by Rose Harper
The doors to this library are locked—sealed tight, in fact. And whoever is inside either got in another way, or they’ve been here the entire time, and I never noticed their presence.
An unfamiliar emotion bubbles in my lower stomach as I slowly make my way toward the voice. I really dislike this part of my job, but rules are rules, and they are meant to be followed. If we allowed all the students to get away with this kind of behavior, then it would be utter chaos and anarchy within Columbia University.
My eyes flit from the floor-to-ceiling shelves of books, over to the abandoned work stations, seeing one sole desk in the far-right corner with its work lamp still ablaze. The carpet under my feet feels like it’s trying its best to anchor me to the floor, but I push ahead, fully ready to reprimand whomever it is that broke in.
A small tendril of hair escapes my tight bun, and on instinct, I reach up and grab the clip in my hair, allowing the long, thick tresses to fall in tight waves down my back. Smoothing my hair into place, my wrist catches the sweat that beaded up on my forehead. I grimace, wiping it on the thigh of my skirt as I continue on my way.
I get so nervous when I have to confront someone. I’ve never been that type of person to allow people to run all over me. Yet, Columbia entrusted me with their precious library, so I need to do my job, even if that means stepping out of my comfort zone.
The voices grow louder the closer I get to them until soon it feels like the words are swirling around me, blasting me with their heated fierceness. Every whispered shout that befalls my ears feels like a flame coming close enough to my skin to burn.
“You and I both agreed this shit was never going to leak out,” a man’s voice hisses into the shadows of the fiction section.
“She deserves to know. Jesus fuck, man, you’d think I was killing someone by the way you’re acting,” another, less volatile voice whisper-shouts back.
Did I walk right in the middle of a family feud or something and not realize it? Nothing of what they’re saying makes any sense. It’s as if they are speaking in riddles, hoping someone can figure it out before it’s too late.
A growl commences as I imagine one man pushing his chest against the other—I really read too much fiction these days. Maybe my acquaintances aren’t too far off when telling me I need to get out more.
“You are sentencing her to death, motherfucker. The second he finds out who she is, and that she could remember, he’ll come after her.”
“Then she needs to be warned so she can watch out for him!”
“You don’t fucking get it, D. If she’s watching for him, he’ll just send another one of his goons after her. There is no winning with him. Her ignorance is bliss, and it will continue to be that way until it isn’t. When the status quo changes, that’s when orders change. Got it?”
Who will come after whom? Tiptoeing toward the shelf, the voices sound as if they’re right beside my head. With a single glance over the top of the books eye level with me, I peer through the small opening to see both men standing just in the shadows going toe-to-toe with each other. It’s a frightening sight.
A large mosaic window allows the moon’s rays to shine through in faceted colors, ranging in reds, purples, and blues. The bottom half of the men are bathed in this light from mid torso and down, their placement allowing their faces to be shrouded in darkness. Squinting my eyes, I can barely make out their profiles. All I know is these men are fucking huge. Muscular, bulky … intimidating.
The kind of man I don’t want to mess around with.
At least, not anymore. That part of my life ended when I was fourteen, and I swore to myself I would never allow my actions to lead me down that road again. A path filled with nothing but overwhelming need to be close to that one person who makes your heart skip a beat. It’s never good to allow one person to make such a cataclysmic impact on one’s life, especially if you don’t know whether they will be there tomorrow or not.
In my case, he wasn’t. His family dragged him away with scathing glares and murmured whispers. It was the only time in my life I felt about two inches tall.
The man standing closest to the bookshelves steps toward the other, allowing his hands to fall down by his side, fists clenching. “I don’t give a fuck about your goddamn status quo. From what we saw tonight, our boss isn’t going to let up until he’s killed every person involved, innocent or not. He had those two teenagers shredded right in front of us, and I refuse to allow her to go down like that. I don’t care. I’m telling her. If you were anything like you used to be, you’d want to also.”
My heart beats an erratic rhythm inside my chest, threatening to force its way outside of my ribs and onto the carpeted floor. This doesn’t seem like a conversation that should take place in a library. Why risk themselves being in a place so open and public? It makes no sense, and I know I should say something, but the fear clogging my throat keeps me from it.
The moment the man steps into the light to face off with the other, my mouth falls open in shock. My imagination has to be playing tricks on me because the sight standing before me has to be an apparition—an illusion my starved mind is playing on me.
There’s no way he’s alive! I saw his body mangled in the accident. Even to this day, I feel his cries of desperation and agony reverberate deep within my soul.
“I’m nowhere near what I used to be, and if that’s how you feel, then there’s no use for you anymore,” my blast from the past seethes.
Blood drains from my face as a glint of light reflects off the small handgun he lifts into the air. The rays from the moon catch his face just right, causing me to internally weep from seeing the hard glint I know all too well and thought I’d never see again.
Because that accident stole everything away from me … or at least, I thought it had. But now? The only thing I know is I need to get out of here. Get away before he notices me. This isn’t the man I used to know, it’s someone else—something darker, deranged.
“Think about this …” the other man’s voice trails off as a deafening sound reverberates off the library walls.
