by Shandi Boyes
I won’t lie; when he rolls over—unpinning me from his heavenly warmth—my body screams in protest. But even though my every want, desire, and need was not fulfilled, one thing crystallized: I do know this man; I just need to remember him.
My heart continues swelling when Rico ensures I’m adequately covered before he paces to the door. I tuck the warm sheets under my chin when the door swings open, and I spot Erik, Rico's lawyer, standing on the other side. Erik is a handsome man, but just like Rico, I find his true intentions a little hard to read. Today, his facial expression looks both tort and passive.
After handing Rico a white sheet of paper, Erik shifts his gaze to me. I hesitantly smile. I'm sure I look like an utter wreck. I've always been an ugly crier, and I doubt even the brilliance of a mind-altering orgasm could hide the puffiness my eyes get after a good dose of crying.
My heartbeat kicks up a gear when the impenetrable mask Rico usually wears in front of his crew slips onto his face before my very eyes. My concern grows about his sudden shift in demeanor when the carefree glint his eyes were wearing mere minutes ago fades into the blackness of his dark and dangerous gaze. Just like the man I confronted in the gloomy room last week, the Rico standing in front of me has once again become a stranger.
After shaking hands with Erik, Rico closes the door and spins on his heels to face me. I freeze when I catch the quickest flare of emotion passing through his eyes as he paces back to bed. Like a man with two heads, his eyes are relaying two very contradicting emotions: tenderness and anger.
I throw off the sheets and crawl across the mattress when he sits on the edge and pats the bed beside him. Although I'm behaving like an obedient dog, it’s my desire to unravel the mystery standing before me that guides my decisions. It may make me seem submissive, but from the memories I’ve unearthed the past twenty-four hours, I know this hasn’t always been the case in our whirlwind relationship.
Remaining quiet, Rico passes the sheet of paper Erik handed him to me. After drifting my eyes between his effusive gaze, I drop them to the piece of paper. There are only six small words printed in plain black ink, but they still cause the greatest impact to my faltering heart: Timothy Jamison was arrested this morning.
I snap my eyes to Rico, searching his truth-bearing eyes for confirmation. “Someone slipped the local authorities the information I obtained on Timothy before the Popov crew could attend to the matter. If the justice system prevails, I'll consider the matter closed.”
Blood surges into my heart as a smile stretches across my face. I knew there was more to this man than just darkness.
Rico runs the back of his fingers down my cheek, removing a sneaky tear tracking down there. “Don’t become complacent, Kitten; there's a long way to go before this is over. If I feel appropriate justice isn’t served, I'll have no other choice but to become re-involved in his case.”
"I understand," I reply with a concise nod of my head. "But that doesn't mean we can't celebrate the small victories. The victims' families will be so grateful you did this, Enrique. They will now have closure."
A spark of sentiment flickers through his eyes. “I didn’t do it for their families, Blaire. I did it for you. To prove I'm the man in your memories.”
I smile through my tears. “Thank you.”
Those two small words don’t seem enough to express the surge of emotions pumping through me, but they are all I have to offer, so they are all I can give.
My eyes lift from the trembling piece of paper in my hand to Rico when he says, “Now I need you to do me a favor, Kitten.”
I search his eyes, seeking an indication that he only did this for me for a favor in return. Failing to find any deceit in his eyes, I mutter. “Anything.”
“I need you to call off your friend before she stumbles into a lifestyle she doesn’t belong in.”
Chapter 19
I stare at Rico, utterly dumbfounded.
My lungs lose the ability to fill with air when he continues, “Lacey isn’t taking the news of your departure from Ravenshoe well. She's creating ripples. Ripples my family will soon discover. If you want your friend to stay safe, you need to force her to back away from her inquiries.”
Bile twists its way from my stomach to my throat. But even feeling sick, I nod, agreeing with his terms. Lacey is my best friend, so I’ll do everything in my power to protect her. I failed once before protecting Katie. I'll not let it happen again.
