“Ava, sweetheart, everything is going to be alright.” I pull back a bit to look at her and brush the hair away from her face. I tilt up her chin and she opens her eyes to look back at me. She’s not crying, but she’s obviously not okay. “I want you to forget about this. I don’t want you to worry, alright?” She nods her head and parts her lips to say something, but I press a finger against them.
The move is more intimate than I intended. A heated spark lights in her eyes, and her lips stay slightly parted. Her chest rises and falls, and the air between us changes. I pull my hand away and resist the urge to kiss her. I search her eyes for a moment, trying to calm my own needs. My dick is hardening my pants and the urge to fuck her is riding me hard. I push it down.
“Ava, forget about this.” I clear my throat and add, “All of this. I want you to disregard everything that happened today.” She nods her head once and pulls away slightly, the meaning of my words sinking in. My heart falls as she pulls away from me completely, righting herself. I help her move back to her seat and ignore the fact that my dick is digging into my zipper.
I put my hands on the wheel, but before we take off, I have to apologize. “I’m sorry about that, Ava. I shouldn’t have made you do that.”
She slowly shakes her head. “Please, don’t be.”
“I shouldn’t have made you do something you didn’t want to.”
She looks straight at me as she says, “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to do that.” She looks forward and adds, “He’s only one of many.”
Ava
I can’t get over this sick feeling I have, like I’m going to heave up the tiniest bit of water I’m able to swallow. I need to force it down, but it’s hard. The food smells amazing. Chicken carbonara, with fresh Parmesan. I want to devour it. My stomach rumbles for it. But as soon as it touches my lips, I have the urge to throw it up. Kane keeps looking at me. He wants me to eat and I want to eat too, but I’m going to be sick. I’ve felt like this ever since the ride home. Kane was silent; he didn’t even look at me once.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I killed him. And I’m so fucking happy I did. At the same time, I’m scared to death that it’s not real. That it’s fake. I’m convinced it’s a setup, and he’s going to walk in here any minute and punish me. I keep picturing him over and over, clutching his throat and then nothing. Completely gone.
Is it possible? I saw them kill so many people. But I never had this feeling. The feeling it wasn’t real. I’m terrified he’s going to come back.
I also want to do it again. I need to do it again. I’ve never killed before, but he was only the first. I’ll handle this sick feeling every day for the rest of my life in exchange for the rest of them lying in the dirt with bullet holes in their heads. An image of him flashes before my eyes. His face covered in dirt, his hair a mess. Laying lifeless with his eyes open and a neat hole right in the center.
Kane sets the fork down on his plate and the clinking of metal on ceramic makes me jump in my seat.
“I need you to talk to me,” he says from across the table.
I nod my head and swallow the lump growing in my throat. “What would you like to know?” I gently set my own fork down and stare at him with my hands clasped on my lap. I need to be sure I give him my full attention.
He’s angry. I don’t think he’ll hurt me, but with the others, the slightest thing set them off when they were angry.
“I hate it when you do that,” he says, and it makes chills go down my spine. My breath falters, and I struggle to respond. I don’t know what I’ve done. “Fuck!” he says under his breath, as he pushes the chair back, and the legs drag loudly across the floor. He walks over to me with determined strides, and I resist the urge to cower.
I don’t know what I’ve done, but I’ve obviously displeased him.
“We were doing good earlier. Before it all happened.” Is this a test? He told me to forget. I don’t know how to respond.
I open my mouth to respond, but I have to cover it. Sickness climbs my throat and I just barely push it down. A wave of heat rolls over my body. I’m vaguely aware that I’m in his arms as he moves through the house to get to the nearest bathroom. He sets me down on the cold tile floor and pulls my hair back as I lean against the toilet. I focus on pushing the urge down. I don’t want to be sick. I hate the feeling of throwing up. He stands behind me holding my hair, and patiently waits while the nausea settles.
After a long while, I try to move.
“Are you okay?” he asks quietly behind me.
