A large, colorful drawing of a human brain hangs in Aaron’s living room. He brought me here after someone accidentally spilled red wine over his shirt at the club. He seemed harmless, so I agreed when he said he had a bottle of wine and asked if we could continue the evening at his house. We hailed a cab, and now I stand in his living room, looking at the framed brain, wondering why.
“Do you want to be a neurosurgeon, or have you lost a bet, and someone made you hang this here?”
He emerges from the kitchen with two glasses of wine, now in a plain white t-shirt that shows off his muscular arms Allie told me so much about.
“You don’t see art in this?”
I chuckle, elbowing his ribs playfully when he smiles. “Why is it here?”
“That’s all my ex left. She hung weird things all over the house. This one might be the weirdest, but I like it.” He sits on the couch while I continue my journey of discovery.
You can learn a lot about a person by seeing what they surround themselves with.
Dante’s house is full of quirky treasures that highlight his character. The Shelby parked in his living room, the shelf full of CDs, a well-stocked bar, and a dark color scheme. It fits his profession and personality.
Aaron is an athlete. The walls are decorated with medals and trophies, but other than that, the room is bland, almost empty. White walls, gray furniture. It looks as if he just moved in. I round the couch to sit, but Aaron grips my hand, dragging me onto his lap. Surprised by his forwardness, I cock an eyebrow, but he’s not looking. Eyes closed, he inches closer to me, grasping the flesh of my hips so hard borders on painful. If he had tried that two weeks ago, I wouldn’t object, but tonight my mind screams no!
Dante breaks the door of his mini prison, pacing all over my thoughts with an enraged look twisting his handsome face, reminding me how I felt when he kissed me for the first time… dizzy, almost drunk on endorphins; trembling like an uncoiled spring, my body and mind ruled by his presence. By the raw, irresistible hunger of his lips devouring mine.
There’s none of that now. No excitement; no anticipation. I’m embarrassed, annoyed, and a little scared.
I dart away before Aaron’s lips touch mine, my hand on his chest, keeping him at a distance. “I’m sorry, but no.”
He looks at me, his face twisting in confusion when I stand quickly and step away, resting against the wall opposite the sofa.
“You don’t like me?” he asks. “I thought we had fun.”
We did. I can’t fault him. He’s well-behaved, well-mannered, and easy-going, but those qualities are no longer at the top of my list. Since two weeks ago, I’ve been attracted to confidence, bossiness, and a sprinkle of arrogance.
Aaron lacks all three.
“No, it’s not like that. It’s just…” I sigh, unsure how to proceed. “I don’t know. We just met.” In a flash, the pleasant evening turns uncomfortable. “I’ll call a cab.”
Aaron’s up on his feet before I take the first step. He rests his hands on the wall on both sides of my head, locking me in a purposely built cage. Dante did that two weeks ago. I wasn’t afraid then, but I am now.
“Stop messing around,” I say, failing to strike a casual tone.
There’s something in his posture; a threatening, determined vibe, that makes me quiver. For a second, I think he’ll retreat, but he grips my throat hard enough to stop me from even thinking about escaping. His other hand travels up my thigh. Fear engulfs me so fast I struggle to keep up with my body’s reactions. Aaron dips his head, forcing his tongue inside my mouth, and I pound on his chest, squealing because I can’t scream.
“Shut up.” He grips my wrists, tying them in one hand, the touch sharp enough to cut off circulation.
“Let me go!” I bite his lip, breaking the skin. “My father will kill you when he finds out about this!”
A maniacal smile spreads across his face as he touches the bleeding lip. I don’t dare look at the crimson trickle dripping down his chin.
My stomach sinks with the copper taste on my tongue as if I’m falling from a fifty-story building. My screams are cut short when he kisses me again. The taste of blood destroys my courage faster than a gun aimed at my head. Bile reaches my throat when he touches my panties. Repulsive thoughts infest my mind like small, biting insects.
I won’t let him touch me that way.
Not in a million years.
Fear dies down, replaced by determination, and my instincts kick in, clearing my head of the panicked static. I swing my knee, ramming it into Aaron’s groin. The punch isn’t strong enough to knock him down but powerful enough that he lets go of my hands, gripping his jewels.
Before he has time to swear, I’m gone.
With my bag in hand, I sprint down the road, turning left, right, and left again. The short streets dotted with rows of similar houses blur together until I stop at a side street filled with small shops. I rest my back on the window of dry cleaners, my feet ache, my lungs burn, and I tremble like a kitten with a mixture of fear, shock, and adrenaline.
I steady my breathing, getting get my pulse under control before I start walking on weak legs. Buried in my thoughts, still shuddering, I wonder if I hadn’t overreacted. Aaron’s drunk. Maybe he didn’t mean to hurt me…
I scoff, annoyed with my own naivety. The way he held me, the force he used to keep my now swollen, bruised wrists away from his face warranted panic.
My house is eight miles away. There’s no way I’ll walk the distance wearing high heels after I just ran however many blocks. The neighborhood I found myself in isn’t the best or the safest. I’ve had enough adventures for one night, so I take my phone out to call Adam.
Once, twice… no answer. I search the contact list for Burly’s number to no avail. I try Adam again.
“Wait up, doll!” Someone shouts behind me. “Wait up!”
