by KL Donn
“What’s the pH value of distilled water?” Aren’t these supposed to be hard questions?
“Depends on the temperature,” I throw out reflexively. I can hear a couple kids in the back snickering, but I pay them no mind.
“What’s the most common element, by mass, that forms earth?”
“Iron.” I spit out the answer, annoyed that he can’t find anything more challenging to ask me. “We done now?”
“Miss Ivanov,” he calls out, and I frown when my girl tenses before raising her head to stare at him. Whispers pick up behind us, and my annoyance amps up further. This asshole is trying to humiliate her. “Comparing methanol and ethanol, which is less sedative and why?”
She pales, and her body begins to shake. My rage spikes uncontrollably when her stricken gaze meets mine. I have no fucking clue what’s happening with her, but if this asshole thinks he’s going to embarrass her, he’s got another thing coming.
“Methanol,” I bark out, turning my heated glare on him. The man falters a step when he stands up straighter. Like any prey, he knows I’m ready to rip him apart. “Because of its oxidation with formaldehyde. Typically, they can both be used in a mickey as a date rape drug.” My tone holds accusation.
The bell rings before he can respond any further. Once my girl is done packing her bag, I take it from her and clasp her hand in mine. Leaving the classroom, I guide her to an isolated area by the shop classes and sit her on a bench.
Dropping the satchel to the ground, I straddle the wooden plank and turn her to face me. I prop her legs over my thighs, crowding her into the wall, and place my hands on the top of her legs.
“I need to know your name, tesoro.” She bites her lip again, and there’s nothing more I’d like than to do it for her.
“Tell me,” I implore. Her chin begins to shake, and I hate that I’m causing her pain. “Please,” I beg.
Digging in her pocket, she pulls out this piece of shit, old-ass phone and starts typing on it. I want to ask why she isn’t speaking, but I get the feeling she gets asked that a lot, and the inability to answer probably sends her into a panic, so I wait.
When she spins the phone around and her name appears, I smile. “Posy.” Then it clicks, and my fury resurfaces. “That’s why they call you poser, isn’t it?” Before she can drop the phone into her lap, I grip the device and both of her hands. “No. Don’t do that, not with me. Never hide from me, tesoro.” She nods but doesn’t look up.
The next-period bell rings, and as much as I dislike it, I help her stand before lifting her bag again. “What do you have now?” She grabs the fucking palm pilot out of my hand and begins to type.
Art.
Fuck.
“I’ll walk you, I have Construction.” Taking the phone from her hand, I type in my number and send myself a message after saving my info for her. “Meet me here after class and text me when you get here.” She frowns but ultimately nods her head. “I’ll take you home after school,” I tell her, not bothering to ask because, as predicted, she’s already shaking her head no. “Yes.” I snap the word like a command, and she relents.
Leaving her at her class, she rushes inside before I can touch her. This need inside of me to claim her is pounding like a warrior’s drum. Walking away from Posy is done with force and reluctance because I get the feeling the skittish girl wouldn’t hesitate to run from me.
I fucking hate when I’m right.
Chapter 2
Posy
Natale is overwhelming.
His presence and personality.
His ability to weave himself into my mind while I’m sketching out a landscape in art is uncanny. The black charcoal of the mountains elicits thoughts of his mystical gaze and the intense way he watches me. The gentle shading of the clouds reminds me of how he touched me as he led me out of Chemistry.
“Posy.” I look up as I hear the teacher call my name. Seeing my dad’s partner, Brian, standing in the doorway in uniform, I know nothing good is forthcoming. “You have an emergency,” the teacher finishes saying.
Swallowing roughly, I bite my lip so my quivering chin doesn’t give me away. Shoving my things into my bookbag, I pull out my phone and text Natale.
Me: Emergency. Have to leave early.
He immediately messages back.
Natale: What’s happened? I’m coming to you.
