Forget-Me-Not Bombshell (Mafia Wars, #5)

by Caroline Peckham

Turned out, you could threaten a girl into a dress, but you couldn’t change the colour of her soul. Mine was grey, like the colour of steel or concrete or the eternal nothingness of my waking life.

What sweeter way to die than to be carried there on the back of your favourite song?

“Look, beautiful, I need a little helping hand here, see? My girl’s halfway through an audiobook about a chick who gets abducted by an alien with a tentacle dick and she’ll listen to it without the headphones all night long if I don’t get her new ones. I mean, sure, I’m happy for her to come climbing onto my cock at three am sobbing because the tentacle bloke almost died, and I’ll even let her paint me blue before she rides me like a horny space cadet that needs breeding, but I got work to do before then.

“You’re always horny for my horn,” Church murmured, making me almost snort a laugh.

“Because nice guys will judge you if you ask them to choke you, a bad guy does it for free,”

And sometimes I see a girl who wants happiness more than anything in the fucking world, but you decided a long time ago you couldn’t have it, didn’t you? You gave up on that dream, but it’s still there, sleeping. And maybe it’s time you woke it up.”

“So I don’t want you to be gentle with me and I don’t want you to hold back. I see life in your eyes and taste freedom on your lips. So make sure I feel it when you fuck me.

She wasn’t responsible for my suffering. But she might just have been responsible for my salvation.

I’d rather fester in the truth than die with a veil pulled over my eyes.”

“I’ll have a whiskey, mate. Top shelf, none of that ice rubbish and make sure it’s from the highlands or some shit like that. I don’t want no foreign knock offs, yeah?” “Sir, this is the breakfast menu,” he began but I cut him off.