Bang!
Clasping a hand over my mouth, my eyes shoot wide as the other man drops to the floor. I watch as his lifeless body crumbles in on itself, his face turning toward me when he comes to rest on the floor, a bullet hole lodged right between his eyes. He just shot that guy!
My mind races furiously. My eyes flit up toward the other man holding the gun—the same guy who used to be so sweet and innocent, but now appears to be anything but—with his narrowed eyes now trained on me. Horror washes through me as I backpedal, hitting the bookshelf behind me. The impact causes a grunt of pain to freefall from my lips as the books lining the shelves protest under my intrusion. My eyes stay trained on that man I did absolutely anything for, and with one last look, I turn, fear clogging my throat, as I run like my life depends on it.
I just saw something I wasn’t supposed to, and now …
Now, I’m in serious trouble.
3
GAVINO
Goddammit. When am I going to catch a break? Instead of shielding the last person I ever wanted to see again, I want to feel fresh, warm blood slip between my fingers as I kill someone with my bare hands.
The Brotherhood should know better than to send me on a mission that involves protecting a woman I’d rather see pushing up daisies. I’ve been jonesing for the blade ever since Adriano and his antics almost a year ago, and I will continue to until the beast inside me is satiated, its hunger quenched by the death of another. And my newfound charge cannot be the one on my hit list which drives me even more insane.
It’s like a rabid pit bull inside of me, pacing back and forth within its rusty cage. It snarls at anyone that comes near and quietly growls while looking for a way out of its prison. All it needs is that one opportunity—that one chance to satisfy its deprivation for blood.
Cracking my neck to the side, the need to reach inside my pocket and pull out my smokes overwhelm me. It’
s been years since I toked on anything other than a small blunt, but with the name Valentino told me in person of the woman I’m supposed to be protecting, it’s causing a lot of unsettled emotions to race through me.
I need the relief. I need the nicotine flowing through my body to relax me. Since I’m not getting that by killing, I’ll have to settle for the smokes burning a hole in my pocket.
With my hands on the steering wheel, I flick my eyes to the side and stare at the church mocking me from across the street. Father Avery’s monstrosity burns a hole inside my retinas the longer I look at the pristine, immaculate edifice. With its high archways and Victorian-era appearance, it looks every bit as intimidating as it is on the inside.
I’ve never been a holy man, even though I attend mass with my familia every Sunday. Because how can you believe and have faith when you look like the devil himself? There are scars littering over half my body, making me look like I’m crudely stitched together, instead of being in one piece.
Sighing, I try to reign in my thoughts because I’ll be honest—right now, I want to fucking kill someone. And the woman inside may very well have my wrath instead of my protection. I need to get control over my emotions, there’s no doubt about it. If I don’t, I’m definitely going to make her pay for every fucking thing that happened to me.
A fierce vibrating comes from within my worn leather jacket. It buzzes for a few seconds, each vibration sucking a part of my dead soul right out of my body before it stops once more. It’s been off and on since I left my brother’s house earlier tonight.
It rang while I made my way to one of my houses that’s located down the street from Mateo. It rang while I was in the shower, cursing the entire Brotherhood name. It rang while I was sucking down my fifth tumbler of scotch, contemplating if I was actually going to go through with this or not. And it rang and rang and rang until I switched it to vibrate.
I know exactly who it is before I even look at the screen. It’s that fucker, Valentino. They expected me to be here an hour ago, and what they don’t know is, I’ve been here for two. I just can’t bring myself to walk inside. Not when my emotions are all over the map.
When my phone vibrates yet again, I groan in frustration and tuck my hand inside to retrieve it. I’m going to have to answer it sooner or later. Or else they’ll send Damon after me with a flurry of questions as to why I’m pushing this off. Even though the fuckers already know why I’m waiting so long.
Without looking, I flick my finger across the screen, putting it next to my ear as I dig in my pocket for my smokes.
“What do you want?” I growl, all but ripping the pack of cigarettes open and retrieving one.
“You’re late,” he deadpans.
“Like I give a shit?” I scoff, putting the butt between my lips and flicking the light. Inhaling a lungful of sweetness, I toss the lighter across my Dodge Challenger and lean my head back against the rest. “Bitch can fucking die for all I care.”
“Gavino!” Valentino barks, his voice irritating the piss out of me.
“Listen here, old man. If that cunt got herself in trouble, she can fucking push up daises. She’s been a thorn in my side since I was fifteen, and I couldn’t care less at this point.”
“Just get the fuck in there. Do your job. And keep her goddamn ass hidden.” I go to retort, but the resounding click ensures he’s hung up and I’m left to do the last thing I ever wanted to do in my life.
Protect the one bitch who successfully scarred my soul.
Growling, I squeeze the phone until the sound of the screen cracking hits my ears. Loosening my hand, I allow it to fall down into the seat next to me as I continue to puff on my cancer stick. The cherry burns brightly in the dark cab of the car as I stare straight ahead through the windshield.
Hell, if I was given the option of going in there and cancer—well, just use your imagination on which I would happily pick.
