Her lips part and her eyes fall as she admits, “I wasn’t sure.” Her tone is so sad. It fucking breaks my heart.
“I wouldn’t do that to you. I wouldn’t set you up.” I cup her chin in my hand and tilt her head. “I’m not like them.” I fucking hope I’m not. I don’t know what she’s been through. But I hate that she thinks I’m some sick prick like the fuckers who got their hands on her before me.
I have to change the subject. I’m getting too fucking worked up. “Can you eat?” I ask, as I drop my hand.
She nods her head and answers with a confident, “Yes.”
That makes me happy. She needs to eat. I give her a small smile and reach over for the bowl as she sits up.
“I’m glad you’re eating. Did they feed you?” I need to know. After seeing her reaction to killing that prick, I want to know what all that fucker did to her. I wish that bastard were still alive, so I could take out this anger on him and make him suffer for what he did.
“Yes. I was always fed something.” She says it simply. But it’s a veiled answer.
“Something? Be more specific?”
“Some fed me whatever it was they were eating.” Some. My throat closes and my eyes fall. How many men have hurt her? I swallow thickly and turn to her with the spoon held out. I want to feed her. She doesn’t hesitate to lean forward slightly and part her lips.
“Good girl.” She swallows and smiles with a small blush. The color looks beautiful on her cheeks. I like seeing it. But I know my next question is going to take her happiness away. I need to know, though. “Tell me what happened, Ava.” I dip the spoon into the hot broth and keep my eyes on it as I add, “I want to know.” I bring another spoonful to her lips.
There’s not a trace of a smile on her lips. Or any other emotion. A bit of disappointment, maybe.
“What would you like to know?” she asks warily.
“I want to know the names of the men who hurt you. All of them.” I raise the spoon again, but she shakes her head with a small frown.
“I’m sorry; I can’t.” Her answer pisses me off. I know she owes me nothing. I grit my teeth knowing I’m still waffling on what I’m going to do when I finally see Abram again. But a very large part of me doesn’t want to let him ever see her again. I’d rather lie and say she was dead. I need to think of something and let her know.
“I don’t know their names. Not all of them.” I give her my attention and try to control my anger.
“How many? Tell me what you can.” I clench my jaw realizing I’ve given her a command. Just like I did earlier with Felipe. What the hell is wrong with me? I set the bowl on the nightstand and get off the bed with my back toward her. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to tell me anything.” She doesn’t owe me anything, and if she doesn’t want to talk about it, she doesn’t have to.
“I think I’d like to talk.” I turn to look at her and stare into her blue eyes. I nod and clench my fists. I look at the bowl and then the bed. I don’t think it’s smart of me to sit next to her. This shit is getting to me, and she doesn’t need my aggression. But when I look back into her eyes, she’s begging me for comfort. She leans forward slightly and adds, “If it’s alright, I want to talk.” She noticeably swallows and looks back at the bowl of soup on the nightstand.
“Do you want more?” I ask. I quickly reach for it and climb on the bed to give it back to her.
“There’s more downstairs if you like it.” It’s just a can of homestyle chicken noodle. But it does smell good.
She takes the bowl eagerly and smiles. “I do like it. My mother made us chicken noodle when we were sick, too.” She spoons out the broth and blows on it before taking it into her mouth.
She seems happy with the memory, but the mention of her mother makes me sick. It reminds me of my own mother. Both our mothers were slaughtered.
“My mother did, too. Never from a can though.” I grin at the memory. “My mother loved cooking,” I say matter-of-factly, and settle on the bed next to her. This is better, I think. Besides, I’d rather talk about this.
She chuckles into the spoon and takes it greedily into her mouth. “My mother hated cooking. We had a chef. But not when I was little. Back then it was different.”
I try to recall what I know of her father, but it’s not much. I suppose her famila made more money later on in her life and that’s why things changed for her. With the right setup and connections, there’s a shit-ton of money to be made.
“A chef sounds nice.” She shrugs her shoulders and takes another bite.
“I like cooking. But it’s nice every once in a while.”
