Trigger (Pericolo #3)

by Kirsty-Anne Still

  Her fingers tighten around my hand. “But when you save me like that, Dante, I will always, always follow you. It doesn’t matter what else you did. You still saved me in that alleyway.”

  “But I am in no way good enough for you.”

  “And I'm not good enough for you,” she says, giving me a smirk. “We established this one already.”

  “You're everything I could have asked for,” I whisper, unashamed at the truth resonating from me. “You're perfection in my eyes and that terrifies me.”

  “Why?”

  “You won't survive in my life,” I admit and watch that fire burst into crimson flames in her eyes. “That's not my call to make. That's everyone else's. I put your life at risk just by loving you.”

  “The only way I leave is on our call,” she tells me, confident in her words. “And only with you.”

  The way she says that reminds me of how she was pulling her suitcase out of the house only hours ago.

  “Were you really going to leave like that?”

  I watch her gaze become downcast as she finds it hard to look at me. I utter her name, showing her that I’m not going to get angry with her for telling me everything I have made her feel. I drove her to the point of seeking out a lonelier life; I deserve the pain the truth will cause.

  “Yes,” she murmurs, ever so softly.

  “Why?”

  She brings her gaze to meet mine and I watch a new line of tears race across her lashes, weaving among them waiting for a perfect descent.

  “Because I couldn’t, for even one day, bear to see you again when I knew you hated me.” Her admittance is spoken slowly, her confession like a dagger to my heart. “You were the first person who made me feel so much. You gave me this chance to do what I thought I never could. You gave me the opportunity to lose control for once in my life and I took advantage of that.”

  “You realize you do execute control in everything around me,” I tell her, feeling as if she needs to know the truth. “You were never restricted in my world because you knew who you were, what you wanted, and how you’d get it.”

  “That’s a lie,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes. “I never quite knew how to get you. You terrified me at times, Dante. Not for how you acted or who you were, but for how you made me feel. You confused me.”

  I shake my head. "You knew what I was with every step I ran to you with."

  "And I loved you with every mile you covered," she responds, a smile blossoming onto her lips.

  That small gesture ignites passion in me, starting a warmth that flares from my heart and takes over the extremity that makes me the man that always stands so broken before her. Ever since Ryleigh, I've only felt my heart race. It doesn't beat or survive. No, it gallops, races, yearns – it feels.

  “I see that now,” I admit, but I can’t allow the regret to fall away from the tone I use. “We were made to love.”

  “But only each other,” she finalizes.

  We were like a firework. The fuse burned slowly, building a climatic expectation, but that resulting explosion was like nothing either of us expected. I never expected us to be brighter than the Fourth of July, but we were and those lights she thrust into my life are never going to burn out.

  I’d never burn for another as I do her. It’s not a possibility in my life.

  As I begin to move, preparing to kiss her once more this morning, I hear the key slip into the lock and Jodi’s talking becoming louder as the door opens. I look at Ryleigh, who shrugs. The peace and tranquility is over.

  “Just come in,” I say, standing behind Ryleigh to see Jackson coming into the apartment.

  I decide not to say anything else as the look he shoots me is deadly.

  “I get a fucking text saying that she’s leaving, and you’re the one to give me the details,” Jackson states, his gaze looking back and forth between us. “And I come here to find you two having a fucking romantic breakfast together.”

  “That’s because things have changed,” I start.

  “Dramatically,” Ryleigh adds, standing up beside me and even grabs my hand. “I should’ve sent another text apologizing. It was redundant when this bastard was standing in the rain fighting for my forgiveness.”

  “Why did he have to fight for it?”

  “That’s what has me so curious,” Jodi adds, putting a hand on her hip. “I’ve been up all night and you two were probably at it like rabbits all night.”

  “She cut off sex,” I remark dryly, sniggering, “until I’m forgiven.”

  “I don’t fucking care about that,” Jackson argues, denying the fact that we’re not joking. “What the fuck did you do to Ryleigh to make her want to up and leave? Because I swear to God, I will fucking kill you, Dante, if you did something stupid.”

