Blame It on the Shame- Part 3
Page 14
That broken little girl is part of her, stuck inside her forever, and it kills me.
But I love that broken little girl...because I love all of Lou-Lou. And those broken pieces aren't Lou-Lou's pieces...they're the pieces of the monsters that did this to her.
She swipes at me again, this time managing to knick me with the glass. I don't yell and I don't scream, I lie down next to her on the ground.
“Lou-Lou,” I say, my voice low and soft enough so only she can hear.
One eye opens and then another, she's still breathing far too erratically to say anything, but at least she's looking at me now.
I gently reach for her hand and she knicks me with the glass again, but when I repeat her name, she finally lets me take it out of her hand.
Her eyes dart around the kitchen—her gaze is frantic and frazzled, but I reach for her chin, lean my head against hers, and force her to focus on me. “Baby, look at me,” I whisper, smoothing her hair away from her damp face. “You're okay, but I need to get you up and away from all the glass. I'm not going to hurt you.”
When she closes her eyes again but doesn't protest, I pull her into a sitting position and wrap her arms around my neck.
Her heart is pounding so rapidly—it causes mine to race with nerves, but I take a breath and force myself to remain calm, because that's what she needs. She's scared and she needs to feel safe.
I position her against my chest so her heart is pressed against mine and she can take in and feel the steady rhythm of it as I hold her in my arms.
“You're safe, baby,” I whisper, over and over again as her trembles begin to subside.
I begin tracing gentle circles up and down her spine, just like I used to as she sinks against me and I stand up. “II—“
“Il mio piccolo superstite.” Her fragile voice cuts me off and she hugs my neck tighter.
“Il mio piccolo superstite,” she whispers to herself again, and I don't know if my heart breaks more or if she just managed to fix one of the cracks.
“That's right, Lou-Lou. Il mio piccolo superstite.”
“Ricky?” she breathes in my ear.
“It's me, baby. I'm right here.”
I can feel her entire body relax against me before she hugs me so tight I have to suck in a breath.
“Ricky,” she says again, as I continue walking us out of the kitchen.
I kiss her shoulder and notice some blood oozing from a few small scrapes. “You're okay, baby. Everything's okay, but I need to check out these cuts.”
I feel her heart skyrocket again. “But you're safe,” I repeat when her tear stained cheek hits my shoulder. “You're safe with me.”
She wraps her legs around my waist and grips me even tighter.
“Everyone was staring at us,” she says, burying her face against my neck. “They all saw—they all know—” I feel another tear hit my shoulder. “They all think I'm weak. They all know I'm crazy—”
“No they don't.” I trace more circles up and down her spine. “Because you're not crazy, Lou-Lou. And you're definitely not weak.”
Chapter 19 (Lou-Lou)
I inhale the scent of his skin—the perfect mixture of the expensive but subtle cologne he always wears and his own earthy scent—and let it calm me as he rocks me in his arms while he carries me to the bathroom.
“I need you,” I choke out through strained breaths, no longer caring about anyone possibly overhearing or what they may think, because it's the truth.
Right now in this moment, I need him. I need him to fight the battle that I can't...the one I never could.
“I'm right here,” he assures me again and I fall against him.
I love that I don't feel the material of his suit against my cheek, but his t-shirt, it proves that I'm in Ricky's arms right now and not—Mr. DeLuca, the mob boss. The killer of innocent people who beg for their lives. The man who takes women hostage just because he can. The man who's a carbon copy of Bruno DeLuca.
I've missed you so much—I can't help but think as I feel another fat tear roll down my face.
Sometimes you don't realize how much you can miss someone, how much another soul can truly breathe life back into your own, until you're face to face and skin to skin with them again.
Until your heart is literally beating against theirs, both calming and driving you crazy at the same exact time. Until every single part of you feels whole, despite just having shattered into a million pieces in a room full of people you don't even know.
Because I can't break in Ricky's arms...his arms are my superglue, my refuge from my demons, my home.
His arms are my freedom from the monsters that bind me, and his heart is my very own dandelion...because everything that little girl could ever wish for is locked up inside it.
“Your panic attacks are worse,” he notes as he sets me down on the bathroom sink.
It's not a question, it's simply a statement. A very real statement.
“Yes,” I whisper as he takes a bottle of peroxide out from under the cabinet.
I would lie to anyone else, refuse to talk about it, or make some rude remark to turn the tables, but not with him.
“Marlene...she didn't mean to.” I swallow hard, I can't have another innocent death on my conscience. “Please don't kill—”
He cups my cheek. “Shh, don't worry about any of that. It's just me and you. Talk to me. When did they start becoming worse?”
I look away, but he tucks two fingers under my chin and lifts my gaze back to him. “Give me a truth.”
I can feel my eyes start to water again and part of me hates how vulnerable and emotional I am right now. “After...” my voice cuts off and I try again. “After I killed him.”
Anger crosses over his features and he curses under his breath, but I reach for his hand. “It's not because I regret it or because it traumatized me, Ricardo.”
