The worst thing about the photo isn't the scar on my face, but all the others on my body.
Because I'm naked on the portrait, and Raphael has barely edited the photo, every little cut is obvious. I look awful. Crazy. Broken. I hate him for doing this to me.
I arrive back home in time for Raphael's reply. He's asking me out again, mentioning that Thai place he told me about on our last date. Furiously, I type back a reply.
You really think I'm going to forgive you for doing this? I can't believe your audacity.
Do you like the photo? he texts back, making me roll my eyes.
Doesn't matter. How'd you get in Void anyway? I thought those spreads book months in advance.
They saw the portrait and loved it. You should, too. So. Dinner?
If you think you can make me forget about this with one meal, you've got another thing coming.
We'll see after you try it, he replies. Best pad Thai in town, hands down. I'll pick you up. Seven p.m. No need to dress up, it's a casual place.
Frustrated, I pocket my phone again. I can't believe he's acting like this, and at the same time, I'm glad he is. He's making light of the situation. But all I can think of is my mother picking up Void and seeing the face she told me was ruined staring back at her from the cover. She would hate this. Hate my imperfections being exposed like this. After the accident happened, she thought I should move, go in hiding. She didn't want anyone to see her precious daughter ruined. Neither did I, and for a while, I took her advice. I locked myself in, didn't leave the house. I saw surgeon after surgeon, discussing my options. But there was nothing anyone could do – not even the insanely expensive, experimental, painful procedures would hide the damage done to my face.
That's when I started hating Parker Miller. I spent years wishing him dead, but when I got the news that he was gone, it didn't help matters much. I felt sad for losing someone I once cared about. The scar might've closed up, but the emotional wounds Parker left behind didn't. They rotted and festered instead.
Despite being upset with Raphael, I feel a frisson of excitement as I get ready for our date. I pick out a casual outfit – black faux leather pants and a pair of heeled black ankle boots. I decide on a black silky camisole with lace I would never usually wear, wondering whether I'm doing this because I know it accentuates my cleavage. Do I want Raphael to make a move?
I shake my head to get the thought out. I don't need a romance right now. I need to tell Raphael just how angry I am about the photo, in person.
I pair my outfit with a long, fluffy white cardigan to break up the all-black. But looking at myself, I decide I look too cheery. I keep trying things on and the pile of clothes on my bed grows as I discard items. Finally, I settle on a light gray cardigan over the camisole. I brush my hair, so it falls in rich dark waves down my back, and put on a slick of red gloss and some mascara. There. Done.
By the time Raphael arrives to pick me up, I've almost managed to forget about the mugging thing. But then I remember my bag reappearing in my bedroom. I still can't explain it, but I'm too afraid to bring it up with my date. I don't want him to think I'm crazy... There has to be a rational explanation for everything, and I'm determined to believe that. If I don't... I'll go mental.
Raphael opens the car door for me. This time, he's driving himself. The drive to the Thai place is quiet and tense. I refuse to look at him, and when he realizes I don't want to make small talk, he turns on the car radio. A ballad blares out on the speakers, and I stare through the window as we pull up in front of the restaurant.
He's booked us a table, and the waiter is already waiting with two steaming hot plates of food. My stomach rumbles and I groan inwardly. In my anger, I forgot about having to eat tonight. And this place is packed – every table is taken.
I watch Raphael eat with gusto, while I pick at my food. Even though it's my favorite, I can't bring myself to take a bite. Not with all these people here.
"So, you're mad at me." The photographer grins at me. "I promise I wasn't trying to piss you off or exploit you."
"Then why'd you do it?" I cross my arms defiantly. "Why did you put that shot on the cover?"
"Because it's beautiful," he answers simply. "It's art. Sometimes, art has to transcend your own feelings on the matter. Do you know that's the least edited image that's ever been on the cover of Void?"
I shake my head.
"Well, it is. They loved it just the way it was. They want to book you for another shoot with an in-house photographer."
"Pass," I mutter.
"Would you let me finish, woman?" He laughs, shaking his head. "Anyone ever tell you how stubborn you are?"
