Love and Chaos

by S. M. Soto

  Gripping the base of the hammer, I walk back toward Zen and stare down at him. I weigh the tool in my hand, passing it back and forth, and then I inhale a deep breath, swinging down when he least expects it. The bones in his hand crunch beneath the force of the metal and he shouts in pain, cursing at the top of his lungs.

  “You touched her with these hands.” I slam the hammer down again.

  “You made her bleed with these hands.” I move onto his other hand and slam the hammer down again. Zen chokes on his pain. His eyes red-rimmed, his bones crushed to shit, ripping through the skin of his hands. They don’t even look normal anymore. They look disfigured, like he’s wearing gloves that are five sizes too big.

  “You almost killed her,” I keep my tone low, cold. “And now, you’re going to pay for her pain with your life.”

  Slamming the hammer down again, I continue crushing his hands until they’re pulverized and bleeding. I breathe in a lungful of air, enjoying the sound of his choked sobs.

  I take slow, measured steps back, admiring my work, my head tilted to the side as I decide where I’m going to start next. Zen tosses his head back, his face red and glistening with tears. His chest heaves violently, trying to accommodate the fear and the pain. I catch the slight movement, him craning his head to the side, taking in Finlay, still passed out and strung up.

  “Just do it. Just fucking finish it,” he spits.

  I tsk. “That’d be too easy, don’t you think?”

  His head snaps up, his face contorted with rage.

  “What the fuck do you want, huh?” he suddenly barks. “Want me to fucking apologize for shit I don’t remember? Is that it? I’m sorry! I’m fucking sorry!”

  With a sigh, I drop down to my haunches in front of him, leveling our gazes. When he least expects the move, my left hand springs out, clasping his jaw in a vise. The pads of my fingers dig into skin and bone, and I know he can feel it. I can see the flash of pain in his eyes.

  “Thing is, Zen. I know you’re not.” I let go of his face with a sigh, and just when he thinks he’s in the clear, I rear my fist back, enjoying the crunch of my knuckles against his nose. Blood spurts upon impact. “I bet you don’t even remember her, do you?” I hiss. “The woman you all lusted after. The woman you all beat. The woman you forced yourself on, touched her when she told you no, beat her when she begged you to stop. The woman who was so far gone, she was barely clinging to life until we came in to save her and still, she wasn’t gone from you all.”

  I see in his eyes the second it clicks. When he realizes who I’m talking about and what he did. I watch it pass over his features, and I grow angry. Just thinking about her in pain at his hands—any of their hands.

  Snatching up the hammer, I swing it out, slamming onto his kneecap. Zen howls in pain, jerking in his binds. I move onto the other knee, doing the same. I swing the blunt head of the hammer down onto the other kneecap, shattering the bone to pieces. I alternate, beating his legs with the hammer until they’re a crooked mess.

  Zen sobs in the chair, his face ashen white. His pain should feel like music to my ears, but I’m already tired of his presence. Tired of hearing his sobs of pain.

  Spinning the hammer in my hand, I swing it down on his head, the whack is deafening and the warm spray of blood would turn any normal person’s stomach, putting him out of his misery.

  I toss the hammer onto the floor, and it clatters against the tile. My gaze darts toward Finlay who is still passed out. My lips thin. That just won’t work. Tomorrow, Dr. Chang will need to pay him another visit. He’d probably have to get used to coming in at least once a day to check on him and keep him alive for me. Wiping Zen’s blood that’s sprayed all over my hand on my jeans, I spin on my heel, striding out of the basement and up the steps to shower, so I can lay in bed with my girl. The woman I’d protect with my entire life.

  I STIFFEN WHEN I FEEL him slide into bed with me. A glance at the digital clock tells me how late, or, should I say how early in the morning it is.

  What the hell is he doing? And why is he just now getting in bed?