I drop his hand and bite my thumb nervously, trying to gather my thoughts so I can explain them. “I think—I think I thought that I would be magically fixed after I killed him. Like a veil would be lifted and I would be okay.”
I wipe my tears with the back of my hand and continue. “For the first two months I was gone, I kept telling myself that it would get better. That the nightmares and flashbacks would go away. That I would find a place to live, get a job, enroll in school...and I would be fine. But that didn't happen.”
He dabs a cotton ball on my shoulder and I take a breath and continue. “When I finally settled down and decided to live with Momma, I figured they would disappear for good. But they actually got worse.”
I fidget with a loose string on my shirt, not wanting to look at him as I say this. “I think the more I tried to fit in with people and society in general...and the more I tried to do things that normal people do—the more I was reminded that I'll never be like them. They got worse the moment I realized they won...both of them. They're dead...but they still won...because I won't ever be normal.”
My voice shakes and more fat, hot tears fall down my face. “I want so badly to be like everyone else and have what they have.”
I hug my knees to my chest. “And even though he's gone and he can't hurt that little girl anymore, I still have so much anger inside me. I'm so angry about everything that's happened. About all the things I'll never have because of them. I'm like a bomb about to detonate at any given moment.”
I choke back another sob. “I'm such a hazard to people, I should have orange cones around me all the time. I'm fucking crazy.”
I smack my head. “I'm a mental case and everyone knows it. It's why I couldn't make a single friend out there...because let's face it...who the hell would want to be friends with someone like me? I'm a complete mess...but even worse than that? I'm still broken, Ricardo. So fucking broken.”
In one swift motion he wraps his arms around me and presses me to his chest. “You're not broken, baby. They were the ones who were broken. There was something wrong with them, not you.” He traces slow circles
I look up at him. “You're wrong, Ricardo. Only things that live in the light can shine.”
“That's because it's easy to shine in the light, Lou-Lou. It's impossible to shine in the dark.” He slides a hand behind my neck and kisses my forehead. “But you do...and don't you ever forget it.”
He pulls back slightly and studies my face. “And you have friends, baby.”
“No I don't.”
He thinks about this for a moment before he says, “Momma's your friend.”
I roll my eyes and shake my head. “Momma's not my friend. Momma's —” I pause because I don't know how to clarify what I mean.
“Momma's...Momma,” he finishes for me. “Okay, I'll give you that one.” He laughs and wipes my tears away. “You have Marlene though, she's your friend.”
“Please,” I scoff. “Marlene hates me and she only deals with me because you pay her and she's scared of you.”
He lifts my chin up again and looks me right in my eyes. “Well you have me. You always have me.”
His heart, which was beating calmly just a moment before picks up.
The air around us changes when his gaze drops to my mouth. And just like that, the heat in his stare turns me to lava, the warmth flowing through me and settling low in my belly.
Friends, yeah right. Ricardo and I can't be friends. There's too much attraction and chemistry between us. Too much...everything between us. It's why we couldn't stay friends in the first place.
“You were never my friend,” I breathe, the air between us now crackling and sizzling, just like it always does when there's that magnetic shift between us.
“I know.”
I feel his gaze scorch a path along my chest, hips, and lower, before landing on my face again. “I most definitely was never your friend, Lou-Lou.”
He bites his lip and smirks, like the cocky bastard he is—and those damn butterflies which I once thought were so dead they gave up and turned back into caterpillars—swarm like drunk honeybees at a rave.
I'm pretty sure the dynamic of our relationship must be the eighth wonder of the world. Because even when we hate one another...there's still no one else that I want more. There's no one else who ignites all of these intense feelings in me—both good and bad— the way he does.
His hands land on my waist and he brushes taunting strokes along the edges of my bra that has my skin breaking out in goosebumps. “You really didn't meet any guys out there? No boyfriends? No stolen kisses?”
That cocky smirk is still plastered on his face, but I don't miss the way his eyes blaze with jealousy as he leans in and presses me against the mirror.
I shake my head, because he already knows about Atticus and how well that worked out. “No. No one wanted me.”
And all my kisses belong to you. My first and only kisses were the only innocent and untainted thing I ever had left to give anyone. They will always belong to him.
His fingers trail along my ribcage and his lips graze my neck. “You're wrong, baby. Everyone wanted you.”
I start to protest, but his lips hover just above my pulse point and my heart dances when he kisses me there. “Because you're beautiful.” His lips skim my chin and move along my cheekbone, finally stopping to press the most tender of kisses against my temple. “Smart.”
He flicks my earlobe with his tongue and I close my eyes and try to catch my breath. “And incredibly sexy.”
He hooks a finger under my chin and his palm slides over my heart. “You are everything a man could ever want, Lou-Lou.”
His touch and his words light every nerve ending of mine on fire, for so many reasons.
He pulls my thighs apart so they're positioned on either side of him and my heart somersaults. “It's just that no one made you flush like you are now, no one put the fire back in those pretty eyes. And no one puts that hot as hell look on your face.”
His teeth nip at my jaw. “Not like I can, because I own that fucking look.”
