Tortured

by N. M. Catalano

  “Do you know where they are?” I ask as I tear through my closet trying to find something suitable to wear. Today I’m going to be in the power suit.

  “Excuse me?” she’s taken completely off guard.

  I grit my teeth. I need to make sure I don’t make her suspicious. I need any information she knows. “Sweetheart,” I use the condescending term even though I hate it. “I would like to bring my husband a surprise. Mr. Fellini had lunch here yesterday. I would also like to bring him a gift.” The word makes me cringe with all of the dark innuendos they threw around with it last night.

  “Yes, of course you do,” What the fuck does she mean by that?! “I’m not sure where they’ve gone, Mrs. Williams. I’m sorry.” Back is the reserved, meek girl.

  Damn!

  I take a steadying breath. “You’re a dear,” God, I hate being the stuck-up bitch! “I’ll give James a call. Bye.” I lie because she needs to think that James will tell me where he’s at, although I don’t know anything about what he does.

  “Of course. Have a nice day, Mrs. Williams.”

  Setting my phone on the sink, I step into the shower. Where would they go? As I shampoo, condition, shave, and wash, I go through everything I’ve heard them discuss trying to dissect any piece of concrete information. The only thing I come up with is Saudi Arabians, and even that was used in the vaguest sense. I’m tense and agitated. I want to confront James and Dominic, but I also want to run the hell away.

  I know where I have to go.

  The only person who can help me.

  The only person who cares about me.

  Gringo.

  I don’t know much about him. He is darkness and danger. Like a werewolf that protects you, a beast that would rip out anyone or anything’s heart that would threaten what’s his. What I do know is enough for me, it’s all that matters. He is kind in his own way, he’s good despite himself, and he feels, he feels so deeply it hurts him, I can see it in his eyes. I know how he loves to be touched, how he loves to be licked and sucked. Mostly I know he’s not the cold, angry bastard he believes himself to be. And I know his real name. He gave me that sacred piece of information once in a rare moment when he was particularly raw. It was the greatest gift he’s given to me. That and myself. These are both priceless, and there is no way I can ever repay him for what he’s done for me.

  There is nothing I’d like more than to have a lifetime trying.

  I hang my head and allow a glimmer of the sadness I’m trying to ignore peek through.

  If only.

  I’m also dreading seeing him.

  I feel like I cheated on Gringo. Yes, if I had to put a label on what Gringo is to me, it would be lover. On the outside, he is the man I’m having an affair with. But he’s so much more than that.

  Gringo is my salvation and my hope. He is my today, and God how I wish he was my tomorrow.

  I love him.

  Gabriel DeJesus is the best thing that has ever happened to me. It’s because of him, of what we have, of every single thing he has ever done to me, that I have the courage to face James and demand answers. It’s because of him I have the courage to stand up for myself and refuse to accept whatever James Williams expects of me. I will no longer allow myself to be humiliated and used for whatever powertrip scheme James has planned.

  Enough.

  But I need Gringo’s help. I haven’t answered his texts or calls all day. I haven’t been able to because I know he’d sense something. I need to be face to face with him.

  I have to tell him everything. Including how I sucked James off in front of Dominic Fellini.

  Oh God!

  CHAPTER 14

  Gringo

  It’s my turn to be in the coffee shop.

  I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be in the tattoo shop either.

  Honestly, I’d like to be in the middle of some goddamn battle field venting some of this aggression that’s eating me up inside.

  Violence. That’s what my soul is screaming for. Lots of it.

  Funny how the one thing that destroyed me is the thing that grew to heal me and keep me sane.

  I could use a little sanity right about now.

  Summer’s coffee shop really is a great place. People feel welcome here, they’re comfortable and at home. Even with us, the dark, brooding, scary looking guys that are always looming around. One of us is in here at all times, ever since the contract for Summer’s retrieval was revealed. Ever since she was kidnapped.

  This is where I first met Sasha. A ghost of a smile plays upon my lips remembering that day. We were in sleeper mode then, the four of us, me, Bull, Rock, and Snake. The Program had left us alone for a while after the cluster fuck of the previous mission. It was shortly after I met Sasha, after Rock and Summer had first gotten together that we’d been contacted with our new assignment. That assignment was to return Summer to her father and The Club. We were supposed to bring her back so she could fulfill her one and only purpose: she’d been prostituted by her father for a business deal. That was after she’d been a sex slave to her fiancée’s father for years while he trained her.

