“So fucking luscious,” he growls as he squeezes again. He slides his tongue over my neck. I can’t stop watching.
“Wrap your arms around my head,” he says as he continues to knead my backside. I obey, and the motion causes my robe to spread further, leaving nothing he’s doing to the imagination.
The fingers in front press a little harder and move a little faster. The ones behind slip further south, between my legs, nudging them apart. I suck in a breath as a finger enters my dark, slick entrance. One at first, then two.
“Do you need to come, baby?” Nico asks, his low voice vibrating lightly over my skin.
I lean back into him as both hands work my body from the front and back, the fingers inside me thrust lightly in time with the ones at my clit.
“Fuck!” I hiss as he slips a third inside. He curves them slightly, pressing them against the sensitive bundle of nerves there, the ones on the other side of my clit. That same spot inside my body is getting this delicious treatment from both sides.
“Come on, baby,” Nico says. “Let it go.”
His teeth close down on my ear, and the slight tinge of pain is my undoing.
“Oh, fuck!” I cry out as the orgasm shoots through me. The fingers inside thrust harder, deeper, causing pleasure to ricochet through my limbs with a force that makes me shake.
“I got you,” Nico murmurs through his teeth. “Take it, baby. I got you.”
And he does. I shake in his arms for what seems like minutes until slowly, slowly, I fall from the high where only he can take me. I collapse backward against his strong form, feeling a different kind of wooziness––one where my body feels alive and contented all at once.
“What about you?” I murmur, still slouched into his shoulder. He’s still long and hard, pressed against my backside. I nuzzle backward, noting with a little satisfaction the shudder that passes over his face at the motion.
“Later,” he replies with a sharkish grin at me through the mirror. “I’ll bring clothes tomorrow. That reminds me: what are you doing tomorrow? What do you think about going to Mass?”
I turn around and grin. “Are you going to save me with Jesus?” I ask, poking him in the stomach. I don’t bother to close my robe, enjoying the way his gaze plays over me.
Nico tips his head back and laughs. “What the fuck kind of hypocrite would I be to do that?” But then he sobers. “No, I’m going to save you with family. Mine’s a little crazy, but they love you. Come with us.”
I don’t have to think twice. I used to hate going to church as a kid, and even now, I only ever go out of guilt or maybe nostalgia. But the idea of going to Mass with Nico’s family, a roomful of people who love, pester, annoy, and care for each other, seems really nice.
“I’ll be there,” I say just before he delivers another kiss. “Just tell me where and when.”
~
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Layla
When turns out to be five thirty in the afternoon, and the where turns out to be a familiar church on Forty-Ninth Street. I find myself standing, looking up at the red brick exterior, my palms sweating while the priest stands at the door, greeting all of the parishioners in Spanish.
“Hey, baby.”
I turn around to find Nico approaching with Gabe and Carmen trailing behind. He gives me a lingering kiss on the cheek, and it’s only then that I take in his blue button-down shirt and black pants. His dense, curly hair has been tamed a bit, and the blue of his shirt makes his skin glow. He looks way too delicious for church.
“Hi,” I greet him with a tame kiss, then accept kisses on the cheek from both Carmen and Gabe. “Where are Maggie and Selena?”
“The gatitas went to the zoo for the day,” Gabe says. “Allie was driving everyone crazy this morning, so no church. Thank God––er, I mean, thank goodness.”
“Why do you call your sisters little cats?” I ask.
Next to us, Carmen rolls her eyes and shakes her head.
Nico gives me a lopsided smile. “Gata is a common phrase for girls. We called them that when they were little because Selena and Maggie used to fight like cats. Now Allie sometimes acts like one too.”
“Ah,” I say with understanding.
Their apartment is a packed place at the moment––one small bedroom for Gabe, one for Maggie and her daughter, while Nico sleeps on the couch. I wouldn’t be surprised if a five-year-old was acting out here and there.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Nico says as he takes my hand. “You look way too beautiful for church, but I’ll just have to deal with that.”
I look down at my clothing, a green sweater dress that fits the slight nip marking the beginning of fall. It makes my eyes pop and sets off the olive tones in my pale skin.
“Thanks,” I murmur. “But you’re one to talk. You’d corrupt a priest any day.”
Nico gives me a lopsided smile that brings out the dimple in his left cheek. But just before I can tell him to stop doing that lest I combust completely, Carmen calls for us to greet the priest and file inside.
“What did you do this morning?” I ask as I follow them into one of the pews near the front.
Nico shrugs. “Gabe and I had to patch a hole––a mouse got in last weekend and chewed up half the food in the kitchen. And then we had an appointment with the social worker.”
He says the last sentence in a hushed voice and glances around while we sit, and I know he would prefer not to talk about that particular meeting right here. Places like this would actually be a perfect place for an immigrations officer to eavesdrop.
“Did it…did it go well?” I ask, careful not to give anything away.
Nico looks around again sharply, but his eyes soften when they land on me. “It is what it is. The last license was rejected, you know. But Ileana says we can apply for an informational one, since Gabe’s in school. Maybe he can apply to travel as a student on a research project. We’ll see.”
