“Your hair’s gotten longer,” I point out.
He grins, running a hair through the shoulder length locks. “Backpacking around Europe for months will have that effect.”
“I hate it,” I blurt and inwardly cringe. What the hell was in that whiskey? I’m never this blunt, but then again it is Mike.
He chuckles. “Of course you do. Anything else not to your liking, your majesty?”
“Were you always such a sarcastic ass?”
“Were you always such a cold bitch?” he volleys back, and I flinch, pulling back the claws.
“I’m sorry.” I sigh, taking another sip of my refilled drink. “It’s been a tough year...”
Mike sits back in his seat, his eyes roaming over me. Shit, I used to hate when he got that look because I knew he knew that everything wasn’t okay, and he would be right for the most part.
“Who’s the guy?” he asks after a long stretched out silence.
“There is no guy,” I snap, which only serves to strike his curiosity more.
“You mean there’s no guy anymore.”
“Mike.” I let out a long breath, leaning back against the cool leather of the booth. “Can we not go there please?”
Our waitress brings our food, and I’m glad for the momentary relief from the questions I know will be volleyed at me the moment she leaves. I almost want to wrap my arms around her and beg her to stay, to sit with us and enjoy a break.
“Alright, Gigs. Spill.”
I stop, fork halfway to my mouth with the juiciest piece of steak on it and narrow my eyes at him, but Mike just grins, mouth half full of steak and mashed potatoes, but that look in his eye tells me I’m not going to get away with dodging his questions as easily as I hoped. So, in between heavenly bites of steak, grilled veg, and creamy mashed potatoes—I didn’t go with the surf and turf—I tell him all about Braxton.
At the end of it all, it feels like a huge weight has been lifted from my shoulders. But now it’s been almost twenty minutes and Mike hasn’t said a word, of which I was grateful for while I was telling my sob story, but it’s a little unnerving now.
Instead of making digs at me like I suspected he would, Mike effortlessly changes the subject, and before I know it we’re actually laughing and talking like old friends again, and I’m almost sad to see him go after our date ends.
With his hand against my lower back, Mike leads me out of the restaurant after paying our bill and gives the valet attendant his ticket.
“I’m sorry for leaving the way I did,” he says, turning to me.
“We were kids. I shouldn’t have gone off on you like that. Just with everything that happened with Braxton, it was easier to still be mad at you.”
“Still, Klara. You needed me after what happened with your parents, and instead of sticking by you like a best friend should, I tucked tail and ran. They were like parents to me, but they were your parents, and I should’ve been there. I’m sorry, Gigs.” He pulls me into his arms as fresh tears pool in my eyes.
“I’m glad we did this, even if it was a blind date.”
Mike laughs. “Remind me to never let Adrienne set me up again.” He pulls away but still keeps his hands on my shoulders.
“Deal, and ditto.”
The valet pulls up in Mike’s car, but he lingers a bit longer not making a move to let go of my shoulders. “He loves you,” he says, his voice low, a hint of sadness and longing in his eyes before he blinks it away.
“Braxton doesn’t love me,” I scoff. “I was nothing more than a new shiny toy.”
Mike shakes his head, taking a step back. “He did what I never could with Kirsten. He loved you enough to let you go.”
My heart pangs at the mention of Mike’s ex-girlfriend who was now living on the other side of the world with her new husband and baby. There was a point where we thought we were going to lose Kirsten. After Mike finished his RCMP training and got stationed on the west coast in British Columbia, Kirsten was caught in a bank robbery and had been shot. Mike had taken on all the guilt since he was supposed to have been at the bank appointment and not her. I know a part of him wished he had left her to keep her safe from his line of work when he got accepted onto the elite team, but he just couldn’t let her go. Then, when the brother of the man he put down came after him and his team, they kidnapped Kirsten. Luckily, Mike and his team got to her in time, but Kirsten wasn’t able to do it anymore, so she left him.
