High Stakes (A Dark Romance)

by Vanessa Waltz

  There has to be alcohol in Vincent’s kitchen.

  I rip open the cabinets and find bottles of vodka, whiskey, tequila, anything I want. I take out the vodka and pour myself a large glass. Downing it feeds the demon inside me. The spark that was present the whole time is coaxed into a fire, and I drink until I don’t feel anything at all. I take a seat next to the window and watch over the bustle of the city. There’s so much madness in the world, so much unbridled violence, and I feel safe up here. Removed from all of it.

  The whole world spins when I try to get up to reach my backpack, so I sit back down. It takes a few seconds for everything to stop moving.

  Fuck. I’m wasted.

  But the thoughts keep intruding, even when I drown them out with more alcohol.

  BANG, BANG.

  The door jumps as someone’s fist smashes into it.

  “Open the fucking door, Adriana!”

  A rough voice yells at me, growing louder. It’s Vincent, I know it is, but the violence scares me.

  “Hold on!” I yell back.

  I rise to my feet and almost fall flat on my ass as I take a step forward. I make a strange sound, like a sob and a laugh combined together, as I pick myself up. It’s so dark in his apartment, and the swimming in my head makes it worse.

  The doorknob twists violently. “What the fuck did you do to the door?”

  “I blocked it. Hold on.”

  All of it seems funny now. Even Vincent’s rage. I pull all of the shit out of the way. How, I’ll never really know. Vince almost trips all over everything when he bursts inside. He stares at all the chairs. At me.

  “You’re fucking wasted.”

  I’m on the verge of a nasty retort, but something in Vince’s gaze frightens me and I shut up.

  “You have an excellent collection of alcohol.”

  He looks like he wants to yell, but he shakes his head. “Fuck it.”

  Taking my hand, he leads me back to the chair near the glass window and he grabs the half full glass, downing it in one shot.

  “I guess I would get drunk if I were you.” He stares morosely at the bottom of the glass.

  “I keep hoping that all this alcohol might burn holes into my brain. Do you want to know why I’m afraid all the time?”

  Vincent’s neck bends into his hands like a heron. “Because of me?”

  “No, because of my dad.” The tiniest bit of nausea hits me and I remember how silky his blood felt around my knees. I grab the neck of the bottle, but Vince looks up and wrestles it out of my grip.

  “That’s enough,” he says in a dangerous voice.

  “Oh, it’s not nearly enough.”

  He takes a swig of the bottle and keeps it near his feet, so I can’t reach.

  Bastard. He has no fucking idea.

  “I never told you how my dad died,” I begin, my voice trembling with rage.

  Vince’s haggard face looks up at me.

  The alcohol makes it easy to forget, but once you’re in the throes of misery it drags you down. “They came into my house and my dad pushed me into my room to save me. They took him by the throat and I ran out because Mom was screaming and then I think I surprised them—that they didn’t mean to do it, but they dragged a knife across his throat. They ran off after that and he bled to death. I had his blood all over my hands. My legs. I can still smell it.”

  Across the table, Vince says nothing. He looks lifeless. “How old were you?”

  “I was ten. And the worst part is that whoever killed him is still out there.” My breath hitches in my chest. “The cops didn’t do anything. They were awful.”

  Suddenly, he’s at my side, pulling me on his lap as his hands soothe my arms, moving up and down. A swell of warmth expands in my chest and electricity shoots from his fingertips into my skin.

  “Jesus, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

  I lean against his chest and a shudder runs through my body. “I hate feeling like this.”

  “You’re going to have to stay here for a while, so that I can protect you.”

  For a moment, I shove the past aside. “Vince, what’s going on?”

  I don’t know if he’s aware of it, but his fingers lightly running up my arms make me clench down on my stomach, suppressing a shiver. His lips touch my ear.

  “What’s going on is that you’re mine, and they want to hurt me. So they targeted you.”

  What?

  My heart thumps painfully against my chest. “Who?”

  “The family associated with that man who insulted you at the card game.”

  That Silvio guy.

