Blame It on the Shame- Part 3

by Ashley Jade

  Especially given their days are limited and they're on both Travine's and the council's radar.

  I feel like I'm stuck in the same toxic position that I was with DeLuca. Round and round we fucking go. Only now that I'm finally in a position to stop it...I still can't.

  But it won't stop me from trying...because I won't lose them.

  “Ricardo,” Lou-Lou whispers, reaching for my hand.

  I grab her by the shoulders. “What part of shut the fuck up don't you understand?”

  Hurt splashes all over her face and I feel like the biggest dick in the world, but fuck it, maybe it's better that way.

  I'll keep her under my roof, keep her protected, and keep my dick in my pants.

  Hell, maybe if I wasn't so focused on getting in her pants, I'd have figured out a solution to all this by now and not fucking everything up.

  I search my brain, trying to come up with something, anything that won't end in their deaths, but I come up empty.

  When we get back to the mansion, I immediately order Lou-Lou back to her room, which earns me a hard slap across the cheek in front of my men and a curt look from Marlene.

  I go to my office, slam the door behind me, and open my laptop— desperate to confirm news that I already know.

  Just like I suspected, the media is all over it...and everyone and their mother suspect foul play.

  The mayor and his predecessor don't die 24 hours apart from one another without people thinking some shit is going down.

  I slam my fist on the desk. Not only did I tell Jackson and Tyrone that I didn't suspect anything fishy regarding the mayor's death. I told them I would keep them in the loop and handle it.

  I rip open a few buttons on my shirt, because it's suddenly becoming hard to breathe. I feel like a pussy for caring so much about two men...but I can't help it.

  I love them...and I don't know if that makes me more angry at the council or at myself for caring about those two fuckers in the first place.

  I pull out a bottle of Jack Daniels and pour myself a drink, letting the liquid burn down my throat.

  This is the beginning of the downward spiral. The spiral leading to the moment where I'll have no choice but to lose them for good.

  It finally makes sense now why my father never gave a shit about anyone.

  Why let anyone in? Why allow yourself to care when it will only put a target on those people's backs and their deaths will rest on your conscience for eternity?

  What little of those we have.

  I finish my drink and pour myself another. “What would your fatherly advice be, DeLuca?” I ask the empty room. “Come on, Babbo. You were the king of diabolical...how do you end up the last man standing?”

  I snort and slap the desk, because he didn't...the most evil and heartless man still lost his battle.

  Because you can't win a battle you've already lost.

  And right now I know he's laughing at me through the flames surrounding him in hell. I also know damn well what his advice to his only son would be—Kill them.

  And for the first time...I think I understand why the DeLuca's end up the way they do.

  We weren't born evil...we become it.

  We're turned into these made men by the DeLuca Mafia.

  We're created the second we realize that we can't save the people we care about...so we might as well kill them.

  Because no matter which way you look at it...the people we love are fucked. There's only one way out of this life for them.

  Blood only goes out...never in.

  It's a perfect storm that the DeLuca's are born from...a storm filled with pain, rage, suffering, and hate. The reckoning of our sins and the lives that we're inherently responsible for ruining raining down on us from under a cloud of shame.

  And no matter how much blood we spill...no matter how many times we take a life to try and drown it out...it's always there.

  Because the blood doesn't wash all the shame away...nothing does.

  Shame is a stain that never comes clean.

  Not until you bury it so deep in the dark, it no longer exists.

  And you don't feel anything anymore.

  I slam my drink down and lean back in my chair. I have to find a way to stop this because I won't have their coffins gnawing on my conscience...but right now?

  Right now I need something to drown out the noise, something to make me forget for a little while.

  Right now I need to get shitfaced, kill something, or fuck something.

  Hell, all three sound like a great idea.

  Chapter 21 (Lou-Lou)

  I put another coat of gloss on my lips but quickly wipe it off. Not only would it be strange for me to be wearing makeup at 1 am in the morning, but it will obviously look like I wasn't sleeping and ruin my whole plan.

  Instead, I run a brush through my still damp hair and then mess it up with my fingers, attempting to give it that sexy, disheveled look that seems to work for every other girl in the world but me. I give my black, nearly see through thong another once over before I slip my white t-shirt over my head. I don't have anything sexier at my disposal right now so this will have to do.

  Stuffing down my ball of nerves, I pop my head out of the bathroom and make sure Marlene's not around...because there's no doubt in my mind she would try and stop me from doing this.

  And I won't let her.

  Despite my inner hate for Ricardo that will never go away...I can't take this feeling in my chest anymore. It's more than just his bad moods, or the change in his personality, or even a change in his general aura.

  It's this shift between us. Our connection has shorted out somehow and I can't feel him the way that I used to. Because once someone is implanted in your heart and soul and both their smile as well as their pain is attached to your own—it makes it hard to ignore when something's awry.

  My entire universe feels off kilter...because my puzzle piece doesn't fit the way it used to fit. And when you've found the piece that makes you whole? You'd give anything not to go back to feeling broken—including sucking up the hurt that crushes your chest like a boulder whenever you're around them.