The emotions I’m usually pretty good at hiding flow through me—rage being the strongest. Just the memories of what happened plague me on a daily basis. It threatens to choke the life out of me every time I think about that night all those years ago, then the weeks that followed. About what she allowed those goddamn seniors to do in a fit of drunken stupidity.
I’ll never be able to forgive her. She’s one of the reasons I’m as fucked up as I am—the other being the death of my mother.
After sitting there in silence, raging over the thought of going inside, I finally get up enough nerve to push open my door and exit the vehicle. Slamming it back, the sound of glass shattering makes me cringe. Slowly tilting my head to glance over my shoulder, I see my window broken, with thousands of pieces of glass resting in my floorboard and seat.
Rumbling under my breath, my nostrils flare as my chest rises and falls with swift succession. It’s taking everything inside me to remain—somewhat—calm when all I really want to do is go on a rampage.
Making my way up the paved steps, I’m to the front door of the gigantic church and inside before I can quickly talk myself out of it. Thoughts continue to tumble through my mind as I slip through the halls silently, fuming as I make my way closer to Father Avery’s office.
I hope to fuck it’s not the woman Valentino assured me it is. If I’m lucky—and most of the time I’m not—there has to be more than one Skylah Bow who lives in New York City. If there is a God out there, He wouldn’t do this shit to me. I have to believe he would grant me this reprieve, knowing all the shit I’ve been through.
Father Denali passes me in the hallway, giving me a curt nod as he shuffles his way past, probably to prayer they hold every night. I don’t say anything about it, because it’s better than what the others give me—looks of scolding hatred, like I’m the one in the wrong, even though it’s their boss who hired me to do this line of work in the first place.
Pushing it to the back of my mind, I make my way to Avery’s office, my boots lining with more weight the closer I come. Not even the decadent, heavy burgundy tapestries, bright mosaic panes of glass, and the thick, plush carpeting under my feet are enough to distract me from my impending prison sentence. I’m too focused on the task at hand and feeling like the beast that’s been steadily pacing inside me is about to claw its way out of my body.
My eyes lift from the floor, settling on the last door in this hallway. They burn into the thick oak paneling as if I have x-ray vision and can see who’s inside. Yet, I already know. There’s no doubt about it. Since the moment Valentino told me who my assignment was, that familiar feeling in my gut started dancing around like it did with only the mere mention of her name.
It’s apparent my mind wants to punish her, damn her to what I’ve been subjected to. But my body sings a different tune. Just the thought of her has my cock threatening to rise to full mast, and my teeth grinding against each other in rage as I silently threaten to cut the motherfucker off.
Cracking my neck once more, I run my fingers through my hair before landing a few harsh blows against the door. The force of my hand hitting the paneling has the door practically rattling off its hinges. The action causes a little squeal of fright from the dainty female on the other side, and I can’t help the devious smirk that tugs across my lips.
I hear murmured voices flurry over the stagnant wind of his office, and I’m just about to knock again—my anger getting the best of me—when the door in front of me swings open, revealing Father Avery. His face is purple from fury, as he huffs and puffs in front of me.
“You could have a little more finesse,” he seethes, locking eyes with me.
Finesse? Is he serious? Cocking a brow at him, I cross one foot over the other and rest my hand against the door frame as I lean in slightly, whispering, “We both know I’m the devil, so why should I change to please you? I change for no-goddamn-body, least of all for a man of the cloth.”
“Gavino Calvetti, I will not have you take the Lord’s name in vain!” he whisper-shouts.
And this is when my entire world
flips upside down. My anger runs full tilt, and I want nothing more than to go on a killing spree. I hate when people tell me what to do. I’d rather bust a gut and do what they don’t want me to or not at all. But, that’s not what has me narrowing my eyes on Avery’s, allowing all my darkness to the forefront. I watch him wince as all the hairs on his arms stand at attention.
No. What has me near the point of killing is the voice that whispers from behind him. I would rather cut my ears off than hear that voice again.
“Gavino?”
If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that voice belonged to an angel, instead of a whore posing as one. It’s a good thing I know differently. She may look like an angel, but she has the heart of the devil.
Looking over Father Avery’s shoulder, I try to remain impassive—not allow her to see the simmering rage I feel inside—as I look her up and down. I’ll never admit aloud that she looks hotter than she did back then. Full hips, breasts, lips. An ass a man would die over, and almond-shaped, steel gray eyes. Hair fixed into a tight bun at the top of her head, with blonde, curly tendrils hanging down.
She’s a walking wet dream, and the only thing I want to do is hang her out to dry. When my eyes meet hers, I barely catch her cringe as she takes in the naked, scarred flesh of my face and neck. Instant hatred fills me to the brim, and instead of leading her to believe I see everything I like, I revert to the bastard I am.
What can I say, it’s in my blood.
“Time has not been good to you, Sky, but I’d still fuck that,” I blaze, silently watching as pure disgust fills her eyes.
4
SKYLAH
There is no way I am going with this Neanderthal. I would rather cut out my tongue than have the ability to speak anymore. That's how much I hate him. Just being around Gavino after all this time brings all those emotions rushing back to the surface.