Rising (Vincent and Eve Book 1)

by Jessica Ruben

  I listen to him intently, my stomach feeling raw. I grip the phone harder, my knuckles turning white. “I’ll think of someone to call for tonight.”

  “I’m gonna call Stix now. He’ll be there soon. Call me and we’ll make sure you got somewhere to go.” He hangs up the phone and my head spins.

  Who the hell can I call? Other than Janelle’s friends, I have none of my own. I’m afraid if I tell anyone from the Blue Houses, it’ll get around what happened to me. And gossip always makes things worse. I bet that’s what Carlos wants. He wants to scare the shit out of me and everyone else. He wants to hear that I freaked-the-fuck-out. I know that piece of shit; he gets off on terrorizing people. Even if I could call a friend from the building, I wouldn’t put them in that kind of danger. And, if people knew Carlos was after me, they wouldn’t want to come anywhere near me! Even Janelle could be in danger right now. What if he uses her to get to me?

  My mind keeps moving through all kinds of scenarios when I hear three consecutive knocks at my door. I jump up and nervously walk to my door.

  “Who is it?” I say with a shaking voice.

  What if Carlos knocked three times? Three times is a perfectly normal number of knocks. I stand on my tippy-toes and stare through the peephole in the front door. It’s the driver, Stix. I was so concerned with getting home earlier I didn’t take in all of his features. In this moment, I realize how stupid that was. Through the peephole, I give him a once-over, making sure he isn’t some random thug pretending to be Stix.

  He speaks. “Eve? It’s me, Stix. Angelo sent me,” he says through the door in a deep voice. “Why don’t you just wait inside and let me take care a’ this. I’ll remove the, uh, animal, and clean the floor for you. Got all my cleaning supplies with me; it was already in the back of my car. Just relax, a’ight? Angelo told me you’re like a daughter to him, you don’t gotta be scared of me. I’ll be quick.”

  I let out a small squeak in reply before turning around, leaning my back against the door, and sliding to the floor so I’m sitting against it. I press my head back against the door, listening to him work. The sound of him cleaning is soothing.

  I hear him grumbling about something and he barks out, “You there?” I knock against the door, letting him know that I’m near.

  “The cat is gone now and I’m cleaning the mat with something that’s pretty damn strong. Got any Lysol?”

  “Uh huh,” I reply.

  Seconds seem to pass. Minutes maybe. “I’m waitin’.”

  I finally stand up and walk to my cleaning closet, grabbing the spray. Holding the can reminds me I have a gun. I run into my room and pull it out of my purse. I instantly feel better. I want to open the door, but my stomach suddenly drops. I can’t open the door. Terror starts to build again. I feel wetness pouring out of my eyes. I can’t do this.

  “I can’t open the door,” I say, my voice quivering.

  “Okay. No worries. I got a daughter myself, okay? I said it, but I’ll tell you again. I’m cleanin’ shit up. No worries.” I hear a scrubbing sound again and try to focus on it.

  “You still there?” he asks again.

  “Yeah,” I reply against the door.

  “Call a friend. This shit is all clean now.”

  And with those parting words, he leaves. I look through the peephole to make sure no one is near and let out a breath and text Angelo.

  ME: Stix came and left. It’s done.

  If I can just find someone to be with me for a few hours, maybe Janelle will finally answer the phone and I can be with her tonight. Maybe I can even crash with her on Leo’s couch. I try calling her another few times, but still, no answer. My heart pounds. What if she’s gone?

  I pick up the phone with my heart in my chest, calling her salon. They tell me that she’s in the middle of doing someone’s highlights and she won’t be done until close to ten-thirty. Relief hits me so hard that I try not to bawl.

  Janelle may be safe for now, but I still need to get the hell out of here in the meantime. I scroll through my contacts until I find Vincent’s name and open up a message. I need to do this quickly before I think too hard about it and chicken out. The cursor blinks and I have no idea what I should type. There’s no way in hell I’m going to tell him what happened to me. If he knew, he’d just think of me as some pathetic loser living in a crack den. I want him to see me as more than that. At the same time, I can’t stay here alone right now. My lock is bullshit and can probably be cracked open within seconds. Vincent is strong and can protect me…and just the thought of him, of being with him, makes me feel secure. But, I haven’t spoken to him in over a month! What if he doesn’t want to hear from me? I look up again at the stack of college stuff spread out on my bed, and it gives me the strength I need. I’m doing this. Deep in my gut, I know that being with him right now is the right move. I need to at least try.

