Trigger (Pericolo #3)

by Kirsty-Anne Still

  It’s taken me to this point to realize that.

  Unable to withstand her crying on her own, I fight with myself to turn the handle. She promised not to lock it so I could bring her a fresh towel, but right now, she’s at her weakest. She may try to muffle her cries, but they’re still ringing out hauntingly loud.

  I go against my better judgment. I open that damn door and I ease myself into the situation I’ve never been in before. I find her sitting on the floor of my walk-in shower, stark naked, knees drawn to her chest, her arms wrapped around her legs. She’s crying into the crook of her knees as the hot water continues to fall down over her.

  She doesn’t even appear to notice I’m in the room with her.

  That alone has me dropping the towel on my way over to her. I climb into the shower with her. I crouch down behind her, ignoring that my clothes are now getting soaking wet. I sit with her between my legs and prepare to uncurl her from the devastating position she’s in. While she’s at her rawest, so am I. I have never done this sort of intimacy with a woman before. I don’t do this sort of thing. I thought my life had taught me one thing – survival. Apparently, Ryleigh could teach me so much more.

  She goes to push me off, but I refuse.

  “You need this,” I tell her, keeping my hands on her. “You need to feel the hands of a man who would never hurt you as he has. You deserve to feel this, Ryleigh. You don’t have to deal with this alone anymore.”

  “No,” she sobs brokenly, her hands tearing mine to move.

  “Shh,” I say, unmoved by her fight. “You need to feel someone else’s touch.” If anything, I hold her tighter. “I’m not letting you go until you’ve calmed down.”

  Still, she fights.

  Once again, that tenacious side of her begs to take her back over, but her grief has reached its climax and it’s not so easily squandered. She tries with all her might to be the Ryleigh she crazed my life with, but before long, she gives up and melts against my hold. She even begins to turn toward me some, trying to seek comfort from me.

  Had someone told me I’d be doing this a few months ago, I’d have killed that fucker for being a crazy motherfucker, but finally, I feel like I’ve found a reason among all of this chaos.

  “It was close,” I tell her, cradling her fragile body. “But you got lucky, Ryleigh. That fucker will never be able to do that again to anyone, especially not you.”

  She doesn’t reply this time, she just holds onto me as the water starts to run cold. Resisting the idea of letting her go, I know, with all better judgment, I need to get her out and dry. I ease her forward, making quick work to climb out from the shower so I can turn the water off, grab the towel, and wrap her in it. When I turn back, she’s looking at me with such wide, glassy eyes, my chest seizes. I never want to see that look on this woman’s face ever again, but I know she revels in it during the loneliest of midnight hours.

  Forcing myself to ignore that look, I cross back over to her, tossing the towel around her shoulders so I can pull her up. I allow her to wrap herself up, but I’m the one who guides her out of the steamy room and toward one of the guest rooms.

  “I’ll let you get dressed and I’ll have a drink waiting for you,” I tell her, knowing I have to get dressed too, but I want her comfortable. “Anything you prefer?”

  “Tea would be nice,” she comments, giving me bashful grin. “My mom used to always make tea when there was a crisis.” She shrugs nonchalantly at the thought. “Guess I better see if she was right after all these years.”

  I know what she’s doing, and I’m actually grateful to be in the presence of this acceptance. Finally, she allows herself to revel in the life she had before it all fell apart. I know she was young when she lost her family, but some things never leave the dark recesses of our memories. No matter how hard we try to forget.

  “I’ll get changed and get a pot on,” I comment, my voice dry.

  I leave her alone, heading to my room to discard of my soaked suit. Grabbing my own towel, I dry myself and find a clean pair of bottoms and a top. Uncaring about my appearance, I don’t take too much time, and I leave the room to set to work brewing some tea.

