Rising (Vincent and Eve Book 1)

by Jessica Ruben

  I take my last bites of the sandwich when I start to consider getting some sauce on my cheek just so we can have one of those movie moments where he wipes it off and kisses me. But as I squeeze the remainder of the sandwich in attempt to get the sauce on my face, I screw it up and somehow end up getting mayo on my pants.

  “Shit!” I gasp, clicking my tongue and grabbing a napkin.

  He starts to laugh and I quickly try to explain. “I didn’t realize that the sandwich would squirt from just a small squeeze! I mean, shouldn’t it take more than that?” His eyes seemingly widen with disbelief at my comment, and he starts cracking up. I’m not sure what’s so funny about what I said, but something in the way he’s laughing tells me he’s laughing at me, not with me. His laughter is intensifying as I get redder and there is nothing else to do but hide my face with my hands.

  When I realize he isn’t planning to stop his laughter, I lift my hands off my face and hit him on the shoulder.

  “Oh, shut it. Stop!” I feel so juvenile. My face is probably the color of a beet right now. “Stop laughing at me, Vincent!”

  “I can’t help it. You’re so damn sweet…” He drags me onto his lap and I put my head into the crook of his neck. I feel his body shake with the remnants of his laughter and I take a sharp breath. All of a sudden, I realize I may have just found the greatest spot of all time. I nuzzle into his neck, inhaling his scent. I hope he doesn’t think I’m creepy right now, but the truth is that I couldn’t stop myself even if I wanted to. I want to crawl inside this man and never leave. For all his hugeness, we manage to fit so well. He finally stops laughing and brings his arms around me, pulling me flush against his chest and holding me firmly. I guess he likes this too. I receive confirmation when I feel him hardening under me. I pause. Slowly, I pull my head back.

  Some young kids start nagging their mom about wanting churros, but it all becomes background noise as our lips connect. It’s slow at first. Gentle lips and warm tongues. But the moment his hands go beneath my ass, he presses me down into his erection and all common sense flees my brain.

  “Fuck.” His voice is a growl and my eyes shut, the feelings overwhelming me.

  Blood pools down low as he rubs me rhythmically against him. I move over a little to the left and let out a moan into his neck; he’s hitting that spot. “Vincent…” I say into his skin. I can’t even be bothered to realize where I am or what I’m doing. All I can do is grip onto his huge shoulders as he presses me down harder and harder. I feel myself start to sweat and I welcome it; the heat is devouring me from the inside out.

  I lift my head for a moment and look into his eyes when he stops. When I realize he isn’t going to continue, I exclaim, “What? No!”

  He chuckles as he gently moves his hands from my back to my shoulders and takes a breath, turning me around so I’m sitting back on the bench beside him. “Later, okay? Here isn’t the place for you.” His eyes are filled with promise, but somehow, I’m left with this hollow and desperate feeling.

  My body finally starts to wind down and I plunge my plastic fork into the salad, internally stressing about what is going on. And anyway, why did it take him so long to reach me? When we’re together, I feel like we’ve got something more than just attraction. It’s deep; I can feel it. But he disappears. And then he’s back. I’m having emotional whiplash and frankly, I’m angry. I should have been pissed at him when he picked me up, but I was too overwhelmed by the emotions he brings out in me. He’s too gorgeous. Too big. Too smart. Too everything!

  I decide I may as well just get out with it and ask him. I turn my head to the side to get his attention, my anger fueling my tongue. “Vincent?” My voice comes out angrier than I intended. He looks into my eyes and smirks, as if he knows already what I’m going to say.

  “Yeah, babe?”

  I turn my body around so that instead of being side by side, I’m facing him. “What are we?”

  “Hm. I think I’m a man, and you’re a woman…” He starts to joke.

  “Come on. I’m serious. What’s happening here?” I gesture my hands between the two of us.

  He takes a few moments before answering. “We’re friends.” His eyes are saying we’re more, but his words obviously differ.

  I startle for a moment and want to disagree with him. “But—”

  He turns to face me. “I live a very complicated life, Eve.” His eyes bore into mine as if he really wants me to hear what he’s saying.