“Come on.” Brian touches my shoulder in what looks like a comforting squeeze but is actually painful. “I’ll hold onto these.” He takes my bag and my phone.
Staring up at Brian with a questioning gaze, he ignores me, knowing that I’m trying to ask what’s happened and letting me suffer all the same.
“Posy!” I hear Natale yell down the hallway, and I try to stop and turn around. Brian just keeps dragging me forward as I catch a glimpse of Natale running down the hallway, but it’s too far.
I can already feel the bruise forming just above my elbow from Brian’s vise-like grip as we exit the school, and he nearly tosses me into the back seat of his cruiser.
“Posy!” I see Natale crash through the front doors as we pull away from the curb. I watch with a hand on the window as teachers rush after him, and he’s cursing up a blue streak as they try to corral him back inside.
“Got yourself a boyfriend?” Brian laughs, and I shake my head so hard I’m nearly dizzy. “Good. Because we both know who you really belong to.” My head lowers, and my chest tightens so painfully that I almost cry.
I hate him. I hate everything about my life and, until today, I didn’t think I’d find anything or anyone to live for. But Natale and his obsessive need to be kind to me might have changed my mind.
“Your father was shot. He’ll be fine, but he’ll be in the hospital for a couple of days. He’s asked me to stay with you until he gets released.” A sick smile spreads across his face, and I fight back the urge to vomit.
We obviously aren’t going to the hospital.
Which means we’re going home.
To hell.
And he took my phone. I have no way to call for help, not that it’s worked in the past, but it’s gotten him to leave me in peace for a few months at a time, at least.
But now?
Now, I’m under his complete control with no way to seek help.
Help that I know Natale would gladly give me.
Except I’m not even ready for him to learn about this part of my life. Maybe it’s better this is happening now instead of a week from now because when Natale rejects me—which he will after finding out—I’ll be destroyed even more.
It’s only minutes later that we’re pulling into the driveway of my father’s small bungalow. Rushing inside, I’m quick to head to the kitchen and pull out a beer for Brian. If I can get him drunk, he’ll leave me alone.
As I hand the drink to him, he chugs half of it before sitting on the couch and patting the cushion beside him. I shake my head and point to the kitchen, intent on making dinner, and he waves his hand for me to go ahead.
I don’t hesitate. Pulling out a package of chicken breasts from the freezer, I put it on defrost in the microwave before grabbing another beer from the fridge and taking it to him.
Without getting too close to the man, I grab the empty bottle and hand him the new one. His free hand reaches out, and he softly rubs his thumb across the inside of my wrist. I’m frozen until he releases me.
“Soon, poser, real soon.” He hiccups, and I can already hear the slur in his words. Brian is a cheap drunk, and I think that’s the only reason he didn’t pull me down into his lap.
By the time dinner is ready, he’s on his fourth beer and barely able to stand. I crushed up a melatonin tablet and put it in his last bottle to help him along.
As I finish cleaning up the kitchen, it’s nearly eight, and I can hear snoring coming from the couch. Tiptoeing into the living room, I search my captor’s pockets for my phone until I find it. Drawing the device out, I dash up to my room, closing and locking the door. I slide my dresser
in front of it, followed by my mattress.
Grabbing a flashlight, the latest Caine & Graco Saga book by E.M. Shue, and my blanket, I curl up in my closet in the far back corner. I shut the doors behind me, praying I’ll be left alone for the night.
Taking a deep breath, I open the messages on my phone and see a dozen missed calls, ten text messages, and three voicemails from Natale.
Listening to the messages, I can feel the tears rolling down my cheeks. “It’s me. Who was that guy? Is everything alright? Call me back.” The second, I can feel his anger. “Don’t ignore me, tesoro. Call me.” By the third, his emotions are as scattered as my own. “Please, Posy. Let me know you’re alright. I didn’t like the look of that guy, and I could tell he was hurting you. Please, tesoro, answer me.”