I nod my head and apologize, “I’m sorry.” He lets go of my hair and holds me against his chest. My face still feels hot, and every bit of energy has left me. I brace my hands on his chest, but I don’t push away. I lean into him instead. His arms wrap around me and he rubs my back.
“Are you sure?” he asks.
“Yes, Kane.” I answer as I should, even though everything feels different between us. Lines have blurred and I’m not sure what’s expected of me. I like answering him though. I want him to know I am alright. I swallow and push away slightly.
“Do you want to go lie down?” His dark eyes look down at me, and I find myself mesmerized. I shake my head no and then force myself to look away. I bring a shaky hand to the back of my neck and then we both look down as my stomach growls.
“Can you eat?” he asks.
I’m quick to answer, “Yes.” I’m starving, and I really do want something. I’m not sure I can handle what he’s served me, but I’ll try.
“Maybe soup?” he suggests.
My eyes itch with the need to cry. I feel so overwhelmed with emotion. “Please,” I answer.
“I saw some in a cabinet in the kitchen. I'll heat some up for you. Head upstairs, and I’ll be up in a minute. Alright?” He pushes the hair out of my face and I lean in as he cups the side of my head.
He leans in and kisses my forehead. I find myself wanting more. But I’m grateful with what he’s given me. “Go upstairs and lie in bed. I’ll be up soon.” I nod my head, but as I start to say “Yes, Kane,” his lips brush against mine in a soft kiss. I close my eyes, needing more. But I feel the air shift and hear him walk away. When I open my eyes, I’m alone.
It’s a long walk up the stairs. I brace myself on the railing. I feel slightly sick and lethargic. I’ve never felt like this before. I’m just so tired. It must be everything weighing down on me.
I felt something like this before, although it was different, the first few weeks of this new life. My life of imprisonment. I crawl onto the bed and lie down. I can’t help remembering how everything was supposed to be that day.
I was going to help Marie with her calculus. Summer break was nice, but that’s only because I didn’t take summer semester classes. My sister did, though. She had to retake it. It was a Thursday, her final was the next day, and then we were going to celebrate. I can still hear myself scolding her for not studying like she should have. My dry eyes itch with the need to cry, but the tears don’t come. Do you want to fail? ‘Cause you sure as fuck aren’t acting like you care! I was so pissed. So angry that she wasn’t trying.
I know we were handed a life of luxury. We’d never have to work a day for the rest of our lives if we didn’t want to. But I was so angry that she’d pissed away another semester. I mean, fuck calculus, but don’t sign up and then waste it. My heart thuds painfully in my chest. It never mattered. I never should have yelled at her. I swallow thickly as I see her face down on the ground, bullet holes in her back. I hear myself screaming as the men surround me. At first I wished they’d killed me instead. But after all this time, I’m grateful.
I never would have wanted her to go through this. I would have rather died than go through what Felipe did to me.
He was the first, while Felipe held me down. They tied me to a chair and each did what they wanted to me. I close my eyes remembering how much it hurt. Remembering the pain on my father’s face.
At first I blamed him. He di
d this. He’s a bad man, and they came for us because of him. But that’s not true. I spent weeks watching them hunt down my family. But then there were more. Innocent people who they took just for their own pleasure. Other families who were afraid to say yes equally as much as they were afraid to say no.
They’re horrible men who deserve to die a thousand agonizing deaths. I hate them with everything in me. My fists clench at my side. The three of them need to die. A small, wicked smile grows on my face. One down, two to go.
I was never this person. I would have never felt happiness at another’s misfortune. But there’s nothing about me that’s remotely the same as before. I was their prize. A gift to lend out to help seal deals.
They’ve made me a different person.
And they’ll die because of the monster they created.
Anger lights inside of me. It’s been so long since I’ve felt this need. My forehead creases with confusion. Why does it feel like it’s been so long? This is my one goal. My one reason to live. As the thought registers, I hear the door open.
The anger dissipates and a soothing balm runs through me.