“Mike—”
Mike steps into me, pulling me into another hug and effectively cutting me off. We hug again before he lets go. “You sure you don’t want a ride?”
“No.” I tip my head to the side. “It’s rare that I get to walk anymore, and it’s a nice night out. I’ll be okay.”
Mike nods. “You’ll be okay, Gigs. You’re stronger than you think you are.” Then he disappears inside the car as it roars to life a few seconds later and takes off.
I may have wanted to murder Adrienne when I first saw who she set me up with, but now I just want to hug her and thank her. Somehow, she knew that Mike was the one I needed to talk to. After all, he was the one I went to when we were in high school and I needed to talk. They both told it to me straight, never once beating around the bush, but Adrienne knew that despite what she said, Mike always had a way of getting through to me what she couldn’t. She never resented him for it, it was just the way our threesome worked.
It stung a little that I couldn’t have all three of my best friends with me, but I knew the city life was never for Mike. He needed to be on the coast, where he could escape to the open water if the need ever arose. And honestly, it sounded like he was thriving on the west coast in B.C.
Me: Thank you for tonight. I never realized how badly I needed it until now.
Mike: Anytime, Gigs. Don’t be a stranger. I miss you.
Me: You better not be texting and driving *angry face*
Mike: You were always cute when you tried to frown. But alas, I am not driving anymore. I’m safely back at my hotel until morning. Are you home yet?
Me: Just walked through the door. Goodnight, Trouble.
Mike: Goodnight, Gigs.
Six Months Later
I STILL SEE Braxton everywhere. In the streets of the city we explored together. In the café where he first tracked me down. At the gym where I work. I feel his eyes tracking my every movement, from the moment I leave my apartment building ‘til the moment I return. I see his black coupe driving by when I go for my morning run, I see it parked down side-streets.
I see him in strangers I walk by. In men leaving work at the end of the day. He’s everywhere and nowhere all at once. I can’t get him out of my head, and it’s driving me mad.
“You shouldn’t be walking these streets this late by yourself.”
I stop a few steps away from the door to my apartment building. Gio is standing with his back to the building, a foot propped on it, arms crossed over his chest.
“What are you doing here? Did Braxton send you?”
I have so many questions. I want to know how he’s been. What he’s been up to the last eighteen months. If there’s anything new in his life, but I don’t ask any of it because I’m afraid of the answers. I’m afraid Gio will tell me Braxton is doing great, that he’s already moved on and forgotten about me.
“He doesn’t.” Gio flicks a cigarette down I hadn’t seen when I first walked up and stomps it out on the sidewalk. “And would you believe me if I said that I missed having you around the house?” He looks up at me sheepishly, his lips twitching.
“You missed me, or my baking?” I ask, one eyebrow raised.
He chuckles, running a hand over the back of his neck. “Both? Braxton’s ma, she’s good with food, not so good with chocolate and pastries.” He pauses, placing a hand over his belly. “And you know how much I love my sweets.”
I giggle, looking him over and then down the street before cutting my gaze back. “And he didn’t send you?”
“He doesn’t
know I’m here, Klara.”
I wanted his voice to soothe me. Braxton hadn’t sent him. I was allowed to continue healing and move on. But they did the opposite of soothe because yes, while I did want to grieve him and move on, I also wanted him to fight for us, even if I didn’t know what he was supposed to be fighting. I still don’t understand why we can’t be together. His excuses were vague. I sigh, and that’s what it comes down to, they were just excuses. But I’m okay. I will be okay. I’ve already made it this far without him.
“Alright.” I motion for Gio to follow me through the door to the building.
I spent the rest of the night making the chocolate candies Gio loved so much. It really wasn’t that hard. Just some melted chocolate chips and sweetened condensed milk mixed together and left in the fridge until hard then cut into bite size pieces. They were really closer to fudge than anything but Gio loved them and it was nice to hang out with him again.