  “Are you… with other girls?” I ask, my stomach sinking with dread.

  He sighs but keeps his head up. “Let’s start like this for now, okay? Let’s just be friends.” It seems to pain him to use the word, but it sure as hell feels like I’ve been knifed.

  I try to silently communicate with my eyes how much I want him to be mine, but my chest pounds with feelings of inadequacy. I don’t have the guts to tell him so.

  Tears start to well in my eyes as I remember the mention of a redhead, but I swallow down my pain and try to keep my emotions in check. Why doesn’t he want me? He watches as confusion and hurt cross my face. He looks as if he’s about to say more, but he stops. Vincent has the self-control of a saint; if he chooses not to speak, nothing will leave his lips.

  The truth is, I know why he doesn’t want a girl like me. I’m a nobody. I’m a poor girl from the ghetto. What would a man like him want with someone like me? The answer is that he wouldn’t.

  He touches my shoulder. “No.” He shakes his head. “I see what you’re thinking, and I don’t like it. There’s a lot you don’t know about me. Let’s just finish eating, okay? We’re cool. We’re here right now. Let’s be in the moment.” He turns back around to face the table, essentially dismissing me.

  “So tell me. Tell me what I don’t know,” I ask him desperately.

  I wait, but he doesn’t say a word. Finally, I turn myself back and finish my salad quietly. I’m not good enough, but this shouldn’t be a surprise. My mom’s words come back and hit me in the chest. I’m nothing. I look down at my shoes and feel the tears welling up again. He knows how poor I am, and probably sees me as nothing more than a toy to pass the time with. I try not to cry as I eat my salad. My mind is moving so quickly, I barely know what it tastes like.

  When he finally brings me back to my front door, my shame is raging. I want to cry and scream at the top of my lungs. I wish he didn’t drop me off here; it’s nothing but a reminder to him of who I am and where I come from. But at the same time, I can’t just waltz back home at this time of night. It’s not safe, and it’s undeniable that with him, I’m secure.

  He leans against my shitty white doorframe. I want to ask him if I’ll see him again, but I know that any words that come out of my mouth right now will sound desperate. He checks his phone and his face turns to agitation. I open my apartment door and let myself inside. Before closing it, I turn back around, thanking him again.

  He puts his hand on my hips, bringing me closer to his body. I look down at the floor and back up to his face.

  “Eve,” he says, shaking his head. “Thank YOU for coming with ME. You’re too sweet for a man like me. Too good. I’ve got more going on than you can imagine...but trust me, what I’ve got going on is not about you. You’re perfect.” I want to believe him. Hell, I’m begging inside for him to elaborate. But he doesn’t. On one hand, he sounds so genuine…and the scarf and gloves and hat…and the food! The connection we have seems undeniable. But then again, it feels as if he’s breaking up with me. I’ve never been broken up with, but if it feels like my heart is being ripped out, I guess this qualifies.

  I shrug my shoulder sadly, and for a brief moment, I think I see regret pass through his eyes. “I guess I’ll see you soon, Vincent.” I stare up into his face one more time and see so much pain pass through. He sighs, looking up at the ceiling and back down at me.

  Moments pass and he’s still silent. Somehow, I get the nerve to turn away from him, shutting the door behind me. I hear his heavy steps as he lea
ves, and I do my best not to cry.

  CHAPTER 12

  A month passes, and Vincent feels like a distant memory. I never discussed him with Janelle, and so in the daytime, it’s almost like what happened between us didn’t even occur. But every single night, he’s the only thing I can see, smell, and taste.

  Missing him began as an acute ache, and slowly filtered into the rest of my body. Ever since he disappeared, I feel like I’m always missing something. I leave home and feel it in my chest—it’s not a sweater; it’s not my phone or my wallet; it’s HIM. He managed to fill a part of me I didn’t even know was empty. And now that he’s gone, I feel the hole gaping inside my chest.

  This morning, Janelle and I are sitting together for breakfast before we head off to work. She sits across from me while I sip my coffee and read the newspaper. She looks nervous, so I drop my paper and ask her point blank. “What’s up, Janelle? You look like you’re going to freak out.”