  I try to keep my breathing even. I force myself to close my eyes and go back to sleep, but it’s an impossible feat. My mind is whirring with so many questions. His absence not only at night and during the day is starting to bother me. He’s constantly gone and when he is here? He’s not mentally here. With me. He’s always somewhere else, stuck in his head. I understand that with Matteo recovering, he has to be dealing with a lot. I don’t know much about the mafia or the Cosa Nostra, but I’m sure he has a lot on his plate. What bothers me is, I’ve seen Matteo around the halls, walking around, already dressed back in a suit. He really is getting better. It’s not like he’s bedridden anymore, the caution of him not making it through the night is no longer there.

  To my knowledge, Creed hasn’t even visited his father more than a few times. Every time I bring it up, suggesting we check on him together, he turns it down, always having some elaborate excuse not to. So that makes me wonder what the hell he’s doing out so late every night. Part of me already knows the answer.

  It’s Finlay.

  It has to be.

  I hate that, once again, Finlay is taking something else away from me, and Creed doesn’t even realize it. He’s taking Creed’s time away from me. From us. I don’t want to lose him to whatever darkness hurting Finlay is invoking inside him. I’m not insecure enough in our relationship to believe that he’s out cheating on me. I know Creed well enough to know that would never be an option. I’m having his baby. He’s gone through hell and back to save me. No man, I don’t care who he is, would go through all that to cheat on a woman.

  That’s not what I’m worried about at all—I’m worried about him. About losing him to that Devil inside he’s so sure has a hold on him.

  I settle back into his arms when they slide around my waist. I breathe in his scent. Letting the calm and the sense of safety wrap around me whenever he’s in close proximity. The man was my safe place. As much as I hated to admit that I needed a man to feel safe, it was true. But it wasn’t just any man, it was only ever Creed. He made everything easier. Even breathing.

  “Why are you still awake?” His voice is raspy. The grittiness of it sends a tingle down my spine.

  “I was waiting for you.”

  Creed blows out a deep sigh at the admission. I feel the gust of breath ghost across the nape of my neck and I suppress a shiver.

  “I’m sorry. Didn’t realize how late it was.”

  I turn in his arms, shifting onto my side, and I stare up at him. It takes longer than it should to maneuver with this watermelon sitting between us. Through the balcony windows of our room, the barest hint of dawn light seeps through, casting shadows across his handsome face.

  “I don’t want anything to happen to you, Creed. I can’t lose you.”

  He takes my face in his big hands, smoothing his rough thumbs over my cheeks. “You won’t.”

  I fight back the stinging in my eyes and try to ignore the tightness in my chest. “I feel like I already am.” The admission is painful to say. It makes my throat restrict and causes my heart to squeeze.

  He drops his head down, leaning his forehead against mine. Never once looking away. Feeling him this close. His body pressed up against mine. I miss him. I miss his touch. His hands on my skin. Unable to help myself, I slide my hand around his neck, and I press my lips against his. Kissing him.

  He angles his head, deepening the kiss, and I moan into his mouth, opening for him. His tongue tangles with mine and the pads of my fingers press firmly into his skin, trying to draw him closer to me. Always closer.

  “Please. I need you,” I pant. Refusing to loosen my grip on him in case he decides to stop this. I can’t have him stop this.

  “Shhh. I know what you need,” he whispers against my lips. His sinful mouth trails down my skin, from my lips to my neck, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. His tongue swirls against the skin of my neck, and I toss my head
back against the plush pillows, letting out a moan that’s been building in my chest for the last two weeks. Creed slowly slides down my body, his mouth and lips sucking against my skin as he goes. Warmth curls low in my stomach. Tugging the top of my sleep shirt down, he covers my nipple with his warm mouth, swirling the hardened bud, sucking and nibbling until I’m unable to keep still. The heels of my feet dig into the mattress, one fist curled into the sheets and the other grasping onto him for dear life. My insides warm, the stirrings of desire tugging somewhere deep. It’s like he’s managed to tap into a live wire. I feel my core throbbing, the dampness between my legs is contracting, thumping with a heartbeat of its own in anticipation.