My heart rate soars faster than my pace. Not daring to turn around, I rush toward the main street looming in the distance. The man is closing in on me, and judging by the heavy footsteps, he’s not alone. Fear reappears, gripping my throat like cold, wet hands. I can’t outrun them. The street’s empty; not a soul in sight. Adam’s still not answering. I ignore what he said at the club and call Frank.
“The number you’re calling is not available. Try again later.”
A thin, bald guy cuts me off, blocking my way, a bottle of vodka in his hand. “Are you lost, doll?” Dilated pupils size me up. A faded swastika tattoed across his neck looks like a child had tattooed it. Multiple, neglected cold sores surround his cracked lips as he tugs from the half-empty bottle. He jumps forward, shoving me against a shop window.
“Don’t ruin her, Loki,” the other man says when Loki pulls out a long, rusty knife.
“Do you need help?” I ask, doing my best to stay calm.
“How about we help you? You’re not from around here.”
I inch away from the knife. “Don’t touch me.”
They laugh like two maniacs: like villains in superhero movies. “What will you do? You’re alone, dolly.” He inhales deeply, taking a drag of my perfume, eyes closed, lips parted in a repulsive manifestation of arousal.
I think I’ll be sick; my heartbeats like crickets that try to scratch their way out of a plastic container. They cornered me on what must be the most deserted street in the city. I’ve only seen two cars in the last ten minutes. The third one just drove by, but it wasn’t a cop car. Situations like this are standard on the poorer streets of Chicago, especially in this neighborhood. Riverdale’s known for robberies, drug addicts, and rapes.
Loki presses the sharp edge of his knife to my cheek, sliding it lower ever so gently, but his hand shakes, and the blade digs into my skin. I might need a tetanus shot after this…. the blade looks and smells filthy. I hiss with fresh tears prickling my eyes. It’s not the pain. That’s irrelevant. I don’t feel pain while panic tries to choke me at the thought of blood seeping from the wound.
“Do you know who my father is?” I ask, redirecting the train of paralyzing thoughts. “Frank Harston. Rings a bell?”
Every junkie in Chicago knows his name. The dark side of the city knows both my father and Dante.
Loki cackles, looking over his shoulder at the other man. “You heard her, Cannon?”
“Daddy’s little girl.” Cannon sneers.
The blade of Loki’s knife breaks my skin again, lower this time. “You’re down South. Your father means nothing here.”
My knees buckle. Panic hovers nearby, ready to leap out at the least convenient moment and knock the breath out of my chest. Scaring them off won’t work, and my composure starts to burst like a bubble, but with the undeniable defeat comes a sudden rush of bravery.
I shove at Loki’s frail, drug-addled body and run, aiming for the main street. Cars loom in the distance, filling me with hope, but I’m too far away for anyone to see or hear me. Desperate to feel safe again, I call the last person who can help.
I swipe my thumb across the screen but never press the phone to my ear. I trip on uneven pavement, falling face down. Tears trickle down my cheeks. My heart thuds against my ribs like a Conga drum. The sight of blood oozing from my scraped knee erases any remaining courage.
Cannon catches me first, bending down to grab my waist. He reeks of sweat, smoke, and piss as he heaves with the effort, rolling me over until I’m looking at his ugly face covered in a nasty rash, hovering above me.
“Leave me alone!” I keep my voice down because screaming might alert more psychopaths hiding in the dark.
The navy Dodge RAM that passed us a minute ago does a sharp U-turn in the middle of the road. Neither Cannon nor Loki pays the car any attention until it stops by the curb.
A tall, well-dressed guy jumps out of the driver’s seat. “Let her go,” he seethes, his voice low, dripping with fury.
Relief floods my system, but my tears come on stronger. “Please don’t leave me here.”
Cannon looks over his shoulder, holding me in a vice grip. “This is none of your business! Dolly got lost.”
The newcomer turns to the sky as if he has no time for this nonsense, then grabs Cannon by the arm, twisting it back with an impassive expression. “Do you know who the fuck she is you fucking dimwit? Let. Her. Go.”
Cannon jerks away, readjusting his position to ease the pain of his arm being twisted back at an unnatural angle. “Yeah, I do. Do you?!” A mist of spit flies out of his mouth. “She’s Frankie’s daughter! Dante’s not gonna be happy you’re helping the bitch!”
“Dante will fucking disembowel you when he finds out you touched her.” Amusement tugs at his lips. “Start digging your fucking grave.”
“But…” With fearful eyes, he looks from me to Loki as if he can shed some light on what’s happening. “What the fuck are you talking about?!”
“You heard me,” the man shoves Cannon to the ground. “Get the fuck out of here and make sure I don’t see you again.” He looks at me, his face impassive when he points at his car. “Get in.”
I grab my bag and phone off the sidewalk and get in the passenger seat, no questions asked. Whoever he is, he knows Dante. He saved me from rape or worse: death. I don’t care about his name if he gets me out of here.
Despite the fall, my phone still works. Sixteen missed calls wait on the screen.
All from Dante.
I hide my face in my hands. Tears no longer trail down my face, but I shake, whimpering despite trying my hardest not to make a sound.
The driver takes his seat, touching my back and making me jump. “Calm down, Layla.” He moves away, jaw ticking. “You good? Did they hurt you? What the fuck happened to your security detail?!”
I rest my back against the door, covering the bleeding knee with my bag. “How do you know who I am?”
“Who the fuck doesn’t?” he clips. “I didn’t have time for pleasantries. I’m Luca, Dante’s main fighter.”