  CHAPTER 14

  My fingers move at lightning speed as I type Vincent a text; I need to move quickly before I change my mind.

  ME: Hey. What’s up? It’s Eve

  What if he doesn’t reply? Shit. Maybe I made a mistake?

  VINCENT: Eve. Hey.

  Oh my God! He replied. My hands shake as I type out the next message

  ME: Want to hang out tonight?

  VINCENT: Yeah, was just about to workout. Wanna join?

  ME: Sure

  VINCENT: I’ll be there in 30

  ME: OK

  I lock myself in the bathroom and sit against the white tile wall, clutching my gun with one hand and my cell phone with the other. Thirty minutes, that’s all I need to wait. Vincent will come, and I’ll be okay. I know that I’ll be safe with him. I have to be.

  I shut my eyes, trying to focus my attention on the man I’m about to see. Vincent’s huge callused hands. Vincent’s strong body. Vincent’s deep and dark eyes. Vincent’s brilliant mind.

  I finally stand myself up and head to the sink, washing my face methodically. I need to calm myself down if I’m going to see him. Stepping out of the bathroom, I move to my bedroom and change out of my jeans and into some loose sweats; I barely notice what I’m putting on other than the fact that it’s comfortable.

  I glance at the clock. It’s been twenty-five minutes since we texted. Is he almost here? I risk a peek out my bedroom window when I see some thugs from the Snakes hanging out on the steps by the front door, their red and black bandanas clear under the lamplights by the stoop.

  “Shit!” I exclaim. The last thing I need is for Vincent to have a run-in with Carlos’ crew on his way to me.

  Another dose of dread runs through my veins as I watch Vincent’s black Range Rover park in front of the building. He walks out of his car, his steps sure and gait long. I can only imagine the don’t-fuck-with-me face he’s probably sporting. I briefly wonder again who this man is, completely unafraid? Vincent steps up to enter the building when the Snakes stand to greet him. I swallow back the bile rising in my throat. Should I run downstairs and warn him? Yell out the window?

  I want to open my mouth to scream, “No,” but all that will come out is a low and painful rasp.

  Vincent takes the hat off his head. The Cartel stands up. A moment later, I watch as they run off the stoop. “What?”

  He walks up the two small steps, looking left and right, entering the building confidently. I walk to the kitchen, grab a cup and turn on the faucet. I fill it to the top and drink it all down. I’m under so much stress right now that I can barely think straight. I probably saw wrong. I must have. Maybe they got a phone call and ran off, having nothing to do with Vincent.

  I hear a knock at my door. What if it it’s Carlos? My feet are frozen to the floor. I hear another pounding noise, like brick against wood. I force myself to step to the door, my body quaking as I stand on my tiptoes to look through the peephole. A whoosh of relief covers me when I see that it is, in fact, Vincent.

  “Just a second,” I manage to stutter out.

  I look inside my bag, making su
re my gun is still where I left it last. Breathing deeply, I remind myself to act upbeat. Nothing happened. Everything is just fine.

  I swing the door open and step out before he can get a look inside my apartment. But as my feet touch the Welcome mat, I jump off as if I’ve been burned while my stomach sinks with echoes of memory.

  He watches my skittish behavior with concern. “Eve?” His brows are furrowed as he bends down, getting a closer look at my face, seemingly trying to see what’s got me acting so strangely. My eyes must look red-rimmed and inflamed considering how much crying I recently did.

  “Hey Vincent!” My voice is so phony I barely believe it myself. “Ready for the gym? Wild night you’ve got planned. Hope you don’t mind me crashing.” I’m talking too quickly and let out an awkward laugh.

  He holds my hand possessively, eyes roaming up and down the decrepit hallway.

  “You’ve been crying.” It’s a statement, not a question.

  I blink, but he doesn’t say more.