  I notice the door to the guest room is still closed, and I ignore it. I’ll allow her this moment while I do as promised. I head into my kitchen, searching the cupboards for teabags. I find some and feel like luck is on my side. I want to give this to Ryleigh, show her that reveling in your past isn’t all that dangerous. Sometimes we need that bittersweet nostalgia to keep us on the golden path. I set to work finding a teapot and get it on the stove to heat. I use this as the best distraction to stop me from running into the room to find out if she’s okay. I grab the mugs and make my way through the kitchen to stop myself from marching back over to where she is.

  Soon, the whistling teapot silences my rabid thoughts, and I know I’ve managed to stick to my word – allow her air to breathe but look after her well.

  She comes out and sits back in the spot where she awoke. I head over to her with the fresh cup of tea. At first, she gawps at me, clearly unable to take in the sight of the great Dante in just slacks and a shirt rather than a crisp suit with his hair pristinely styled.

  “Not sure it’ll be amazing,” I joke lightly, glancing over the moment. “I don’t tend to make tea.”

  She takes the cup, shooting an appreciative grin as she looks away from me.

  “Thank you,” she lightly says, taking an immediate sip.

  I sink back down onto the coffee table, ready to see how she’s really doing in the light of everything.

  “I know it’s been a long day for you,” I say, forcing her to realize that I’m aware of how much she’s endured. “Why would you even work on today of all days?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” she asks, looking up at me. “It’s another day.”

  “It’s not just another day,” I counter. “I remember the day my family was killed. I don’t speak to anyone on that day.”

  I watch a new light spark within her. I guessed from what happened back in the bookstore, but Jodi was so upset over Ryleigh dealing with the day in such a negative way that it dampened the mood during lunch.

  “Jodi told me how you lost your family today,” I tell her, giving her a sideways grin. “You could’ve told me.”

  “Our arrangement didn’t include tell-all chats and a budding friendship.” There’s a sardonic undertone in her voice, and I guess I deserve that. “So sorry if I missed the point where we overlooked murder and sex to have a jolly chat.”

  “Okay, that was a given, but Ryleigh, I would never have been so hard on you if I knew you were getting ready to deal with this day.”

  “Again, it’s just another day,” she replies, and I can tell she’s agitated by the way she puts the tea down. “It’s all it is.”

  The rap of knuckles pounds on my door, and Ryleigh jumps.

  “Don’t panic. It’s just Jackson and Jodi,” I soothe her, reaching out for her. “I had to call them, okay?”

  “Okay,” she whispers, brokenly.

  I hate this version of Ryleigh who sits here, only because I feel so helpless.

  Leaving her, I go to the door, opening it to allow them entrance. Jodi doesn’t say a word; she just storms into the apartment, going straight to Ryleigh’s side.

  “Barney’s taken care of the mess you left,” Jackson tells me as he enters behind her.

  “Hello to you, too,” I comment dryly as I throw the door of my apartment closed. “I knew he would.”

  “You left that bastard in a right mess,” Jackson replies, allowing Jodi to soothe Ryleigh while he stands before me. I can tell we’re nowhere near close to solving the rift in our friendship, but I’m willing to try. “Why didn’t you just come and get me?”

  “I wasn’t exactly thinking straight.”

  “Clearly,” Jackson mutters, turning to face Ryleigh. “Have you called Bayli?”

  “I have,” I respond, walking to stand beside him. “Ryleigh’s go
t quite the cut to her head, but I didn’t trust a hospital, so I called Bayli. I made no hesitation in that. I called you, then I called Barney, then I called for the only other help I could think of.”

  There’s a moment when Jackson watches his wife tend to Ryleigh.

  “Look, I was coming to build bridges with you, but I heard a noise and found that fucker trying to pull her panties down. I want to apologize, but Ryleigh meant far more to me at that moment.”

  Jackson casts a look at me before putting his hand on my shoulder and giving me the tiniest, most positive of signs – a smile. “You made the best call, bro.”

  I smile back and look over at Ryleigh – I know I did, too. And as I watch her collapse into Jodi’s arms, I stand taller.