  “The man you weren’t supposed to touch.”

  Vince’s tone is unapologetic. “Let’s not talk about this.”

  I pull out of his arms, a stab of anger striking through my chest. Standing upright, I waver as Vince follows me.

  “I was threatened, and that’s your response?”

  “Things are already in motion. Believe me, they’re not getting away with this.”

  Another murder? A beating? My insides swirl with all the violent images along with the alcohol still coursing through my veins. “What if I just went to the police?”

  “Hey,” he snaps. “Don’t talk foolishness. We wash our own dirty laundry.”

  I hate how my body responds to him, even after everything that happened. His hand wraps around my head and twists in my hair and he yanks back, hard. His head bends over me and not for the first time, my mouth is dry when I look at him. My throat constricts as that violent energy focuses on me.

  His claws are out.

  “You listen to me, Adriana. You never talk to the cops about any of our business, or anything that you might see around us. If you do, you better hope that we never find you.”

  “F—fuck you.”

  Tears slide down my face as he looks down at me, impassive. I feel betrayed by the sweet man who delivered me meals, paid for my college, and did all the considerate things that my mother never did for me.

  “I wouldn’t hurt you, Ade. They would, and I’d be powerless to stop them.” His face softens as he wipes tears from my eyes. “Please, I’m begging you. This is one rule you can never break.”

  Maybe I’m not crazy for wanting him. He brutalizes anyone who hurts me. There’s no waiting for the police to make an investigation, just immediate action. Immediate consequences. And yes, the friction in his world occasionally affects me, but it’s better than having no one at all.

  Vince kisses me like he needs me, like he can’t live another second without feeling my bare skin. I need him, too. My hands feel the sinewy, hard pectoral muscles before sweeping up to stroke his shoulders and biceps. He’s one hundred percent lean muscle, so powerful he lifts me into his arms with no great effort. He deposits me on the couch and he immediately removes my jeans, his hands sweeping up my bare thighs to grasp my panties and pulls those down, too.

  He parts my legs so that they hook over his shoulders, and I’m clenching my core as I feel his hot breath steaming between my legs. A high gasp leaves my throat as a warm, wet muscle strokes my clit. His dark head is between my thighs as his mouth kisses and sucks me, making my back arch. It doesn’t take long for my breaths to come out in whimpers. He pumps his fingers inside me while his tongue does circles around my clit, occasionally closing his mouth over me.

  “Vince!”

  The fingers work faster, curling upwards while his tongue teases me, until I can feel the searing pressure building up inside.

  And then he leaves me. I’m still standing on the edge. I just need one small push, but he kisses my thigh before he leans forward. I grab his head, heart pounding, and taste myself as his lips crash against mine. He’s ripping at my clothes, but I don’t want to separate from him. From the moment we met, it was always crazy, hot passion. I can’t leave him any more than he can leave me.

  My shirt flies over my head and he tears my bra strap in his haste to remove it. Then his arms wrap around me and under my legs, lifti
ng me like I weigh nothing. Every time he does, I’m always awed by his strength. In his arms, I feel small. Protected.

  He smiles down at me, the cocky smirk on his face as he takes me to his bedroom. He places me on the bed and stands in front of me, ripping off his clothes as darkness floats on the surface of his face. In a few seconds, he’s as naked as I am, climbing over me. He flips me on my stomach and spreads my legs. He sits on my legs, pinning me there until finally he moves over my back, planting hot kisses in the center as he parts my legs.

  The comforter swallows my gasp as he pushes roughly inside me. I cry out as he fills me, my body stretching to accommodate him. I can hear my wetness around him, and he lets out a satisfied growl.

  “Goddamn, you’re wet. You really like it this way, don’t you?”

  I bite my lip to keep from crying out as he thrusts hard, but then he pounds again when I open my mouth to breathe and a small moan escapes.

  “Yes.”

  His weight presses over my back as he wraps an arm around my abdomen and pulls me against him, so that he fills me more deeply.

