by Alexa Land
“Wiccans,” Vincent said.
“What?”
He explained, “Mrs. Meier’s granddaughter is a Wiccan.”
Nana raised her eyebrows at him. “That’s what I said, Witchens.” To me she said, “I’ll arrange a cleansing ceremony, just leave everything to me.”
“That I would love to see,” Brian murmured. He was actually smiling.
“Who’s your friend?” Nana asked, apparently noticing Brian for the first time.
“That’s Kieran’s brother, Brian.”
“The asshole?”
“Yup,” I said with a grin.
“You’re not dating him, are you?” she asked me.
In unison, Brian and I said, “Oh, hell no.”
I told her, “I was supposed to take him to a hotel after Kieran got injured, because their house is temporarily out of commission. But we didn’t quite make it that far.”
She frowned at Brian for a long moment. And then she told him, “Well, if you promise to behave, I guess you can spend tonight at my house.” Then she shook a bony finger at him and added, “But be forewarned, Fuzzy: my grandson Dante is a gay homosexual, and other people I love are too, so I won’t tolerate hateful language in my home. You got that?”
“Yes ma’am,” he said embarrassedly, and I flashed her a huge smile.
She linked her arm with mine and said, “Come on, I’ll escort you upstairs so you can grab a few things.” With her free hand, Nana reached into the pocket of her raincoat and pulled out a .44 Magnum. That coat must have really deep pockets. “Don’t worry, I got us covered.”
Both Vincent and Brian looked absolutely stricken. “Nana, give me that,” Vincent said, stepping forward and holding out his hand.
“No way, Sonny, you got your own piece. Now come on, let’s all go upstairs and make sure Hunter’s apartment is secure while he packs an overnight bag.”
I felt pretty safe when we got upstairs, since my entire entourage was packing. Brian retrieved my gun from under the cushion of his wheelchair, and Vincent pulled a freaking cannon with a silencer from inside his black overcoat. Okay, I knew Nana’s family was old-school mafia and all, but damn.
While Vincent and Brian did yet another sweep of the entire apartment (for no real reason, since the cops had been thorough), Nana stayed by my side. I quickly shoved some random clothes in a suitcase, then took a satchel into the bathroom and threw in some toiletries. When I happened to glance in the mirror, I frowned at my reflection. God, what a mess. I ignored it and kept packing.
As we cut through the bedroom, I made a point of not looking at the graffiti above my bed, and Nana clicked her tongue and muttered under her breath, “I’d love to get my hands on that sick son of a bitch and shove that can of paint right where the sun don’t shine.” To me she said, “I’m going to send Vincent over here tomorrow to clean this up, replace your locks, and add an alarm system. He’s got my house wired up better than Fort Knox, he’ll do the same for this place.”
“He doesn’t have to do that, Nana. I can hire someone.”
“Nonsense! For a job this important, you only trust family.” I didn’t bother pointing out that we weren’t actually related.
We were all quiet on the ride to Nana’s house, even her, which was really out of character. She was obviously worried about me. I was worried, too, since this person, whoever he was, had really stepped up his game.
For the past few months, I’d been receiving letters at the production company that employed me. They’d started out harmless enough, though this man was clearly delusional. He began by declaring his undying love for me and talking about the wonderful future he had planned for the two of us. Soon, that gave way to anger and frustration over the fact that we weren’t together. According to Ramon Sanchez, the not-overly-concerned cop that had been assigned to my case, this was all pretty textbook.
Calling me a whore was part of the stalker’s latest rage package, so I had little doubt the graffiti and the letters were from the same man. Not that I still read the letters he sent, because they were deeply disturbing. My manager just forwarded them directly to Detective Sanchez, and he relayed the gist of them to me. Apparently, my stalker’s latest twist was to talk about my movies as if they were real life, and then accuse me of cheating on him. Sanchez was very uptight and very straight, and he must just love the incredibly detailed descriptions of every one of my films, scene by buck-naked, sweaty scene, that the letters apparently contained.
Christopher had said he thought I was in denial about this whole thing. And yeah, I probably was. I mean, how the hell was I supposed to deal with something like this, with knowing a clearly unhinged person had me in his sights? It had been bad enough before this person broke into my home. Now it was completely nightmarish. That was actually the perfect way to describe it, because, like a nightmare, it didn’t quite feel real. Was that still the denial talking?
“Hunter, sweetheart, we’re here,” Nana said, snapping me back to the present. I turned away from the window of the limo that she’d bought herself a few months ago and looked into her concerned brown eyes. “Come on, I’ll tuck you into Dante’s old room. You’ll like it, it’s cozy. Brian can have that crappy extra bedroom on the ground floor, the one that smells a little like cat pee. I don’t know why. I’ve never had a cat.” I had to grin at that, and glanced out the door of the limo at him. He and Vincent were already out on the sidewalk, waiting for us and eyeing each other suspiciously.
I leaned in underneath the big brim of her hat and gave her a hug. “Thanks, Nana. I’d be lost without you.”
“Damn right,” she said, “and don’t you forget it. But you got nothing to worry about now. Your Nana’s got this all under control.”
