Ember

by Rachel Van Dyken

  “Spring semester is starting again. I just need you to find a way to balance your duty with Bee and your duty to the Nicolasi family.”

  Dread filled my entire body, making me damn near shake myself off the chair and go into a seizure on the floor. “Speak plainly.”

  “I enrolled you. Well, actually Nixon did. Sergio helped with the specifics.”

  I threw my water bottle against the wall and glared at Sergio. He held up his hands. I was going to freaking cut off every finger and feed them to the chickens out back.

  Did we have chickens?

  Mental note: Buy chickens. Feed Sergio’s parts to them.

  “I don’t need to finish school,” I said more calmly than I felt. “Can’t you put one of the associates on bodyguard duty?”

  “She’s my sister. The sister to the Cappo.” Tex shook his head. “Do you trust anyone else with her? Honestly, Phoenix. Tell me the truth.”

  “No.” I swallowed. “But do you really trust me with her?”

  “Of course.” He waved me off like it wasn’t a big deal that my past consisted of attacking women and almost raping my best friend’s wife. “You wouldn’t touch her, because you know if you did, you’d find your body parts scattered all over the good old US of A. Don’t worry though. I make really pretty cuts. You wouldn’t even feel the first slice, or the second… now the third? The third cuts always the deepest, hurts like a bitch.” He stretched his arms above his head. “So, tomorrow. Any questions? Concerns? No?” He rose from his chair and then turned, tapping the counter with his knuckles.

  I schooled my features, pretending disinterest when he smirked. What now? More threats? Then again, asking Tex to just deliver an order and leave was basically unheard of; the man liked to make sure everyone understood where he was coming from, even if it meant he needed to make graphic demonstrations on his part.

  “Oh, and just in case there was any confusion just now… you watch her. You don’t touch her. You never touch her. I don’t care if the only way to save the planet is to hold her hand. You keep your damn hands to yourself, or I cut off each part of your body that came into contact with hers. Capische?”

  I stared him down, my eyes giving nothing away, even though blood surged through every vessel in my body, causing my temples to throb with both irritation and dread. I didn’t respond well to threats — on account of my father had been a sick bastard hell bent on doing just that — threatening me every damn day he breathed air. I knew it was different with Tex, but it didn’t make the anger any less real; instead it boiled, swirled below the surface, just begging for release. Snapping my jaw shut to keep myself from saying anything that would make the situation worse, I gave him a curt nod.

  His cold stormy eyes begged me to try and say something in my own defense. But I didn’t have a leg to stand on.

  Tex nodded his head once and then glanced at Sergio. “Walk me out. I have a job for you and your brother as well.”

  “Watch me contain my excitement,” Sergio said dryly.

  “Aw, getting me alone makes you wanna break out in song? You should have said something man… Now I’m married.”

  Sergio rolled his eyes and stormed past me, following Tex out of the room.

  Once I heard the front door slam, rage overtook me. I threw the table over, knocking it into the wall, and slammed a barstool on top of it. Wood scattered all over the floor. “Son of a bitch!”

  I slammed each piece of wood until it splintered into tiny pieces. I still didn’t feel better. Frantic, I reached for another barstool just as Bee charged into the room.

  “Phoenix!” she yelled. “Stop!”

  I raised the second stool above my head. Bee wrapped her arms around my middle, tugging me back against her soft body. I shook. Everything shook with rage, with so much rage I didn’t think I could control myself. Didn’t she know I could hurt her? “Bee, go,” I said through clenched teeth.

  “No.” She held together. “Put the barstool down, Phoenix.”

  “Bee…” My voice broke. “Please, please just go. Now.”

  “Put the chair down first.”

  “It’s a stool.”

  “Fine, put the stool down first.”

  Shuddering, I lowered the stool slowly to the ground and tried to jerk out of her embrace.

  She held firm, tight.

  My muscles ached with the need to touch her. “Bee…”

  “You calm now?”

  “Leave.”