  As we get off the elevator, I start second guessing all of my choices. Maybe I shouldn’t have left my apartment? What if Carlos is downstairs? Before Vincent notices my stress, he opens the front door. I let out a whimper of relief; the stoop is completely empty.

  He opens his car door and helps me step inside before slamming it shut. Jogging around to the driver’s seat, he gets inside, buckles up, and starts the engine.

  I’m still reeling as his thumb begins to graze across my knuckles. His touch is so soothing. Ninety-nine percent of myself wants to curl into a ball in his arms and just tell him everything. But that tiny little one percent has some pride. I simply refuse to look any more pathetic to him than I already do.

  I stare at his strong profile, wondering how many women he’s been with. He’s probably slept with more girls than I can count on both of my hands a few times over. And here I am, a naïve virgin from the hood.

  He stops the car at a red light and turns to me. “Eve? I can see the stress in your face.” I immediately clam up with his observation. The light turns green and I watch as his eyes dart between me and the road, waiting for me to reply.

  “It’s nothing. Just a stupid fight with my sister,” I lie, my eyes glancing out my window.

  “You’re lying,” he tells me simply.

  He parks in a small outdoor parking lot and steps out of the car, and I let myself out before he can walk around to open my door. We cross the quiet street to a large warehouse. Vincent rings up to Floor Two, the buzzer sounds and the lock opens. He holds the door for me as I walk inside. The staircase is narrow, with just enough room for us to walk in single file. Vincent starts up first, and I quietly trail behind him.

  We get up to Joe’s Gym—which is a lot larger than it seems from outside—a standard boxing ring is in the center of the room, surrounded by clusters of red and blue mats, jump ropes, boxing gloves, and other gym equipment. Vincent walks us to the far corner and tells me to hang out while he uses the locker room. I don’t need to change, but I pull off my sweatshirt and use it to cover my purse, leaving it all in the corner. I drop myself on a large blue mat and look down at my outfit.

  “Oh shit,” I say out loud, grimacing. I’m in a pair of ratty old gray sweatpants and a T-shirt Leo gave to Janelle last year. It’s long and baggy, hanging down to my knees. At least it’s black.

  Vincent steps out of the locker room and jogs over to a muscular guy in the middle of the ring. They talk and keep looking over at me while I self-consciously bring my knees to my chest. Is he going to tell me to go home? I can’t go home yet. I turn around and dig into my purse, checking to see if Janelle called me. She still hasn’t. I just need Vincent to stay with me until Janelle is off from work.

  “Ten-thirty,” I repeat to myself.

  He jogs back to me. “All right. I’m not gonna fight tonight. Instead, I’m gonna teach you some shit.”

  “Um, me?” I squeak, looking up at him nervously.

  He chuckles, throwing a heavy arm around my small shoulders. “Yeah, you. I’ll teach you some kicks and punches. How to get out of some holds. Maybe even a little grappling.”

  I step back to protest, but he immediately crosses his arms in front of his chest in a stance that’s telling me he isn’t taking no for an answer. I sigh.

  “Whenever shit gets tough in life, it’s good to exert some physical energy. I’m not going to push you into talking, but we both know that something went down tonight. You’d be surprised, but working out has a way of clearing shit up mentally.” I want to argue, but he shuffles me forward to the center of the mat before I can get a word in.

  He turns me to face him. “Don’t ever lie to me, Eve. I’ll always know it. Understand?” I swallow the saliva in my mouth. I’m staring at the Bull right now, who clearly does what he wants when he wants.

  I’ve still got at least two more hours to waste before Janelle can call me. If I want to stay with him right now, I have no choice but to go along with his plan.

  I shake out my shoulders, trying to focus. “All right. Let’s do this,” I tell him. He smiles, trying not to laugh at my attempt to warm up.

  “Let’s start on the bag.” We walk to a large red punching bag hanging from the ceiling. He demonstrates basic kicks and punches. I do my best to mimic his stance and the way he turns his arms with each punch and kick. Shifting my body this way and that, he’s seemingly obsessed with proper form. When I’ve got the hang of the basics, Vincent shouts out my first combination.

