by Jaci J
Leaning down to grab a pile of dirty jeans, the floorboard behind me groans under the weight of a body. Spinning around, it’s on me before I make it all the way around to see a face. Something is slipped over my head and my body wobbles and gets knocked to the floor where I land on my ass.
“Shit!”
The contents of my stomach roll and my heart tumbles to my feet when a pair of hands grabs at mine. Not again. “Dante?” I shout, blindly struggling against a pair of hands clasping mine together behind my back.
“Stay calm and don’t fight,” an unfamiliar voice grumbles near my ear. He doesn’t sound mad, he just sounds bored, like this is his fourth or fifth kidnapping of the day and he’s ready to call it a night.
“Fuck you.”
“ I doubt my boss would be happy about that,” The man grumbles tiredly. “I’m going to lift you up. Be a good girl and don’t fight me.” Fat chance of that happening, fucker.
I’m lifted clean off the floor and plopped onto my feet, unsteadily. It’s hard to stay upright with no point of vision. The bag, or whatever the hell it is, is blocking my view. I open my mouth to scream for Matt when I remember shooing him out the door and sending him to a movie.
“Who are you?” I ask, fighting against him.
“Your worst nightmare,” the man mutters. He doesn’t even sound like he believes what he’s saying.
“What the hell is going on?” I ask, jerking around, trying to loosen his grip on my hands. The man doesn’t seem threatening. In fact, he doesn’t even seem interested in me or his job to deliver me.
“We’re going for a drive.”
I make a less than graceful trip out of my apartment, stumbling and tripping over my own feet. My escort is no help, only shoving me along, grumbling about this and that. “Where are you taking me?” I get nothing in return.
I’m over being scared. My life is reduced to terrifying events that numb me into not caring. I’m sure my next step is to be shoved into a trunk.
A car door opens and I’m heaved into a car, my ass sliding across a plush seat. It’s warm, quiet, and smells an awful lot like Dante inside. Fucking bastard.
“Dante?” I know he’s in here with me. I can feel his sinister eyes on me. “You’re now kidnapping me, you sick fuck?”
The cover is ripped off my head and my hair poofs out in a mess from the static and falls into my face, but through the strands, I can see the sick bastard staring at me, smirking, proud of himself.
“What the hell, Dante?”
“By force, baby.” He reminds me. He’s going to force me to listen to him. What a Dante thing to do. He doesn’t get his way so he kidnaps me. I should be mad, but I’m pretty much immune to the crazy that is Dante.
Snatching the bag from his hands, I stare at the white pillowcase.
“You put a fucking pillowcase over my head?” I yell at him, slapping him with it.
“An Egyptian cotton pillowcase, baby. Only the best for you,” He corrects me. You’ve got to be kidding me.
“Are you fucking crazy?”
“Clearly, London. And stop cursing or I’ll be forced to duct tape your mouth too.” He grins, a charming, beguiling, smile. He’s not doing shit and he knows it. Rolling my eyes, I slump back against the seat and cross my arms like an angry child. I’m throwing a fit. It’s appropriate considering I was just kidnapped.
Getting serious, he sighs, “This has to stop, once and for all, London. That lady you saw me with? A business associate.” I start to say something, but he stops me. “We will talk and we will sort us out. We have to. Neither of us can go on like this, so we’re leaving for a while. We will sort it out, come home, and live happily ever after. You’re not going to fight me and you’re not going to argue. No, you’re going to shut your pretty little mouth and come with me.” Well, all right then.
“So, where are we going? And I say we because I know you’re not letting me out of this car unless I jump out while it’s still rolling.”
“We’re going to spend some much needed time together. You’re going to hear me out, and I’m going to hear you out. You’re going to forgive me, and I’m going to forgive you. This has to be the two of us willing to do this. I can’t keep doing this alone. Once we can do that, then we’ll move on and live happily ever after.” I have no idea how he said that with a straight face.
