Bound for Life (Bound to the Bad Boy Book 1)

by Alexis Abbott

  I start running toward where we parked the car. I have to go after Lorenzo. I have to end this tonight, dammit. I have to make sure he’ll never lay another hand on Serena. As I move through the junkyard, I pass the bodies of the men I’ve slain tonight. It looks like a wild animal has been turned loose on them.

  That’s what this life has made me, I think in my delirious state. A wild animal. Un diavolo.

  When I reach the fence, I realize that I don’t remember running through the rest of the junkyard. My leg feels cold. I look behind me and see spots of blood I’ve left as tracks. Shit.

  Tony and Paul, gone. Did Mike make it out? Did the stupid fucking idiot listen to me and save his hide? They set a trap for us. They cost me two damn fine men. I’ll kill him with my own two hands. I’ll…

  I shout out in pain that jolts me awake, and I realize I’m sitting in the car already. “Bruno, you son of a bitch,” I talk to myself in Italian, using the sound of my voice and the pain to keep me awake, “you’re not done yet. You’re not done yet.”

  I fight off the blurriness one more time as my bloodied hand turns the key in the ignition.

  SERENA

  “Seriously, you need to chill out, chica. This is supposed to be our one night to relax, right? You’ve checked your phone, like, thirty times in the past five minutes,” Rafaela says, interrupting the dark train of thought I’ve been riding along in silence. I blink a few times and hastily put my phone in my back pocket, then look across the kitchen and give her an apologetic smile. I can feel just how unconvincing a smile it is, though. That nagging ball of worry in my gut just won’t leave me alone.

  “Yeah. Yeah, sorry,” I murmur, swiping a hand back through my hair and sighing. Rafaela walks to the fridge and takes out a pre-cut lime section, then starts squeezing it over the green bowl of guacamole. She glances over at me as she mixes the contents of the bowl.

  “You’re really into him, huh?” she asks gently. The genuine understanding in her voice almost makes me lose my cool—I’ve been fighting to keep myself composed the past day or so since Bruno stormed out of Bathing Beauty with some vague, probably dangerous mission on his horizon. So I nod.

  “I am. I know it’s probably so stupid of me. I don’t have time in my life right now for some torrid romance or whatever, but ugh, Raf. I just like him a lot. He and I go way back and it’s just...I guess I was prepared to just never see him again. In fact, I’m starting to think that’s partly why I’ve been so willing to just throw myself into work and give up on dating and all that. Whether I knew it or not, I think I’ve subconsciously been kind of, you know, saving myself for him,” I finish, shrugging.

  Raf raises an eyebrow and narrows her eyes suspiciously. “You don’t mean, like...sexually. Right? I mean, I did go to college with you. I remember that one party where you made out with that frat guy on a couch at the club for, like, an hour.”

  Suddenly, the tension in my body breaks and I burst out laughing. “No, oh my god. I don’t mean that I’m, like, a born-again virgin or anything like that. It’s just that I haven’t let myself fall in love since— well, since Bruno stepped out of my life the first time.”

  “Ah, okay. So it’s more like your heart is a born-again virgin. Saving your heart for him. Got it,” Rafaela says jokingly, but there’s a twinge of kindness to her sarcasm. I know she understands. After all, she and Nico have been together for as long as I’ve known Rafaela. It used to make my heart ache the way Nico and Rafaela look at each other, like each of them thinks the other put the stars in the night sky. I used to think I would never have that again. That I would just have to settle for finding the little pieces of happiness in my career, my broken family, my friendships.

  And all of those things are well and good on their own. But now that Bruno has come back into my world and tinted everything a rosy pink, well, I don’t know if I could stand to lose that kind of endless, all-encompassing sunshine again. Even if it means that I’ll be living on the edge of serious danger for the rest of my life. He’s worth it. That much I know for sure.

  “Bueno. Guacamole is done, we got the tortilla chips and the salsa, and Ryan Gosling is waiting for us in the DVD player. Let’s get this girly night started!” Rafaela says brightly, gesturing with one hand for me to follow her into the living room while she grasps the bowl of guacamole in the other. I grab the bag of chips and the bowl of salsa and follow her to the big comfy couch.