Chapter Three
I’d been completely exhausted when I dropped into the narrow twin bed that had been Dante’s as a child. But despite that, for the last couple hours I’d been lying awake, staring at the ceiling. I occasionally had bouts of insomnia, and tonight’s events were contributing to that in a big way. I couldn’t even make myself turn all the lights off, which told me just how deeply this had affected me.
Eventually, I gave up on ever falling asleep and swung out of bed. I had a favorite place in Nana’s palatial Queen Anne Victorian, and decided that was where I wanted to be right now. I climbed the wide staircase to the third floor, and wandered down the hall to the back of the building.
Then I stepped into a little slice of heaven. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. It smelled like soil and dampness and moss, rich and earthy. It was immediately calming, centering me somehow.
Since I grew up on a big, ugly potato farm, I despised anything to do with plants. But this was most definitely an exception. The whimsical built-in greenhouse spanned the entire width of the mansion. Intricate glass panels lined every wall, so old that they were a bit wavy, the molten glass rolled out by hand before the days of mechanical uniformity. Hundreds of orchids thrived in this little ecosystem, some commonplace, some incredibly rare and exotic, but all maintained with obvious love and devotion.
I’d asked Nana once if she was the one who took care of them, and she’d said, “Hell no. I’m way too busy for that crap.” Maybe their caretaker was the same person that maintained her backyard, which was a wonderland of sculpted shrubs and bright flowers. If I ever ran into her gardener, I intended to thank him or her for creating something so magical.
I took my favorite seat, an ornate Victorian ‘fainting couch’ right beside the wall of windows. There was a small, round table beside it, and every time I came in here, a different orchid was on display on the mosaic tabletop. Tonight’s specimen was particularly tiny and delicate, its yellow flowers less than a quarter-inch across. It wasn’t very impressive, until you leaned in and really looked at it. I did that now, and decided it was the most perfect thing I’d ever seen.
“You’ve had a trying night,” a deep voice said, “so I want to make sure you know I’m here. I don’t want to st
artle you.”
That, of course, startled me so much that I almost knocked the little plant off the table, but caught it before I did any real damage. As I scooped up the bark that I’d knocked out of the little terra cotta pot and put it back in its place, I said, “Damn, Vincent, you almost made me squash this precious little thing.” I leaned over and took a look at him around the shelves of plants. He was seated on a bench toward the back of the greenhouse, dressed in a form-fitting black t-shirt and black sleep pants. It was the first time I’d ever seen him in anything other than a dark suit. His bare feet were up on the seat, a book on his bent knees. The lighting in here was very subdued, I wondered how he could read by it.
“I’ll leave you alone. I’d imagine you could use a little peace.” He had a way of making everything he said sound so formal.
Vincent started to get up, but I said, “No, don’t go. This is your home, I don’t feel right chasing you out. I’ll go back to my room.”
I headed for the door but he intercepted me, detaining me with a light touch on my bare forearm. “Stay, I insist. You need this place far more than I do tonight.”
I tilted my head back and looked up at him. He was so stoic, ever-serious. I found myself wishing I could see him laugh, just once. It would be a wonderful sight to behold.
Impulsively, I reached up and brushed his black hair off his forehead, and for just a moment, desire flared behind his glasses. But it was gone in the next instant, and he took a step back from me, knitting his brows.
That look intrigued me though, and I took a step forward. Again he retreated. So I caught his arms lightly and said, “Hold still a minute. I need to see something.”
“See what?”
I got up on my tip-toes and kissed him gently. Fortunately, he cooperated, bending down a bit. He was so tall that at five-foot-nine, I never would have been able to reach otherwise. I closed my eyes and sank into it, and his big hands came up to circle my waist as he returned and deepened the kiss.
But a moment later, he seemed to remember himself and stepped back from me again, his hands falling to his sides. “Why did you do that?” he asked.
“Because I suspected it was what we both wanted. Obviously, I was right.”
“You’ve had a rough night, Hunter, and what you’re doing right now is the very definition of ‘any port in a storm.’ But believe me when I say, in no way am I what you need.”
“Why not?”
He knit his brows at me. “Don’t you get what I am?”
“Um, a really hot guy?”
He sighed in frustration. “Families like this one need someone to do the dirty work, so the rest of them can keep their hands clean. They need someone brutal, and ruthless, because that’s what keeps families like mine safe.”
“And that’s what you are? The family pit bull?”
“Pit bull would be a huge step up.” He turned and left the greenhouse, and I sighed and sank onto the bench he’d just vacated.
I mulled that over for a while. It certainly explained the giant concealed weapon with a silencer…it explained a lot about Vincent, actually, including why he always seemed so burdened. Apparently the dark side of the Dombruso mafia rested firmly on his shoulders.
Eventually, I picked up his book. It was an old, dog-eared copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray, and I flipped randomly to a point in the middle and started reading. I’d liked this book in high school, and was immediately drawn in.
I’d made it through a couple chapters when Vincent reappeared in the greenhouse. I hoped he’d had a change of heart and had come back to finish what we started. But all he said before ducking out again was, “You may want to check on your friend downstairs. It sounds like he’s having a hell of a nightmare.” I returned the book to the bench and headed for the stairs.