  The only times I don't hurt are when his hands are on me—those few brief moments when we're skin to skin, heartbeat to heartbeat, and we connect like we used to. The moments where the world disappears around us and he loses himself and forgets who he is. Or rather, what he is.

  And I forget why I'm supposed to hate him.

  I forget everything about my fucked up life.

  I pad down the dark hallway, ignoring the guards that are stationed at every corner, and walk up the set of spiral stairs that lead directly to his office.

  I swallow the bile in my throat as my hand hovers over the door knob.

  I hate this familiar feeling in my chest so much.

  And I really hate that for a moment, I'm afraid I'm going to see Bruno DeLuca in that office.

  I draw in a deep breath and remind myself that he's dead and the monsters are all gone.

  I ignore the little girl in the bathtub crying out that they're not, and knock on the door.

  When he doesn't answer the first time, I knock again.

  "What?" his angry voice booms from the other side. "Jesus Christ, I told you not to disturb me, Marlene."

  Jealousy hits me like a fist to the face with those words. Does she come in here often in the middle of the night? Has Ricardo ever had sex with her? Did she comfort him in my absence?

  It's those thoughts that cause me to burst through the door like a lunatic.

  I find him in the exact same position that I did the last time I was here. His elbows are propped up on his desk, a few buttons on his shirt are undone, and his hair is a perfect disheveled, sexy mess.

  Only this time, he looks tired.

  Tired and drunk.

  Which probably has a lot to do with the near empty bottle of Jack Daniels currently next to him. When he lifts his eyes to mine, I see that his pupils are bloodshot and his face is e

tched with worry. This is worse than I thought. He's clearly spooked and very upset about something.

  Anxiety shoots through me like a rocket because he's never looked so out of sorts before—and that includes the time at the warehouse.

  I push my shoulders back and raise my chin—his demeanor only further serves to remind me why I'm here in the first place.

  I obviously knew he was hiding something from me, but the magnitude of just how serious it might be became evident when we were at the fight club and Tyrone left abruptly with some bullshit excuse. And it became damn near transparent when Ricardo flipped out and yelled at me the way he did.

  I'm not here because he's jealous...I'm here because something is wrong. And the only thing I can think of is the DeLuca Council.

  They want me dead, I know this.

  It's why I was supposed to be in hiding, living a new life. Until Ricardo pulled me out of it. Which only infuriates me because if I'm here with him, obviously there was no reason for me to ever be gone in the first place, because there was no real danger. And that makes all of my horrible thoughts and suspicions about him getting rid of me because he didn't want me even more profound now.

  Therefore, I need to figure out what his plans are with me and what the real danger is.

  And since I still can't convince him to just be honest with me and tell me—I have no choice but to use my only bargaining chip.

  If I play my cards right—and I intend to—that's how I'll get him to crack. I'll make him bend in a moment of weakness and desire and tell me the truth.

  Now that I think about it, the fact that he's been drinking is practically icing on the cake. His defenses are down, giving me the perfect leverage.

  He pours himself another drink and leans back in his chair. "What are you doing here?"

  "I can't sleep," I say as I slowly make my way over to him.

  I don't miss the way his jaw tics when his gaze travels down to where my t-shirt meets the tops of my thighs.

  And I definitely don't miss the way his eyes heat with every step I take in his direction.

  Given there are no other chairs around, I prop myself up and sit on the desk, facing him.

  I look around the office, trying to be as nonchalant as I can. "You know, now that I think about it, I've never seen your bedroom. Where do you sleep?"

  He takes a sip of his drink, his eyes watching my every move. "I don't."

  Something in my chest squeezes with those words but I ignore it. "Right."

  I scoot closer to him and dangle my feet in his lap .

  He looks down. "Your toenails were pink the other day." The pad of his thumb traces a line from the arch of my foot up to my toe and I fight back a shiver. "Now they're red."

  "You notice the polish color on my toes?"

  I feel the impact of his stare before it actually happens. His gaze travels fluidly from my feet, up my legs, and along my breasts, before finally landing back on my face. "I notice everything about you, Lou-Lou." His eyes narrow into slits. "Like how you don't sleep at night, either."

  The hand on my foot tightens. "So why don't you cut the crap and tell me why you're in my office in the middle of the night wearing nothing but a tiny t-shirt?" He looks down again and I have the sudden urge to either blush or cross my arms when I feel my nipples begin to harden under his gaze.

  Who's supposed to be seducing who right now?

  Me—I remind myself.

  When I don't answer and move the foot he's not holding up his thigh, his jaw hardens. “Earlier wasn't enough for you?”

  It's not so much his comment that hurts but the sharp sting in his tone.

  Well that and the fact that I'm sitting on his desk in nothing but a t-shirt and panties and he's acting like he wants nothing to do with me, even though he's the one who's keeping me here.

  That last thought gives me another spurt of tenacity.

  I scoot further off the desk and move closer to him. “What if I told you it wasn't?”

  He sits up in his seat. “I'd tell you that you really need to leave then, Lou-Lou.” For a moment his face softens. “If you keep this up, it won't end well. I'm not in the right state to deal with you or whatever it is that you want from me.”

