by Shandi Boyes
“I tried to even the score.” He slants his head so the moonlight can catch the speckles of yellow in his brown eyes. I’m a sucker for the uniqueness of his golden eyes. “But you weren’t into it like you were last time.”
If I were an honest, upstanding member of society, I’d tell him my lack of interest isn’t his fault, it’s the fact the mysterious stranger’s watchful gawk was missing, but sadly, I’m not just a horrible person. I’m beginning to wonder if there’s more wrong with me than an inclination for getting freaky in public.
“This isn’t working, Eddie. I need…” A guy who doesn’t wear flip-flops and holey jeans on a date. Someone with hair darker than yours and eyes full of trouble. I need anyone but you. “… to concentrate on my studies. If I lose my scholarship, I’ll be stuck in our horrid town along with all the other geriatrics for the rest of my life.”
Proof he doesn’t know me at all shines through when Eddie replies, “That wouldn’t be so bad, would it? Our families have lived in this region for decades—”
“Yet I haven’t seen my parents in years. This isn’t the life I want, Eddie. I want—”
“A stranger’s gawk so you can come?”
I don’t breathe for a good eight seconds. I had no clue he spotted the dark-haired man’s stare three months ago.
None whatsoever.
“I don’t need anyone to watch. I just—” I stop talking, having no plausible way to say I only want one man’s gawk without making it seem as if I’m certifiably insane. I could barely see the stranger’s face, yet here I am, basing all my hopes and dreams on him. “Can you please take me home? We’ll talk more about this tomorrow, I promise. I’m just tired and hormonal, that’s all.”
“All right, I’ll take you home.” Eddie digs his keys out of his dirty jeans to authenticate his pledge. “After you answer one question.” Although I can see in his eyes it will be a doozy, I dip my chin, agreeing to his request. “Did you orgasm because of what I was doing or because he was watching?”
My heart sinks as quickly as my mood. “Eddie—”
He cuts me off with a stern glare, reading me better than he should considering he doesn’t know me at all. “As I thought. You’re nothing but a gutter rat.”
“Excuse me?” I snap back in shock. “You’re expecting to hook up in an alleyway. If that makes anyone ratty, that’ll be you, Mr. Cheapskate.”
After rolling his eyes with an immaturity you’d expect from a man with no class, he cranks open the driver’s side door of his car, then slides inside.
My brows stitch when I attempt to mimic his movements. The passenger side door is locked, and he isn’t leaning over to undo the latch.
“Eddie…” my words trail off for the second time when he plants his foot on the gas pedal. “Are you kidding me? It’s late, and we’re miles from home!”
When he continues rocketing toward the lot’s only exit, I pick up the first thing I see and peg it at his car. My throat works hard to swallow when my swing is better than expected. The can of soup I thought was empty doesn’t just smack into the rear window of his outdated ride, it smashes right through it.
It must have been as jam-packed as my anger.
I block the blinding rays of Eddie’s headlights with my hand when he dangerously executes a U-turn. When he revs his engine like a deranged man, a normal person would run into the safety of the alleyway. My efforts three months ago reveal I’m nothing close to ordinary. I watch his approach with wide, terrified eyes, only blinking when the bumper of his car buckles my legs out from underneath me.
My body’s grotesque impact with the front window of his car causes as much damage as the can of soup did to the rear window. It cracks into a million pieces, sprinkling both mine and Eddie’s hair with shards of glass.
I think the worst is over—I can’t feel the lower half of my body, so how much worse can it get—but realize things are never easy for me.
With his narrowed eyes revealing how worthless he thinks I am, Eddie throws his gearshift into reverse before he whizzes back at a speed too quick for me to remain on his hood.
I fall to the ground with a thud, breaking more than my pride.
I also crack my head.
Chapter Six
Dimitri
Justine’s eyes float up to mine when I order our meal in my native tongue. Although displeased I didn’t ask what she’d like to eat or drink as I did our previous two dates, she’s too shocked about me requesting a bottle of the most expensive wine to announce her annoyance.