  “So responsive,” he chuckles, dragging his teeth along my nipple, making me jerk on the bed and arch my back in pleasure. I feel like I’m going to come with just his mouth alone. I can’t stop the moans spilling from my lips. Warmth spills into my chest, brandishing my body with a burn like no other, like I’ve gotten away with playing with fire.

  Creed lavishes attention on my other breast, using his free hand to cup and play with the other one. They’re much bigger now than they were only a few months ago. Now they spill over his big hands, too large for him to even contain, feeling heavy on my chest.

  Sliding the rest of the way down my body, Creed tugs my sleep shorts and panties down my legs, baring my glistening center to him. When I feel him settle between my legs and his index finger dipping into my channel, the loud smacking sound my arousal makes echoes around us. When I feel his tongue lapping at my center, I let out a groan. It’s loud, provocative, and it makes me glad we moved to this wing where no one can hear this. He takes his time, licking at me like I’m something to be treasured, like I’m an ice cream, and he’s savoring the flavor of each lick.

  He tastes me and teases his tongue in tantalizing circles at first, but then he speeds up his tempo, fluttering it over my clit. The warmth is building. I can’t get my hips to stop grinding into him. I feel the pulse in my clit growing, building with each suck and lick.

  I need more. Always more.

  “Please don’t stop,” I pant. “Please don’t stop.”

  He chuckles against my folds, pressing his skilled tongue into my channel, fucking me with it. My hands slide into the inky black strands of his hair, and I tug, grinding my hips into his mouth, not wanting him to leave. I can feel my orgasm looming, I’m sitting there, right on the cusp.

  I’m almost there.

  As if he senses it, knowing my body better than I do. Knowing just what to do to throw me over the edge, he slides his free hand up and toys with my nipple, while fluttering his tongue over my clit and slipping two fingers inside me.

  “Creed!” I gasp. My eyes widening at all the sensations.

  “Come on, baby. Come on my fingers.” He starts pumping faster. Deeper. My sex smacks loudly each time he slides them in and out.

  It’s too much.

  I’m circling my hips now, half my body raised off the bed trying get more. When I least expect it, my orgasm slams into me, stealing my vision and completely taking my breath away.

  As I’m coming down from my euphoric high, I feel Creed set my bottoms back in place and I feel him slip back in bed beside me, curling my body into his. His hands find purchase over my belly, and I rest mine over his, rubbing along his skin that’s hot to the touch.

  “Don’t you want to, you know…” I trail off, feeling his erection poking me in the back. Creed chuckles, I feel the vibrations rumbling in his chest against my back. His hand dips down, curving around the slope of my hip. He caresses the skin there and I know what he’s going to say before he actually utters the words.

  “Not until you’re fully healed. Until this gets better.” He keeps rubbing along my hip for emphasis. “This is all we’ll keep doing.”

  I roll my eyes. “You’re the worst sometimes, you know that, right? Most men would say to hell with it already.”

  “I’m not most men, Angel.”

  He presses his lips against my shoulder and leaves them there. My eyes flutter closed, and fatigue starts to pull me back under.

  “I love you,” he whispers, just before I fall asleep.

  With my hand resting over my stomach, I rock back and forth in the rocking chair in the nursery, taking everything in. It’s finally finished, and it looks beautiful. I can’t help the way my chest expands each time I look in here. It’s perfect. We went with neutral walls. There are soft beiges with the barest hint of baby blue that pop with certain decorations. Overall, this room looks fit for a king, not a baby boy. It’s fitting for him, though. And I love it. The little canvas portraits of the baby animals along the walls are my favorite. I can’t wait to hold him and watch his little curious eyes take everything in.

  I’m doing just that, taking it all in, when I catch sight of a large silhouette watching from the doorway. I turn toward the source and my eyes widen a little when I see Matteo.

  “Wow. So I guess you really are all healed up now, aren’t you?”

  The corner of Matteo’s mouth curls, like he wants to smile but his face won’t let him. His eyes dart around, taking in every square inch of the room. They settle on the empty crib, the plush gray rug hugging the oak floors, and all the accents of the room. He slips his hands into his suit pockets and continues surveying everything.