  Ignoring his warning, I move my foot up his thigh and I feel him start to stiffen. “What if I told you that's not true?” His eyes bore into me when I purposely graze my foot along his erection and linger there. “Because I want this right now.”

  His hand tightens around the glass he's holding. “I'd say you better stop.” His eyes darken. “Because the big, bad wolf will be taking a bite out of the apple this time.”

  I tilt forward and interlock my fingers around his neck. “I think you might have your fairytales mixed up there, Mr. DeLuca.”

  His gaze dips to my mouth and he leans in. “I don't give a fuck.” My lips open in surprise and he flicks his tongue against mine. “Because this isn't a fairytale.”

  I prop myself up on my elbows and slowly part my thighs for him. “Well in that case... maybe you should lick before you take a bite.”

  His eyes rake over me and zero in on the black lace that's growing wet with his stare.

  A moment later, I hear the sound of his chair sailing across the wood floor. Need coils low in my belly when he grabs my hips and yanks me until I'm falling flat against the desk.

  He licks a long trail from my knee all the way up to my inner thigh and I shiver.

  He does the same to my other leg and I close my eyes and moan— until I feel the sharp sting from his teeth sinking into my inner thigh. My back bows and I begin to squirm, but he places his hand on my lower stomach and holds me in place as he turns and bites my other thigh.

  When his breath sweeps over my sex and he places a kiss there, I feel dizzy with want, so dizzy I almost forget my reasons for doing this in the first place.

  Until I look down at him and come to my senses. “What if I told you that you couldn't have me after all, Ricardo?”

  I open my mouth to add—not until he tells me why I'm here—but his deep voice cuts me off. “I'd say you were full of it.”

  He nips and licks at the scrap of lace between us and I fight for air. “Because these are soaked.”

  I can feel the desire radiating off him when his fingers tauntingly curl into the delicate fabric. “You wouldn't be here trying to tempt me right now if you didn't want this.”

  I feel my cheeks burn when he rubs a slow circle around the wet spot and continues, “And I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't miss the way you moaned when my mouth was between your legs and want to hear it again.”

  I flush everywhere when his nose nuzzles my clit and he inhales me deeply. “Or miss the taste of you and want it all over my tongue again.”

  When he hooks his fingers onto the sides of my panties, I find my resolve and push his head away. “You can't have me, Ricardo.”

  He looks up at me in a combination of anger and confusion, and that's when I say, “Not until you tell me the truth about why I'm here.”

  Swallowing back nerves, I slip my t-shirt over my head and brush my own panties to the side, baring myself to him. “Then you can have everything. You can taste me, fuck me, and take every inch of me over and over again until you've had your fill...but not until you give me a truth.”

  It all happens so fast I don't even have time to brace myself.

  In one fell swoop, he flips me until I'm bent over the desk.

  “Ric—”

  “Shut up, whore.”

  “Excuse me—”

  I'm cut off by the feel of something cold and metal against my backside.

  “Isn't that what you want me to say?” he questions as he grabs a fist full of my hair. “That you're here because you're my fucking whore?”

  He tugs on my hair. “Are those the words you need to hear me say so I can fuck you again, Lou-Lou?”

  I open my mouth to answer, but he lets go of my hair and slaps his hand across my mouth. “Or is that what you liked to hear him say before he fucked you?”

  Fear crawls up my spine, because I realize what I've just provoked.

  Bruno DeLuca's ghost.

  I quickly shake my head but it's too late.

  “I won't let you play those games and I won't let you manipulate my weakness,” he growls low and deadly. “And I damn well won't allow you to use this body of yours as a weapon against me like you did with him.”

  Is that what he thinks I did with Bruno? That I purposely seduced and manipulated him into becoming crazy and obsessive?

  Hot tears prickle my eyes but I steel myself.

  It suddenly occurs to me that of course he does...I never told Ricardo about the conference room, or the basement.

  And before things went horribly wrong between us in the conference room that day—it was pretty much what my relationship with Bruno was like. He was infatuated with me and I knew it, and although I didn't reciprocate the sexual feelings that he had for me—I desperately wanted his protection and love...so I did it anyway and used it to my advantage.

  I used my body as a weapon to get him to give me what I wanted and Bruno always caved...but unlike his father, Ricardo's not going to.

  The knife grazes my skin and I start to struggle but he holds me in place. “Stay still or I will cut you.”

  Anger bubbles in my throat but my traitorous body buzzes with a fresh dose of arousal when he slices the string to my panties and the material falls to the floor.

  “Spread your legs for me,” he says, his voice a low rasp now.

  When I don't, I feel the sting of his palm against my ass and I hiss, “If you want me so bad, do it yourself.”

  That reply causes another sting across my ass and I can practically feel his anger and resentment coming off him in waves.

  But he's not the only one.

  The hate I have for him is merging with my need for him and I feel like I'm in the third circle of hell, struggling with myself because something deep inside me is crumbling.

  I know it would be in my best interest to give up, let my body go slack, and wait for it to be over.

  But I can't. Because the girls who dance with the devils in the dark never back down from a fight.

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