I shake my head again. "Of course not."
"No, no, of course." Raphael grins, glancing at my untouched food and motioning for the waiter. "Can we get the leftovers to go, please?"
"But you haven't finished your meal," I argue. He doesn't listen, paying for the meal again and taking the doggy bags in one hand, and my palm in the other.
I'm tempted to mention the mugging as we make our way to his car, but I'm too worried what he'll think of me. I'm also a little disappointed he's cut our date so short, but I guess I only have myself to blame. I've acted cold toward him all night.
Raphael pulls me past his car, sitting on a bench and pulling out the containers of food.
"What are you doing?"
"Finishing my dinner," he shrugs. "You will too, right?"
I glance around us. The boardwalk is deserted. The only one who would see me eat here is Raphael, and he doesn't seem to care, tucking into his own food as he pats the bench for me to join him. Reluctantly, I do. I take out my chopsticks and eat, slowly, bite by bite. Raphael was right. This is the best Thai dish I've ever had.
We finish our food in comfortable silence. I don't eat everything, but at least half of it, and it feels good. I put the rest back in the bag for Sam later.
"You've got a little..." Raphael points to my face.
"Here?" I wipe, and he laughs, leaning in close.
"Let me." His thumb wipes the corner of my lip. He raises it to his lips and sucks it clean. For some reason it makes me need him. I want him to kiss me. I want him to touch me.
I look away, unable to handle the weight of his gaze, but he keeps his eyes trained on me.
"Dove," he mutters. "Look at me."
Wordlessly, I shake my head. But he takes my chin in his fingers, gently tipping my head back. My eyes meet his. They're burning with a cool, quiet desire. I realize I want him to kiss me, and the next second, he does.
His lips meet mine, hesitant at first, as if he thinks I'll push him away. But I don't. I can't. I'm so starved for some kind of connection, I lean into him, kissing him back.
Encouraged by my response, Raphael deepens our kiss. I push the leftovers aside and he hoists me up on his lap. Suddenly I'm straddling him, and we're kissing like our lives depend on it.
Fuck. I never realized how much I wanted this. How much I missed human contact... Kissing, fucking, making love. It all hits me like a ton of bricks. I'm so tempted to ask him for more. Whimper and beg for more. I've only done that with one other man. And he ruined my life. I can't let Raphael do that.
I pull back, forcing my heartbeat to slow down. Raphael traces his fingertips over my lips, as if to remember their shape. I don't regret kissing him, but we've moved fast – from an innocent peck to a full-on makeout session on a bench, like we're two horny freaking teenagers.
"I'm sorry," I whisper. "It's... it's so fast."
"Don't be sorry," he replies. "I'll give you all the time you need. But I do want to kiss you again..."
I look up at him and nod. I don't want to, but I need more comforting.
His lips meet mine again. This time he's patient, slow, kind. Somehow, still passionate. I melt into his embrace, my body molding into his as he holds me close.
"Do you want to come back to my place?" he mutters in my ear. "Or yours... Whatever you want, Dove, I just
want to be with you. Fuck, I know it’s too fast, I know I shouldn’t say all this, but I can’t help myself."
I battle with my decision, but deep down, I know I'm not ready yet. And if he truly cares about me, he'll be willing to wait. I pull back and shake my head, "It's too soon. Can you take me home? I have something else I need to do."
"Of course." Such a gentleman. He takes my hand and we walk back to his car, hand in hand. The whole drive home, his right hand rests on my knee, and I don't mind it one bit.
He parks in front of my house and gets out to walk me to the door.
"I actually have another errand," I mutter apologetically. "I really would invite you in, I just..."
"No need to explain." He squeezes my hand. "I'll wait, Dove."
"Thank you," I manage. He leans in and kisses me again. Soft, beautiful, special. The kiss is fleeting, and when he pulls back, I feel lost. "Will we go out again?"
"Of course," he smirks. "I'm not taking no for an answer. And about Void... Can I give your number to the photographer they work with?"
"I'm sorry, but no." I shake my head. "It was a one-time thing for me."
