Blood Bound

by Sasha Leone

  The hard tiles of the floor smack against my open palms and send a cold shockwave up my arms. Before I can gather myself and turn around, I’m covered in the beastly stranger’s shadow again. His darkness completely consumes me, and I collapse down onto my forearms when I hear him hang up on the operator.

  “... Fuck you,” I manage to muster. It almost doesn’t feel like my voice, but I’m glad it came out. I’m so sick of being pushed around—by debtors, by life, by this guy.

  I push myself up onto my knees, keeping my back to him. His shadow is frozen over me, like a dark weight that refuses to let any light through. “What are you doing here?” I ask through heavy breaths, not ready to look around at him just yet.

  “You gave my description to the police?” a low rumbling voice asks from behind me. It’s enough to make my insides tremble. He sounds like thunder. I hang my head.

  “... Not a very good one,” I admit, ashamed for ever letting myself find pleasure in this asshole’s image. I’d thought I’d seen a hint of something softer in his eyes the other night. Guess I was wrong.

  “Why not?” he growls.

  “Why not what?”

  “Why didn’t you give a good description of me to the police?”

  I sigh. “... I didn’t remember.”

  “You seemed to remember me just fine when I had you pinned up against the wall.”

  An angry burst of energy explodes in my belly. I whip around and face my confronter. From on my knees, he looks even more massive. I’m stunned for a moment. “It’s not hard to remember a face when it’s being shoved into yours,” I snap, finally breaking out of my intimidated stupor.

  The man’s steely eyes study me. I watch as he shoves my phone into the front pocket of his dark grey jeans. “Hey...” I start to protest, before giving up. I’m never going to see that phone again.

  “You want your phone back? Then cooperate.”

  I sneer. “What are you, some kind of dirty cop?”

  The man sneers back. “You wish.”

  “I wish you’d leave me alone,” I hiss, placing a hand on the nearby wall. Slowly, I pull myself up, worried that, at any second, I might be pushed back down.

  My legs are trembling, but the fire in my belly is still raging. I study the stranger. He’s standing just far enough from the light of the open doorway to get a good look. He doesn’t look much different than how I remembered him in the shower earlier...

  ... His wavy, ear-top length hair is a dark shade of auburn, as is his neatly trimmed beard—it all frames a pale, chiseled face filled with rugged character. He has an Irish nose and red glistening lips. His neck is thick and his shoulders are so broad that I wouldn’t be surprised if you couldn’t see him from end to end on a foggy day.

  I’d been right to remember him as a beast—but I had also been right to remember him as one sexy son-of-a-bitch. The bastard has me at war with myself. The rational side of me is begging him to leave, but there’s something else stirring deep within my soul.

  If I really want him gone, then why do I feel so excited by his presence? Sure, there’s a hint of fear throbbing in my heart, but the adrenaline coursing through my veins isn’t saying run—it’s saying fight, it’s saying touch.

  Still, I don’t dare get any closer.

  “What do you want?” I ask, letting my stance relax as I lean against the hallway wall. My lungs are on fire. I need a second to gather myself. The least I can do is bide my time.

  The man hesitates, as if he’s considering my question with great effort. “What’s your name?” he finally asks.

  Now it’s my turn to hesitate. The cops already have my name, and I have very little doubt now that they’re about as crooked as a witch’s nose. If this guy wants to know who I am, he probably only has to find the right price for it. Still, I don’t want to be the one to give myself up.

  “You’re not in danger,” he says in response to my defiant silence, as if that’s supposed to soothe me.

  “I beg to differ,” I whisper, immediately wishing I had said it with more force. I don’t feel like I can show any weakness in front of this guy. He seems like the kind who crushes the weak, and I have no desire to be crushed tonight.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” he rumbles, and the war inside of me picks up for another battle. I almost believe him. Almost. I wrap my fingers around my throbbing wrists. I’m not hurt, per say, but he’s left a dull ache on my skin.