I understand by his clipped tone that there isn’t anymore he wants to say about it, so I drop it. But I can’t help but feel like there has to be something more that I could do.
I look around the church, and before I can stop it, memories of the last time I was here come floating back just as the altar boys walk down the aisle carrying the incense. Last Christmas, for another Spanish-language Mass with…
Suddenly, that familiar freeze is back, along with a deep fear that hits me in the belly.
“I see him here sometimes,” Gabe says on my other side in a low voice, clearly checking to make sure his brother doesn’t hear him.
I jerk my head around. “What?”
Nico immediately turns from a conversation with his mom. “What’s going on?”
Gabe looks uneasy. “I, um, was just telling NYU that I’ve seen her, ah…you know. Evita. Here sometimes.” He shrugs. “Maybe once or twice.”
Nico’s eyes practically bug out of his head. “And you didn’t think to fuc––you didn’t think to tell me?”
Gabe frowns. “So you could get yourself into trouble while you’re in the academy? Yeah, no. I thought that would be a bad idea.”
Nico practically growls, earning a light slap on his shoulder from his mother, urging him to calm down before the Mass begins.
“See, that’s what I’m talking about,” Gabe whispers harshly. “Your temper gets you in trouble. He has a court date, doesn’t he?” He looks at me for confirmation.
I nod. “Next week,” I murmur. Is it really that close?
Gabe looks back at his brother. “Nobody needs you playing superhero anymore, mano. That’s how you got yourself into trouble in the first place.”
I wince, and I don’t have to look next to me to know that Nico’s hurt. Gabe’s talking about the stint at Tryon after Nico helped rob a bodega to feed his brother and sisters. It’s correct, yes. But it’s also incredibly unfair.
But the church quiets before I can say it, so instead, I edge closer to Nico.
“Hey,” I say.
“You’re my hero,” I whisper. “And I’ll never be more grateful than I was when you busted through that door and saved me.”
Nico stares at me for a moment with an expression that’s a cross between pained and relieved. Then briskly, he stamps a hard, close-mouthed kiss on my lips, completely ignoring Carmen’s smack on his shoulder as he does it.
“I love you,” he whispers fiercely, and squeezes my hand so hard I wonder if he’ll ever let it go.
The priest begins the service, and we both straighten up. But I know that neither of us are really listening to what he’s saying. Even if I could understand the entire Mass in Spanish, like Nico can, I would be just as busy scanning the crowd. Watching for the face I pray I’ll never see again.
~
By the end of the Mass, I couldn’t have told you a single thing the priest said. Seriously, you try focusing on Holy Scripture when you’ve got a hundred and eighty pounds of muscled man next to you who smells like heaven and licks his lips every time he looks at you. Church is doing nothing to temper all the illicit thoughts going through my head as I file down the aisle with a prime view of Nico’s ass in those pants.
“Gracias, Padre. Próxima semana.”
The sound of the voice stops me in the middle of the center aisle. Gabe and Carmen have already left the church, but Nico, still holding my hand, looks up when I jerk to a violent stop.
“What’s…”
He doesn’t even finish his sentence when he sees my face. I’m still staring ahead––staring at the tall, pale man, chatting comfortably with the priest. Giancarlo adjusts his glasses and runs a big hand through his full head of wavy black hair. And then, like he knows he’s being watched, straightens and turns his head. His eyes land on me, and his mouth drops slightly.
“Layla?” he asks.
The priest steps out of the church to speak to other parishioners who are leaving. Giancarlo blocks the exit, whether on purpose or not.
“You ruined me,” he says, just loud enough that I can hear him across the three or so pews.
Nico takes a step forward, shielding me with his body. Still frozen, I’m happy to let him.
“Move on, man,” he says. “Let’s not do this here.”
“This is my last week here,” Giancarlo continues, staring a hole through me over Nico’s big shoulder. “My lawyers, they say I will go to jail or to Argentina.” He gulps, and for a second, I can see genuine fear in the eyes I never remember as anything but stern and threatening. “All because of you.”
He holds me captive with his glare for what seems like several minutes. Move, Layla. Don’t give him the satisfaction of watching you crumble.
By some miracle, I manage to turn to Nico. “Let’s go,” I murmur, tugging on his hand. “Please.”
Pausing for a second like he’s genuinely trying to decide whether committing murder in the middle of a church is really a mortal sin, Nico finally nods. With eyes as dark as night, Nico leads me down the aisle, making big movements that force Giancarlo down one of the pews. Nico’s doing his best not to lose it. Every muscle in his neck looks like it’s about to snap, and his teeth grind together as we walk.
But just as we reach the door, my other hand is snatched, and when I look up, Giancarlo is glaring at me with eyes like death.
“Say something!” he hisses. “You cannot just walk away. You did this to me. God will not forgive you for it!”
“W-what are you talking about?” I finally sputter. “You did this to yourself. N-no one made you do the things you did to me.”
“Let her go,” Nico orders as the vein in his temple throbs visibly.
“You’ll never get away from me,” Giancarlo replies in a low, gruesome voice. “You haven’t yet, have you?”