  “Carlos is out,” she says in a rush. I look at her face, feeling my stomach sink. She’s playing with the hem of her shirt and glances at me nervously. Finally, her gray-blue eyes bore into mine, and I know that she’s gearing up to tell me some serious shit.

  With trembling hands, I put down my coffee mug. “Tell me.”

  “Yeah. Well, I heard he made bail—” She stops, clearing her throat. “I also heard that he’s, um, angrier than usual.” She stands, bringing the rest of the carafe of coffee to the table and pouring more into my cup.

  I lick my dry lips. “What do you mean?”

  She moves to the edge of her seat, pushing sugar my way. “Well, I was on the stoop yesterday. It was my day off. I was hanging out with everyone and listening to Mr. Samson talk about a new jazz club that recently opened up in Harlem. We were all getting high with someone’s hash, shooting the shit—”

  “And?” I raise my eyebrows, waiting for her to get to the point.

  “Juan came over, and sat with me.” She slightly shifts her head to the side and presses her lips together. “Well, he told me that Carlos is out now. And, he’s been talking shit all over town that he and you have some unfinished business. Juan wanted to tell me because he’s scared for you. I know he’s an annoying little shit, but after he heard...” her voice trails off.

  I blink once, twice, three times.

  “There’s more,” she says on an exhale. “Apparently, he hooked up with some girl last night. Beat the shit out of her. Ms. Santini from Three-A was on her way to work and stopped to drop off her trash by the dumpsters. Apparently, she heard a moaning sound. When she saw the girl, her clothes were torn. She was beaten up and started bawling about Carlos…”

  My head gets dizzy, but I force myself to hear every detail. “An ambulance took her away, but she was in pretty bad shape.”

  I want to ask more questions, but the terror has a clamp on my throat.

  “I think you need to stay close to me for a while, okay? The Snakes are getting more aggressive. They want the Blue Houses as their own territory, and it looks like they’re trying to instill some bigger fear on the streets.” She drops her gaze. I know she’s afraid. Every girl in the Blue Houses probably heard the story by now.

  “Yeah. Okay. I’ll make sure Angelo knows I need to leave before it gets dark out.”

  “Good idea. We need to sync our schedules so you aren’t walking alone at night. I’m gonna talk to some other people and try to get their schedules down so that everyone has a buddy or something at night. I’m sure when everyone hears about this, we won’t be the only ones who are scared.” I nod my head and stand up mechanically, rinsing my mug and walking to my room to digest the new information. After grabbing my stuff, I check my purse to make sure that my gun is still inside. I lock myself in the bathroom and load and unload the gun a few times, reacquainting myself with the weapon. If Carlos comes, I’ll be ready for him.

  Getting to work, I let Angelo know the details of what’s new with Carlos. He’s angry and continues to tell me that I shouldn’t be so stubborn and I need to let the Borignones get involved. But I refuse. I still don’t want any debts to my name. I’ve made it this far, and I believe I can wait it out a little longer.

  Work passes in a blur. I’m convincing a girl to sell her diamond ring while Angelo sells the two violins and a Cartier watch to an elderly couple who want to buy something for their grandchildren.

  When the day is done, Angelo insists on calling a car to take me home. I sigh deeply, knowing that the driver will be one of Angelo’s associates. But considering the fact that Carlos is out of jail, I’m not going to complain. I nod my head and take his ride in the name of safety.

  I get in the huge black Escalade and see a massive man sitting in the driver’s seat. Swallowing hard, I remind myself that he’s not an enemy, but on my side. He drives me right up to my building and I gingerly walk out, my shaking hand inside my purse, gripping my gun. I’m scared as hell, but it makes me feel a modicum of control. The driver enters the building with me and steps into the elevator as well.

  We reach the fourth floor when I tell him he can go. “I can get into my apartment fine now.” He nods his head wordlessly and re-calls the elevator to bring him back downstairs.

  I get up to my door without incident and let out the breath I was holding while I pry my fingers off my gun. “I’m okay,” I say out loud, turning my head and letting my gaze run up and down my hallway. It’s empty. I pull out my key and step forward onto my threadbare Welcome mat when I feel like I’ve kicked something. I look down, confused at what’s on the floor. It must be Janelle’s sweater that she dropped on her way out. I bend down to pick it up and freeze.