"Understood." He smiles. "In a way, I'm relieved. It makes the portraits I took of you so much more special."
I smile back and we say our goodbyes. I wave as he drives off before heading into the alleyway where Sam should be. It's late – I spent more time with Raphael than I thought I would. I expect to see my friend asleep on his makeshift bed, but when I get there, the newspapers, cardboard and my blanket are abandoned.
"Sam?" I call out, but there's no answer. Just silence. Worry instantly pierces my heart. Sam is always here. Always. Something must've happened.
I leave my bag of leftovers on his makeshift bed, and head back to my house. Whatever happened, I just hope he's alright. He has to be.
Besides my brother, he's the only friend I have.
Chapter 10
Nox
"You have to stop doing this, Sam."
"I know." He groans, picking himself up in the hospital bed. Several tubes are leading out of his veins and his nose, pumping him full of more drugs to help lessen the effect of what he did last night. "Don't tell Dove."
"I won't," I say firmly. Sam doesn't know I haven't spoken to Dove in eight years, and I'd prefer to keep it that way. "But only because it would hurt her to find out what you've been doing to yourself. You have to get a grip, man."
"I know," he repeats weakly, just as a blonde nurse strides into the hospital room he's sharing with four others.
"Mr. Benedetto, your insurance isn't valid," she tells him bluntly. "How are you planning on paying for your treatments?"
"I'll handle it," I mutter, taking the papers from her and signing my name on the dotted line.
"You can't do that, Nox," Sam groans. "It'll be expensive... a nightmare."
"How else are they going to help you?" I hand the papers back to the nurse and she scurries out of the room. "Just let me do this for you, and promise you'll get better."
"I don't know if I can." Sam looks so small and frail in that hospital bed, it even tugs on the strings of my own black heart. "I think it's too late for me. I don't think I'll ever get better."
"You have to try," I insist. "For Dove. For me."
"Why do you care?"
"You're my friend, aren't you?" He nods hesitantly. "There you go. You have two friends now, who both care about you and want to help you get better. Here." I reach inside my coat pocket and pull out the prepaid phone I bought in the gift shop earlier. "I got you a phone. And this power bank. I have one too, we'll exchange them when I come visit you. My number's in there, and Dove's is, too."
"Why are you doing this for me?" Sam stares at me with something akin to anger, which I don't understand. "I told you, it's too fucking late for me. There's no way I can get better. I'm doomed."
"I don't believe that." I truly don't, and I take him by the shoulder as he raises his eyes to mine. "You're a man, Sam. A strong man. You can turn things around, and I believe you will. Just stay strong."
I will never forget walking into that alleyway Sam calls home hours earlier, seeing him crumpled and convulsing on the hard pavement. He'd had a seizure, an after-effect of all the drugs he'd done that day. It was devastating – the only reprieve being that I found him, and not little bird.
A part of me was desperate to protect Dove from the ugly side of her friendship with Sam. In my years on the streets, I'd seen the ugly side of addiction too many times to count, and I'd be damned if I was going to lose another friend to the needle.
"If you want, I can get you a room at the motel where I'm staying," I say.
"No," he shakes his head vehemently. "No, I don't want that."
"You could even stay with me," I offer next. "There's a couch in mine and –"
"No." He stares at me hard. "I don't want your pity."
"Then stop this," I hiss. "Stop ruining your life, because you're also ruining Dove's in the process. You're like a father to her. Do you understand that? It would kill her to lose you."
He nods, staring at his dirty palms as I pace the hospital room. Neither of us says another word until Miss Blondie, the nurse, reappears, and tells us Sam is free to go.
I pay the hospital bill in silence. It's gonna eat away at my savings, but that doesn't matter. Next, I load Sam up on my bike and hand him my helmet. I only have the one.
In silence, I speed off to the alleyway. When we arrive, we find a crumpled note on his messy blanket and the makeshift bed he's made out of newspapers and cardboard.
Where were you, Sam? – Dove
My chest tightens at the sight of her loopy handwriting. She must've come looking for him in the night. I can't imagine how worried she was, seeing him gone from his usual spot.