  If I’m going to play only one hero in this life, then it’ll be for Ryleigh Turner.

  14RYLEIGH

  I’ve been awake for what feels like hours just watching the view before me.

  Sleep evaded me long ago when memories of my past crept up and brutalized my dreams. I remember screaming awake and lying so still just waiting to hear if I had awoken Dante. Through guilt – and shame – I never tried to get more sleep even after being well aware that he hadn’t woken.

  Instead, I took the comforter from the bed, wrapped it around me, and came out into the main area of Dante’s apartment. Now, in the calmness of the night, I was able to take in the riches in which he lived. This place was spectacular with its glass walls and Brooklyn skyline. It oozed expense and showed me yet again how our lives held no comparison – except for the bitter past he didn’t even realize we shared.

  The lives we both live could never have differed more. I am now well aware that we live on a parallel. We share demons and I’m sure we crave the vengeance. But he is rich and I am poor and no matter what this life does for us, we are never meant to be. Our fates may be tethered at the beginning, but the life that came and spiraled around us thereafter couldn’t have made us more distant.

  We were both created as equals, but we’ve grown with no such comparisons.

  So, why do I feel so incredibly close to him?

  “Oh,” Dante’s voice breaks the quiet. “I didn’t realize you’d be up.”

  My eyes drag across his body, trailing across the contours of his abs, across the scars on him, taking their time to follow the perfect line on his hips until they run under the waistband of his pajama bottoms. But for once, my mindset doesn’t cause me to feel aroused; I drink in the sight of him, but the moment lapses.

  “Sorry,” I reply, feeling the impish behavior starting to take me over. “I couldn’t sleep, and after I got some water, I just came and sat here.”

  “You don’t need to apologize, Ryleigh,” he tells me as he comes over to me.

  “I do,” I murmur softly as he crosses the space between us. “If only because I know this isn’t what you wanted... ever.” I allow my eyes to drop, looking away from him while I speak. “I know you-”

  “That’s the thing,” Dante says, cutting me off. “You don’t know me.”

  I cast him an incredulous look, raising an eyebrow as I go to speak. “I know enough to know you never bargained for me.” I laugh, scoffing at the moment. “I never bargained for me.”

  Bringing my hand up, I shield my eyes, shaking my head in disarray. Yesterday marked my day of hell as something far worse. In the height of my grief, I forced myself to work, forced myself to think I was thinking clearly, but in reality, I only made myself an easy target.

  “How you feeling anyway?” he asks, issuing a quick subject change. “You had us all worried.”

  “It’s a new day,” I remark, forcing a grin to aid my evasive response. “I’m fine.”

  “That coping mechanism will be the death of you soon, little wolf,” he comments, placing his hands on his hips. “Can I get you a drink? While we’re both up, we might as well make the most of it.”

  “Water will be fine,” I tell him with a smile. “Thanks.”

  He disappears just out of view, but I hear the refrigerator door open and close before he comes back into the room holding two bottles of water. He waltzes over, handing me a bottle, before he takes the seat directly opposite me.

  “You like the view?”

  “It’s beautiful,” I comment, watching all the lights of the city. “You must love living here.”

  “I do. It’s like being on top of the world,” is the only response he cares to give. “My own little empire overlooking a corrupt city.”

  “Can’t be that corrupt,” I muse absentmindedly, feigning ignorance.

  “You don’t even know the half of it,” he states dryly, looking out of the window. “If only you knew the lengths people will go to in order to sell themselves to any devil offering up a decent bargain.” He now looks at me. “Every single person has a price. It could be anything, but everyone has one.”

  “What’s mine?”

  “I’m still trying to make sense of yours,” he admits, not looking too happy. “I thought I had it when you showed up at the fight club, but ever since, I’m struggling. I think you’re one of a few who aren’t looking out for a price tag or looking for a way to cash in.”

  “That’s because I don’t care about anything materialistic,” I tell him, offering another piece of me. “I’ve never had money, never want money.”