  A cat. A dead cat. Its neck is broken with eyes that are bugging out. Blood is smeared all over its gray-and-black fur. Images of dead rats being left by Carlos in people’s doorways pile into my head. The moment the stench of blood hits my nose, I turn my head and vomit in the hallway. Carlos. He’s back. And he hasn’t forgotten about me.

  CHAPTER 13

  When my stomach is empty, I step over the dead cat and enter my apartment, locking myself in the bathroom. My mind races. “What do I do? What the fuck do I do? I need to call Janelle.” With my body shaking, and sweat pouring down my face, I pick up my phone and manage to dial her number. It rings and rings, my heart pounding. Pick up, Janelle!

  When I get her voicemail, I hang up and dial again. On the fourth try, I realize she isn’t going to answer. “Help! I need her. I need help!” My heart is pounding harder now, and I feel like I’ll be sick again. I focus my gaze on the bathroom wall, paint cracking along the edge.

  I drop onto the floor, dropping my head into my hands. “Carlos. He’s back and he’s going to kill me. My mom said I should just give into him. Maybe I should end my misery and just call him. At least I won’t have to wait for him to find me. No, I can’t do that. Could I?”

  I force myself up and into my bedroom, opening my side table, and pulling open the drawer. I find the stack of folded papers for prospective colleges underneath Janelle’s beauty samples from Sephora. I sit on my bed and ruffle through them. Princeton. Yale. Columbia. I try to take in a few deep breaths, but my nausea intensifies. “I can’t give into Carlos. I need to stand strong. Just a few more months. But how?”

  Visions of the dead cat flashback in front of my eyes. I run back to the toilet to dry heave. When my body understands there’s nothing left inside me to puke, I sit up and lean against the cold tile wall. “I’ve got a dead animal and a pile of vomit by my front door. I need to clean it up, but I can’t. I just can’t do it.”

  Like a flash through my head: “Angelo. I need to call Angelo. He’ll know what to do. Does removing the dead body of a cat count as a favor to the Borignones? Maybe it does. But I have no other option right now.”

  He answers on the third ring. “Hey, doll. Everything okay?” His voice is laced with concern.

  “No, Angelo. Something’s happened. It’s Carlos—”

  “Take a breath
. I can’t hear you and everything sounds muffled.”

  I inhale and exhale deeply a few times, opening my mouth to speak again. “Carlos. He’s b-back. He left a dead cat on my doorstep!” I pant. “It’s there.” My voice is frantic, chest shaking. “I threw up—” Gasp. “I puked ev-ev-everywhere.” I exhale, trying to compose myself so I can speak while fluids fall from every crevice of my face. “I can’t go back out. There’s b-blood. A cat. He left me a dead cat—”

  “Okay,” he says calmly while I grip the phone like a lifeline. “I’m out in Jersey right now on business, and won’t be back until work in the morning. But don’t worry—I’m going to send Stix back to you, all right? He’ll be there. Same guy who brought you home. Remember, he’s very tall and built. Long black hair and green eyes. He’ll knock three times on your door. Do not open the door unless you hear that knock, got it? Three times.”

  “Y-yeah, Angelo. I got it. I r-r-remember him.”

  “He’ll clean it all up for you. Do you have a friend you can call and stay with tonight? You can’t be alone there. Janelle workin’ late?”

  “Uh-huh. I think she said she was staying at her boyfriend’s after work… I—”

  “And that good-for-nothing piece of shit mom of yours. Fuckin’ Irina.” He practically spits out her name. “Probably on some bender.” He lets out a breath over the phone.

  “You gotta call a friend, okay? No stayin’ alone tonight. Get outta that shit hole. If you can’t think of anyone, I’ll arrange for you to go somewhere. We’ll talk about all of this shit when we see each other tomorrow. I’m not letting you get hurt, do you understand me? If I need to send a friend a’ mine over to stand guard at your door, I’ll do it. Maybe you gotta live with me or with that teacher of yours for a while—”