by RC Boldt
I desperately need it to stop—to have this pain and fear inside me cease to exist. But, deep down, I know if I don’t release it, it’ll fester and eat away at me like it once almost did.
My body quakes, and I hope the shower overpowers the telltale sounds of my sobbing. I can’t bear for anyone to pity me. Covering my mouth with my hand, I give way to the wracking emotion as my tears meld with the water streaming over me.
I’m not sure how much time passes before the shower door eases open. Without raising my head, I open my eyes to see a pair of sleek black shoes.
“Olivia…” Nico sounds as if he’s struggling with what to say. “Can I…hold you?”
I close my eyes and bite back a sob. Vulnerability blankets his words as though he’s afraid I’ll decline his offer, and it causes my heart to crack open.
My voice shakes before I manage to regain some control. “Don’t pity me. Please.”
“Never.” His response comes so quick, without any hesitance, and it serves as a light balm to my emotional wounds.
Fully clothed, he steps inside the shower and settles beside me, his back against the tile wall. Unfolding a large bath towel, he holds out the terry cloth, his features drawn, movements tentative.
I slide between his spread legs, and when his arms close around me with slow hesitance, covering me with the towel and allowing my nudity to be blanketed, I sink into his embrace. Even knowing the towel will get wet, he took into account my need to be comforted while also granting me modesty.
I can’t explain why I don’t fear this man. Why I seek comfort from him or why he’s offering it. All I know is at this moment, as tears spill freely down my cheeks, I feel safe. Cared for. Protected.
Bringing his mouth to my ear, his voice is a hoarse whisper. “Go ahead. Let it out. Ain’t nobody gonna blame you for it. Not one damn bit.” His arms tighten around me, then his body stiffens as if he’s unsure how secure his hold should be. How secure I want it to be.
I grasp at his arms in a grip that’s borderline desperate, silently pleading for him not to let go of me. Not just yet. Because right now, I realize I have what I didn’t back then.
I have someone willing to hold me while I fall apart.
27
Nico
Jesus fucking Christ. Her sobs are breaking my goddamn black heart. I’m afraid to hold her any tighter while I fight the instinct to pull her closer. To hold her so snug against me until she realizes I won’t let a goddamn thing happen to her.
Long minutes pass until she cries herself out, her body shuddering with each breath.
“Can I—we—get out now?”
I clench my jaw so hard my molars protest. Her voice sounds so timid and small and nothing like her.
“Yeah. Lemme get a dry towel for you.”
When I release my hold on her and don’t glance at her naked body, it’s a goddamn sign that I’m so worried about her.
Which means I’m even more fucked.
Once I shut off the shower and help her to her feet, I offer her a fresh towel. Turning away from her, I hear the wet flop of the other towel landing on the tiled shower floor. I move farther away, eyes still averted, and gesture to the clothes I set on the counter before I climbed in the shower with her.
Bombarded by awkwardness, I drag a hand over my head. “Got you one of my shirts and a pair of boxer briefs.”
“Thanks,” she says quietly.
Then I realize I’m making a damn mess of puddles on the floor.
“Shit,” I grumble. Quickly toeing off my shoes, I remove my wet clothes and toss them into the left sink, the fabric landing with a loud thwap. When I’m down to my boxer briefs, I grab a towel and wrap it around my waist. Hastily mopping the puddles on the bathroom tile with another towel, I toss it in the sink on top of my wet clothes once the floor is dry.
“If you wanna get in the bed, you can. I’ve got men outside the door, and I’ll be on the couch.”
I head for my walk-in closet, hastily tossing my boxers and towel in the laundry bin, then grab pajama pants from the built-in dresser. After pulling them on, I hesitate. I don’t normally wear a shirt to sleep in, but I snag a plain cotton one and tug it on. Even though I’m not staying in this room, I don’t want to make her uncomfortable or nervous.