  “I knew it the moment I met you that you wanted me. I saw it in your eyes, how they were all over me at those games. You wanted my fat cock pounding your pussy, and I wanted it too, baby. I just wasn’t prepared for how good it would be, how much I’d want you.”

  Hearing those words growled into my neck deepens the pleasure. I feel sparks tingling all over my skin. He thrusts so hard that I feel it stabbing my stomach. The hand flattened over my stomach presses hard, making everything tighter.

  “Fuck, I know I should let you go for your own sake, but I can’t bear thinking of you with some other schmuck.”

  It’s like he’s pounding everything into me. The pleasure rises inside me, so strong that everything drops away. All of my insecurities, fears, and worries are gone. I’m moaning his name, begging him to go faster, but he doesn’t. Vince goes at his own pace, his mouth all over my neck as he digs into me. He nails me over and over, breathing so hard I think he might collapse. Finally, he pulls out and strokes himself, coming as his hand dips lower to rub my clit. I collapse like a house of cards, folding in on myself as my orgasm crashes against me.

  Vince groans as he lies beside me, his chest heaving. I lie across him and kiss his mouth, the stubbles on his chin, his jaw. I’m filled with relief when his eyes slide over to mine and his lip twitches. He’s mercurial—unpredictable, but I love it.

  I love him.

  The enormity of that crashes into me, leaves me trembling in his arms. Part of me wants to dismiss it. What the hell do I know about love?

  Nothing. I don’t know a goddamn thing. I’m my mother’s meal ticket, but I don’t think she loves me.

  All I know is that I’ve accepted every dark truth about him, and I still need him with me. His world is filled with people who live in the darkest corners of society. He may even be the monster that he claims to be. It still doesn’t change the fact that when I’m not with him, it’s like a pounding ache in my chest that never goes away until I hear his voice, or feel his breath whispering on my shoulder. I’ve never felt so alive and strong than when I’m with him. Maybe he loves me, too. Why else would he take me to see his mother, if I wasn’t someone special?

  “I love you.”

  The words tumble from my lips and he opens his eyes, cutting me with his sharp gaze.

  I feel cold. His eyes strike me like a whip and his arms shrink from around me. Vince sits up on the bed, saying nothing and grabs his boxers from the floor. He puts them on before leaving the bedroom. Leaving me.

  Blood rushes into my face as I sit on his bed. What just happened?

  He rejected me.

  I curl into a ball and I think of my dorm at Columbia, where I can hide under the sheets and sob myself to sleep. I need to leave, but I want to be invisible. I can’t stand the sight of his pitying gaze. Tears well up, blotting colors together.

  I thought he loved me, too.

  Trying not to think of how pathetic I must look, I grab a towel from his dresser and I wrap it around myself tightly, as if it can guard me from the humiliation I’ll feel when I step outside.

  Fuck it. I’m not going to tiptoe around him.

  Since when is being honest something to be ashamed about?

  My feet walk over the cold wood, and despite my resolution I stall when I see him sitting on the couch with his head in his hands.

  I walk around the couch and stoop down, my face burning as I collect my clothes. Finally, they’re all gathered in my chest. The pain of his rejection stinging me, I turn around and head back.

  “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

  His head is raised and he looks right at me with so much intensity that I take a step backwards. “Home,” I say in a firm voice.

  “You’re not going anywhere.”

  Vince rises to his full height, looking downright menacing as he walks closer, pinning me against the glass.

  A flash of anger clenches my teeth. “I’m not staying here. I don’t want to waste my time with someone who doesn’t feel the same.”

  But Vince is angry too, for reasons I won’t even try to comprehend. The heat in his gaze makes me flatten against the wall.

  “Part of me wants to get rid of you. You’ve been taking pieces of me away, little by little. I’m not used to worrying about another person, not used to all this fucking responsibility.”

  He slams his fist into the glass, and I wince as I feel the shockwaves through my head. His face falls like he immediately regrets it and his lips crash against mine, his hands wrapping around me and tearing off my towel. The clothes tumble to the ground while I’m still gasping in shock. He pulls me into his chest and his all-encompassing heat wraps around me, filling me with joy.