After hours upon hours of Full House reruns, enough chocolate to make the Easter bunny jealous, and a few shots of whiskey, Gio reluctantly left at almost two in the morning, and my heart broke all over again because I knew that once Braxton found out Gio was still hanging around me, he would shit a brick. And he would find out, it was just a matter of time.
***
The sound of my phone pinging with a new message rouses me from a shitty sleep. After Gio left early this morning I moved from the couch to my bed, not bothering to get into it but passing out on top of the covers.
Those shots of whiskey are not looking like the greatest idea this morning though. My head is pounding and my mouth feels like a giant cotton ball. My phone pings again and I groan at the loud noise and bright screen.
Brax: I miss you.
Brax: I’m sorry.
Is he for real right now? He can’t just text me after almost two years and think I’m going to drop everything and text him back. I refuse to be at his beck and call.
“Klara! Are you up?” Dri pounds on my bedroom and I want to kill her. For the briefest moment, I contemplate killing my best friend, and who I could enlist to help dump her body.
“Klara?” She calls again through the closed door, and it feels like a jackhammer hammering through my scalp.
“Yeah,” I groan, feeling the whiskey threaten a return journey. I’m never drinking that much again. What the hell was wrong with me last night that I thought going shot for shot with Gio was a good idea? I should’ve known he could drink me under the table. Damn those Italian men and their alcohol resistance.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Dri singsongs, pushing open my door and jumping onto the foot of the bed.
“Dri.” I groan, trying to breathe through the nausea.
“Late night?” She giggles.
“The fuck are you so cheery at too-damn-early in the morning?” I side eye her as another text comes through.
Brax: I don’t deserve your forgiveness, Klara. But fuck, I want to spend the rest of my life earning it. I’m sorry, baby.
I swallow past the lump forming in my throat. I never would have taken Braxton De Luca as the groveling type. But groveling is what he seems to be doing. Too bad it’s two years too late. Or is it? Stop it, Klara. I am not going back to him. He can shove it.
“Klara, are you listening?”
I sigh, turning the volume off and putting the phone face down on my nightstand before turning to my best friend. “I’m sorry, Dri. Work email,” I lie, hoping she bought it.
Dri goes back to telling me about her night with Matt, and then I spend the rest of the day getting the apartment ready for the upcoming week while simultaneously trying to keep my mind off Braxton.
By the time I crawl back into bed for the night, I’m physically exhausted from the grueling workout I put it through, and the abundance of chores I forced myself to do. But no matter how hard I scrubbed the bathroom or kitchen, or how much laundry I did, or how many little odds and ends I dusted, Braxton was never far from my mind.
THE COVERS ARE ripped from my body, the cold air from the air conditioner hitting my exposed limbs. Cold hands grab at my arms, and I know instantly that they don’t belong to Braxton or Dri. Even though there was no reason for Braxton to come back. He had made it clear that I was nothing to him but an itch to scratch, a curiosity that needed to be explored. I stupidly gave him my heart and got nothing but rejection in its place.
No, these were not Braxton De Luca’s hands. These hands were cold, bruising. I fight through the veil of fatigue plaguing my body and struggle against the intruder’s grip when two more grab my ankles holding me down until the first set of hands pull me up and against a male body.
“Fucking take the damn picture already,” a heavy accented voice says behind my ear. “Fuck, she feels so good. No wonder De Luca was so obsessed with her.”
My stomach drops at the sound of Braxton’s name. No, there was no way he was part of this. Braxton claimed that he was a monster but he would never hurt me. It was one of the excuses he gave when he ripped my heart out. “Don’t want this evil life to touch you, Mia Bella.” I still didn’t know what he did for work. He was very skilled in keeping that part of his life hidden from me, carefully avoiding answering my questions.
The second man chuckles, but it’s a dark, sinister sound. “He’ll wish he died alongside the bitch after we’re through with him.”