  “I’m sorry,” he grumbles, with a weird mix of sincerity and annoyance. I swear, for a split second, I can see the same flash of something soft beneath his gaze that I thought I had witnessed last night. “... You did have a knife, though.”

  He has the knife now. He plays with the handle like an expert butcher while the blade glimmers in the light from the backroom office.

  “You did break into my diner, though,” I counter.

  He lifts a dark eyebrow. “You own the place?”

  I snort. “I wish.” Almost immediately after those words leave my mouth, I regret the playfulness of them. This isn’t the time for banter, I tell myself, forcefully seizing up again. I take a small step backwards, away from the stranger. It doesn’t matter how handsome a man is, even the good-looking ones can gut you. This dude’s bad news.

  “Why are you still here?” he asks. I still can’t get over his voice. It’s so deep and domineering: a perfect match to his mysterious and brawny figure.

  “I could ask you the same thing,” I retaliate. “In fact, I will. What the hell are you doing here? What the hell were you doing here last night? I’m not looking for trouble.”

  “I am.” He takes a step forward. His shadow somehow darkens around me. I catch myself before I can bite my lip. Every limb on me is trembling, even if only subtly.

  “Well, I’m not the trouble you’re looking for,” I say, trying to sound far more confident than I feel. “So, you’d better go look somewhere else.”

  The man considers my words. His steely blue eyes cut up my defences, but I fight back with a fiery look of my own. I just need to outlast him—I can almost believe he doesn’t want to hurt me. But then, what is he doing here, if not squashing out a witness?

  “I lied,” he says suddenly, with no context.

  My gut lurches and my heart cramps. About what!? I want to ask, but my throat has gone dry. That little sliver of fear in me has immediately exploded. The domineering man takes another step towards me. The world gets darker.

  “You are in danger... possibly, but not from me,” he says, looming over me.

  My subtly trembling limbs start to tremble just a little bit more. “... Then from who?” I ask, as meekly as a child sitting around a campfire, listening to a scary story.

  The man tugs at the sleeve of his black leather jacket. I watch as he pulls his left arm out, exposing a hefty bandage that’s stained with a red mark from where blood has seeped through. I’m immediately beset by a nurse’s instinct. I have to consciously fight back my desire to reach out and sooth him, to touch him. As I fight that battle within, I lose another.

  My teeth close in around my lip. Around the stranger’s bandage is tight skin and hard muscle. A network of powerful veins run up his broad forearm. His shoulder curves out like a marbled boulder from underneath his tight black undershirt. The trembling in my legs shifts gears. By the time I realize what’s happening, it’s too late.

  Fuck me... I want this guy to fuck me.

  “I’m looking for the man who did this to me,” he growls, more animal than man. The sneer on his blood red lips only drives me crazier. I’m almost disappointed that he’s not actually here for me.

  “Why did he shoot you?” I ask, trying to find a bridge of sympathy with this dark, brooding figure.

  “Because I was going to shoot him.”

  That bridge instantly collapses. This isn’t a sympathetic character I’m talking to. He’s a criminal. A steaming hot criminal. Unless...

  “Are you a cop? Undercover?” I cross my finger
s. A lot of good that’s done me lately.

  The man spits on the floor and then wipes away his mark with the sole of his boot.

  “Not a cop, then,” I roll my eyes. Just my luck. This guy’s all dark; there might not be a shred of light in him.

  “I’d rather be dead,” he growls.

  “Looks like you almost got your wish last night,” I tease, gesturing to his stained bandage.

  He grimaces, like he just remembered his injury.

  Something flutters in my stomach. There goes my nurse’s instinct again, I sigh. If only I could have capitalized on this instinct, say, in the form of a job where I nurse people back to health, instead of in the form of making me want to get closer to a stranger that’s liable to bite my head off.

  I kick myself before I even have the chance to say it, but my heel isn’t powerful enough to stop the words from pouring out of my mouth. “Can I take a look?”