I huff a humorless laugh. “I can grill, and I can bake, but I tend to burn shit on the stove.”
She looks at me with a wide smile as she asks, “But it’s harder to bake, isn’t it?”
“Nah,” I lean farther back and rest my back against the headboard, “Baking is just mixing up a simple recipe and you pop it in the oven.”
“Oh, do you mean like Betty Crocker?” she asks, and I look at her with confusion.
“Of course, what did you think I meant?”
She sets the empty bowl down and tries to cover her mouth with her arm as she laughs while shaking her head. As I watch her shoulders rise and fall slightly with the sweet sounds of soft laughter, I realize how easy the atmosphere is between us.
This is Ava. I like this side to her.
“What kind of baking do you do?” I ask. I just want to keep the conversation going. I want this feeling to last.
“Like, fresh morning biscuits--” She looks reminiscent, and I interrupt to be an ass.
“They have those in a can. They’re called Pillsbury.” She outright laughs and swings her hand at me, playfully smacking me on the arm.
It triggers her, though. Her face falls and all sense of humor is gone. It’s as though I had the real Ava to myself, if only for a small moment. But now she’s gone. Replaced by the shell of a woman.
“Ava,” I say, as I reach out to her. Her eyes dart to mine, but her body is tense and I can feel waves of anxiety pouring off of her. My hand lands on her thigh and I decide to keep things light. “You have to know what Pillsbury biscuits are, don’t you?”
She quickly responds, “Yes. I’ve seen them before.” Her body stays tense as though she’s expecting a harsh reaction. It brings me back to reality. She’s so fucking hurt.
It breaks my heart. I clear my throat and lean back against the headboard, patting the seat next to me. She obediently scoots closer.
“You’re hurting. I want to help you,” I say simply. I know the only way to help her is to make sure she never goes back to them. I know that. And I want to make sure that happens. I question if she’ll ever be alright, but a feeling deep in my gut tells me I can heal her. I can take away her pain and make everything alright.
“Tell me what I can do, Ava.” It’s a command. It may be fucked up to take advantage of her submission. I don’t feel comfortable pushing her to talk. But I have no problems pushing to find out how I can help her.
Her sad blue eyes look up at me as the corners of her plump lips tilt down. Her lips part and then close as her eyes fall. This is my Ava. I know this is her because she’s giving me emotion, even if it is sadness. I pull her small body into my lap, wrapping my arms around her waist and she melts in my arms. Her hands grip my back, and she holds onto me tighter as I run my hand down her back with soothing strokes.
I hear her say something, but I’m not sure what she says since she’s so quiet. I pull back to look at her, but she keeps the side of her head pressed to my chest and her fingertips dig into my back.
“I’ve got you, baby. Just tell me what to do.” I run my hand along her back, hoping this is helping her. I was wrong before, with Felipe, but this can’t be anything but good for her.
“Please,” she barely whispers, “keep holding me.” Hearing her plea breaks my heart. I kiss her hair and rest my chin on her head. I hold her close and keep rubbing her back
.
If she wants, I’ll do this all night.
Feeling her in my arms reminds me of the last time I held my mother. She didn’t hold me back, though. They’d already killed her. The memory flashes before my eyes.
The car slams into another vehicle. The bullets fly past me, barely missing me. But my father clutches his chest, each bullet jolting his body as they pierce his back even through the thick seat. It happened so fast. We were driving to the drop, and then all of a sudden we weren’t. The acrid smell of gas is still vivid in my memory. So is the sound of the bullets. My father’s eyes stayed open even as he stopped breathing. I can hear my own voice screaming.
I remember reaching for my gun. I only got one shot off as the tires screeched, and I saw them drive off. I saw Paul and Cory in the back. They didn’t see me stand back up as they slapped the front seats, urging whoever was driving to go faster. Unlike my father, I'd been wearing Kevlar, and it had saved my life.
I saw red. Nothing but red. But fear crippled me. I was barely coherent. I stood in the middle of the road as a car drove toward me. I walked toward it, forcing the driver to stop. My hand hit the hot hood. The thud sounded so loud.