  As soon as we both settle into the couch and turn on the movie, Rafaela jumps back up. “Oh! I almost forgot the most important thing: tequila! Okay, I’ll be right back. Just gonna make two very strong tequila sunrises.”

  “Should I pause it?” I call after her as she jogs back to the kitchen.

  “Nah, I’ve seen this movie, like, seven billion times. Nico’s starting to think Ryan Gosling is my second boyfriend at this point,” she answers, amid the clinking of glasses. “He’s my celebrity freebie, just in case.”

  I grin and turn back to the movie, trying to force myself to focus on the TV screen instead of letting my mind wander to the phone in my pocket. I distract myself with a few chips laden with guac. I try my best to focus on how cute Ryan Gosling is, how comfy the couch is, how happy I’ll be to have a cocktail in my hand with my best friend beside me. God knows I need this.

  Girls’ night. We only managed to make it work tonight at the last minute, when Nico’s new employee took Raf’s shift at the bar in apology for all his missed shifts. Still, when Rafaela called to let me know she was free, my immediate reflex was to turn her down, to stay cooped up at home in my bedroom waiting for my phone to go off. I planned to sip tea and stare at my cell phone screen for as many hours as it took for Bruno to finally get back in touch with me and let me know he was okay.

  My stomach churns at the thought. What if he isn’t okay? What if he’s hurt and bleeding somewhere out there in the night, silently suffering while I sit here all warm and cozy at Raf’s apartment. I bite my lip nervously and give into temptation, pulling my phone out of my pocket and lighting up the screen for the hundredth time. Still nothing. No text messages, no missed calls.

  “I see you,” says Rafaela, causing me to jump a little. I look up at her with what must be a panic-stricken expression, because she instantly hands me a tequila sunrise and adds, “Geez, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something.”

  I shake my head. “God, I’m sorry I’m such a mess tonight. I just can’t stop worrying.”

  “Why? Just worried he’s not gonna call you or worried because he’s doing something dangerous and you don’t know if he’s okay?” she asks sagely. I take a sip of my drink, feeling the warmth spread down my body.

  “Wow, how did you…?”

  Rafaela rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Chica, I could tell from the second I saw that boy that he’s living some kind of crazy life. Those muscles and scars? Trust me, where I grew up, that’s a neon sign for rough stuff.”

  “Okay,” I begin, staring down into the gold-and-peachy colors swirling in my glass. “So, you know how you were telling me about the dogs coming into your cousin’s vet office lately?”

  “Yeah,” she says warily. “What about?”

  “Well, I think Bruno is, um, looking into that.”

  Raf’s eyes go big and round. “What, in like a cop kind of way?”

  I shrug, giving a wishy-washy gesture. “Uh, not so much a cop. More like, well, I’m not really sure what he would consider himself, to be honest. But he’s a good guy. That much I’m sure of.”

  “I could tell that, too. Immediatamente. He’s a good one,” Rafaela agreed, nodding.

  “And so I haven’t heard from him since he went off to look into the dog-fighting thing, and now I’m really worried that he got himself into big trouble and he’s hurt somewhere and— I just don’t know what to do,” I blurt out, heaving out a breath I’ve been subconsciously holding in my chest all evening.

  Rafaela reaches out to put a hand on my shoulder,
looking into my eyes meaningfully. “Chica. Finish that drink. We’re gonna go find him, okay?”

  She turns off the movie, downs her tequila sunrise in a few short gulps, then snaps her fingers as she gets to her feet. “Vámonos,” she adds emphatically. So I toss back the cocktail, letting the alcohol numb my nerves just a little bit, then I hop to my feet. Rafaela tucks the guacamole away in the fridge— always keeping her priorities straight— and then the two of us head out into the night.

  “Where should we check first?” she asks. I think about it for a minute.

  “Well, let’s go to his apartment first. And if he’s not there— then I guess I’ll just have to go track down a dog-fighting ring myself,” I tell her honestly. Rafaela links her arm with mine.

  “You’re loca, you know that? But I get it. That’s your man. You gotta do what you gotta do. But you’re an idiot if you think I’m gonna let you do any of that by yourself,” she adds with a conspiratorial smile.