“Is that so?” I ask coyly, shifting myself so I can feel him through his sweatpants.
He latches onto my hip and I moan when he thrusts and I feel every inch of him through the material. “You tell me, is this what you want?”
He shoves his hand down the back of my pants, grabs my ass, and repeats the movement. “You want to feel how hard I am for you? How fucking hard you always make me.”
I lick my lips and toss my head back, but apparently that answer isn't good enough for him—because he slowly, painstakingly, drags his dick between our bodies, purposely toying with me. “You want me to make it nice and slow, let you take every inch of me until you can't fit any more of my cock inside you?”
I whimper in response and he bites my neck and slams me into the mirror. “Or do you want me to tear those jeans off you and fuck you against this mirror until you can't stand?”
Yes, god, yes. I want it all.
But, there's something else I want as well. Something I need to know before this goes any further.
I lean into him and drag my teeth along his ear. “I want you to tell me why you're keeping me here.”
His eyes darken. “You're here because I want you here.”
He pushes off of me, the static between us shifting again. My heart drops at the loss of contact.
“Looks like you're all better now.” He swings the bathroom door open. “I have work to do.”
And just like that...he's Mr. DeLuca again.
Chapter 20 (Ricardo)
Keeping her here—like she's a prisoner and I'm—what the fuck am I?
Even if she's only here because I want to save her, I'm certainly no prince charming.
I'm just a man who loves her...craves every single inch of her. And would kill anything in my path to protect her.
But her hero? That's one thing I'm not. And every time she questions why she's here, she only digs the knife in deeper.
Not only because I can't tell her the truth—but because there's no way I can ever be her hero when I can't kill the bad guy.
But maybe, just maybe I can do something for her. It won't be permanent, it's not a solution, but I'm hoping it will help.
I look up and bite back a smile when I see her entering the foyer. She looks pensive, annoyed, and cute as fuck in her little yoga pants and tank top.
She twists her hair into some kind of knot on top of her head and shoots me a dirty look. “So why exactly did you request that I put something comfortable on and meet you here?” She folds her arms across her chest. “Or is this your usual modus operandi when it comes to your victims? This way when their bodies are found lying in a ditch somewhere, it just looks like a jogger had an unfortunate accident. Not like he was whacked by a mafia boss.”
My tongue finds my cheek and I fight the urge to laugh at her. “You should consider going into the academy after you graduate, Lou-Lou. You have a real knack for this stuff.”
She opens her arms wide and gestures around. “Gee, I would...but there's a slight issue with that.” Her eyes narrow. “You know, with me being held hostage and all.”
I rub my chin and take a step in her direction. “Well fortunately for you, we're taking a little field trip today.”
Her eyes go big and she gives me a genuine smile. “Really?”
The smile falls from her face when I take out a pair of handcuffs. “There are a few contingencies.”
“Asshole,” she mutters as she holds her wrists out to me.
Surprise crosses over her features when I latch one cuff around her wrist and the other around my own. “This way you don't stray too far from me.”
I tug her and we start walking to the garage. I have at least 30 men in various SUVs following us, and every security measure I can think of in place, but it does little to calm my nerves.
In fact, for a moment I debate pulling out of this all together.
But then I remember what she told me in the bathroom yesterday, and the utter sadness in her eyes when she said it.
She needs this.
We climb into the SUV and she gives me a look when I uncuff her and maneuver her across my lap in the backseat instead. “It's not safe to be handcuffed in a moving vehicle,” I tell her, wrapping my arm firmly around her waist. “Therefore, the way I see it, this is the only way we can sit.”
And I like you on my lap—amongst other places.
“Right,” she says, but I don't miss the crinkle in her eyes.
She turns slightly to face me. “Where are we going?”
I lay my hand on her thigh and gently squeeze. “If I told you, that would ruin the surprise.” I place a kiss along the smooth skin at the crook of her neck and watch as she fights back a shiver.
I love how responsive she is to me, I love that even when she pretends to fight it, she can't. She's as helpless to me as I am to her. And no matter which way the pendulum between us swings, that's something that will never change.
Well, that and the fact that I love her. Because even when I hate her...I always love her more.
I run my nose along her neck and inhale her. I have to fight back a groan when I see her nipples pucker under her little sports bra and tank top.
Christ, maybe Lou-Lou sitting in my lap for an entire drive was a bad idea after all—because now I'm seriously debating if it would be quicker to kick everyone out of a moving vehicle, or shoot them all dead just so I can have her alone and suck those nipples into my mouth.
But on the bright side, maybe now she'll finally stop questioning why she's here.
According to Marlene, Lou-Lou's under the assumption she's here because I'm crazy with jealousy...but apparently she doesn't buy it.
Although her instincts are spot on, because that's not why she's here, it's not exactly false either.
Because my selfish heart wants what belongs to me...what has always belonged to this DeLuca. Never to him.
If things were different, if I was capable of being even half the man Lou-Lou deserves to end up with...I'd spend my life worshiping every single inch of what's mine. But I'll settle for her in these small doses...because the black thing in my chest is a fucking sadist.
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