  His breathing is ragged as he whispers in my ear, “I love you, too.”

  Chapter 9

  “Ten thousand dollars?”

  My voice is like a gunshot, a strong burst of wind that immediately gets swallowed by all the shit crammed in the house. There are boxes piled all the way to the ceiling now, when they were only halfway there the last time I visited. My heels clack over the filthy hardwood floors. They once gleamed, but now age and neglect made them fade.

  “What the hell have you been buying?”

  Mom leans on the kitchen counter, one of the few places that still has space. There’s a faint rotting smell coming from the sink. I don’t know how she cooks, much less eats, in this place. I grab the dirty glass door in the kitchen and slide it open to let fresh air inside.

  “It’s none of your business what I buy.”

  Mom tosses her lit cigarette in the scummy sink. She crosses her arms and pouts like she’s a child.

  “Oh yes, it is my business, considering I’m paying for it. Jesus, can’t you clean once in a while?”

  Vince has been bugging me about meeting my mom. He’s a traditional guy, but I’ve been avoiding it like the plague. I’m embarrassed to introduce her to him.

  I mean, look at this place. It’s a sty—the complete opposite of the environment he grew up in.

  “Go ahead, mock your mother. I’m sure your father would be very proud of you.” Her eyes cut into me as her mouth twists with rage. She wears bleach stained yoga pants and a tank top, which exposes her sagging, prematurely aged skin.

  I haven’t visited in weeks, not even bothering to call, because I don’t want her to burst my bubble of happiness. Now I feel like I abandoned her.

  “Ma, I’m not mocking you,” I say in a softer voice.

  “Yes you are,” she says, her throat thick with tears. “I need more money. These debts aren’t being paid fast enough.”

  Her ungratefulness fans the fire inside me. “I’m doing the best I can. I’m not giving you ten grand, Ma.”

  She dissolves into tears, her chipped nails clawing her face as she sobs. “If your father was alive, he’d…”

  He would have divorced you.

&
nbsp; “He’d take care of me, not leave me to the wolves like this.”

  “It’s his fault we’re in this mess.”

  My head pounds as I listen to her sob and complain. Our relationship is dead. She never asks me about my life. Hell, she doesn’t even know about Vince because she never asks me anything about myself. Vince’s mother knows more about my day-to-day life than she does. I look inside myself, searching for a scrap of affection or something other than contempt for my mother and I feel like a sociopath. She makes me feel like a terrible person.

  “Let’s go outside and take a walk. A bit of fresh air would do you good.”

  Instead, she pulls a cigarette out of a battered pack and attempts to light it, but she’s almost out of fluid. “Vaffanculo!”

  The plastic light streaks across the room and bounces off the wall as Mom collapses in an empty chair, looking depressed.

  Despite how she treats me, there’s still some sick part of me that can’t bear to see her suffer. “Why do you have to be like this? I can help you clean the house. We can get rid of all this stuff and make it how it used to be.”

  There are boxes and boxes of crap everywhere, even in the kitchen. I grab one and look inside and there’s a bunch of useless crap inside, mostly stuff bought from the dollar store. I take it and move it outside.

  “Where are you bringing that? I just bought that!”

  “It’s junk.”

  She grabs it from me, bristling. “Do not touch my stuff.”

  “Technically, it’s my stuff since I bought it,” I say nastily.

  Fine. Fuck it. I’m tired of this. My watch tells me that Vincent is out front, waiting. I know that he’ll come to the front door if I take too long, because he wants to meet her.

  “I have to go.” I stalk past her without saying goodbye, fuming as I pass by the rows and columns of crap.

  “What about—Adriana, I still need the money!”

  “Sell some of this junk,” I say without a backwards glance. “Oh, and Happy fucking Thanksgiving.”

  The door slams behind me and I practically sprint to the black car waiting by the curb. I open the door and slide inside, wiping tears from my face. Vince, dressed in a handsome charcoal suit, frowns as he watches me cry. He’s used to it by now.