  “Phoenix—”

  “Just leave me the hell alone, Bee. I don’t want you.” My voice was cool detached; it had to be to make her believe that I didn’t want her arms around me, that it didn’t cause me severe pain to be touching her but not really touching her the way I wanted to be. I was a mess. And she was ruining everything. “Bee, I don’t know how else to tell you.” I turned in her arms until we were chest to chest, face to face. “Leave me.”

  Her blue eyes darted back and forth then filled with tears. “I’m just trying to help.”

  “I don’t need your help.” I said with a sneer, my voice cracking. “I grew up all on my own without your help, Bee. You really think a guy like me would ever need a girl like you to get through the day without going bat-shit crazy? How big of an ego do you have?” She flinched as each word appeared to land a physical punch to her body.

  Stepping back, she rubbed her arms, and nodded. “Sorry.”

  “Go to your room.”

  Her head snapped up. “Seriously? Go to my room? You aren’t my father, and you sure as hell aren’t my brother.”

  “Thank God for that.”

  “I hate you!”

  “Not near as much as I hate myself.” I smiled mockingly. “Your hate does nothing to me, just like your care does nothing. Now, go to your room before I toss you over my shoulder and put you there myself.”

  She stumbled back, her hip colliding with the breakfast bar, before she whirled and ran out of the room. Her stomps were so loud I almost winced. The sound of a door slamming finally had me relaxing. I was able to breathe, able to exist without her scent.

  Pushing her away was for the best.

  Because the only other option was holding her close.

  And nobody wanted the monster to get the girl — that wasn’t how stories were told, that was not how happy endings were found. I deserved my darkness, and only a truly selfish individual would be all right with tugging the innocent into hell with them.

  She was heaven.

  She was light.

  And damn if I wasn’t going to do everything in my power to keep it that way.

  “Whoa,” Sergio said, walking into the room. “Barstools and table piss you off?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Maybe you should enroll in anger management.”

  “Maybe you should mind your own damn business.” I shoved past him and made my way to the workout room. I had some anger I needed to deal with.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  It all comes out in the end. Every time.

  Sergio

  THE WOOD HAD SPLINTERED and broken, spreading itself all over the floor like a tangled mess. I could just have one of the staff members clean it up. One text and they’d be in the kitchen.

  Instead, I sat on the floor amidst the broken wood and sighed. I closed my eyes and waited for my blood to stop boiling; I waited for my heart to start beating. I could always count on my heart. Hearing it reassured me I still had one. Ridiculous, but there it was. I needed to feel the blood pump. Sometimes I woke up in the middle of the night and felt my pulse so I knew I was alive and not living my own personal hell.

  I’d come out of hiding weeks ago, and I was already regretting it.

  No longer a ghost. Now I had to work for the family out in the open. It was weird. Being surrounded by family, I’d never felt so alone in my entire existence.

  My cell went off, the ringtone telling me exactly who it was. I wondered, in that moment, if the deal I’d made was worth it. Beca
use in the end, I knew it was my own death I was staring down.

  “Yeah?” I answered.

  “Well, well, well… someone’s been busy.”

  I snorted and rolled my eyes. “You need something, or are you just calling me to remind me who has my balls in a vise lest I make a false move and piss someone off?”

  He chuckled. “Let’s leave your balls out of this.”

  The line went silent and then crackled… Yeah, talk about a wiretap. Thanks, bastards.

  “I heard a rumor.”

  “You been gossiping about me?”

  “Pretty sure we typically have better things to do, but is it true? Has a new boss been named?”

  “New boss?” I played dumb. “You know I’m nothing to the family. They don’t tell me shit.” Lies, all lies, but if he knew how deep I was back into the family — it would be a death sentence.

  “The Nicolasi family.”

  Sighing heavily, I licked my lips and glanced at the door. “I don’t see how that’s anything you need to know.”

  “We need to know if they decide to stay and set up house, don’t you think?”

  “Trust me to do my job and don’t forget to do yours. Remember who you report to. Remember who I report to. And don’t forget… you may have my balls in a vise, but the five families hold the gun pressed against your temple.”