“Are you alright?” the woman asked, as she clutched her chest. Panic was written all over her face. I remember how pale she looked, how frightened she was for me, but also of me. She wanted to help. Her eyes darted from me to our car. I saw them grow larger as she registered the bullet holes. I still feel like a fucker for pushing her to the right and getting in her car. She didn’t try to fight, just backed away as I stole her car and took off.
It took fucking forever to drive home. It was only 15 minutes away. I drove like hell, laying on my horn and running red lights. It was surreal. I knew they would be headed there next. All I could do was try to get there first.
But I didn’t. I couldn’t save them. I got there too late.
My mother wasn’t breathing. I remember holding her, waiting for her to react. Instead she was limp in my arms. I held her close, just wishing she would breathe. I rocked her just like this. Waiting for a breath. Some sign of life.
Ava pulls herself even closer to my chest and I realize I’ve stopped rubbing her back. I tilt my head down to kiss her forehead and whisper, “Good girl.”
Ava
I lean against the table with both hands braced and my elbows locked. I stare at Marie with daggers in my eyes. I know she didn’t study. She smells like coconut rum. She never takes things seriously. She’s only two years younger than I am, but she’s so fucking immature. She takes everything for granted. She doesn’t remember what it was like before Dad got in with the mob and took over. She doesn’t remember how hard it was. Fuck her arrogance. I can’t stand it.
She’s going to go through life wanting for nothing. Taking advantage of everything. Even if she fails, it doesn’t matter. They’ll still hand her a degree with smiles on their faces. All because of her last name and how deep our pockets go. And she’s happy with that. She’s completely content with her ultimate life goals amounting to nothing more than having an hourglass figure, long blonde hair and long legs that she’s more than happy to spread.
Everything about her pisses me off. I fucking love my sister, but the person she’s become her freshman year of college is horrific. She needs to get the fuck over this phase. My anger boils at the surface.
I open my mouth to lay into her again. But I can’t. Her body jolts, and the wicked grin on her face vanishes. Then she’s shot again. This time the bullet hits her chin. I see her head whip to the side. There's blood everywhere. I still don’t register what’s happened. I don’t believe it. Not until I feel their hands on me. Even then I can’t take my eyes away from her. Her face is flat on the table. Blood is slowly soaking into her hair.
No! It’s not real!
But it is.
Thick, heavy arms wrap around me. I don’t struggle. It’s not real.
“What about this one, boss?” Felipe asks, with his sick, hot breath trailing down my neck. I struggle and try to scream out as I realize what’s happening. I scream, but they don’t hear me. I kick, but they don’t flinch. I fight, but it’s useless.
A hand wraps around my throat and squeezes. I can’t breathe. I try to reach my throat, but I can’t. My face turns hot as I struggle. I need to breathe.
“No, don’t,” I hear him say. The hand around my throat loosens, and my body sags forward in Felipe's arms as I heave in a gasping breath. “Let’s get some use out of her.”
* * *
“Ava!” Hands hold down my shoulders, and I struggle to move against them.
“No!” I scream out. I plead with them. My body tries to push them away.
But they’ll only hurt you more when you do that, I hear the small voice say.
“Ava, wake up!”
I should listen to that voice. I don’t want to be hurt. They’re nicer when I listen. I go limp, letting him pin me down.
If you behave, he’ll make it good for you. I gasp for breath and try to forget. It’s wrong to feel this way. I need to listen, though. I need to live.
Why? Why do I need to live?
“Ava, please!” My shoulders shake and it makes my head slam against the pillow. Fingers dig into my skin.
Why do I want to live? What was the reason?
“Ava, wake up!” I hear Kane cry out so loud it hurts my head. I wince and slowly open my eyes. I feel dazed and my head hurts.
What have I done? He’s upset with me. Kane’s dark eyes stare down at me. His large shoulders cage me in. He’s shirtless, and his breathing is heavy. I stay still and try to think. I don’t know what happened.