  “Hey,” I say, moving forward. “I did something stupid,” I admit that freely. “I’m a cunt. What are you going to do about it?”

  “What did you do?” he grounds out, his jaw clenched. His protectiveness of Ryleigh is refreshing, and I love it. It reminds me of how I always was with him growing up. “Dante...”

  “I took my anger out on Ryleigh,” I admit, not exactly happy with myself. “I threw her around a little, and I cussed her out. I told her to leave after handling her as if she was any other issue I’ve dealt with. I wanted to scare her, and finally I could, so I used it to my advantage and I...”

  I don’t get to finish my sentence as blinding pain pulsates across the entire left side of my face. I go down like a sack of shit, KOed by the impact of Jackson’s fist. A few seconds lapse where I’m unaware of anything before it all falls back into place with a kaleidoscope of color and noise. Everything feels like the definition sharpens as my head fails to calm the dizziness.

  “What the fuck, Jackson?” Ryleigh screams. “You didn’t even let him finish or allow me to step in!”

  “I’m okay!” I groan, hearing Ryleigh.

  “And I don’t fucking care, but I’ll clean him up,” Jackson mutters, waiting for me to stand back up. As I do so, he puts his hands up in the air in mock innocence. “I’ve hit him now. I won’t be doing it again... well, not today, anyway.”

  “Fucker!” I exclaim, hissing at the pain reverberating around my eye. “Give a guy a little more fucking warning next time, Jax!”

  “Nah,” Jackson replies, blasé. “You want to treat that girl like absolute shit, you get absolute shit back. Now, get in the fucking kitchen, Dante. I want to know every last detail.”

  “We’re doing it at a distance,” I utter, walking into the kitchen. I go over to the freezer, pulling the door open to find a bag of peas. “Marcello would love to know you pack a punch like that.”

  “Marcello is the least of my worries right now.”

  “But it shouldn’t be,” I reply dryly, pressing the frozen peas to my eye to gain instant relief. “Seeing as he did to Ryleigh what he did to me.”

  “So, you know?” Jackson asks, knowingly.

  “Do you?”

  “Of course, I do. You broke that girl multiple times and I was all she had when you pulled her shifts and left her with no way to get income. She unloaded everything on me.” Jackson paces a little, flexing his hand. Good, the fucker hurt himself on my face. “I wanted her to tell you, but you had pushed her too far, so she wasn’t able to confide in you. Now you do this to her. Christ, man!”

  “It’s resolved,” I state, not allowing this to escalate. “I fucking begged for forgiveness. When do I ever do that?” I ask him, and he looks positively shocked. “I went and found her. I begged her not to leave. I told her everything. She knows everything. She knows absolutely every way I love her.”

  “So, what’s going to come of this now?” he asks. “Before, it wasn’t going to be. It’s not going to be better now.”

  “Now you’re right. It’s going to be revenge done correctly.”

  Jackson’s face sobers. “This is going to be ten times worse than ever.”

  “Not for us, it isn’t,” I
state, giving him a grin. “For us, it’ll be freedom.”

  Something I’d promised him since he was little.

  ***

  “Ouch,” Ryleigh mutters as she brings her fingers up to touch the bruise evidently highlighting my eye. “He really can pack a punch.”

  “Who do you think taught him?” I grouse, wincing as her fingers hit my skin a little harder. “Motherfucker.” It’s as the pain recedes that I catch her staring at me. “You look beautiful tonight,” I say, my eyes trailing over her face as the dusky sun illuminates her beauty.

  I want nothing more than to touch her, to devour her, carve more into our relationship than orgasmic heights. I scratch, struggling to find the itch that drives me crazy. It's not until her hands gracefully touch mine that I realize my drug has a beating heart and an unequivocal love for me. I can’t withstand not having her to myself. I feel myself harden as my heart begins to beat harder.

  The only way I can get her forgiveness is to show her how I can love her. I don’t want to just love her rough and hot, but soul defining and tenderly. Now, I show her what she’s made of a man like me. I start to peel the strap of her camisole away, pushing it down her arm, but she stops me as I lean down to kiss her naked shoulder.