“We’ll see about that,” I say sarcastically.
“Yes, we will.”
Dante
This time it feels different. Things have shifted into more neutral territory. I think we’re both tired of the fight and we’ve run out of steam. We’ve run out of reasons to be mad.
It feels fucking good. I’ve worn her down and waited her out and finally, London is seeing things my way, just as I’m understanding her feelings about how badly I hurt her. I’m it for her as she’s it for me, and I’m so goddamn happy she’s finally seeing it.
Leaning against me, London is under my arm, snuggled into my side. She’s not fighting me, arguing with me, or promising my death. We’ve made great strides here, and I feel fucking victorious. If I knew all it would take for her to stay with me was a kidnapping, I would have done it much sooner.
The car turns into the lot, gliding between the two metal gates. Rolling across the tarmac, we stop in front of the jet.
“Where are we going?” London asks around a yawn, leaning up to peer out the window. She asks, but her voice says she doesn’t really care. Finally, some goddamn compliance from little ‘Miss Fight Me At Every Turn.’
I don’t answer her in fear she’ll take off running if she knows I’m taking her out of the country. It’s about time I get my time with her and if it means taking her away, then I will fucking do it.
“Up and out, my beautiful little monster.” Taking my hand, she lets me help her out. I feel like It’s amazing what can happen in an hour when you can both shut up and listen to the other. I know I certainly can’t blame her for all this. I never stopped to listen to her side, and that’s where I truly let her down.
The bags are loaded, London is seated, the door is closed, and the wheels are in motion before I answer her question. “The city of light, and my opinion, love is where I’m taking you.”
Twisting her head to look at me, her eyebrows hit her hairline and she looks … excited.
“You’re taking me to Paris?”
“I am.” She hasn’t torn my face off so I take it she’s at least okay with the idea.
“I didn’t pack anything.” I don’t have to respond because she gets it the second she speaks. “Matt’s a traitorous little whore.” But instead of snarling, she smirks and it’s fucking beautiful. Her smile is something I didn’t know I missed until I was begging and pleading to be graced with it. Fuck, it’s good to see her smile instead of scowl.
~~~~~
Sitting in an overstuffed leather armchair, I stare over the top of my laptop at a sleeping London. Curled up on the couch, she looks happy and calm. It’s nice to finally be able to indulge in her sleeping form without worrying about the loss of my balls, or my life.
She’s been asleep for the majority of the flight, but I can tell she’s waking up. After a few moments, she turns over and those enchanting green eyes pop open. “Are you still staring at me?”
“Guilty,” I admit.
“Fell asleep with you staring and I wake up to it too. Don’t you have other important things to do?”
“Nothing as important as you.”
The jet taxies down the runway and London is strapped to her seat, scowling at me now because I forced her into her seat and belt. These are not my rules, they belong to pilot, but they’re designed to keep her safe so her ass is in her seat, strapped in where she’s supposed to be.
“You could have said please,” she grumbles. Now that’s just not my style, and she knows this.
“I could have, but you could have sat your pretty little ass down when I said so the first time.”
“You’re neve
r going to change your bossy ways, are you?”
“Now you’re getting the idea, my beautiful little monster.”
~~~~~
Our car glides through the city streets, the ground wet and the sky black. Paris is a beautiful city during the day, but at night, it transforms into something completely different, almost otherworldly, and it’s breathtaking.
London is transfixed to the window, staring wide-eyed and awed at the sights.
“First time in Paris?”
“First time I can remember. I was four when I came here as a child.”
Hanging on her every word, I listen to her point things out and fawn over every sight. The forty-minute drive takes about an hour due to traffic and construction, but London could care less. She’s happy, which makes me immensely happy.
“Where are we staying?”
“Close enough for you to stare out the window at your beloved Eiffel Tower,” I assure her. I wouldn’t do that to her, bring her to Paris and stuff her on some backstreet, miles from the city and sights. She smiles and nods, “This is amazing, Dante.”