I step from the closet and find her standing beside my bed, looking so goddamn lost it has me feeling like someone’s just gutted me with a pickax. Olivia’s eyes snap to mine, her lips parting hesitantly, fingers toying nervously with the hem of my shirt.
“You’re probably busy, but I wondered if you—”
“Yeah.”
My answer comes out so quick, it startles her, and her red-rimmed eyes widen. “I…didn’t even finish what I was asking.”
“Don’t matter.” I take my time approaching her, stopping a few feet away. “Answer’s still the same.”
Breath whooshes past her lips, and she peers at me in disbelief. “So, you’re okay…lying in bed with me?” She ducks her chin and glances back at the bed. “Just for a moment.”
Careful to make my movements easy and not rushed, I step closer. I gauge her response, prepared to stop dead in my tracks if she tenses. When she doesn’t, I reach out and pull back the covers. “Go ahead. Get in.”
She gingerly lowers herself to the mattress and slides beneath the covers. I tuck her in carefully before rounding the bed and easing in on the other side.
Lying on my back, I stare up at the ceiling. “You want the lights on?”
“The one in the bathroom’s enough.”
I reach over and hit the switch on the bedside table, sending the room into darkness with a faint path of light spilling out from the bathroom. We lie in silence, a million questions running through my mind, but I know I don’t have any fucking right to ask them.
If things were different, I wouldn’t be hesitating. I’d be the man she needed, and I sure as hell wouldn’t have her living somewhere where she nearly gets raped.
Fuck. I squeeze my eyes closed as her screams echo in my mind. “Goddammit, I can’t do this again!”
The thought that she’s gone through it before has me ready to kill the motherfucker with my bare hands. My fingers curl into tight fists, nails biting into my palms a second before soft fingertips brush against my right hand.
Eyes flashing open, my breath stutters in my chest, but I don’t say a word. I allow my fingers to relax for hers to thread through them and hold tight.
Her whispered words are barely audible. “My freshman year in college, I was raped.”
Every muscle in my body goes stiff at what she’s just revealed, but I just give her hand a gentle squeeze.
“He was the quarterback of our football team. Heisman Trophy winner. Everyone worshiped him.”
Ah, fuck. I hate where this is going.
“That night, I went to a party for the first time in my life. My parents had died two weeks earlier. They’d been traveling from Nantes to Chambery, France, when their small plane crashed. No one on board survived.”
She pauses with an audible swallow. “I was…struggling with everything. I knew I couldn’t give up on college because I wanted to make them proud. But I craved a diversion from the pain.” Her voice sounds detached, as if she’s telling someone else’s story.
“He slipped something in my drink, and the next thing I knew, I was in his room. He shoved me facedown on the floor, and I couldn’t do a damn thing. I remember screaming inside my head but couldn’t force the words to come out. I couldn’t get my body to move. He wrenched my right leg so roughly and leaned his weight on it that it caused a hip impingement, damaging it so badly that I ended up needing surgery.”
Motherfucker. That explains those scars around her hip.
“His father was a well-known attorney in the area and one of the school’s loyal boosters, so of course, they asked me not to press charges. His father volunteered to pay for my surgery if I promised never to tell anyone what happened that night. He prom
ised that no one would ever find out about it, either.” She falls silent, and a sense of helplessness unlike anything I’ve ever experienced assaults me with a vengeance.
“I promised myself I’d never be a victim again.” Her whispered words are so faint, they’re nearly inaudible. “But tonight I failed.”
Raising our joined hands to my lips, I dust a kiss over her soft skin. “No, you didn’t. You fought as hard as you could. He was high as a fuckin’ kite, but you still did a number on ’im.” I press a kiss to her fingertips. “You were brave as hell.”
A beat of silence passes before she speaks in a voice so faint, it’s barely audible. “You think so?”
“I know so.” I turn my head her way. “You wanna come over here, you can. Leavin’ that up to you. But know this, Professor.” I swallow hard past a golf ball-sized lump in my throat, my voice hoarse and raspy. “I ain’t gonna let a damn thing happen to you again.”
