel my emotions through working with Kieran, beating people who owe us money, killing even. But with Kieran gone, and my position unknown in the DeAngelo crew… I have no outlet for the storm that is surely to come.

5

Romeo

Waking up this morning, I slide my watch on my wrist and nearly trip over the security box I put my gun in last night. Yawning, I look around the room, it’s quiet but I don’t see the girl. Standing, I raise my arms above my head and stretch. Walking to my dresser, I put my cross necklace on, silently praying God helps me become a better person today, and walk out of the room, past my chair and the kitchen, and I crack open the guest bedroom door.

She sits on the bed, her legs crossed, back toward me and stares out the window in a trance. Her hair is parted and braided, reminding me of Sailor Moon from when Kieran and I were kids. She was my first crush. How could she not with that short skirt, long braided pigtails, and driven courage.

“Did you get any sleep?” I ask, and her back tenses. She doesn’t reply. This silence shit is getting really annoying. “Are you hungry?”

Her head moves to the side just slightly, but not enough to where her eyes meet mine. Having to read her through her body language I’m assuming that small movement means she is hungry. I wish she would just talk to me, it’d make shit easier. Shutting the door, I head to the kitchen and start pulling out ingredients for eggs and pancakes.

Putting the skillet on the stove, I try not to think about what I’m going to do with her today, or if I’m still taking the position as underboss. I want to walk away but even I know it’s sucide. The uncertainty has my anxiety rising, making my muscles flex. I’m overwhelmed and want to lash out, break something.

I’m going to focus on making these pancakes and eggs, and take it one step at a time. Right. You got this. Calm your shit.

Blowing out a frustrated breath, I get to work.

The Girl

Sitting on the bed, my heart beats so fast I feel light-headed. Swallowing, I stare at the sun high in the sky, daylight, something I didn’t get to see much of. I want to feel it on my skin, maybe get a sunburn. I haven’t had the sun kiss my cheeks since I was a kid. Staring into the hard sun, I remember that day well.

Swinging as high as I can, I pump my legs back and forth, back and forth. My mom’s boyfriend, Poppy, pushing me. That’s not his real name, but that’s what he told me to call him when I first met him. “Higher, Poppy!” I giggle.

“You go any higher, you’re going to land on the sun!” He chuckles. A family walks by, a little boy looking at me and Poppy. He looks just like the man following him, his daddy. I don’t have a daddy, but Poppy is as close to one.

“Okay guys, we’ve been here for hours, I’m exhausted,” my mom says, walking across the pavement in her heels. She’s the prettiest mom here, always wearing a shiny dress, red lipstick, and curly hair.

Poppy grabs the chains of the swings, slowing me to a full stop. When I get off, I still feel as if I’m in the swing, flying.

“Hey Mom, can Poppy be my dad?”

My mother’s face goes pale as she looks at him. He smiles and rubs my head of blonde curls. His suit nice and silky, I can’t help but run my hand down the side of it before holding his hand, his large ring on his pinky cutting into my finger.

“Come on, I’ll buy my girls some ice cream.”

The sound of metal pots and pans clashing has me jumping out of my memory. The smell of food cooking has my stomach growl and ache. I don’t know when I ate last, but it wasn’t warm food. The handlers handed out a package of silver wrapping, inside were crackers and dried meat. I remember them being very dry and hard to swallow. I can’t tell what the man in the kitchen is cooking, but it’s making my mouth water, whatever it is.


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