  “What are you doing?” she asks me, tentatively.

  “Showing you how I love you, Ryleigh.” My voice has never felt more tender than when I speak to her. “I don’t usually make love, but I want to do just that. I want to show you how you make me feel,” I say, drawing her close. "I'm addicted to the way I feel when I think of you. I want to show you how I can love you."

  “Okay,” she whispers, giving me her feather light permission. “Show me.”

  So I do.

  At first, I force her to stand in front of me, anticipation beating all around us. I reach for the bottom of her top, tearing the camisole up her body and over her head. I don’t touch her again. Instead, I get down on my knees, forcing her to stand in only her sweats. I drink in the sight of her bare stomach as I sit on my knees before her. I reach up, my fingers falling onto the scars of her past that brandish her toned stomach. My fingertips brush across them and I realize my hate fire grows into bright bursts of flames. Her scars and my own cause my fight to gather momentum. My every intention suddenly seems bolder, seems more reasonable, and seems more vicious. Placing my hands on her hips, I pull myself up while tugging her closer so I can kiss those war wounds. Her hand comes to the back of my head, lacing through my hair until I force myself to stop. The need to be on my feet and kissing her like a dying man is prevailing, but I’m not done yet.

  I fall back, only touching her so I can grab her clothes. I curl my fingers around either side of the sweats she’s wearing, and I tug them away from her hips. She jolts forward a little but doesn’t object. She allows me to strip her down and leave her naked before me. She lifts her heel, allowing me to tear the sweats away from her completely. I toss them aside as I fall back and sit waiting to take in the sight of her. As she stands there before, stark naked, her cunt directly at my eye level, I tell myself to look up at her. I do so with grace and find her waiting for me, her eyes trained on me.

  I stand, unable to remain on my knees and behave.

  I place an arm around her waist, my hand touching her bare ass, and pull her flush against me. My other hand comes up, grazing ever so lightly across her jaw and around into her hairline.

  “You’re a beautiful piece of work,” I tell her, my hand resting on the back of her head, cradling it as she looks at me. “You’ll only blossom in this life and in my eyes, mia regina.”

  Dropping my head, I press my lips to hers delicately. I struggle with my yearning to be a little rougher with her, but I manage it. I stay calm and remind myself that, at this moment, I write our fate in the stars. I have loved the fast paced, fast fucked existence we had, but what I feel with Ryleigh is far higher than that and I want her to see the man she makes me.

  It’s time Ryleigh sees what sort of power she possesses.

  Taking her hand, my most chivalrous action of the night, I lead her to the bedroom. In gentle ease, I lay Ryleigh down upon the sheets, being tender with her. I want her to know my seriousness; I want her to see every way in which I worship her.

  As she lays before me, naked and ready, I strip off my own clothes. I take my t-shirt off, tossing it across the room, and then push my own sweats and underwear off. I lick my lips in anticipation, but I know before I can strike, I have to find a condom. Going straight to the nightstand, I find one, but as I go to assume my place, Ryleigh reaches out and takes the small packet from my hand. She nods her head, telling me to take my place back at the foot of the bed.

  She takes the condom packet. Placing the corner between her teeth, she tears the foil. She works the rubber from the packet and tosses the wrapper aside. Biting her own lip now, she moves, sitting on the edge of the bed. Her hand comes to touch my erect cock, and I feel the rubber move as she rolls it down my shaft, slowly and seductively. I close my eyes, telling myself to brave the moment. I swear her touch sends a thousand bolts of electricity through me and I feel my want for her only magnify.

  When she’s done, she sits back, pushing herself up the bed and watches me with a sweet look. Dusk paints the room in a beautiful, dim light, only further emphasizing Ryleigh’s beauty. I couldn’t withstand not having her beneath me any longer, so I climb onto the bed, ready to cover her body with mine.

  I don’t immediately go for the sex. No, this is different. I go for the kisses, working my queen’s body, making her wet for me. I trail kisses from her lips, down across the sensitive spot on her neck and across her collarbone, indulging on her perky nipples before working my way back up.