I had wondered if she understood Italian when I took a call during our drive from her dormitory to this restaurant but played it off as inquisitiveness. I know better now. If the clipped tone I used on the waiter was a test, Justine just nose-bombed the finals.
Things are tense between us tonight. I guess that can be expected. Most of the women I bedded before Audrey had a three-date rule. Although it took me longer to convince Justine to discount her brothers’ multiple warnings to stay away from me, tonight is technically our third date. It doesn’t mean anything, though. I’m not looking to hook up. I just want my rivals to think I am.
While handing our menus to the waiter, confident Justine won’t have the gall to go against me, I say in Italian, “I can order you something else if you’d prefer?”
Under normal circumstances, my pigheadedness would occur in private. Regretfully for Justine, I need it to be as apparent as possible. A bursting-at-the-seams restaurant in her hometown would have been ideal, but since I’m testing both Maddox’s loyalty and those who share my blood, I altered our plans last minute. My family’s restaurant will still have the effect I’m aiming for, just minus the glaring heat of Justine’s brothers from across the room.
Usually, the fervor wouldn’t bother me, however the past three months have been some of the longest in my life. The strain is prominent on both my face and my demeanor.
After Maddox left my warehouse minus a bullet wound, I was hit by one shitstorm after another. The gap in my dating schedule with Justine saw Fien’s ransom requests returned to their original amounts. My father’s wish to keep Miceli out of his realm resulted in four Arabian tycoons canceling their ‘work’ trips to my side of the globe this quarter, and Tobias’s unusual quiet had nothing to do with him being forced to intervene on my ‘conversation’ with Maddox. It was because he was killed during a rogue operation two and a half months ago. The same operation he assured me would see Fien freed from captivity.
Tobias’s death was the proof I’ve been seeking the past eleven months. Rimi isn’t working alone. He doesn’t have the means nor the ability to pull off the sting he did almost three months ago. He’s getting help, and if the inkling in my gut is anything to go by, it isn’t just from our side of the law.
The only reprieve I was given the past three months was news that despite her hankering for public hookups, the teen in the alleyway skipped prosecution. It probably helped that Smith erased the surveillance footage from the security company’s servers faster than Erkinsvale detectives drool their way through a box of glazed donuts.
Although Smith works at a lightning-fast pace, the quality of his work is never diminished. The fact he works fast and clean is the main reason he’s on my team. Trust is a very close second.
My intuition about Justine understanding Italian is proven spot on when she mutters, “Sono contento di quello che hai ordinato.”
“Ah, so you do speak Italian?”
The genuine surprise in my tone awards me my first smile of the night. “Amongst other languages,” Justine replies as her smile picks up.
Her eyes shine as brightly as the diamond drop necklace I gifted her at the commencement of our date when I scoot to her half of our booth so I can lay her napkin across her lap. I’m bringing out all the charm tonight, hopeful the glitz will hide my wolfish insides well enough, she’ll be convinced her brothers’ worries the past three months were nothing more than them being overprotective ogres like al
l good siblings should be.
I can’t say I don’t understand their approach. I had a similar neurosis with my siblings before all but one of them perished. Roberto has been missing for a little over four years. Ophelia was killed in a traffic accident years ago, and CJ would rather live as a recluse than endure another two decades under our father’s command. He says he’s happy in his log cabin miles from the closest town.
Until Fien is returned, I’ll never discover if he’s telling the truth. My daughter is the only reason I’ve remained in this godforsaken town. Just like she was the very reason I strived so hard to leave it a year ago.
Part of me wonders if that was why Audrey was taken. Did rumbles of my wish to cut ties with my family reach my enemies’ ears that they were left with no choice but to respond before they lost the chance? Or did the rumors only reach my father’s ear, and he did everything in his power to ensure his legacy lived on?
