Omerta- Book I (Winner of the 2015 People's Choice Award)

4) Hit the Mattresses

       

         “So about this walk,” I said, fidgeting with my fingers. “Did you mean a actual walk, or a ‘I’m going to murder your ass somewhere quiet and isolated’, walk?”

            “Shut up,” Ferro said.

My neighbor had swapped his sweatpants for black slacks and threw on a black dress shirt with a tie that was mockingly the color scarlet. His long fingers deftly tied the knot around his neck, smoothing it down the buttons of his shirt.

He took out an electric razor from a drawer under the sink, pausing to eye me on the toilet seat to his right.

For a second, I imagined him taking the razor to my throat and slitting it as he chuckled maniacally.

“You like the way my facial hair is coming in, candy?” he asked in that husky, carnal voice of his and for a moment, it was as if my opinion really mattered to him. My mind betrayed me and I began to picture Ferro’s beautiful face between my legs, his stubble scrapping against the most sensitive part of me--

“Master said not to talk,” I said sardonically and robotically, barely escaping my dirty thoughts.

Ferro chuckled, placing the razor down. I sneaked a peek at my bastard brunette neighbor lazily style his hair, so that a few strands went in his eyes and cleverly covered up the freshly placed bandage on his wound. He had the most thick, soft looking hair and I just wanted to my fingers through it…

           

            Before he could catch me staring at him, I looked quickly away. Stop, stop, stop! I thought to myself. He’s a psycho killer!

 

            Ferro motioned for me to get up with his gun. He slipped on a leather jacket on his way out, grabbed his car keys, and together we came to the front door of my apartment.

“Open the door, I don’t have all night,” Ferro barked irritably behind me. I nervously fiddled with my keys. The lock clicked and the door thankfully swung open.

The cold barrel of his gun pressed against my spine, urging me forward into my apartment. “Good girl,” he praised lowly at my ear, flirtatious again. “Now, how about you show me your closet?”

            We crossed the tiny apartment and I pointed towards his destination. He walked inside and started to look through my things. “I thought you were taking me for a walk, not trying on my clothes?” I asked with a little too much sass.

Ferro shot me a dirty look. “There has to be something tight in here,” he said, leafing through my walk in closet. “Do you honestly only buy baggy sweatshirts, t-shirts, and sweaters?”

            “And leggings,” I said.

            “Piece of advice.” Ferro plucked a blouse from my closet that wasn’t too baggy, matched with my only pair of skinny jeans. “Men don’t want to fuck a trash bag.”

            “You wanted to last night,” I fired back. “Guess that means you like trash, huh?”