  Fuck that. That shit was not happening.

  It hadn’t. We changed the orders. We sure as hell retrieved Summer, but instead of returning her to The Club and the hell she’d run away from, we kept her, Rock claimed her, and she became a part of our family.

  We take care of ours. No matter what, no matter who. Fuck with ours, and it’s fucking on.

  We had to take the assignment to the Ink & Arms Expo. We had things all planned out, until a five-foot-fucking-nothing demon named Raven crashed into our lives, and into Snake. That little devil carried a whole shit-load of baggage with her. Snake took everything, our shit and Raven’s big bundle of enemies, and decided to deal with it all on his own. We found out at the last minute. But he still went fucking down.

  If he were here right now, I’d unleash some of this aggression swirling around inside me on him. Because he went rogue and paid the price.

  “Lad,” Mrs. Merriweather snaps me in the arm with her knitting needles, “wipe that scowl from your face, ye be scaring the customers.”

  I want to fucking growl. “Yes, ma’am,” I mutter instead in some unintelligible voice.

  She’s goes back to whatever the fuck she’s making.

  I sit back in my seat, cross my arms in front of my chest, and watch her bent fingers work some kind of crazy rhythm. “What are you making? You’re always doing that, but I’ve never seen the finished product.”

  She smiles a haughty smirk. “Does it be making a difference, lad?” She keeps smirking as her needles clack round and round.

  Her question strikes me as odd. “Yes, it does.” It seems like the most obvious answer.

  She tsks me several times, shaking her head. “Tis not always the outcome that’s relevant, my boy, but the act itself is what’s important.” She looks at me over the rims of her cat eye glasses, today’s she’s wearing the ones with the rhinestones in the corner. “Even more important tis the why.”

  The clarity and understanding of this wise woman floors me.

  That one simple thought gives every fucked up thing I’ve done in my life a whole different perspective. It’s gives possibility, approval, fucking acceptance.

  And if I were anyone else, forgiveness.

  I’m not anyone else.

  My expression hardens. Not at her, but myself. “Not always.”

  Because my life has been nothing but one fucking catastrophic train wreck after the other since that goddamn day in the basement. Every bad choice had me like a vice tightening around my neck and pulled me in time and time again. I’d finally stopped fighting and became the best damn piece of shit to ever walk the face of the earth. I perfected that shit. It’s mine, I own it. So, no Mrs. Merriweather, not fucking always.

  “Pffftt. Ye might be a ‘andsome lad, but you’re as dumb as an ass. Ye know that, don’t ya lad?”

  What the fuck?
/>   “Pardon me?” Who the hell does she think she’s talking to?

  She goes on as if I hadn’t said anything. “Do you know what me Charles used to say?” she doesn’t look up as her hands twist and turn. She continues without skipping a beat, “’e said sometimes people need to get a good ass kicking. That it’s the only way a stubborn bloak would learn ‘is lesson. Me Charles was a smart man, ‘e was.”

  Did she just say I need my ass kicked?

  She lifts her eyes to meet mine. There’s a mischievous glint in them as the corner of her mouth twitches with a devilish grin.

  “You’re one mean ass woman, you know that Mrs. Merriweather?” I grin at her, because she’s too damn bad ass.

  “I’ve been known to be a time or two,” she chuckles. Then her expression becomes serious. “But tis you we’re talking about.” She drops her hands to her lap. “Enough of the pussy footing around, lad. When are you going to shit or get off the pot?” she glares at me.

  Just What. In the. Actual. FUCK?

  “You’ll have to excuse, but I have no goddamn idea what you’re talking about?’

  “Pish posh boy! You be sitting ‘ere with an old woman when your knickers be in a twisted fankle. Get up off your arse lad and get your woman.,” she flicks her hand to the door like she’s shooing a fly. “’eavens knows the two of ye make a right fine pair, you do. One just as mean as the other.” She flicks her wrist again for good measure. “Be gone with you lad, no one want to be lookin’ at your scowling mug.”

  I’m completely stunned.

  I decide since we’re calling bullshit, I lean in and ask her quietly, “You do realize she’s married?”