Sniffling, I wipe my face with the sleeve of my sweater so I can read some more. They’re much the same. Asking if I’m okay, begging me to answer him. Needing to know I’m safe.
I want so much for his interest to be genuine and not merely some infatuation with the girl he can’t get to fall at his feet.
Natale is older than me, more experienced, he can have any girl he wants. I fail to see how I’m special, and it’s that thought that gives me the courage to tell him to leave me alone.
Shutting the device off before he can respond or start calling me again, I open my book in the hopes of getting lost in the pages of a whirlwind romance. One where the girl definitely gets the guy she longs for.
I must have fallen asleep because, when I wake up, I’m being dragged down the stairs by my hair. The feeling of strands being ripped from my scalp makes me cry out in agony.
“You drugged me, you little bitch?” Brian screams as he throws me at the front door. Hitting my head off the doorknob, I immediately feel sick.
His feet and fists flow in a flurry of violence and pain. Eventually, I lose my will to defend myself and lay limp on the floor; his booted foot coming down on my face is the last thing I remember.
Chapter 3
Natale
I pace restlessly along the corridor of our mansion’s foyer, every second causing my skin to crawl just a little bit more as I wait on Papà. Posy wasn’t at school today, and I couldn’t get ahold of her. The main office refused to give me her information, and her father is a policeman, so when I called to ask for a welfare check, they informed me he had been injured in the line of duty but wouldn’t give me further information.
“Mio figlio, you need to calm down. Carlo will get what you need.” Mamma leans against the wall watching me with interest. I’ve never been so invested in a girl before. Never cared enough.
But Posy is mine. I knew it the second I saw her. Fuck, has it only been a week? And yet, she’s been at school all year long.
I don’t know how I didn’t come across her sooner, especially given her need for me. We could have had months together now.
“Natale!” Papà’s voice penetrates my mind. “Sit,” he demands, and I drop on the bench next to the door, not prepared for the life-altering information I feel like he’s about to give me. “How much do you like this girl?” The folder in his hand catches my attention.
“She’s mine,” I tell him honestly.
“Just like your papà.” Mamma grins. I know from stories, he claimed her the day they met.
“I’m not sure she is worth this trouble for a Russian girl.” I scowl at my father’s comment and bite my tongue before saying something that neither of us will like.
“Why does her heritage matter?” My glare deepens, and he knows I’m pissed. I got a free pass on the choice of my wife the day I took three bullets meant for my mother.
He shrugs and hands me the file. Taking my mother’s hand, they walk away, leaving me to read about Posy on my own.
As I open the file, I’m presented with basic information. Her full name, birthdate, where she was born. Her parents’ names and their data. When I turn the page, I become furious.
The first thing I see is an image of Posy beat to hell at the age of fourteen. Over the next few sheets, there are more and more just like it. When I finally get to her school records, I’m so enraged that all I see is red.
Bullied.
Beat up.
Assaulted.
Tormented.
Posy has been put through hell and labeled the problem. The girl doesn’t even speak, and they fucking blamed her for being hospitalized twice last year.
When I finally reach the last page, I learn about her mother. A woman so lost and tortured, she turned to drugs and lost custody of her daughter. She’s been sober for three years now and scarcely sees her only child because of the custody agreement.
Reading into her father, I see he’s been an officer for twenty years—nothing special about his career. In fact, it’s so ordinary, it makes me wonder about the man himself. Most twenty-year veterans have commendations in their files, complaints at the very least. His is glaringly empty. Which could mean one of two things: he’s a chicken-shit cop who doesn’t do a whole lot on the job, or he’s corrupt.
After the way that bastard, who I now know is the father’s partner, dragged Posy out of school yesterday, I’m leaning towards the latter.
Shutting the folder, I tap it on my leg a few times, trying to decide what to do. My gut is screaming at me to go to Posy’s home, collect her, and bring her back here. To protect her. Claim her. But common sense is dictating I be cautious.