Before I even reached the ground floor, I could hear Brian yelling. It was the sound of raw agony. I hesitated outside his bedroom door, hoping he’d wake himself up, but the yelling just kept going, so I knocked loudly. There was no response. I tried the handle and found it was unlocked, so I slipped inside the little room, shutting the door behind me, went over to his bedside, and turned on a lamp. Brian was tangled in his sheets, a sheen of sweat on his skin, his features contorted as he thrashed around.
I was kind of afraid to intervene, since I was pretty sure he’d wake up swinging, but I felt like I needed to do something. I leaned back as far as I could, hopefully out of punching range, then shook his shoulder. “Brian,” I said loudly. “Hey.”
He gasped and immediately sat bolt upright, his eyes wild and terrified. He looked all around him, then stared at me for a long moment, totally disoriented. “Where am I?”
“It’ll come back to you in a minute,” I said gently, sitting down on the edge of the mattress.
He was still staring at me, looking younger and more vulnerable than I’d have imagined possible. After a while he came back to himself, and murmured, “Hunter.”
I nodded and he relaxed a bit, laying back against the pillows as I turned the light off again. “Scoot over.” There was no place else to sit in here, so I propped myself up against the headboard and pulled the covers over my legs.
Brian did as I said, then asked, “What are you doing?”
“Keeping you company while you calm down a bit.”
He was quiet for a while, and then he murmured, “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” After a while, I asked, “Do you have nightmares a lot?”
He was flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling. “Yeah. I hadn’t had one in almost a week though, I think that was some kind of record. But it figures that sleeping someplace unfamiliar would trigger them again. Sorry I woke you.”
“You didn’t.”
“Really?” He turned his head to look at the clock on the nightstand, then said, “It’s three a.m.”
“Sleep and I don’t really get along well.”
His next pause in the conversation lasted so long that I was pretty sure he’d fallen asleep. Finally he said, “I’m sorry about your dog.”
“What?”
“You told me earlier tonight that your dog got run over when you were a kid. I didn’t get a chance to say I was sorry that happened before your friends showed up.”
“Ah.”
After another pause, he said, “It’s bizarre that you’re friends with an eighty-year-old woman.”
“I know. But she’s awesome.”
“Is her last name Dombruso?”
“It is.”
“So, you know her family’s in the mafia, right?”
“Don’t judge,” I murmured, settling in and letting my eyes slide shut.
“How do you know her?”
“Well, let’s see. Her grandson Dante married a guy named Charlie, who’s Christopher’s best friend, and I met Nana through Christopher. She has a habit of taking in strays, and latched on to me right away. I’m really glad she did that.”
He was quiet again for a couple minutes before saying, “I can’t believe I’m sharing a bed with a gay porn star.”
“You’re judging again.”
“That’s not judging. I’m just expressing surprise at the incredibly bizarre day I’ve had.” He tucked a hand behind his head.
“I can go back to my room if I’m making you uncomfortable.”
“You’re not. I’m grateful for the company, but don’t feel like you have to babysit me.”
“This isn’t babysitting. And honestly, I really don’t want to be alone tonight either,” I admitted.
“I wish I could have caught the guy that broke into your apartment,” he said quietly. “I really wanted to help. But I’m not much use.”
“You did help. You not only had the sense to grab my gun and call the police, but you stayed by my side throughout all of that. If you hadn’t been with me tonight, I don’t know what I would have done.”
“You would have handled it.”
“Doubtful. When I saw the graffiti and r
ealized someone had been in my home, I froze up. And after that, all I could think to do was run. I’d really hoped I was better than that in a crisis, but apparently I totally suck.”
Brian turned his head toward me in the darkness. “You should really look into getting a bodyguard until your stalker’s behind bars.”
“Yeah, I already looked into that.” A thought occurred to me then, and I asked, “Do you want the job?”
Brian scowled at me. “That’s hilarious.”
“I’m serious.”
He stared at me for a long moment, then said, “Okay, A, you hate my guts. And B, how do you envision that working? Because a bodyguard that can’t even climb a set of stairs would be super useful.”
“Tonight you did exactly what needed to be done. You were there for me, and you were calm and competent, totally in control of the situation. What more do I need in a bodyguard?”
“Legs.”
I sighed and said, “If you don’t want the job, that’s fine. I know you can’t stand me, either. But don’t make excuses, because I know you can do this. I think you’d enjoy it, too, you came to life when all of that was happening. You stopped being this hurt, angry guy, and you become something else. It felt good, didn’t it?”
Brian narrowed his eyes at me. “This is a pity thing, isn’t it?”
“Oh, come on. I’m not nearly that nice.”
“It has to be pity.”
“If you don’t take the job, then I’m all alone.”
“No you’re not. Just call a security firm and go with whoever they send over.”
“I’ve already interviewed several candidates that way, and I didn’t like any of them.”
“You don’t like me, either,” he pointed out.
“I know. But at least I know what I’m getting with you.”
“This is the second worst idea you’ve ever had.”