I don’t want to believe the latter is true, but until I’m proven otherwise, I’m looking at everyone with the same tainted set of eyes—blood included. It wouldn’t be the first time my father has gone against his children. I doubt it’ll be the last.
My thoughts shift back to friendly territory when Justine runs her hand down my arm. “Are you okay?” She keeps her tone low, aware there are more than just her eyes on me. My family’s reputation isn’t what it once was, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t notable.
Fear is often more respected than gallantry.
“I’m fine.” Needing to ease the tension strain creasing her forehead, I add, “I was just wondering whether we should eat dessert here or order it to go.”
Although Justine shrugs like a nightcap isn’t on the agenda right now, I know that’s far from the truth. Her eyes aren’t twinkling from the waiter setting down our scrumptious-looking hors d’oeuvres. Interest is responsible for some of their gleam.
While laughing at something wittingly intelligent I said, Justine dabs at her saucy lips with her napkin. Petretti’s isn’t as elaborate as the first two restaurants we dined at, but the quality of its meals and service is undeniable. If Justine wasn’t seated across from me, I’d be convinced I was in Cefalù, a coastal city in northern Sicily. It’s the only place I run to when I’ve had enough of life. I’ve not been back there since Audrey was taken.
Some days it seems as if I’ll never get back there.
My moping isn’t saved by Justine this time around. The waiter who’s working super hard for an impressive tip has returned to our table to offer us the dessert menu. Although my earlier comment about us taking dessert home to eat was in jest, the slightest smell of Justine’s heated skin has me reconsidering my objectives.
In my industry, the smell of a woman in need is sampled as regularly as a fresh brew of coffee. It’s never had this edge before, though. Justine has a pure, unaltered smell, and although she isn’t fawning for my attention, her interests are undeniable.
I slant my head to hide my devious smirk before asking, “Have you decided what you’d like?”
If she replies with one of the many options on the menu she’s perusing, I’ll continue portraying the gentleman I’ve been feigning the past three months. However, if her reply is anything close to the vulgar ones running through my head, all bets are off. Women have practically thrown themselves at me the past year. I’ve yet to accept a single offer. I want any exchanges to be on my terms, when I’m ready, and not because my father is convinced a woman’s cunt wrapped around your cock is the answer for everything.
My mother’s body wasn’t even cold before he moved on. I’m not solely talking about sex, either. He married his favorite whore a month after my mother’s death. Wife number three lasted exactly thirty-eight days. She no longer occupies my father’s bed, but the rose garden at the front of my family’s compound is well-fertilized.
I peer at Justine beneath lowered lashes when she mumbles, “Umm… I’m not sure what I want.” I won’t lie, when she returns my glance, my cock twitches. It isn’t the same full-blown throbbing erection I got while watching the blonde get fingered in the alleyway three months ago, but it most certainly wouldn’t have any issues getting the job done. Justine is beautiful, and although I can’t replace Audrey, I can forget her for a night or lose myself in someone with almost identical features.
After handing my dessert menu to the waiter, I request him to place our meals on my tab. He almost shits himself when I suggest he add a hundred-dollar tip to the tally. His excitement is as high as Justine’s when I scoot out of the booth before offering to help her out.
She accepts it, albeit hesitantly.
Little Red Riding Hood knows she’s being stalked by the Big Bad Wolf.
While guiding Justine to the car I requested the valet keep close by, I silence my cousin, Demi’s, third call of the night. She’s most likely calling to gripe about the fight she had with Maddox earlier tonight—a fight I instigated with the hope it would keep Maddox off Justine’s tail long enough for me to slip her away for a secret rendezvous.
Did it work?
Justine is being guided to my car, isn’t she?
Once I’ve assisted Justine into my low-riding car, I jog around to the driver’s side door a second valet is holding open for me. I gunned down a man in cold blood only a week ago, yet my heart rages more when I slip behind the steering wheel than it did back then.