“No! let me go!” I scream, hoping our neighbors hear me, but nobody comes, and I struggle harder, putting my all into jamming an elbow and heel back in hopes that one of them connects with my kidnapper.
“Fuck! Did you take it already? I’m going to knock this bitch out.”
My elbow connects with a fleshy side causing my captor’s breath to leave in a whoosh and his hands loosen around me for a second but it’s not long enough to wiggle free.
“For fuck sakes, G. Knock her ass out already,” man number one barks.
“I’m trying. Hold her still. Don’t want to accidentally get you.”
That voice. I recognize that voice, but it can’t be. He was supposed to be my friend, my confidant.
The man holding me grunts, his arms tightening around me, squeezing the breath out of my lungs. Then I feel the prick in my neck, and suddenly my limbs grow heavy and I have to fight to keep my eyes open but eventually my vision fades to black, and everything around me disappears. The last thing on my mind being Braxton and how I wish he was here.
My savior. My dark knight.
“OUT. GET OUT!”
“But, Sir.”
“Get the fuck out!” I roar at my receptionist, pushing up from my seat behind the marble desk. I can hear the blood pumping through my veins, can feel the white-hot anger coursing through my body.
Gone.
She’s gone.
There one minute, and not the next.
The picture on my phone now seared into my memory. Klara, in tiny sleep shorts and a barely there tank top, eyes wild and full of fear. Her body forced back into the body of the masked kidnapper with their gloved hand covering her screams. A telltale bruise already forming on her delicate skin. My blood boils, the beast inside of me rattling the cage, demanding to be let free.
Reaching an arm out, I swipe everything off my desk in one move and then run a shaking hand through my hair.
Fuck! I looked away for five damn minutes, but that was all they needed to snatch her up from under me. Five goddamn minutes and everything I loved in this ugly world was taken from me.
Nausea rolls through me and I have to stumble back into the rolling office chair behind me before I lose my equilibrium.
Klara.
Beautiful, full of life Klara. Sweet and innocent and untouched by this life, until I got my filthy paws on her. I told her I was no good for her. I told her I would ruin her, that I would make her wish she had never laid eyes on me. I told her that I was the monster her parents warned her about.
She didn’t believe me. She never did. She would scoff, lay her hand over my heart and s
ay, “I believe there’s good in you, Brax.”
Silly girl should’ve listened when I told her I was no good for her. That this life would destroy her. And if I didn’t find her and get her back, it would surely kill her.
I will kill the fuckers that dare lay a hand on what’s mine. I may have walked away from her to save her from this very scenario but make no mistake that Klara Blouin is and will always been mine. I will rip them limb from limb with my bare hands. They wanted to see Braxton De Luca break. Well prepare yourself, motherfuckers, because I just fucking broke.
Visions of her pale blue eyes widened in shock float through my mind. The last time I saw my beautiful Klara I pushed her away, convinced she couldn’t love a monster like me. I was convinced I could not bring her into this lifestyle. She walked into my office for our scheduled lunch date and saw exactly what I wanted her to see. Me balls deep in my then assistant. I fired that bitch the minute Klara turned tail and ran like she couldn’t get away from me fast enough.
I wanted to kick my own ass for the horrified expression that marred her beautiful face, but like the asshole I am, I put my dick back in my pants, fired the whore who tried getting into my pants from the second she was hired, shut the steel walls in place, and went on to torture another associate who thought he could play me, the Don, the head of the fucking mafia.
But like a fucking addict, I couldn’t get Klara out of my head. I’ve had Gio and Alessandro keeping tabs on her every move for almost two years, and whenever time allowed, I would be the one watching her.
My beautiful Klara was so broken for that first year. Barely ever leaving her apartment for several months, always scanning the streets when she did. I knew she was looking for me. Looking to see if I would magically appear again. Even after what I did to her, she still held out hope that I would go back to her. And fuck, did I want to.
Dark Desire (Famiglia Book 1) Page 10