  The stranger furrows his brow. He looks around the dark, doorway-lit hallway and then back at me. “You don’t own this place?” he asks, again.

  I shake my head.

  “So, you’re a waitress?”

  I nod.

  “How’s a waitress going to help with my arm?”

  For some reason, I can hardly believe he took the opportunity to take a jab at me, but when I process it, a ball of anger explodes inside of me. I cross my arms and take a mean step backward. “Well, fuck you then. Suffer, asshole.”

  I can tell my reaction has caught him off guard. He might not have meant to sound as harsh as he did. It’s too late, though, any instinct I had to soothe him has been burned alive in a nuclear blast.

  “There’s no one here but me,” I tell him, strongly. “Whoever you’re looking for is somewhere else. So, can you leave me be now?”

  I don’t let my gaze falter. I swear I catch a hint of that familiar softness in his eyes, before they glaze over again.

  “How do I know you won’t call the cops?” he growls.

  I nod toward his pocket. “Because you have my phone, stupid.”

  The dark giant takes a long angry step towards me. I try not to show my fear as he looms, big and tall, just inches away. His eyes are burning with that blue fire again. My foot starts to tap as I desperately try to match his intensity. It’s no use. I’m scared as hell—and more excited than I’ve ever been before in my entire life.

  Kiss me, you coward.

  He has an earthy musk to him that crawls over my body and seeps in through my skin. I desperately try not to make it obvious that I’m sniffing in his scent. I purse my lips and grind my teeth, but only so I don’t show my arousal. I remember the feeling of my fingers between my legs as I thought of this man in my shower earlier today. The cold water has been replaced by his cold stare, but still, the heat inside of me rages on.

  The inches of air between us are tense and dangerous. I keep my eyes on his, until he huffs like a bull and looks past me. His jaw clenches as he grinds his teeth. I get one last intense look from the hunky shadow before he steps around me, brushing his exposed shoulder against mine. My skin tingles at the contact.

  I whip around and watch him go, filled with anger and disappointment and desire and sadness. “Hey, I want my phone!” I yell after him, trying not to let on that I’d rather he stayed with it.

  He tugs on the sleeve of his leather jacket until it’s back over his broad shoulder, then he kicks open the door, letting a gust of wind into the dark hallway.

  “You’ll have to come get it, waitress,” he growls, before disappearing into the howling darkness outside.

  9

  Ronan

  All that, and I didn’t even get her name.

  Am I just losing my touch? I spent a whole night following dead ends, with nothing to show for it. I still have no clue where Santino might be, and I definitely don’t know what the waitress’s name is. All I know for sure is that I need to see her again.

  She’s awoken something inside of me that’s more dangerous than any shootout ever could be. The aching in my thawing heart hurt even more than my throbbing arm when I tried to get some rest this morning.

  I didn’t get a wink, yet I still dreamed.

  She wouldn’t leave my mind. Even now, as I fix myself a cup of coffee in the kitchen at my loft and try to formulate a plan, her image is seared behind my eyelids. I have more regrets in my life than I can count, but right now, none are as strong as the one that’s kicking my wounded heart. What was I thinking with that ‘waitress’ comment?

  I drink my scalding cup and try to let the pain wake me up. I feel like a fool for letting a woman do this to me. I promised myself long ago that I’d never let this happen again, but here I am, at the end of my rope, about to lose everything I’ve ever worked towards because I can’t look away, even when she’s nowhere to be seen.

  I’m still wearing the same clothes I had on last night, and when I feel a vibration coming from my pocket, I don’t even think that it could be from anything else other than my phone.

  Nope, it’s the waitress’s cell phone that’s ringing.

  Medlink School of Nursing. That’s what it says on the caller ID. I don’t pick up, but when the call goes to voicemail, I slip her phone back into my pocket and grab my laptop.

  I do a quick search for the Medlink School of Nursing. Sure enough, it’s exactly what it sounds like. A nursing school uptown. Maybe she’s not just a waitress after all...