  I hung up the phone and threw it across the room. It shattered into pieces on contact with the floor.

  I was in some seriously deep shit.

  And I had no one to blame but myself.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Friendship is the antidote to the mafia’s poison.

  Bee

  PHOENIX WORKED OUT FOR four hours. Not that I was stalking him or anything… I just… sometimes watched. Watched and wondered what made him so angry, so upset that he needed to take it out on a punching bag while sweat poured down his body.

  He’d been shirtless. His muscles so tight, so lean, that I kind of wanted to bake him a cookie or at least make pasta for dinner. Thinking it was a good idea to fatten him up, I went into the kitchen, though I had little to no experience cooking, and grabbed a recipe book.

  How hard could making dinner be?

  Yeah, a bit hard for a novice like me. I finally decided on lasagna, and when that didn’t work on account of I didn’t know what the heck I was doing and how to layer anything — I went and got an actual frozen lasagna and put it in the oven then cleaned up my mess.

  Pretty sure every Sicilian within the country was rolling their eyes at me and groaning. What Sicilian girl didn’t know how to cook for her family?

  Well, that was easy. One who didn’t have a family. One who didn’t know her own mother. One who wouldn’t even know how to shop for the stupid ingredients for lasagna because she never been allowed outside — not even to play. One who couldn’t even boil water because she’d never been allowed in the kitchen, or out of her room unless it had been to prance around for her father’s pleasure.

  The familiar pang of rejection hit me square in the chest. It shouldn’t affect me in that way. It really shouldn’t. I mean, when you got used to feeling it, shouldn’t you just stop reacting? But I couldn’t. It was impossible not to react, not to feel my chest seize up every time I felt like less of a woman because I didn’t know how to cook, how to clean, how to kiss, for crying out loud! I talked a big game, but I was kidding myself. I wasn’t even on the bench. I was a complete outsider, just begging for someone to pick me to join their team.

  And that’s what sucked about wanting to join.

  You always got your hopes up that one day someone would point and crook their finger.

  And every time my hopes got up, they were shot down.

  The timer dinged. I pulled the lasagna out. Nothing burned! I seriously could have done a little dance right then and there but refrained from making a fool out of myself when both Phoenix and Sergio walked into the kitchen.

  “Smells good.” Sergio grabbed a few plates. “I didn’t know you cooked.”

  “She doesn’t,” Phoenix answered just as I opened my mouth. There went that rejection again, washing over me, taking my one small triumph and making me feel stupid for even getting excited over the fact that I was able to turn the oven on.

  I narrowed my eyes at Phoenix and grabbed some forks. “I thought it would be nice to cook for you guys, and since I don’t really know how, I’ve decided to teach myself.”

  “How to turn on the oven?” Phoenix said dryly.

  I flinched. Like, actually flinched from his statement — maybe because he’d said it once when I’d managed to warm up pizza inside the box and nearly burnt the house down. You’d think I’d be used to his barbs, but for some silly reason, I’d forgotten to put on my armor that morning, and the hits kept coming, aimed at my heart, my soul, my insecurities.

  Sergio sighed. “Don’t be an ass, Phoenix.” His gaze was one of pity when he locked eyes with me. “Thanks, Bee, it looks great.”

  A compliment.

  One compliment, and my eyes were already filling with tears. I hated that about myself. Despised it actually. One compliment, a real compliment, even said in passing, was enough to make me a sobbing mess — probably because compliments were so rare, like jewels or diamonds. I’d spent my entire life being put down, amazing that it only took one ounce of kindness to help me straighten my shoulders and look someone in the eye. I grabbed a plate and handed it to Phoenix.

  He looked at the plate then at my hand. “I’m not hungry.”

  Sergio groaned. “Didn’t I just tell you to stop being an ass? What? Four hours at the gym still couldn’t work that bad seed out of your system?”

  “Once a bastard always a bastard.” Phoenix’s jaw twitched as he took the plate from my hands and set it gently on the counter.

  “You should eat.” I found my voice. “You’re going to need your strength if you plan on working out for so long every day… you need calories.”