For the first time in months, I can breathe. A fucking boulder has been lifted and I feel one hundred pounds lighter. When London is happy, I’m happy.
“It’s your world, baby, I’m just here to make you happy.”
Fifteen
Miss Me-You-We
London
Stolen away to Paris, I feel like I’m in a dream. Kidnapped one moment and whisked away the next to the wonderful city of lights on some sort of vacation with Dante.
“We’re here,” Dante announces, taking my hand. Pulling me out of the car, he tugs me towards a tall building. “Nice hotel.” It’s a small one, but it’s beautiful on the outside.
“Our house,” he corrects. Our house? Now there’s one of those crazy personalities. This one is an international real-estate agent.
“You bought a house?” I ask him, staring up into gleaming eyes. He bought a house, huh? Just for this trip or in general? Extremes are Dante’s norms. He can never be somewhere in the middle.
“We bought a house.”
“We?”
“There is no me without a you, so it’s we since I’m not going anywhere.” Dante smiles sweetly down at me, sweeping my hair over my shoulder. “I bought a place here for you and I because after this trip, Paris will be our place.” He opens the front door to the building, looking pretty damn sure of himself.
Fingers wrapped around mine, he tugs me inside after him, making me practically run just to keep up. We step inside of an old, medieval style building mixed with a touch of the famous Haussmann style that I love and I have to stop and stare, taking a moment to take it all in.
My soaking up session lasts a total of a minute before Dante is jerking me along behind him. “You can stare later, love.” I’m put into an elevator and up a handful of floors until the doors open to reveal heaven in the form of an apartment.
Soft and muted, the walls are in the colors of creams and soft grays. The ceilings are sky-high, adorned with dark, natural exposed beams. The floor is old hardwood covered in plush rugs and it’s furnished to the nines in soft luxurious furniture. It’s right out a designer’s dream. There are floor to ceiling windows that overlook the city, a stainless steel chef’s kitchen, spa-worthy bathrooms, and bedrooms galore. This place is paradise and I’m here with Dante. There is nowhere I’d rather be with him.
“It’s perfect.” I tell a beaming, proud Dante. The man’s eyes are lit up like a child’s on Christmas morning, he’s so happy. Actually, he’s too happy for the normal Dante I’m so used to.
“Only the best for my little monster,” he croons, pointing me in the direction of the multi-million-dollar view. Just … wow.
~~~~~
I can’t pull myself away from the windows. The view is stunning. I can see for miles; the river Seine, the Eiffel Tower, the streets and the lights of the city. I can even see the treetops of Champ de Mars off in the distance. It’s so surreal.
Leaning against Dante, wrapped in his big arms, “You know it’s even prettier in person. Want to go explore?” He mumbles against my neck.
“Yes, absolutely.”
“Wow, I thought I’d hear a ‘fuck yes,’ at least,” he says.
“Ha-Ha, so funny.” Pinching my side, Dante laughs. This is a new personality. I think I like this one.
“You’re being awfully sweet, so what gives?” I ask him. Slipping on his jacket, he turns to look at me like I’m crazy. “What do you mean?”
“I mean you’re being nice.”
“I’m trying really fucking hard to show you how much I love you. I’m going to convince you why I’m right for you and why you should shut up and listen to me,” he adds the last part with a smirk. He just had to throw that in there. “Now come, let me feed you.”
Dante wines and dines me. We eat at a tiny café, drinking wine and talking through dinner just like real, normal couples do. We walk the streets of the city hand in hand, Dante being a complete gentleman.
I shop and Dante watches. I talk and Dante listens. I watch Dante watch everything I do. He’s watching me like I could possibly disappear into thin air at any moment and be lost forever.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he laughs like he’s in on some private joke that I’m not.
“You’re being weirder than usual.”
“And you’re more beautiful than usual.” Kiss-ass.