  The moment Ryleigh moans, I know she’s ready and not prepared to wait any longer. I kiss along her jawline, her right hand coming up to claim a spot on the back of my head, her fingers woven into my hair. While she waits expectantly, I reach between her legs, grab my cock, and press it to her cunt.

  I rock myself against her, thrusting my full length into her. I feel her adjust to my size, releasing a heavenly gasp, but I can’t restrain myself fully. I grab her hips, pulling her closer to me, showing some sexual dominance, but it ends the moment I release her. I roll my hips, withdrawing from her before I push my way back inside of her. Nestled in her, I push myself up, only so I can grab her hands in mine. As I force them above her head, I thrust back into her. I rock my hips against her, yearning to steal more from her than orgasms.

  But I force her to that climatic height, tend to her body, place my kisses calculatedly, and wait for that moment when nirvana explodes through her.

  “Dante...”

  My name uncurls from her throat breathy but heavenly sent, and I slow my pace just a little as she comes around me, clenching around my length.

  My theory of death at dusk has just taken on a whole new meaning. My name on her lips at dusk while I’m buried balls deep in her slays me, but it never felt more fucking perfect. I wanted to stay as far away from this woman as possible, keep her at arm’s length and destroy her, but she destroyed me. She pierced into my cold, stone heart, throbbed love and faith into it, and never stopped. She filled my world with meaning.

  The moment I came, whispering her name into the defiled air, I knew my death came. I changed, falling from the heinous pedestal I kept myself chained to. Ryleigh Turner stepped into my life a meek yet wild ray of innocence and she never wanted to leave. I had always dreamed of my savior, but I never imagined it to be a brunette with bright brown eyes, kissable lips, and a fuckable motive.

  She was meant for my corruption, not my salvation, but she made me see that was never a possibility. Every teaching I was aware of vanished as I realized one important lesson – I could never feel that overwhelming sense of belonging.

  Ryleigh took everything I knew and made it worthless.

  Even my own teaching fell short – death at dusk never felt more liberating.

  18RYLEIGH />
  He’s going to wear a hole straight through the apartment floor if he doesn’t slow down.

  My eyes trace his every step, watching him pace from one side of the room to the other, all while I sit here with a glass of wine in my hand waiting to see where we go from here. We woke in harmony, an entirely new incentive to our motives, but we knew Dante’s world would come calling, and Marcello hasn’t heeded to Dante’s ignorance all day.

  This is the payment.

  He’s gotten angrier with every step. The man who took me to bed last night and made love to me has disintegrated, and I can tell that the callous bastard that Dante thrives on being is about to make a demanding comeback.

  It’s a good thing I find that persona rather captivating.

  “No, Marcello, I am not giving up on the family,” he spits, ire consuming him. “It’s called taking a fucking vacation. If I can call it that. I’ve been out of touch for two days, that’s all. Don’t worry, I’ve been plotting something.” He goes silent, slowing his pace for only a moment. “Yes, that fucker Beretti will get a show tonight. Don’t worry. He’ll be at his normal stomping ground, and I plan to pay him a visit.” Rubbing his jaw, he resumes his silence as he listens. “No, I am not taking Tommy. I’m not doing business with that child until his father has taught him how we fucking run the show in the Valens. I don’t need a compassionate boy by my side to mess it all up.” Another pause and his pace hastens. “Yes, Ryleigh is a much better candidate than my own flesh and blood, and she’s going to prove her worth.”

  When Dante stops his pacing altogether, pulling his phone away from his ear, I know that call didn’t exactly end on a promising note. It’s not the abruptness of the call ending that has me intrigued though, but the maliciousness to Dante’s tone whenever he speaks to his grandfather. Even in person, when he’s being civil, there is no sense of love for his own family.

  “What else did that man do to you to make you hate him so much?” I ask as he tosses the phone on the couch in frustration. I hold my wine out, allowing Dante to take a sip – or a large fucking gulp. “There is not even a sign of recognition that he’s your grandfather.”