  So we set off for Bruno’s apartment, the address of which I have entered into my phone. He lives across town from Rafaela’s place, so we take a taxi. The whole ride over, my stomach is twisting in knots, my heart hammering away like a tribal drum.

  When we finally arrive, I’m surprised to see that it’s a relatively modest, well-kept apartment building. It looks far too humble and innocent to house a guy like Bruno, but I’m already learning once again that he is a man of many surprises. Rafaela and I exchange looks of nervous anticipation, and then we walk into the lobby. It’s dimly lit inside, and there’s no one around. We muddle our way through to an elevator, then take it up to the fourth floor. All the while, my mind is racing in a million directions, terrified that he’ll either not be home or, possibly even worse, he will be home but in bad shape. The thought of seeing him hurt is enough to send my thoughts into a frenzy.

  We get to his door and I hesitate a moment before knocking. There’s a long silence, and then I knock again, leaning forward to try and peer through the peephole. I look at Rafaela, who shrugs.

  “Maybe he isn’t home,” I whisper, feeling crushed. But I look through the peephole once more and nearly fall over with shock to see an eye looking back at me. A green eye.

  Bruno’s eye.

  There’s the sound of several locks clinking open and then the door opens just a fraction. Bruno’s face peers through the crack, looking confused and almost angry. My heart skips a beat.

  “Serena?” he asks, his voice low and broken.

  “It’s me. And— and Rafaela. She’s here, too.”

  “Hi,” she squeaks from behind my shoulder.

  Bruno sighs and opens the door wider to reveal his white t-shirt and loose flannel pants— and a few patches of deep red blood staining through the fabric. One on his left thigh, one near his shoulder, and the third— most worryingly— slightly below his ribs.

  “Mierda,” Rafaela breathes, letting out a low whistle.

  “Oh my god, Bruno, what the hell happened?” I ask, my voice higher-pitched than usual, as it often does when I’m panicked. Bruno leans out the doorway, looking up and down the hall with a slightly suspicious air, then nods for us to come in.

  “Come inside before someone sees,” he growls. “You, too, Rafaela.”

  We both rush into the apartment, which is exactly as spartan and neat as I would expect from a guy of Bruno’s self-discipline. But I’m a little too distracted by the massive bloodstains peppering his body to pay too much attention to the details of his residence.

  He walks gingerly to a stool pulled to the center of his little kitchen area, with an open box of bandage wraps, a bottle of rubbing alcohol, and a needle and thread sitting on the otherwise pristine granite countertop. My stomach turns when I catch sight of the drops of blood on the white tile floor.

  “I was hoping you wouldn’t see me like this,” Bruno says, sounding genuinely downtrodden. “I remember you being squeamish about this kind of thing.”

  I can’t even protest. It’s true. I’ve never been good with blood and guts. Hell, I have trouble watching some TV shows involving hospitals because they all make me queasy. Rafaela, however, immediately jumps into medic mode.

  “Okay. I know I’m just a head doctor, but I took enough med courses to help,” she says, a look of determination on her face. While I’m feeling woozy, Raf is already scrubbing her hands in the kitchen sink, preparing to do God knows what.

  “Neither of you should be getting involved with this,” Bruno protests softly, staring at me with those hard, green eyes. Rafaela is going through the cupboards, looking for something.

  “Well, tough luck. Because she’s involved with you, and she’s my best friend, so I’m automatically involved. Plus, it’s like a Hippocratic Oath kind of thing. I may not be a real doctor yet, but I’m still not gonna turn away a guy bleeding out in his kitchen from what looks to be three separate gunshot wounds. Now, where the hell do you keep your rubber gloves? This apartment is spic and span, so I know you’ve got some hidden away somewhere,” Rafaela says matter-of-factly.

  A smile twitches momentarily at the corner of Bruno’s mouth. “Hallway closet. Second shelf.”

  “Thanks,” she replies, and walks off to find them. When she returns, she tells Bruno to take off his shirt, which he does obediently. Against my better judgement, I take a few steps closer, the breath hitching in my throat as I take in the gore of the situation. Dried blood. Bruising. Nicks and scratches.