Kane.
He’s going to make me better. I just need to be his good girl. He’ll make everything better.
Kane
Anxiety races through my body as I climb the stairs. I feel like a sitting duck staying here. But I’m fucked if I leave. I shove my nerves aside. I killed a man today. Not just any man. I’ve killed before and felt next to nothing. All of them were bastards who deserved to die. Each time I pulled the trigger and never looked back, unless it was to make sure he wasn’t still breathing.
But today I killed a man that could haunt me. A man who Abram’s going to be pissed about losing. It’s only a matter of time before he finds out. Or before the Valettis tell him. I’m almost certain they won’t, but it’d only take a single man to tell. Just one lowly soldier in their famila could bring about my death sentence.
Between the two of them, the Petrovs and the Valettis, I trust the Valettis more. But I’m not fucking stupid. I’ve trusted men before and gotten shot at from behind. I need to figure something out. I half expected a call by now from Abram. If Vince was going to make a move, he would’ve by now. He could’ve easily taken a shot today. He didn’t though, and I’m not exactly sure why. I imagine they’re displeased with the current business arrangement, but I need to find out exactly what’s going through his head.
Right now I feel the need to run.
I need to get the fuck away from Petrov and all that shit. I’m not going to do this shit for him, and I know that telling him no isn’t going to go over well. I could run on my own and take Ava with me. But I fucking hate that idea. I’m not a little bitch. I didn’t run when my own famila came after me, but back then I was fueled by anger. I’m using my fucking head with this one. And going in there by myself against his powerhouse; that’d be fucking stupid.
If I had the backing of the Valettis though…That’s a different story. Right now I don’t know what to think about Vince and the rest of them, but I’m going to find out. I need to do it quick before Petrov gets wind of what happened. I’m sure it’s only a matter of time. When he finds out, I’m fucked.
All because of Ava. And it was fucking worth it.
She’s quiet when I open the door, lying on her side and curled up like her stomach is hurting her. Her back is to me. My eyes travel the length of her small body as I walk into the room.
I feel like shit that she’s sick over this. I know she said she’s happy that he’s dead, but I still shouldn’t have told her to do that. She would have done anything I told her to do. And I had her kill a man.
Felipe was her keeper though. He was her tormentor. I can only imagine the fucked up shit he did to her. I’d want to see him dead if he’d done that shit to me. I set the bowl down gently on the nightstand and sit on the edge of the bed. It creaks and dips with my weight. She starts to get up, but I place my hand on her hip to stop her. She needs to rest.
I need to know. It’s killing me to not know what she went through. I want to understand. I need to help her.
I clear my throat and ask, “You feeling any better?”
“Much,” she answers with a small smile. She looks so sweet and innocent. Her face is still pale though. I was afraid she was having a panic attack at the table. This is too much for her. I’m a fucking prick for putting her through that.
“I’m sorry, Ava.” I take her hand in mine as she scoots closer to me, giving me her full attention. She shakes her head, but I don’t give her the opportunity to make excuses for me.
“I never should’ve told you to take the gun.” I press my lips into a straight line as I remember standing behind her, steadying her hands. “I thought it would help you. I didn’t think you’d get sick over it.”
“I’m alright,” she states, as though everything is perfectly fine. It’s not.
“You almost had a fucking heart attack at the table.” I squeeze her hand tighter. “You’re just a woman. You shouldn’t even see things like that.”
Her eyes flash with anger so briefly, I question it. I can see she wants to say something, but she’s holding it in. I fucking hate that. “Tell me.”
“It was because you told me to forget everything that happened. I wasn’t sure if you were testing me or not.” Her eyes dart to the door and then back to me. “I didn’t know what to say.”
My forehead wrinkles with confusion. And then it hits me. She thought I was testing her? “Did you think I was going to hurt you, Ava?” My blood boils, and I resist the urge to show how angry I am. Not at her, but at the fact that she expected that shit from me.