  The man nearly died a few weeks ago, and here he is already, dressed in a pristine suit, looking as tall and formidable as ever. Eerily reminding me of his son.

  “How much longer?”

  I pause. Debating on whether or not I should answer that question. I mean, he’s going to know when he’s born, regardless. For a while, Creed was saying he refused to stay here. That he wanted to find another place for all of us. A place to keep me and our baby safe. But something changed. I don’t know if it was because Matteo was shot, or something else I’m not privy too, but it seems like we’re staying here, on the estate indefinitely.

  There’s a part of me that’s glad. This is the place Creed grew up in. The place his mother decorated from top to bottom, the same place with the gorgeous, immaculate garden that’s my favorite place to sit. But still, even with all that, I feel like I’m merely a guest here. It will never cease to amaze me or weird me out when I have the maids and the servants seeing to my every need. It seems like they’re always there, but never truly around. Part of me believes there are secret doors somewhere on the estate they keep popping out of in order for them to get around as quickly as they do. The estate wasn’t the kind of home that you could walk through in one full day. The place was like freaking Buckingham palace on crack with all the floors and the wings. I’m still not convinced I’ve walked through the entire place yet.

  On top of the maids, another thing I was sure I’d never get used to was seeing all the men here. It was different than it was at Crestfall. That was already hard enough to wrap my head around, but this? Men from the mafia? Coming and going. Walking around, some even living on the estate. I still wasn’t sure how I felt about that. Part of me felt a sense of safety I never had before. On top of Creed, my brother and the rest of the guys from the safe house, I had a whole army of Matteo’s and Creed’s men here to keep the bad guys out. I’m not dumb enough to believe it’s just for me. It’s for their famiglia. The legacy me and Creed are leaving behind with our son. All that leads me to the biggest issue of all—the ties to the mafia.

  Where does that leave my son?

  I don’t want this life for him.

  I love Creed with all my heart, but I’ve seen first-hand what this life has done to him. Just imagining my son going through half of what his father did makes me physically ill. I refuse to let him be a pawn. To let him be this up and coming prince Matteo no doubt thinks he is.

  Why else would he be here, right?

  Creed has always painted him out to be a monster. His image and perception of him might be a little skewed, but Matteo definitely isn’t a saint. By any means.

 
I needed to remember that. Not everyone had good intentions. That was my biggest downfall, always trying to find the good in people, in mankind. When most of the time, there wasn’t. People were evil. Plain and simple.

  I see the way Matteo’s closest affiliates look at me, especially Giovanni. They look at me through narrowed eyes, faces filled with suspicion. Or possibly calculation. I don’t even know anymore. I know that’s why Creed moved us to the south wing. The distance from everyone else gives us a sense of privacy and space. We have our own slice of the estate that is ours.

  I steel myself in the rocking chair and keep my qualms about him in the front of my mind. I can play nice if it means protecting my son. Getting a deeper view into Matteo’s motives can help me keep my son safe.

  I had my friends and family close, but I was keeping this potential enemy closer.

  “A few more weeks to go and then he’ll be here. Bet it’s been some time since you’ve had a crying baby on the estate.”

  Matteo smirks. “Almost thirty years now.”

  I nod, a tense silence ensuing between us. Neither of us knowing what to say, or what to do. The last few times I’ve talked to him has always been about his son, one way or another. He’s kept his promise so far, the one I made him promise to keep. He’s proven himself by not only keeping Creed safe but by taking a bullet for me too. I feel the need to express my gratitude in some way.

  “Thank you again, for protecting us. And for protecting Creed.”

  The smirk on his face vanishes, and his gaze slowly drifts to mine. When I look at Matteo, I see so much of Creed in him it’s scary, but I also see something I’m unfamiliar with. There are differences in each of them, and I’m sure Creed gets his different traits from his mother and Matteo from years of being bred in this life. His denim blue eyes are cold and emotionless as he stares back at me.

  “He’s strong enough to handle himself. He’s proved it time and time again.”