He pulls me along with him, pointing out more shops and stores, promising me visits to all the sights. I’m still in a state of shock that I’m here in Paris with Dante.
“I still can’t believe you kidnapped me and brought me here. You have got to be the nicest kidnapper.”
“I could toss you around a little and yell at you more if it would make you feel better,” he teases. No, I’m enjoying one of his sweet personalities right now, but in a few hours I might be interested.
“Maybe later.”
~~~~~
I’m drunk off this man. He is intoxicating. The way he works me, studies me, learning my body until he can work me over with just a look or one small touch.
He spent the entire day showering me in attention and affection, loving me until I could barely stand it, and now he’s dead set on fucking me stupid.
Tangled around him, we couldn’t make it past the hallway. Twisting and turning, Dante thrusts into my body, grinding his hips possessively into mine. “Tell me, London,” he growls against my ear.
Wrapping arms around him, I pull him against me harder, but he resists. Leaning away from my body, he hovers over me, his face a mask of controlled desperation. “Tell me. I want to hear it from your beautiful lips,” he coaxes, driving into me with a hard, deep thrust.
“I love you, you fucking bastard.”
“Damn right you do.”
~~~~~
I can’t outrun or outsmart Dante, so I won’t. With every breath I take, every beat of my heart, and every day of my life, I know I’ll love him; the good, the bad, the ugly, the Dante. I love him with my whole heart and soul.
Drifting in and out of wakefulness, I soak up the feel of Dante’s hands on me. Running his rough fingers through my hair and up my back, he sighs against my hair. He’s restless. Something is bothering him.
“Dante?” Shifting me, he holds me closer, crushing me to him.
“I’m a monster, London, and I’m not sorry about it.”
Nothing happens. The need to move away and wiggle out of his grasp doesn’t come over me. Correcting him doesn’t cross my mind. My heart doesn’t stutter at his words and my mind doesn’t race.
He is who he is. Everything bad about him makes up the man holding me against his chest. By no stretch is he perfect, nor will he ever win an award for his kindness. I’m not naive enough now to think he’ll outgrow or change his ways. Dante will always be crazy, calculating, and callous. He’s a bad man, but he’s the man I choose to be with through it all.
; “I love you.”
“I know, and that’s what scares me.” He is my sickness.
Dante
Confession is good for the soul, cleansing and cathartic. It’s a way to rid your soul of sins. London is my religion, and like a devoted follower, I confess my evil to her.
I make no apologies for who I am. That’s something that I will never do. Even if I could, I wouldn’t change the man I’ve become. For some sick reason, London chose me, even after all she knows about me and the things I’m capable of, she’s chosen for who I am, and for that I cannot be sorry.
“I’m a bad person, London.” Time to come clean and tell her what she needs to hear.
“I know,” she says softly. Always so trusting, so innocent.
“I’ve killed, I’ve lied, I’ve cheated, and I’ve stole.”
I’m not a dweller. I can’t be in my line of work. Choosing to ignore the bad I am, I focus on the good shit, which is London. If I sat around and thought about all the terrible things I’ve done in my life, I’d be locked in a padded cell, curled up in the fetal position, rocking myself back and forth, every day for the rest of my life.
I do bad things and then I move on, stuffing them into a small place at the back of my mind and putting them out of my head. I don’t remember the faces, nor the names of all the men I’ve killed, and if I’m being honest, I don’t care. They were unimportant enough to remove from the earth in the first place, and they’re not important enough to remember who or why after the fact, but it’s not the nameless, faceless people I regret, it’s London.
“I’ve stalked you, persuaded you, lied to you, and I can’t be sorry for it. The only thing I’m sorry for is hurting you when all I wanted was to love you. I’m sorry I’m so goddamn self-centered and had to have you. I’m sorry that I didn’t care what I had to do to get you. I wanted you to be mine and I didn’t play fair or think of the emotional mess I would be putting you through. I’m sorry I stepped on you in my want of you.”