  He looks horrified at the thought.

  “Do you not realize how much better your life would be if you had all the riches in the world?”

  “Do you not realize how unhappy it’d make me to have all the riches in the world?” I ask him, aghast. “Money doesn’t buy you everything, Dante. It doesn’t buy you love. It doesn’t buy you a family. It doesn’t even keep you warm at night. So what use is money if it can’t give you the important things in life?”

  “It depends on if they’re the importance you live by.”

  “It won’t buy them back,” I remark, keeping my voice monotonous and my face completely deadpan. “All the money and all the power in the world won’t bring your family back, nor will it mine. It won’t even bring back that feeling of having them here with you. You can be strong and demeaning and terrifying all you like, Dante, but you are still a person who had his family viciously taken from him before he had a chance to make sense of the world.” I watch him fight with the words filling his mouth. “We may have a lot of differences, but that I know for sure we share.”

  He sighs. “You’re right. It will never bring it back, but it does allow me to have full control over what it is I do with my life, where my life goes, and how much power I can hold over people.” He speaks his statement hoarsely, and he never looks away from me. “That’s what keeps me driven.”

  “Money is the root of all evil,” I tell him, honest and hard with my conviction. “And money doesn’t grant happiness. I never had to worry about the value of money, so it doesn’t concern me now. I work and pay the bills I need to. It’s that simple.”

  “Is that your past talking?” he asks, slamming my simple lifestyle. “Because in my life, I had everything handed to me on a silver fucking platter and I turned out okay. I never knew the value of money because it was never a concern.”

  “I guess this is where our upbringings cause us grief,” I mock, my tone almost sardonic. “If you had even a brief second in my life, then you’d realize that not everything comes easy. So that’s why I don’t have a price, Dante, because I never had one and never searched for one.”

  Silence lapses between us as he ponders the thought.

  I decide to break the silence, allowing myself to feed him a small morsel of what’s going on in my head. I know he wants to pry into the details of my past, but he won’t.

  I’m more than willing to hand them over to him.

  “You know I always used to believe that somewhere, someday, someone would pick up every single piece of my life and put them back together. That never had monetary value to it. I was called a dreamer in the foster homes I occupied between
. It didn’t matter how many potential new parents I met or how many bailed out, I still used to dress myself up and be on my best behavior.” I bite my lip before finishing my thought. “I took so many knocks from so many different people that I got used to it, but I never forgot to hold onto the hope that someday I would find the one person who cared enough.”

  I see the look he’s giving me and I feel like I’ve said too much. He looks as if he doesn’t care, and why would he? I’m just the little lamb waiting for her slaughter.

  “What am I saying?” I ask him, my eyes filling with water. “I guess I don’t look for that anymore because I know it’ll never happen. I’m twenty-four and as alone as I was the day I woke up in the hospital to be told my family was dead and my grandparents didn’t want the responsibility of me.”

  “So, you’ve given up?” Dante asks, and I notice the slight rise in his voice that tells me he’s angry with me.

  “Not given up,” I defy, shaking my head. “I became a realist.”

  “Seems a lot like giving up,” he remarks gruffly.

  “Well, when all you know is that feeling of being continually abandoned and disappointed, you learn that dreams don’t come true.”

  I can see he wants to share his disappointment in that, but he withholds. I take it as my opportunity to enlighten him to some of what life has exposed to me.

  “Did you know there’s a theory about kids in care?” I ask him, rhetorically. I even relax back, telling myself to just chill out. “Once a child gets past a certain age they become less appealing to potential adoptive parents.” I look over at him, not withholding the bitterness that poisons my words. “I was told it was five, and I learned quickly it was true.” I feel a lump forming in my throat as this gets harder to admit. “I had so many meetings with people who were interested in adopting me but never did. They would read my file, pity me for the small details they were fed of what happened to me, but after meeting me, they would always walk out of those homes with another younger child.”