  Again and again, I front kick, jab left, and jab right. “There we go, Eve. Very good.” He nods. “Let’s do that another seven times.” He counts off, pacing around me as sweat beads on my forehead.

  “Stop,” he commands, his voice deep. In some strange way, it feels good to just trust him and take orders. I’m not in any state of mind to make choices right now, even small ones. He may be dominating, but he isn’t cruel.

  Vincent steps back to the bag, holding it steady with both hands. “I want to see round-house left, round-house right, jab, jab, punch, and elbow.” He demonstrates and I stare with heavy breaths and rapt attention. The strength and power of his body is obvious in every move he makes; he’s so thick and muscular, but at the same time, has so much speed and agility. It’s clear why he’s such a monster in the ring. I copy his moves again and again, hitting the bag with all of my might, while he circles me, yelling, “Harder, Eve. Three More! Punch harder!” All I can hear are his shouts, and it’s keeping my mind focused on nothing other than the task at hand.

  He tells me to stop, and I drop my hands to my knees. My entire body is no longer simply damp, but wet with perspiration. Ignoring my exhaustion, he shows me how to swing my arms laterally from wide angles, so that a punch to the temple can be easily followed with an elbow straight to the chin. I stand tall and lift the bottom of my shirt, pressing it against my sweaty forehead. Vincent’s eyes roam my body and stop at my face. My breath catches as his pupils dilate. I can’t help but stare back, my breathing still labored. His T-shirt is tight against his chest while dark jersey shorts hang low on his narrow hips. He still has his hat on, and it showcases his straight Roman nose and chiseled jaw. He looks intimidating and sexy as hell.

  He steps forward, pressing his lips together in a thin line. “I want to show you how to get out of a hold.” His voice comes out hoarse. “Let’s assume that someone is coming at you from behind and holds your arms against the side of your body.” He moves behind me, acting out his words. I feel him harden. I clench my fists, glad that he can’t seem my face as I swallow hard.

  “You’re going to want to drop your weight down as if you’re doing a squat. Especially if he’s much bigger than you. There’s more to the move, but let’s begin with that.” He slowly releases me.

  Vincent steps behind me again and again, restraining me. I do as he asks and drop down in a squat. “Keep your feet wider than hip width,” he commands. My thighs burn, but I refuse to give up.

  I’m about to s
quat down again, but this time, he doesn’t allow me to drop. Instead, he holds me firmly in place. While I’m not in any pain, it’s clear he isn’t about to let me move without his consent. The rational side of my mind lets me know that he’s probably about to show me the rest of the move. But another part of my mind begins to panic.

  I struggle against him, but his huge, masculine body is unshakeable. I can feel his dick against my back, and my entire body starts to buzz, terror filling every crevice of my body.

  I hear my name being called, but it’s nothing but a distant sound on a stranger’s lips. I feel someone turning me around, but I can’t look up. I hear a voice, but it’s muffled as the whooshing sound in my ears increases in volume.

  I see Vincent gripping my shoulders and staring into my face. But my vision feels fuzzy as the panic pulls me under. Am I drowning?

  I think I hear my name, but it’s far away. Little by little, it gets louder and louder until finally, it’s clear.

  “Eve,” Vincent calls. “It’s me. Breathe, baby.” His voice full of worry and anguish as his hands move up and down my back. “Calm down. It’s just me. I’m here.” He gently places me in a chair and drops to his knees in front of me. Somehow the tension in my body settles, turning into numbness.

  “Vincent?” I croak. He wipes the tears off my face with his thumbs. “It’s over now, okay?” He holds me tightly and I can feel exhaustion settling into my bones.

  “Over? No,” I say, staring up at the clock. Janelle isn’t done with work yet. I can’t go home. “It’s not done. I’m not ready to give up. I want more, Vincent—”

  “Baby, we’ve been going at it for over an hour. This isn’t giving up—”

  “I want to do more! I can handle it,” I beg. He shakes his head, not understanding what’s happening. “Don’t take me home, Vincent. Please. I’m not ready to go home,” I sob, pleading with him.

  He seems to understand that going home is not an option. “Let’s go back to my apartment. You aren’t going back there,” he tells me firmly. My breath hitches and I nod my head in utter relief.