“Are you alright?” He speaks softer than I expect. His eyes soften as his hand gently cups my face. I close my eyes, loving his touch, his affection. I just want him to hold me. I need him.
I lean forward and press my lips to his. Please. Please touch me. His lips are hard at first, since I caught him by surprise, but they quickly mold to mine. He leans into my kiss and I slowly lay my head back down. I reach my arms around his muscular body and pull him toward me. My blunt fingernails dig into his shoulders. I part my legs as his body comes closer to me. I need him.
He pulls away, breaking our kiss and leaving me wanting more. I don’t know why I need his comforting touch. But I do. I need this pain to go away, this hurt in my chest. And Kane can do that for me. I need him.
“Please,” I whisper. My chest heaves as his lustful eyes look down at me. He tries to back away, and tears threaten to burn my eyes. He doesn’t want me. Why would he? I’m tainted. I’ve never been touched by a man before, other than raped. They took my innocence. Tears prick at the back of my eyes, and I have to close my eyes to stop them from falling. They took everything from me. But I could give my body to him. I want to. I want to feel what it’s supposed to be like.
I risk his anger and plead again, “Please.” I don’t know how I’ll be able to live if he denies me. I can’t stand this pain. It feels like my chest is caving in on me. My throat closes, and I swallow the lump in my throat as he sits up and shakes his head.
“I won’t take advantage of you.” His denial chills my body. My arms cross and I turn to the side. I struggle to breathe.
What’s wrong with me?
I’m ruined.
“Please, please,” I whisper into the pillows. My eyes burn, but the tears don’t come. I need to feel something other than this. I’m ashamed and humiliated to beg like this and be denied. But I should’ve expected it. If he wanted me that way, he would’ve had me already.
A shadow covers my body as Kane moves to lie behind me. He pulls me to his chest, but I stiffen. He feels sorry for me. But that’s all he feels. He pities me, but there’s no attachment. I tense as he kisses my neck.
And like a fool, I beg again. “Please, Kane.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.” His lips tickle my neck as he breathes his words.
I roll over and brace my hands on his chest as I
lean against him. His dark eyes are a storm of sadness, but I can still see a spark of desire. I push myself into his chest and crush my lips against his.
Please don’t deny me. I moan as he kisses me back with passion. Yes! He rolls me onto my back and hovers over me.
I break the kiss and reach lower, needing to feel him. His hand catches my wrist, stopping me. “Please, Kane. I need you.” His gaze is haunted, but I see that same spark of desire growing stronger. “I need you to take their touch away.”
As soon as the words leave my lips his hands grip my hips, pinning me down. His lips push against mine. My hands tangle in his hair as I deepen my kiss. His fingers tickle my skin as they slide up under my shirt. A shudder runs through my body as his fingers just barely graze the sides of my breasts. I break our embrace as he pulls my shirt over my head.
I open my eyes and take in the sight of him, and see him doing the same with me. His muscular body ripples as he leans forward and takes my nipple into his mouth. His hands roam my body and stop at my hips. He gently bites my nipple and pulls back before letting it go. My pussy heats and my back arches, loving his touch. He pushes the pajama bottoms down my hips and kisses my lower belly as he takes them off of me completely.
He slowly pushes his own pants down with his eyes focused on my body. His plump lips are parted. His breathing is heavy. And the only thing sparking in his dark eyes is lust. His cock springs free and my eyes are drawn to it as he strokes it once.
Fuck. He’s big. Holy hell. My thoughts must be evident on my face, because I hear him chuckle as he moves forward. He crawls toward me on the bed and I part my legs for him. My pussy clamps in anticipation. But the feeling of nothing makes me roll my hips and moan with need.
As he hovers over me, the rough pad of his thumb gently strokes my throbbing clit. My eyes widen, and my lips part in a silent scream. Fuck yes! My head thrashes to the side as waves of building pleasure threaten to crash down on me. Fuck. I breathe out heavily. I’m so close already.
Those Boys Are Trouble: Valetti Crime Family Box Set Page 41