  Her phone buzzes alive again, only once this time, though, and I quickly check. A voice-to-text message has come up for the voicemail that was just left. I swiftly read through it before it disappears from her locked screen.

  ... Ms. Nia Jones... Outstanding Debt... are the words that catch my eye.

  Ah, that makes more sense.

  The revelation doesn’t help my mood one bit. I only feel worse for my comment last night. I’ve had better mornings after killing someone than I’m having right now.

  ... At least I know her name now.

  Nia Jones. Fitting. Beautiful. Out of my reach.

  Forget about her, I order myself. But I should know better, no one can really tell me what to do.

  Sure, I’m acting on Gianni Barone’s orders right now, but I’ve said no to him before. I don’t go after innocent women, and I definitely don’t go after children. There are some lines even a monster doesn’t cross. It’s what keeps me feeling human, especially after I swore off all non-business relationships.

  Regret that now, huh, bud? I tease myself.

  God, I’m such an asshole.

  I know that the only way I’m going to get Nia out of my head is if I get in a foot chase with Santino. I have too much room to think right now. I need some action.

  I try to focus on what I already know. I may be slipping right now, but I’m a good tracker, and all signs lead to Santino having circled back around to Chinatown. It makes sense, it a twisted kind of way. Any other route in the city, even one leading out of it, would have been heavily watched by either the Russian’s or the Barone’s. I’d also been told that Santino was known for spending a lot of time in the opioid dens that litter the area—surely, his familiarity with the community was one of the reasons why he went to hide out there in the first place—it could also be the reason why he returned. There’s plenty of food to steal for someone who knows where to get it. There’s also booze and drugs for that same kind of person. But if Santino is still in Chinatown, where is he hiding out?

  The triad wouldn’t dare shelter him again. They were made well aware of the consequences. They’re tough, but also the smallest of the three syndicates that run this town, and they’re too smart to risk so much fury for so little gain. What is Santino worth to anybody alive? Nothing, surely. He’s low-level in every sense of the word.

  Anger builds up in me as I fail to figure out any new leads. None of this makes much sense at all.

  Suddenly, I feel a familiar vibration coming from a pocket. I check. This time, it’s my phone. A text. From Luca.


  Two Days.

  I shove my phone back into my pocket. The utter bastard. How am I ever going to work for him? I barely even get along with his old man, who at least shows some restraint and some respect, but Luca? That greaseball can go jump in a fire.

  I take a deep breath and run my fingers through my hair. My coffee’s all gone but I’m still exhausted.

  I shouldn’t concentrate my anger on Luca—he’s probably only relaying the message from his father, anyway. I need to concentrate on that rat Santino.

  Where the fuck is he?

  I pull my phone back out.

  Chinatown, 30 minutes, I text Finn.

  My black duffle bag full of gear sits unused by the doorway, taunting me. Much use I had for all that firepower last night, I think, as I tuck my trusty old Glock into the back of my pants and throw on a leather bomber jacket. I’m only taking the essentials today.

  My phone buzzes again.

  In the daylight?? Finn’s texted back.

  I don’t have time to wait for the cover of darkness. Plus, there’s only one person who’s going to recognize me down there, and as much as I offended her last night, I can’t see her reporting me to the cops. There was something... different between us. It took all of my willpower not to jump on her in the dimly lit hallway. The heat from her curvy body nearly made me blind with desire.

  Fuck me, I think, as I claw my face in the elevator down to my car. What am I doing to myself?

  It’s a cold crisp day. Bright sunlight beats down from the clear blue sky and attacks my numb cheeks, freezing a permanent squint onto my face.

  I just got done talking to a bunch of Triad members. They were about as polite as one could expect from a rival gang, but I wouldn’t have even cared about their shitty attitude, if they’d at least been able to provide me with some useful information.

  They didn’t know shit.

  I still don’t know shit.