The Carrero Contract: Selling Your Soul
- Genre: Romance
- Age: 18+
- Status: Completed
- Language: English
- Author: L.T.Marshall
I turn in the uncomfortable, hard bed, pull the sheets over the itchy hospital gown, and try not to wince with every pain that runs through my body. Even with the number of d**** they have pumped into me, it’s no picnic having broken ribs and a body that looks like it lost a fight with a train. I’m in agony and can barely breathe without the aching, burning, shuddering waves of a good old-fashioned beating.
Tyler and his men are animals, and I hate to think where I would be if Sophie had left me to them; what was inevitably my last night on Earth if they had their way. The girl didn’t owe me a damn thing, but she saved my bacon, and now I will be eternally grateful to her even if we never see one another again.
I’m woozy, waking with the throbbing of pain after a fitful few hours of dozing in and out of sleep. I feel like I have been here days already, even though I know the reality is it’s only been half a day.
Sophie is probably long gone with her boyfriend, and my name is banished for all eternity for getting her caught up in my mess. Owing to dd, a lot of money and not having the means to pay for it is not something girls want to deal with every day. Getting kidnapped off the street by thugs and threatened with imminent death will be a second to that.
I am lucky she had a rich boyfriend related to New York’s biggest gangster, Alexi Carrero, and now, I guess I owe him my debt.
A shadow in the corner of my room startles me out of the last ounces of sleep as I jump in fright, my heart racing and plummeting into instant trembles to see what looks like a man standing by my window near the door. It’s hard to make out properly, with one eye swollen shut and the other barely able to focus in the darkness. The moonlit sky outside is illuminating him from behind so that, to me, I only get a sinister silhouette of a huge male who is more than a little intimidating.
Standing tall and broad, taking up the small space with an aura of authority, he is so eerily still staring at me silently; it’s almost like a statue.
“I didn’t mean to startle you, Miss Walters.” The smooth tone of a man in complete control, husky with a hint of an accent that isn’t quite New York. Foreign maybe, and so slight it’s only there in the odd little word, almost smothered out by a more upper-class City dialect. It’s as though he’s spent years here but maybe wasn’t born here.
Accents are kind of my thing, seeing as my upper-crust London one stands out a mile when surrounded by tough New Yorkers. I ensured that it never faded over the years, and I avoided using American slang to prevent it.
My heart immediately shudders at where I’ve heard that specific accent before, at who this must be, and I blink as I try to make out his form a little more. I clear my throat nervously, heart hammering away in my chest, and struggle to try and sit, making a complete mess of doing so while wriggling about most excruciatingly. It’s painful, and my poor bones feel like I am putting them through a rigorous ordeal. Reaching for the lamp beside my bed and struggling to find where the nurse pushed the damn button control when she settled me for the night.
“Please… don’t move on my account. I only came to see that you were being cared for. We can talk another time when you are recovered.” He moves away from the window, and I catch more of him in the light, confirming precisely who this is. I would recognize that physique and profile anywhere after seeing him out there walking through his minions and Tyler’s men like the Kingpin of New York.
He isn’t someone you would ever forget in a hurry.
Alexi Carrero towers by the end of my bed and turns to me for a moment, stealth-like a panther, so fluid and graceful in his movements. My breath halts in my lungs as my body shivers apprehensively; he oozes danger and command so effortlessly that I can almost feel it in the room around me. This is a man I know I should be terrified of, and I am.
Physically recoiling back into my sheets involuntarily as he moves a tad closer, my heart elevates, and my breath hitches in nervousness. My whole body turns clammy.
“I… I… Wasn’t expecting anyone in here so late.” I struggle to get the words out, sounding raspy and hoarse, my throat burning with the effort after spending my first hour here throwing up blood and phlegm while they tried to assess the damage to my body. It’s not exactly my crowning moment, and you do not want to be in this sort of state while meeting an Adonis who saved your life.
“I was passing by, checking in to see that all is being taken care of. Your bills will be coming to me, and upon your release, we shall talk. We have some arrangements to discuss concerning our new relationship.” He is smooth and calm, almost like he’s amused, but not being able to see his face is making this whole thing utterly terrifying. He has the air of sinister alright, that vibe of someone who will put a bullet in your head as fast as look at you, and I am not sure I want to be left alone with him. He’s unnerving in a very intense way for someone not doing anything.
Not much makes me this nervous in life; I came from the streets, lived through hell, and met my fair share of cruel and evil men, but this one is like meeting the devil himself. He is doing nothing purposely or outwardly to make me afraid of him, but the atmosphere is sizzling with something that tells me this Carrero has a darkness inside of him that could block out the sun.
Men of real power never need to state it or make it clear in any obvious way; it’s there, like an aura, and anyone who meets them does not have to question its legitimacy.
Alexi is one of those men—who wear command like a shroud about their person.
“My debt… came to you, I presume?”