SOPHIA
Iknow Roman said not to go anywhere alone, but how much trouble could I get into by running to a shop right across the road from the villa? It’s not like I’m taking a winding path and walking blocks away.
I pull my knitted cardigan tighter around me as the wind blows and dip into the shop. Everything is in Italian, but I can at least see some pictures and make out some of the words. I chew my lip as I stand in front of the options for junk food. It’s the “American” section and I’ve never been happier to see chips and cookies.
As much as I love all the homemade meals, I miss familiar flavors. I decide to grab both chips and cookies. I find some beer with a familiar label, milk, and call it good. I’ll be back before any of the guys know I’m missing.
It’s not like the streets aren’t safe. I saw Gunner and Nick go out on their own while I was going through my clothes for tomorrow and if they can walk around without Roman at night, it shouldn’t be any problem for me to do the same.
Especially since I’m sober and aware of what’s around me. That was a lesson Dad never failed to enforce when we were out and about. Mom said he was paranoid, that I needed to see the best in people at all times, but knowing where people are makes shopping easier.
I thanked the woman who rang me up after she had to explain twice how much I owed – apparently my numbers aren’t great, but we worked it out. She waves to me says something I don’t catch at all, and I head out.
I think about spending a night alone. It’ll be the first one since we got here. I sigh, thinking of what someone would think if they had any idea of what was going on in my room. A slow smile spreads across my face thinking of the guys sneaking in and out. I’ve never been so happy for a lack of maids.
Smirking, I think about all the whispering that I’m sure is being done anyway. None of the guys have backed away from touching me, from being close to me. And I kind of love it. I love how each of them are opening up to me, sharing more with me than the chemistry we have.
I hear a voice but don’t look over. They’ll just go away if I don’t look, like in America. Maybe one or two more comments, but it’s not my language, so it will just roll off my back like water.
“Signora!” He yells again.
I don’t turn. I pick up my pace a little but make sure to stay in the street lights. Then I’m grabbed. I gasp and turn to face the older, bigger man. He looks me over, and I see something in his hand. I step on his foot, but he only jerks me tighter against him.
His breath is heavy, almost noxious, and his eyes are just … black. Black and unyielding. He shakes me a little and says something low and sharp. I shake my head. “I don’t understand. English! English.”
But he shakes me again, his hand so tight on my arm that I have no chance of getting away by jerking. I swallow. “Take whatever you want.”
I offer him my bag and he shoves it, jerking me against him and rubbing his pelvis against me. Oh, fuck no. I start to raise my knee, ready to take out the balls, but I feel the knife against my side.
He takes a slow breath. “No scream. No fight. Live.”
That’s possibly the most terrifying bit of English for anyone to know. I swallow. From Dad’s lessons, I know that the knife is in a very bad place. Poised at my kidney. One sure stab, and I’ll bleed out in minutes.
The guy jerks me out of the light and into shadows. He growls and nods. “No fight.”
“You don’t need the knife,” I whisper, trying to play along. “It’s okay.”
He pushes it tighter against my skin, then hits me. Hard. I gasp and try to get back to a public area. Public areas are the key. If I can get there and scream, it’ll get attention. He’ll run off. He’ll decide I’m more trouble than I’m worth.
He drags me back by my ankle, jerking me over uneven cobblestone. I kick at him, must get his face because suddenly he’s off me. I scuttle back and open my eyes. I can’t hear anything other than my heart pounding in my chest, my shallow breaths.
I’m dizzy, scared, shaking all over. Someone walks out of the darkness, and I’m ready to scream when I see Holden.
He’s panting, obviously pissed, and turns back to the dark. I hear punches land and Holden returns. He jerks me up, pulls me tight against him, then grabs my things, putting them back in my bag before shoving it at me.
“Holden.” I pant.
He doesn’t say anything. He glances around, drags me back to the villa, and practically shoves me onto my bed. I whimper and draw back from him. I haven’t seen him pissed before. He’s all sharp angles, muscle, frustration.
But Holden doesn’t approach me. He goes to the bathroom, grabs a first aid kit, and pulls me to the edge of the bed. I see my knees are bleeding, I have cuts and scrapes on my arms, and the imprint of the asshole’s hand is already blooming into a bruise on my arm.
“You went out alone.” It’s a low growl.
I nod. “I thought it would be fine. It’s right across the road.”
Despite how angry he is, he’s gentle on my knees. He dabs at them with a cloth, then reaches for my hand. I give him my whole arm and whimper when he pours peroxide over the worst of the scrapes.
“That was stupid, Sophia. How many times did Roman say not to do that? How many times did all of us tell you not to leave alone?”
“I figured you were being protective. It seemed so safe.” I pant.
Holden’s hot eyes land on my face, and I lick my lips. I still feel trapped. I’ve never been cornered like that. By overenthusiastic frat boys, sure. Catcalled on the street, what girl hasn’t? But dragged with obvious intention of …
A little whimper leaves my throat. “I’m so sorry. If you weren’t there …”
Holden’s face softens as he bandages my elbow, my wrist. He lifts my shirt to check my side. I’d been fucked. Really fucked. The predator wasn’t going to just let me go. I’m sure of that. And Holden handled it like it was nothing.
“You were there,” I whisper.