Monogamy has never been my strong point, but it feels different this time around. My woman isn’t holed up at home waiting for me in a toasty chiropractor-approved bed. She’s most likely buried in an unmarked grave, her stomach still open and barren.
Since anger is surging out of me in hidden waves, I shut my door with more force than needed. Justine was supposed to be a ruse, a way to get my daughter back. My cock shouldn’t be leading our exchange. Yes, it’s been over a year since I’ve had a woman quiver beneath me, but that’s part of my penance, isn’t it?
I took my eyes off my wife to admire another woman, fascinated at how she could exude such beauty while thick black tears rolled down her face. She was more Gothically dressed that I would have liked, and far too young, but I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She was too ravishing to deserve a half-scrutinized glance.
For over a year, I’ve failed to understand how Rimi got the better of me. Only now am I realizing he didn’t blindside me. It was the unknown redhead on the corner of 29th and James street. She was so tiny, my body would have blanketed hers in an instant. The thought on how she’d respond to my big, brooding frame had me so mesmerized, I didn’t realize Audrey had torn away from me until it was too late. My enemies had captured her.
She was carrying my daughter, my flesh and blood, yet, my wandering eye sees my daughter paying the price for my stupidity. I’d turn the knife on myself if it wouldn’t make me as selfish as my father. For years, I craved his approval. I thought becoming his shadow would return our family’s name to the stature it deserves.
Alas, he only taught me one thing. Famiglia prima di tutto. Fien is my family, she’s all I have, so she comes before anyone—even me.
My focus returns to the road in just enough time to spot an overloaded truck heading my way. The driver flashes his lights, warning me the weight he’s hauling is too heavy for him to stop our collision, leaving the task up to me.
I won’t lie, my heart races more now with adrenaline than unease. The thrill zapping down my spine is maddening and addictive at the same time. I’m pissed I’ve gotten myself into a situation that could leave Fien to defend for herself, but I haven’t had a surge of energy like this in months. It makes me feel alive like I’ll can overtake the arrogant prick whose speedo has probably never been over thirty and make it back into my lane with a few seconds to spare.
“Dimitri…” Justine forces out through the panic clutching her throat when I flatten my foot on the gas pedal instead of the brake.
My car is a prototype designed to respond on demand, and I’m determined to see if its guarantees st
ack up. The needle on the speedo goes from thirty to seventy in one blurring second. The horsepower behind its motor glues me to my seat while the vibrations of the steering wheel mimic the spasms a woman’s cunt does when I tease her clit with my tongue.
When we whizz past a brand-spanking-new Buick, the windows of my Hennessey Venom F5 rattle. My brutal speed isn’t solely responsible for their shudders. Most of their tremors are compliments to the truck whipping past us a nanosecond after I slot into the minute space between the Buick and a chunky-tired Chevrolet.
Like a recently admitted mental patient, I commence laughing. I’m not talking a little, hey-that-was-fun laugh, I’m talking full-blown, cackling like a hyena who ate an entire dish of hash brownies. I had no idea how dead I felt on the inside until now. The adrenaline hit will wear off as quickly as it arrived, but the reminder that I’m alive will keep the blood in my veins hot for a few weeks to come.
Once my laughter dies down, I stray my eyes to Justine, shocked by the silence on her side of the cab. During our many hourly ‘chats’ the past three months, I couldn’t shut her up, so her quiet is just unusual. It’s a little unnerving.
Justine’s back is one with her seat like mine and her eyes are wide. I can’t tell if she’s excited or scared. It could be a combination of both. She isn’t asking me to pull over like Audrey did anytime my foot got friendly with the gas pedal, but is that because fear is clutching her throat too fiercely for her to talk? Or does she love the adrenaline hit as much as me?
If I were half the man I used to be, I’d ask her. Since I’m not, I slackened my pressure on the gas pedal before returning my eyes to the road.