Pretending there aren't tears sloshing down my cheeks, I lock my eyes with Rico. "What do you need me to do?"
Rico stands from the bed and paces to a set of drawers on his right. After pulling out a plain black phone, he moves to stand in front of me. The torment in his eyes is even more compelling than it was earlier.
“Call Lacey and ask her to back off.”
My eyes dart between his, my confusion growing by the second. “Why can’t I use my phone?”
“Lacey has already called in the authorities. There's a team of detectives stationed at your apartment. They will be tracing the call.”
My heart slithers into my gut. “So I have to make my call quick? Like they do in the movies?”
Rico smiles. It doesn’t match the despair in his dark gaze. “No, Kitten. That's nothing but a Hollywood ploy. Maybe back in the eighties they took sixty seconds to trace a call, but with technology today, it can be done instantaneously. Lucky for us, the compound has numerous signal jammers installed, but for extra caution, I’d prefer that you use a dump phone. They’ll have a hard time tracking it when it’s buried under a pile of rubble.”
Ignoring the tremble of my hands, I stand from the bed and accept the cell phone he's holding out. Thankfully, even in a day of modern technology, I have a knack for remembering phone numbers.
After dialing Lacey’s cell into the outdated phone, I press it in close to my ear. She answers not even a full ring later.
“Hello?” The concern in her tone makes her greeting come out sounding more like a question than a greeting.
I exhale a deep breath. “Lac—”
“Blaire! Oh my God. Are you okay? Where are you? Are you safe?” she blubbers out in quick succession.
“Lacey, calm down. I need you to listen. I don’t have long.” I shift my eyes to Rico who is watching me with caution from the side of the room. “Did you call the police?”
“Yes, of course I did! Colt said you were dragged out of here by a man claiming to be your husband.” She stops talking and inhales a large breath of air. She’s obviously rattled as I can hear the shaking of her ribcage through the phone. “He also said two of the men flanking you were carrying guns.”
The truth of Rico’s statement rings true when Lacey’s confession causes a flurry of activity to sound down the line. The most obvious evidence is the inclusion of two male voices I don’t recognize.
“Blaire, are you there?” Lacey asks when a stretch of silence passes between us.
“Yes, I am here,” I breathe out.
My heart is a twisted mess of confusion. Half of me hates that Lacey is upset, where the other half wants to do everything in my power to protect Rico from the authorities. Don't ask me why; I wouldn't be able to answer. If I'd been held captive for longer than twenty-four hours, I could have used the defense of Stockholm Syndrome, but deep down in my soul, I know that isn't the case. I'm truly not scared of Rico. Startled, yes. Scared, definitely not.
“What’s going on, Blaire. Was it your husband?” Lacey asks, drawing my attention back to the present.
“Yes,” I mutter faintly.
Lacey gasps in a ragged breath, clearly shocked by my reply. “I thought your marriage was annulled?”
“I thought it was too.” I grimace. “But the papers were never filed. We’re still legally married.”
“So you thought you’d just up and leave with him on a whim? Your Vegas experience was as cookie cutter as they come for Vegas, but that craziness is supposed to stop the instant you step foot in the plane.” Her w
ords come out in a flurry, her tone a mixture of anger and bewilderment. “You don’t continue with the idiocy once you return home.”
Pain strikes my heart when her quiet sniffles resonate down the line.
“This isn’t you, Care Blaire. You’ve always been the safe, smart friend. You wouldn’t have just packed up and left of your own free will. He’s hurting you, isn’t he? Holding you against your will?”
I shake my head, soundlessly denying her accusation. My brisk movements cause tears to trickle down my ashen cheeks. Spotting my upset composure, Rico pushes off his feet and ambles towards me. The concern beaming from his eyes adds to the restrictive hold strangling my heart.
“Is he threatening you? Are you in danger?” Lacey asks through a barrage of hiccups.
“No, Lacey, he'd never hurt me.”