I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until she cautiously scoots closer, settling right beside me. With a slow exhale, I stare up at the ceiling, willing myself to get my fucking act together. I can’t afford more complications, and she poses the biggest one of all.
“Try to rest. You’re safe now.”
It’s two hours later until my fury subsides even a fraction—at least enough for me to shut my eyes and attempt to get some rest.
I don’t want to admit the reason for that is the professor, who moves in her sleep to curl even closer to me, resting her palm over the center of my chest.
Nope. Not planning to admit that.
Ever.
28
Olivia
I gradually rouse, discovering that I’ve wrapped an arm around a pillow like it’s my lifeline. Blinking away the lingering fog of sleep, I start to sit up and let out a groan at the instant protest my body makes. Then two realizations pummel me:
1) It feels far later than the time I usually wake up for work.
2) I’m not in my bedroom.
Everything that transpired last night comes surging to the forefront of my mind.
I gingerly shove back the covers and swing my legs over the edge of the mattress while searching frantically for a clock. My phone is in my room where I left it. Otherwise, I’d have woken to my alarm. Shit, shit, shit! Dean Harrod will be livid with me for not notifying the department of my absence.
The inside of my lip is sore from where my teeth dug into it when that asshole backhanded me, and my muscles object to every movement when I rise to my feet and glance around for any sign of Nico.
The room is eerily silent, so I smooth down my hair and pad over to the door. Anxiety plagues me as I reach for the handle, but when I turn it and step out, I discover only two men standing guard.
They offer me a cursory nod before I venture down the hall to my room. Curiosity builds the closer I get to the rumble of male voices spilling down the hall from the open doorway.
Goliath hovers just inside the door of my bedroom, while Nico stands at the large windows overlooking the bay with his back to the scenic view.
With his arms crossed, the sleeves of Nico’s button-down shirt draw tight around his biceps. Outwardly, his stance might appear relaxed as he braces himself against the windowsill. Tense creases on each side of his mouth paired with the flat line of his lips declare otherwise.
The men cut off their conversation as soon as I step inside. The first thing I notice is that my room is no longer a mess. Everything looks as spotless as when I first arrived.
The glacial atmosphere, however, cannot go unnoticed. Goliath’s expression gives away nothing, while Nico exudes an arctic air, and it has every fiber in my body tensing.
This is not the same man who climbed into a shower fully clothed to hold me.
It’s not the man who held my hand last night while I shared my past. That man has vanished, and in his place is a coldhearted bastard, the one who rose to his high ranking in the crime world. The absence of the man who tenderly cared for me and comforted me serves as a deep lance to my heart.
“Nice of you to join us.” Nico lifts his chin, gesturing to the desk chair that’s turned to face the room. “Have a seat. Got a question for you.”
Warily, I eye him and Goliath as I venture closer and lower myself into the chair. Flicking my gaze between the men, I wait in silence, recognizing this as a power play. He wants me nervous. On edge. But why?
“You were an only child. Ain’t that right, Professor?” Nico’s eyes are hard, emotionless, his voice like steel.
I stare at him, unsure of where his line of questioning will lead. “Yes.”
“Huh. Then maybe you didn’t grow up knowin’ how to share?” His gaze bores into me like laser beams.
Now, I’m legitimately riddled with confusion.
He tips his head to the side with a mercenary smirk. “You look like you don’t understand. Maybe this’ll jog that memory of yours.” Nico holds up a small object. As soon as I lay eyes on it, my stomach drops.
I glance over at Goliath, pasting on my best perplexed expression, and return my attention to Nico. Holding his eyes, I force my words out slowly. “I don’t know where that came from.”
“Bullshit!” he explodes. His jaw clenches, fist tightening around the thumb drive. “You better tell me the motherfuckin’ truth right now.”
“I don’t know!” I yell back.
Everything at this moment depends on me following one of the main principles when it comes to lying.