  “Hrrmph, an inconvenience, nothing more.” She fixes her gaze on me. “And when did that be bothering ye? Not all those times ye and she be shagging, most certainly not.” She nods abruptly. Did she just say she knows me and Sasha fuck? “Besides, if a man be taking care of ‘is lady, she’d ‘ave no need to be looking for the likes of you, she’d not.”

  I sit back as our eyes stay locked on each other, she challenging me, me seeing another layer to this amazing woman.

  “It’s not that simple,” I murmur.

  “Bullshit, lad,” she grumbles.

  My eyebrows shoot to my hairline.

  “Besides I can’t leave, not until Rock comes in.”

  “Hmmmm, you all still be thinking our Summer’s still in trouble, you do.” I wish it were that simple. She narrows her eyes at me. “Could be the reason our Snake didn’t come back with the lot of ye, it could.”

  She’s too fucking perceptive.

  “Don’t worry about me,” I attempt to give her a charming grin.

  Apparently it didn’t work because she grabs my ear and shakes my head with her grip on the lobe. “Ye be listening to me, young man. Stop this foolishness ye be thinkin’, I will not be ‘aving this nonsense!”

  “OOOWWW!”

  I would laugh my ass off at how ridiculous this is, but it fucking hurts.

  Everyone in the coffee shop stops what they’re doing and watches the spectacle of an eighty-year-old woman scolding a mean ass son of a bitch.

  The door chimes. As my head twists and turns in Mrs. Merriweather’s clutches, Dominic Fellini steps inside and stops to watch the show with an amused grin on his face. His deep baritone voice drawls, “If I’d have known the goings on in here, I would have come in a lot sooner.”

  Mrs. Merriweather drops her hand from my ear. “That be a snake in the grass if I ever did see one, ‘e is.”

  Rage seeps through me seeing him in here all fucking confident like he owns the place, imagining him touching Sasha and putting his goddamn lips on her. My body tenses ready to tear him apart.

  Mrs. Merriweather’s hand lands on my leg and squeezes. “Easy lad, there be a time and place for everything. This is not it.”

  I clench my fists until my nails imbed themselves into my palms. Our glare never breaks, his eyes full of self-satisfaction and some fucking secret, undoubtedly a shit ton of them. Mine filled with all of the fury I’ve ever felt in my life. Then the prick has the nerve to walk over to me.

  “I don’t believe we’ve ever met.” He extends his hand to me to shake. “I’m Dominic Fellini,” he grins at me. “But I believe you already knew that.” I don’t fucking move. It doesn’t faze him, and his grin only broadens. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you personally Gabriel, but you go by Gringo, isn’t that right?” He slips his hand back inside his trouser pocket.

  The fact that Dominic Fellini knows my name shouldn’t surprise me, nothing surprises me, but it does.

  No, not surprise. Enrages me.

  I’ll play his fucking game.

  “Pleasure,” I force out. “What brings you to town?” He wants to talk? We’ll talk. We’ll wrap all of our unsaid shit in civility and mundane comments, if that’s the way he wants it.

  “I’m here just looking around. I believe we have a mutual friend. Sasha Williams.” His expression doesn’t flinch with the dig.

  He knows. Why the fuck is he doing this here?

  “Yes. Sasha is very well known.” I’m not giving him jack shit.

  His smile never falters. “She’s quite a lovely girl.”

  My jaw ticks. Mrs. Merriweather’s grip tightens again, successfully keeping me pinned to my chair.

  “She is.” If I had a knife in my hand, I’d cut out his fucking tongue.

  A moment passes as we stare each other off. Finally, he shifts his gaze to the elderly woman beside me. “May I get you something? I hear the coffee here is the best.”

  “No thank you,” Mrs. Merriweather knows how to behave, I’ll give her that. “I don’t be needing anything from the likes of you.” Scratch that.

  I love this fucking woman!

  Dominic Fellini dips his head back and laughs. “I can see why Gabriel enjoys your company. If you’ll excuse me.” He nods his goodbye before turning away.

  I watch him walk to the counter. I study his movements, I watch to see if he’s paying attention to who’s around him, his surroundings, if he even notices or cares about anything at all. He doesn’t. He walks and stand as if he’s so confident of himself that nothing can touch him.