  “I need sleep,” he muttered under his breath. His sweat-clad shirt hugged his body, making his muscles look so sharp, so defined it was hard not to stare. “I’ll just make a protein shake and go to bed.”

  “But—”

  “Bianka.” Phoenix didn’t smile. Didn’t pat me on the hand. Didn’t do anything, just said my name — my real name, not the nickname he’d given me — and I backed off. Way off. I knew that look. No arguing.

  “Right.” I heaped a giant stack of lasagna onto my plate and started eating while watching him out of the corner of my eye. Broccoli, spinach, kale, green apples. Seriously the guy had a thing for green. He dumped everything into a blender and added two scoops of protein powder.

  “Color.” Sergio snorted. “You should try it.”

  Rolling his eyes, Phoenix reached into the fridge and pulled out two strawberries. He dropped them in the blender and then flipped Sergio off as he punched the switch. Groaning at first, the blender soon began to whir as it chewed the ingredients into a nasty green pulp.

  Sometimes I hated living with them, but I had no other choice. Sergio was usually so grumpy I wanted to dump Prozac into his coffee every morning, and Phoenix was so haunted it may as well be Halloween every day of the month.

  The sound of the blender did me in.

  The cutting growl.

  I hated loud noises; my ears had always been sensitive to them, maybe because, when I was locked in my room, all I ever heard was screaming, gunshots, and the sound of a vacuum cleaner hitting my door over and over again. Picking up glass, blood… who knew?

  “Excuse me…” I pushed away from the table, hands shaking, and carried my plate to the sink. My feet tangled in something soft, and I fell forward, instinctively reaching out to stop my fall. With a sharp crack, the plate split into my hand, and searing pain exploded through my fingers as the edges sliced into my tender flesh. “Shit!”

  Phoenix’s hands were on mine in an instant, picking away pieces of lasagna and plate. Blood spewed from my right
palm. Wincing, I tried to pull away but his grip was too strong. He held my hand under the faucet and slowly ran his fingers over the deep cut. “You need stitches.” He turned and glowered at Sergio, kicking the dishtowel toward him. “And pick your shit off the floor, jackass!”

  I tried to hold the tears in. When I couldn’t anymore, I looked away and mumbled, “I’ll be fine.”

  His grip tightened. I cried harder.

  “Come on.” Showing more tenderness than I knew he could possibly possess, he lifted me into his arms and kept a fresh towel pressed against my palm.

  Sergio said nothing, just watched with narrowed eyes as Phoenix carried me out of the kitchen and up the stairs. “Hold the towel tighter.”

  In too much pain to argue, I whimpered and clenched the towel against my palm as tight as my fingers would let me. I leaned my head against his sweaty chest. It felt good; he smelled good, like man, like a real person, rather than a ghost walking around in someone else’s skin.

  “Sorry.” Phoenix’s jaw popped again. “I should have showered but—”

  “It’s fine.” It was more than fine. “I don’t mind.”

  A grunt. Yup, that’s all I did to him, made him grunt and hate food.

  “Down you go.” He set me on his bed then went into the bathroom. Minutes later, he emerged with a small kit.

  The bleeding had slowed down, but I still held the towel tight against my hand.

  With a wince, Phoenix pulled out a syringe and a small glass vial; he tipped the jar over, put the needle inside, and drew back the plunger, pulling in a bit of the liquid. Then he tapped the end of the syringe before reaching for my hand.

  I jerked away. “What are you doing?”

  “Making it so you don’t cry anymore,” he said gruffly, taking my hand in his and pressing the tip of the needle directly into my palm. I let out a little hiss as the sting burned all the way down my fingertips. A warm sensation flooded me, instantly taking place of the pain. Then my entire hand went numb.

  Phoenix eased the needle from my skin, set it next to me, and then pulled something from the kit that looked like Super Glue and white gauze. “I won’t stitch you up because I think this should do the trick. He pressed my skin together and then put the liquid on the large gash. When it was covered, with one hand he kept the skin together, with the other started wrapping fast around my palm.