“If he’s going to hurt you—” Mal struggled to get up and groaned as he leaned back.
“Stop it,” I said, checking his bandage. It was still clean and dry. He hadn’t bled in his sleep, which was a good sign. Probably. “I’ve been through a lot with my dad, okay? You don’t need to try to protect me now.”
“I’ve always wanted to protect you,” he said, his voice hot with anger. “You know that.”
“Yeah, I know.” I touched his cheek. I felt that spark again and pulled back. He’d always said he’d kill my dad for me, if only I asked. Carmine had laughed and laughed since my dad was a powerful guy, but Mal hadn’t been kidding. He hadn’t thought it was funny. Mal would’ve murdered my father in a heartbeat, if I’d said the word.
I never had, and I regretted it.
“What can I do?” he asked, grabbing my wrist. He held me there, then laced his fingers in with mine. They were big and rough. “Tell me what I can do.”
“Nothing. I have to go back. I’ll make up some excuse and take the punishment, and we’ll keep going. All you need to do is sit here and don’t die.”
He pulled me closer. I felt his breath inches from my lips.
“We’re going to kill him,” he whispered in the darkness of his bedroom. I was acutely aware of his skin and his bare chest. “I swear it, Cap.”
“I know we will.” I touched his cheek. I didn’t think about it, and maybe I should have. Before Carmine had died, I never would’ve gotten this close to Mal. He’d always kept himself away from me, nice and careful never to get too near. We’d never hugged, had never held hands, and had rarely so much as bumped shoulders.
I understood why on some level. I had been Carmine’s, even if I hadn’t been, not really. But Mal was loyal like that.
“Get some rest,” I said and pulled away. He let my fingers slip from his. “I’ll call you when I can, okay? I’m gonna get a burner phone.”
He nodded and rattled off a number. I made him repeat it until it was burned into my brain.
“Be safe,” he said. “Don’t stay if he’s going to hurt you. Come back here. Fuck your dad and everything else. I can protect you.”
“Right now, concentrate on not dying in your sleep.”
I slipped out of the room before he could argue. The little apartment was a mess, but it was his problem. He needed to heal, and I needed to get home.
I ordered an Uber. The driver was a young kid blasting rap. He turned it down when I got in and proceeded to ignore me like I didn’t exist. It was the ideal car ride. He dropped me at the end of the street and I walked the rest of the way. I hopped the gate before hurrying up toward the main house.
Its doors loomed like monsters in the evening. Several guards saw me, and I was sure my father knew I was coming back.
A single person stood on the porch. He came down the steps to meet me, walking slow.
Rolando had a deep scowl on his lips.
“Where’ve you been, girl?”
“I know I missed dinner. I went to meet some friends—”
“You don’t have fucking friends.”
“Some girls from—”
He backhanded me hard across the mouth. Lights danced in my vision as I staggered.
“The boss asked me to do that,” he said, voice passionless. I believed him. “Now tell me where you were.”
I rubbed my jaw and glared. “Out with friends. Gonna hit me again?”
He rocked me in the face as hard as he could, and the last thing I saw was the concrete coming up to meet my nose faster than it should’ve.
Chapter 8
Capri
I woke up on a bed. I groaned and rolled onto my side. I reached out for Mal, expecting his big, shirtless body. I wanted to feel my nails run down his chest and hear his lumbering breath. I wanted his lips against mine and his hands on my hips. I wanted to ride him, ride him, over and over until I screamed his name, and we collapsed into a shuddering, stupid, messy puddle of sweat and passion.
Except there was nobody in the room with me.
I sat up. My head hurt like hell. My mouth was dry. It took me a few seconds to acclimate to the dark.
The walls were bare concrete and the ceiling above was exposed wood, insulation, and wiring. I was in the basement on a barren platform bed. There was a single door to the right.
This was really, really bad.
I didn’t test the limits of my father’s anger. I knew that wouldn’t end well for me. As much as I could, I avoided him and followed the rules, and that had kept me alive for the most part. He had a dark streak, and I’d seen it play out with his men, over and over again. His punishments were wicked and horrendous, and anyone that crossed him ended up begging for mercy before dying slowly.