I see his face again, but in the back of my mind. All the times it flashed before me at school. On the street. Around every dark corner.
Was it ever him for real? I honestly don’t know. It doesn’t really matter.
Before I can ask, Giancarlo pulls on my hand, like he wants to yank me out of the church. My heart is beating out of my chest, but before I can even think about fighting, Nico drops his arm down and breaks Giancarlo’s grip like he’s snapping a pencil in half.
“Just try it,” Nico growls, so low that only the three of us can hear him. “You do, and ain’t no church gonna protect you, motherfucker. You think God’s above vengeance? I guaran-fuckin-tee he’d be on my side of this fight.”
“Don’t,” I murmur as I start to shake. “D-don’t. Nico, just leave it.”
“Layla.” Nico’s gaze flashes down at me, and I grip his shoulder, desperate for the warmth I need to calm my thrashing heart. When we both look up, Giancarlo is gone, having fled the church without a sound. A muscle in the side of Nico’s neck still ticks. He looks like a feral cat dying to set out on the chase. But I squeeze his hand again, willing him to calm down even though my heart is beating wildly.
Then he looks back down at me. “How many times have you seen him?”
I take a step back, ignoring the people leaving the church who are watching us with interest.
“I––none.”
“Goddammit, Layla,” Nico hisses, earning a shocked look from one of the parishioners, an old lady who mutters “Vergüenza!” under her breath before automatically crossing herself. Nico grabs my arm and tows me toward one of the small apses, where an array of candles burns. “How many times?”
I bite my lip. “I…I don’t think it was him. He was surprised to see me too.”
Nico frowns, staring at the open door again, like he thinks Giancarlo might reappear. “Then what the fuck did he mean, you haven’t gotten away from him yet?”
I shudder. “I…honestly, I don’t know. Maybe he just knows that he’s inside my head. I was never sure it was him. Honestly, I’ve just been imagining him.”
“What do you mean, imagining him?” Nico’s voice cuts, still sharp.
“I–I see him sometimes,” I admit. “And then I shake my head, and he’s not there. The doctor––my therapist in Pasadena––told me they were flashbacks. That they’re c-common for victims of trauma.”
I hang my head, grateful that no one else appears to be hearing this conversation.
Nico exhales, long and heavy. “But maybe he really was there?”
I shrug, and even the possibility causes a pit of dread to spread throughout my stomach. “I…I don’t know. Could be.”
Nico shoves his hands up and down his face. “We gotta tell the police.”
I frown. “Tell them what? That we ran into him at a church he attended long before I ever did? That I think I’ve seen him around, but we’ve never made contact, and that I’m not really sure which of those times were hallucinations or which were real, if any of them were? What do you think they’re going to do?”
Nico groans through his fingers. “Fuck!”
“You really shouldn’t say that in a church,” I whisper.
“Fuck,” he says again, more vehemently, though he still glances back toward the altar guiltily. Like the crucifix hanging on the wall can hear him. “Come on. We’re getting out of here.”
Outside, he looks around for Gabe and Carmen, shouting across the street in a rapid Spanish that I can barely translate, roughly meaning we’re going somewhere else. Gabe, knowing better than to question his brother when he looks like this, just nods and starts shepherding Carmen back to Alba’s apartment. Nico grabs my hand and tows me toward the Hudson.
His head is on a swivel as he practically jogs me through Hell’s Kitchen. He’s keeping an eye out for Giancarlo, I know, but that tall, slouching form is nowhere to be seen. It’s not until we’re a block from Frank’s gym that I realize his intention. Nico pushes through the door, startling a group of people working
out together on the open floor in the front.
Nate appears from the office at the top of the stairs.
“You got a free ring?” Nico asks.
Nate checks his watch. “In about an hour, yeah. Can you wait?”
Nico growls, but nods his head. “It’s fine. We’ll do some bag work first.”
I’m towed toward the lockers at the far side of the gym, where Nico stops and unlocks one. Out of it he pulls some workout clothes for me, and a bag of his own stuff.
“How—what is this stuff doing here? Hey, I was looking for this sports bra!”
“Shama gave it to me on Friday,” Nico says, his voice still abrupt and curt. “I thought you should have some stuff to keep here for when we came back.” He jerks his head toward the changing rooms in the back. “Get dressed and meet me by the heavy bags.”
“But, wait, shouldn’t we talk about what just happened? You’re obviously mad, and I’m kind of freaked out.” Now that I’m finding my voice again, I can’t stop talking. “We need to figure out what to do––”
“Layla.” His deep baritone stops my babbling.
I blink. “What?”
“We’ll take care of all of that. Right now, I really need to do this, okay? This is what I do when I’m about to lose it.”
I open my mouth to say something, but my words escape me. “Okay.”
~
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Nico
After we change, we take some time to warm up, and then spend about a half hour on the heavy bag practicing combinations until we’re both breathing heavily. Layla clearly likes throwing punches, but I barely notice, going harder than I’ve gone in months. With every punch I throw, it’s that motherfucker’s face I see. It’s his glasses I’m breaking. It’s his teeth I’m knocking out.
True North Page 12