  Wrong, Dominic Fellini. Very wrong.

  When he speaks, I listen to every fucking word he says.

  “I was telling them I’ve heard very good things about your place. You must be Summer.”

  I swear I fucking growl this time.

  He knows who she is.

  Summer is watching him like a fucking hawk. She may not know him, but from seeing her father, there is no doubt she’s very familiar with men like him. Men like her father. Except Dominic is worse.

  “Thank you,” Summer replies politely.

  Smart girl. She doesn’t deny or confirm her identity. Not that it fucking matters to someone like him. Information is handed to people like him like chicklets.

  “What can I get for you?” Summer inquires all business, ignoring his question regarding her identity.

  I can envision his smug grin. Prick. “I’d like an espresso please. Do you have lemon rind?”

  No. My mistake. Asshole.

  “I do. It’ll just be a minute.” She turns and gets his fucking coffee.

  I hope she spits in it.

  “And you must be the lovely Gwendolyn. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  Mrs. Merriweather digs her nails into my thigh. “Bollocks! The cheek of the swine!”

  Placing a hand over hers, I murmur to her trying to calm her, “It’s fine.”

  Being the good girl Gwen is, she nods politely, her face a flaming crimson now. “Thank you. Welcome to Riverbend.”

  She’s too goddamn nice!

  Mrs. Merriweather is fucking right. If he knows who I am, then it would make sense he knows about Rock, Bull, and Snake as well. If for no other reason, that would give him an excuse to know about Summer.

  That explanation is total horse sh
it.

  But he knows who Gwendolyn is.

  Why?

  Why the fuck would Dominic Fellini care about an innocent barista in a small town coffee shop?

  “It’s a lovely town. So much to offer. I do believe I’m going to be taking some mementos home with me when I go.”

  “I don’t blame you,” Gwendolyn engages in a seemingly innocent conversation with him.

  Nothing is innocent with Dominic Fellini. With men like him, everything is calculated.

  “Here you go,” Summer places his cup on the counter and rings him up.

  Dominic hands her a fifty-dollar bill and tells her to keep the change. I can see her jaw clench as she thanks him. Gwendolyn’s eyes widen in shock.

  “I’ll see you both again very soon,” he says then turns to leave. On the way out, he raises his cup to Mrs. Merriweather and I.

  “Over my dead body,” the old woman grumbles.

  I try to calm her down. “He’s just a city guy. He’ll be gone soon.”

  “That’s shit, lad. ‘e’s the devil, ‘e is. And ‘e won’t be darkening our door again, no sir. Not if Primrose be ‘aving any say in it.”

  She has no idea how right she is.

  Unfortunately, we haven’t gotten any hits with Dominic’s identity from the pictures I took. Nothing came back. Only one thing.

  Hawk.

  Four words were all he said, but it spoke volumes.

  Stay away from him.

  It’s killing me not follow him. But I can’t leave the girls. Now more than ever someone has to watch them constantly. As I watch him walk to his rented Jaguar, envisioning all the ways I’d like to kill him, my phone chimes with a message.

  It’s from Sasha. I need to see you. Soon!

  Dominic just left and Sasha needs to see me soon. Coincidence.

  Dominic’s words struck a dark chord inside of me. So does Sasha’s message. Only warnings and threats do that.

  Dominic Fellini is definitely some kind of threat.

  CHAPTER 15

  Gringo

  I finally pull into my driveway after Rock made it to the coffee shop to takeover watching for…anything. We don’t not only leave Summer alone, but everyone who has a connection to us. Fuck that. Anyone who is important to us. He was as fucking furious as I was after I told him about the surprise guest who’d paid us a visit. Then we had to go over a few things. There’s a lot of information we don’t have, but our assignment is clear. The fucked up thing is we cannot deviate from the plan. That shit is killing me. Rock gave me the few updates he’d received, which wasn’t a hell of a lot. I gave him jack shit. I had nothing to tell him except Dominic’s visit, and the fact he knew who Summer and Gwen both were. Rock wanted to rip his heart out. Bull’s going to have a fucking cow. None of us sleep anymore: me because I’m parked outside Sasha’s house all night long. Bull because he’s in front of Gwendolyn’s and Mrs. Merriweather’s. Rock can at least be inside his own home with Summer.