Always stick close to the truth. It’s more believable, and you’re less likely to trip yourself up or allow others to do that to you.
I lift my chin and pin him with a haughty glare. “In case you don’t remember, one of your men came in here, threatened me, and tried to rape me. And now, you’re slinging accusations at me.”
I dart up from the chair, ignoring every painful movement as I stalk closer. “Fuck you!” When we’re toe to toe, I wish like hell I weren’t barefoot and braless. Jabbing a finger at the center of his chest, I hiss angrily, “Go ask your boy, Lorenzo, about it! He’s the one you should talk to!”
He sneers down at me. “You expect me to believe you don’t know nothin’ ’bout this?”
“You came to me, remember?!” I scowl at him, fury flooding my veins and taking firm hold. “I never asked to be here”—I wave a hand, gesturing around us—“or to be a part of any of this!”
Nico looks tightly strung, his body unyieldingly stiff. He pins me with the intensity of his gaze before it turns calculated. “Then I guess we gotta see what happens today.”
A frisson of unease slithers through me at the malice dripping from his words.
“What do you mean?”
His lips stretch in a dark, grim smile. “The message said they’re expectin’ you today after your final class.” Straightening, he drops his crossed arms and dips his head, bringing us eye to eye. “Get dressed, Professor. Gotta see what kind of fuckin’ game you’re playin’.”
29
Olivia
We’ll see you tomorrow after your final class. Sit out front of Miami Smoothie Company at patio table #2. Sit in the chair facing east.
I’m literally a sitting duck in this scenario. Nico doesn’t trust me, and I don’t have any clue who the hell sent that message via the thumb drive.
Being left in the dark with no resources whatsoever has me feeling as if I’m floundering in a shark-infested sea after being tossed overboard.
My one saving grace today was that Nico had contacted my department to let them know I wouldn’t be in due to a “personal emergency.” Thankfully, Tuesdays are the lightest, course-load-wise, and my final class finishes at one fifty in the afternoon.
Nico and I stride up to the smoothie shop after Goliath walks away, mumbling something about “keepin’ watch.”
With every step we take, pinpricks of eerie awareness plague me, growing stronger in protest of whoever is out there, watching. Even worse, I’m left unsure who might be
my worst enemy.
Them or him.
Nico guides me to the designated outdoor patio table a male student is in the process of vacating. Without a word, Nico slides out a chair, indicating I should take a seat.
I hesitate, my eyes darting to him, but at the unforgiving set of his jaw, I stay quiet and accept the seat he’s offering. Sliding onto it, I set my purse on the table, watching warily as Nico claims the chair facing east. He turns it to ensure we’re both overlooking the busy sidewalk and street.
The weather is overcast but humid. I can’t help but scan the area, trying to figure out who sent me this message. Amidst the usual chatter and din of movement and traffic, a familiar sound hits my ears.
My eyes dart to Nico, but his expression remains placid, gaze masked by his dark sunglasses. Leaning closer, he props an elbow on the back of my chair, his fingers toying with the ends of my hair. I suppress a shiver at the faint touch.
“Answer your phone.”
Swallowing hard, I root around in my purse for it. Screen flashing with Unknown Caller, I answer. The instant I raise it to my ear, a woman’s voice speaks.
“I expected you to come alone.” Her accent is distinctly Cuban.
I glance at Nico, who hasn’t shifted position. Still absently toying with my hair, he faces the street, but I’m certain his attention is rapt on the phone conversation.
“I wasn’t given instructions clarifying that.” I survey my surroundings surreptitiously but still find nothing out of the ordinary.
Pride laces her tone. “Ahh, yes. I knew you’d grow up to be wise.” Oh, God. Those smug words have the floor of my stomach dropping. Then her voice hardens, void of any warmth. “If I could punish your father, again, for what he did…” After a millisecond pause, her tone turns darker, sending ominous dread rolling through every fiber of my body. “Now, it’s time to show you what your family legacy entails.”