"Don't tell her," Sam begs me again.
"I won't this time." I put the helmet on my head. "But if this happens again, I'll be forced to."
He nods and silently waves me off as I pull out onto the road. I go to the motel and take a quick shower to wash the hospital smell of antiseptic and sickness off me. As I exit the bathroom with a towel wrapped around my waist, I scroll through my phone. I need to check up on Dove. The fact that I haven't seen her in so long is eating away at me.
I open the app I use to track her phone, scrolling through her messages. Robin, Robin, Robin. Someone from the plant nursery. And Raphael. Over and over again, his name pops up. Fucking Raphael!
I snarl at the screen as I start reading through their messages.
I had a great time last night :)
Me too. I want to see you again soon, Dove.
You can. Are you going to kiss me like that again?
I feel like I'm about to fucking explode. That slimy fucking bastard kissed her. He put his lips on my woman, my property, my little bird. And now he has to die.
A snarl rips itself from my lips as I inspect more of their texts. There are so many. They've been texting all day today. She even told him about Sam.
I toss the phone to my shitty motel bed. I can't accept this. She trusts him. She spends time with him. He's her friend, and he'll soon turn into something more if I don't intervene. But I have another ace up my sleeve – I know about Raphael and Elise. And I'm more than fucking willing to expose their sordid affair. I'll do any-fucking-thing to get my little bird back in my arms... even if it means breaking her sweet little heart.
***
I parked my bike a couple of streets over, and now I'm standing in the shadows on the street where Raphael lives. My teeth are gritted together as I wait. I know she'll come. I'd bet anything that the girl showed up here every single night since Raphael started seeing Dove.
And as if on cue, the ridiculous bubblegum pink car pulls up, and Elise exits. Her dog is stuffed into another one of those ridiculous overpriced purses, and she rings the doorbell incessantly. I watch her argue with him over the intercom until she finally smiles and he comes downstairs to deal with her.
Fuck.
He didn't invite her up. Why didn't he invite her up? Doesn't he want her anymore? Despite her many shortcomings, Elise is fucking hot. There can only be one reason as to why Raphael doesn't want her in his apartment.
He's starting to like Dove more than this designer Barbie doll.
My nails dig into the palms of my hands as I watch Elise burst into tears on Raphael’s doorstep. He's telling her off, explaining she can't stay, and ordering her to go back home. As his whiny mistress cries, the stupid dog starts yapping again. My head hurts. I can't fucking stay here.
I wait until Elise leaves with her shoulders slumped before getting on my bike again. I follow her, knowing full well who she's going to see next. And I'm right. She pulls up in front of a terracotta apartment building downtown. Robin, Dove's brother, opens the door for her, concerned when he sees the traces of tears ruining her perfectly painted face. She dismisses his worries, waving her hand as if it's nothing. Little fucking liar.
So, Elise is a fucking mess, but what else is new? Now I just need to wait until the perfect moment to hurt all four players involved in this sick little game. The perfect moment to drive a wedge between Dove and Raphael and make sure they don't end up together.
Another short bike ride later and I'm back in front of Dove's house. The lights are off, except the one she keeps on in her bedroom. The desire to go back inside her house is fucking overwhelming. I want to be close to her. I want to watch her sleep, to caress her cheek, to inhale her scent. I want another pair of her panties.
I fist my hands in my pockets, making sure the street is empty. I shouldn't, but I have to be near her. I need to see what she's doing, what her life has been like today. I can't bear the thought of waiting for her outside all night. I need her.
I use the spare key hidden beneath a flowerpot. I saw her use it when I stole her bag. I let myself in, allowing the forbidden shivers to go down my spine as I enter her private space. Quickly, I check if everything is in place on the ground floor. I snatch another pair of panties – dark red, lace – from her hamper, holding them to my nose and filling myself with her sweet scent. But that's not enough, not this time, so I lick them, taste her sugar on my tongue. She tastes so fucking good. Even sweeter than I remember.
Tyrant Stalker: A Dark Forbidden Romance (Tyrant Dynasty Book 2) Page 7