My confession clears away the painful haze in Rico’s dark gaze. He stands behind me and slings his arms around my torso. The heat of his body eases my shuddering shakes.
“Lacey, I'm begging you, please drop this.”
“I can’t.” Her heartache is unable to be hidden by those two little words. “You’re my best friend, Blaire. I won’t sit back and watch you make a stupid mistake you can’t take back.”
My heart squeezes painfully. “I’m not asking you to sit back and watch me fail. I just want you to give me a chance to make my own decisions. Please don’t make me feel guilty for finally living my life how I want. I don’t want to be the safe friend anymore. I want to live, Lacey. Please let me live.”
Most of my statement is to keep Lacey safe—if she believes I'm here of my own free will, she will drop this—but part of it comes from deep within my soul. I've always been the safe friend. I never went to college parties, never stepped over the line that balances precariously between tipsy and drunk, and I never did anything that had an edge of danger or adventure attached to it. Although I wouldn't recommend waking up married to a mob boss with no recollection of your time together. My heart has never beaten so fast.
“Lacey?” I mutter into the phone when I'm greeted with nothing but silence. “Are you still there?”
“Yes,” she replies, her voice jittery and weak.
“Please don’t hate me,” I mumble, sickened by the thought my dramatic statement hurt her feelings.
A door sliding open sounds down the line, closely followed by the faint hum of the heavy flow of traffic that always impedes the streets of Ravenshoe. She must have stepped out onto the patio attached to the living room of our apartment.
“I'd never hate you, Care Blaire. I just want to make sure you're safe.”
Even though she can’t see me, I nod. “I am.”
A length of silence stretches between us, crammed with stifling heaviness. If it wasn’t for Lacey’s panicked breaths sounding down the line, I would have assumed she had hung up on me.
“Why did it have to be a suit-wearing thug who finally cracked your shell?" Lacey jests a short time later, her tone not as pained as it was. "I've been chipping away at it for years, but I didn't even cause a hairline crack. You spent a day with him, and all your insecurities crumbled."
Rico must have heard her statement, as he stiffened at the suit-wearing thug part and tightened his grip around my torso during her last sentence.
“Promise me you're safe,” Lacey pleads into the phone. “If you can, I’ll tell the two detectives sitting in our living room that this was all a big misunderstanding. And don’t even think about lying to me, Blaire. Even over the phone, I’ll tell.”
A smile stretches across my face. What she's saying is true. She knows me better than anyone.
Exhaling a deep breath, I spin on my heels the best I can in the protective cocoon Rico has wrapped around me. When I lift my eyes to Rico’s face, my breathing sharpens. The same pair of beautiful eyes from my memories stare down at me. Gone is the haunted, bleak look his eyes generally wear, replaced with the eyes of a small boy lost in a world full of monsters.
I freeze as another lost memory is found. . .
“I’m not a good man, Blaire. I've done terrible, horrible things. Way more than I can count. I don’t deserve a woman like you. I don’t deserve an angel.”
I peer into Rico’s eyes, seeing nothing but remorse reflecting back at me. We both know his words are true, but when I look deeper, past the guilt blackening his eyes, all I see is a little boy who grew up unloved. He's flawed and damaged, but has one of the most beautiful souls I’ve ever seen. He just needs to be shown how to look past the blackness. To be taught how to love.
“I’m not here to save you, Enrique. We are here to save each other. . .”
Now some of my decisions last week make sense. Rico wasn't a man I feared; he was the man I swore to protect. The vulnerability that flashed in his eyes the thirty seconds following my tumble into his lap had me pledging I'd stop at nothing until he walked through the darkness unscathed. He truly did capture my soul in less than a minute.
I turn my attention back to the phone pressed up against my ear before locking my eyes with Rico.
“I'm safe. I promise you. I’m the safest I’ve ever been,” I declare to both Lacey and Rico.
When a broad grin etches on Rico’s face, I’m tempted to add: physically; not mentally.
Chapter 20
“Are you ready?”