Her lips part and her eyes fall as she admits, “I wasn’t sure.” Her tone is so sad. It fucking breaks my heart.
“I wouldn’t do that to you. I wouldn’t set you up.” I cup her chin in my hand and tilt her head. “I’m not like them.” I fucking hope I’m not. I don’t know what she’s been through. But I hate that she thinks I’m some sick prick like the fuckers who got their hands on her before me.
I have to change the subject. I’m getting too fucking worked up. “Can you eat?” I ask, as I drop my hand.
She nods her head and answers with a confident, “Yes.”
That makes me happy. She needs to eat. I give her a small smile and reach over for the bowl as she sits up.
“I’m glad you’re eating. Did they feed you?” I need to know. After seeing her reaction to killing that prick, I want to know what all that fucker did to her. I wish that bastard were still alive, so I could take out this anger on him and make him suffer for what he did.
“Yes. I was always fed something.” She says it simply. But it’s a veiled answer.
“Something? Be more specific?”
“Some fed me whatever it was they were eating.” Some. My throat closes and my eyes fall. How many men have hurt her? I swallow thickly and turn to her with the spoon held out. I want to feed her. She doesn’t hesitate to lean forward slightly and part her lips.
“Good girl.” She swallows and smiles with a small blush. The color looks beautiful on her cheeks. I like seeing it. But I know my next question is going to take her happiness away. I need to know, though. “Tell me what happened, Ava.” I dip the spoon into the hot broth and keep my eyes on it as I add, “I want to know.” I bring another spoonful to her lips.
There’s not a trace of a smile on her lips. Or any other emotion. A bit of disappointment, maybe.
“What would you like to know?” she asks warily.
“I want to know the names of the men who hurt you. All of them.” I raise the spoon again, but she shakes her head with a small frown.
“I’m sorry; I can’t.” Her answer pisses me off. I know she owes me nothing. I grit my teeth knowing I’m still waffling on what I’m going to do when I finally see Abram again. But a very large part of me doesn’t want to let him ever see her again. I’d rather lie and say she was dead. I need to think of som
ething and let her know.
“I don’t know their names. Not all of them.” I give her my attention and try to control my anger.
“How many? Tell me what you can.” I clench my jaw realizing I’ve given her a command. Just like I did earlier with Felipe. What the hell is wrong with me? I set the bowl on the nightstand and get off the bed with my back toward her. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to tell me anything.” She doesn’t owe me anything, and if she doesn’t want to talk about it, she doesn’t have to.
“I think I’d like to talk.” I turn to look at her and stare into her blue eyes. I nod and clench my fists. I look at the bowl and then the bed. I don’t think it’s smart of me to sit next to her. This shit is getting to me, and she doesn’t need my aggression. But when I look back into her eyes, she’s begging me for comfort. She leans forward slightly and adds, “If it’s alright, I want to talk.” She noticeably swallows and looks back at the bowl of soup on the nightstand.
“Are you still hungry?” I ask. I quickly reach for it and climb on the bed to give it back to her.
“There’s more downstairs if you like it.” It’s just a can of homestyle chicken noodle. But it does smell good.
She takes the bowl eagerly and smiles. “I do like it. My mother made us chicken noodle when we were sick, too.” She spoons out the broth and blows on it before taking it into her mouth.
She seems happy with the memory, but the mention of her mother makes me sick. It reminds me of my own mother. Both our mothers were slaughtered.
“My mother did, too. Never from a can though.” I grin at the memory. “My mother loved cooking,” I say matter-of-factly, and settle on the bed next to her. This is better, I think. Besides, I’d rather talk about this.
She chuckles into the spoon and takes it greedily into her mouth. “My mother hated cooking. We had a chef. But not when I was little. Back then it was different.”
I try to recall what I know of her father, but it’s not much. I suppose her famila made more money later on in her life and that’s why things changed for her. With the right setup and connections, there’s a shit-ton of money to be made.
Good Girl: Valetti Crime Family (A Bad Boy Mafia Romance) Page 8