My family isn’t exactly the boy scouts. We’re criminals. The Italian Mafia. My own father is wanted for multiple murders after the incident when I was a boy. I’m wanted for suspected murder.
The Bocharov Bratva attacked us that night seven years ago. Not intent on killing my father but taking from him the treasure he holds most sacred in this world.
Mamma.
All because of Valentino Lupo, my father’s second-in-command and our current head of security’s father. We didn’t heed to the bratva’s warnings of carnage if we didn’t hand him over. They threatened to take everything my father held dear.
However, it didn’t work because from a very young age, it was drilled into me that women are to be protected at any and all costs. I’ve never regretted saving my mother’s life; I love her. I’d do it again in a heartbeat. No questions asked.
And not because of duty or demand, but because my father is right, women are like pixies and should be treated with a soft touch and a firm command. Treat them like queens, and they’ll treat us as their kings.
Mamma is the very best of us too. She keeps my father from diving over the edge and helps me control my anger.
After I was healed and released from the hospital, we exacted our revenge. The Bocharov’s were unprepared for the attack when it came, and as I slit the throat of their sadistic underboss, Ivan Medvedev, no one was more satisfied than me.
From that day forward, I swore to take whatever I wanted and live life to the fullest. And right now, that means having Posy at my side.
Pulling my keys from my pocket, I head out to my Audi, intent on getting her. She hasn’t returned any of my messages since the one response last night, and frankly, I don’t believe for a second that she meant what she said. I refuse to believe it.
Driving from my house in upscale Carson Hills to the lower-class Wellport, the differences are drastic. The Hills have clean, paved roads, with well-manicured lawns, flourishing trees, and brick homes. Wellport is riddled with potholes, rusty cars on the lawns, and the houses mostly look like they’d fall apart in a high wind. The fact that Posy lives here, in such a dangerous neighborhood, says even more about her father. The man doesn’t give a shit about the girl he’s supposed to love and protect at all costs.
Every other streetlight is burned out, so when I pull up to my girl’s house, I’m unsurprised to see it shrouded in darkness. No cars in the driveway, no lights on. Several windows are boarded up, and I doubt the garage door even opens anymore.
Exiting my car, I stroll up the sidewalk, mindful of
the neighbors I see trying to catch a glimpse of me. Knocking on the door, I don’t expect much, but I become concerned when there’s no answer. She has to be here.
Trying the doorknob, it twists open, and a cloud of dust billows out, signaling nobody has been here in quite some time.
“Son of a bitch,” I hiss as I pull it closed without entering. Taking out my phone, I give her a call, hoping she’ll answer.
She doesn’t.
“Posy, tesoro, please answer me. Call me back. Something. I’m not going to keep being put off. Let me help you.”
Defeat weighs heavily on my shoulders.
A feeling I’m not familiar with and immediately despise.
I will find her.
I will bring her home.
Chapter 4
Posy
I ache from the tips of my toes to the roots of my hair. Brian beat me long into unconsciousness two days ago, and I’m feeling it in every fiber of my being. As it turns out, that’s lucky for me because if there’s one thing he hates more than the threat of being discovered as a molester, it’s his disdain for how I look beat up. His own doing, of course, but one I’m disgustingly grateful for, nevertheless.
Before starting his shift this morning, I was dropped off at school and told to be ready as soon as the bell rang, or I wouldn’t like the consequences. If he doesn’t get to touch me, I don’t think I’d mind them, though. And that morbid thought has been following me around all morning.
Fixing my hair to cover more of my face, I slip into my math class unnoticed just as the bell rings and take a seat in the back. For the most part, everyone ignores me. They pay me no mind until Eric and the two friends Natale beat up enter the room.
They home in on me almost immediately, and dread settles heavily in my chest as they sit in the seats in front and beside me. Thankfully, the math teacher is on the stricter side and doesn’t put up with their antics.