  The world spins for a moment and I carefully sit down on the tile floor while Rafaela tends to Bruno’s wounds. She gently dabs them clean, then begins the painstaking work of stitching him up. Thankfully, she’s as professional and focused as a true doctor, even under these strange circumstances, and before long she has him as patched up as well as could be expected for this kind of serious injury.

  “You’re lucky,” Rafaela says, tossing the rubber gloves into a garbage can. Turning to me, she continues, “It looks really bad, I know. The rib shot and the thigh shot were just really bad grazes. The shoulder wound is the worst, but your guy here managed to wiggle the bullet out on his own before I got here. It’ll all heal. As long as he takes care of himself.”

  “Thank you,” I murmur, feeling overwhelmed.

  “I could have done this myself,” Bruno says, “but probably not as neatly. So, thank you.”

  Rafaela waves off his gratitude. “Just doin’ my job. Now, you really, really do need to take it easy. I’m serious. No crazy acrobatics or bad boy moves or whatever it is you do. Just chill out for awhile. Spend some quality time with your lady. She’s been worried out of her mind all night about you, ya know?”

  A flicker of pain crosses Bruno’s face and he locks eyes with me. “I’m sorry, Serena,” he says softly. “I didn’t want to worry you. This—all of this—you shouldn’t have to deal with it. This is my bloody, filthy world. Not yours.”

  I stand up and walk over to him, taking his hands in mine. “And you are my world. So, like it or not, I’m here to stay. Don’t push me out again. Please. I’d rather know what’s going on.”

  Bruno lifts his good arm to stroke my face. I close my eyes, leaning into his touch.

  “I promise. And I will do everything in my power to keep you safe, mia passerotta. But you have to trust me,” he replies. I nod, turning his hand to kiss his open palm.

  “Okay! And that’s my cue to leave, I think,” Rafaela says suddenly, reminding us both that she’s still here. My cheeks burn with embarrassment, having gotten caught up in the moment with Bruno.

  “Thank you so much again,” I tell her earnestly, walking over to give her a tight hug. I whisper in her ear, “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

  “It’s all good, amiga. Now, I assume you wanna stay and look after your boy. I’m gonna head home and go to town on that guacamole until Nico gets off work. Just me and Ryan Gosling for a few hours,” she says, winking.

  “Sorry our girls’ night got ruined,” I tell her.

  �
��Eh, it’s okay. More guac for me. But you do owe me. Just buy me a drink next time we’re out, and we’re square,” she says good-heartedly. I give her a big grin.

  “You got it. Text me when you get home.”

  Bruno carefully gets to his feet, fishes a wad of money out of a wallet on the countertop, and hands it to Rafaela. At first, she shakes her head, refusing it.

  “Take it. You’ve done me a huge service here. Not to mention taxi fare. It’s the very least I can do,” Bruno insists, and she gives in.

  “Okay,” she says. “I’m leaving now. Take it easy. Seriously. I’m pretty good at stitches but you still don’t want to risk them reopening or something.”

  I flinch at the thought. Once Rafaela is gone, I rush into Bruno’s arms, laying my head against his powerful chest, careful not to touch his wounds. I look up at him, overwhelmed with feeling.

  “How did this happen? What did you do? Who did this to you? Did you go to the cops? Where did this all go down? Are you safe now? Is someone looking for you?” I ask, the words stumbling over themselves in a rush to get out.

  Bruno gently strokes my hair, calming me down. “It’s okay. It’s over for now. There’s no need to rehash all this mess—it’s my mess. And besides, you heard Rafaela: we have to relax, right?”

  I want to protest, but I think better of it. “Fine. You’ve got to be exhausted.”

  Bruno yawns. “I actually am. Nothing like a firefight to knock you right out.”

  “I’m staying here tonight,” I insist.

  He doesn’t fight me on it, and the two of us carefully make our way to his bedroom, both of us curling up under the sheets and falling asleep pressed up against each other. We both sleep like the dead, probably because of all the stress of recent events, and when I wake up in the morning, it’s to the glorious smell of coffee. Good coffee.

  I roll out of bed, the events of last night returning to my foggy brain as I stretch and make my way into the kitchen. There, I find Bruno shirtless, using his one uninjured side to pour coffee and arrange fresh fruit and pastries on two plates.