After running my hands down the front of my floral cotton dress, I nod. My heart is thrashing against my chest, and nervous sweat is slicking my skin, but I am ready nonetheless.
“Remember what I told you, Kitten; stay by my side at all times and don’t trust anybody.”
From the way Rico's words are laced with warning, anyone would swear we are about to meet Jack the Ripper, not have brunch with his family.
As I prepared for brunch, Rico gave me a brief rundown on how things in the Popov compound generally work. Usually, the women of the house serve the men, but since I hold the prestigious role of Rico's wife, I’ll be seated beside him during brunch. Although shocked at the inequality of women in this faction, I’m not completely blindsided by it. The fact Rico's father sold his daughter on the black market is all the evidence I require that the Popov clan is a group of callous and cold-hearted men. No further explanation needed.
After applying a dusting of blush to my already rosy cheeks, Rico wraps his hand over mine and exits our bedroom. Things between us have been oddly normal the past five days. Our routine hasn’t altered from the day I arrived. I spend my days holed up in our room like a prisoner in a minimum-security prison, reading and playing card games with Maya, while Rico “works.”
It doesn’t matter if I go for a shower at eleven AM or ten PM, Rico is always waiting in the high-backed chair to apply cream to his name inked on my hip. When his “working” day is over, he showers, then we spend the rest of our night together in bed, where thankfully, Rico’s protective cocoon keeps my nightmares to a bare minimum. We are like an everyday couple, our coexistence melding together surprisingly quick.
The only difference between us and every other newlywed couple is our conversations aren’t based on how his day at “work” went or what china we’d like to purchase for our new house. The entirety of our discussion is on if any of my hidden memories were unearthed and if I’ve had any more nightmares. Unfortunately, other than the flurry of memories that were unleashed on me my first twenty-four hours here, I’ve not had any fresh memories revealed since.
I’ll be honest; even being held captive in a mansion full of gun-toting men, I'll happily pledge that the man I see in my flashbacks is the same man I wake up curled around every morning. Away from others, Rico is attentive and sweet. A man I could wholeheartedly marry on sight. It's just the air of danger surrounding him that causes my greatest worry.
While I'm being totally forthright, I’ll disclose another powerful point separating us from other newlywed couples: our lack of sexual contact. Don’t construe my statement the wrong way; I’m not at all expecting the band on my finger to
come with the agreed stipulation of sexy time. I’m just surprised I've spent the past five nights in bed with a man who appears sexually ambitious but have not once been propositioned. The sparks of lust are no doubt firing between us, but nothing more than an affectionate cuddle has been shared the last five nights. I’m not going to lie; my ego is suffering the brutal sting of rejection.
My grip on Rico’s hand tightens when our brisk stride down the corridor has us reaching two burly-looking men standing at the end. Just like last week, their conversation ends the instant they catch sight of me. They don’t speak; they just eye us with caution as we saunter by.
I lean deeper into Rico's side when a group of suit-clad men at the end of the stairwell rake their sullied eyes down the length of my body. Considering they are several years older than me and have their partners attached to their hip, I find their gaze demoralizing and nauseating.
“Po’shyol ‘na hui,” Rico growls at them, his words vibrating right through my body.
Their eyes snap to Rico in sync. “Zashchishchat' shlyukhu?”
Rico’s pulse pulverizes my hand. “Nyet. Moya zhena.” His words come out gravelly and abrupt.
The men’s eyes widen before their gazes drop to their shoes.
“What was that about?” I ask Rico as he guides me across the opulent entranceway of his home.
“Nothing.” He nudges his head to a set of double doors on my right.
With every step I take, my legs quake, but I play my part of wife accordingly. I smile greetings at the curious stares of women eyeing me with wonder, and I redirect my eyes from the men whose avid gazes make my skin crawl.
“Who are all these people?” I query, shocked by the vast gathering of people mingling throughout the residence.
“Most are family members. Brothers, sisters, cousins.” Rico gestures his head to the group associated with each title. “The rest are associates of the Popov entity.”