“He killed her. He killed our baby girl. She was the most precious little girl in the world, but he didn’t want her. He said he never wanted kids, but I did and when I had her it was the best day of my life. I only had her for two months before he killed her. She had a fever and was really fussy. I went out to get some more medicine for her. He had been drinking, but I thought he was okay. I was only going to the store right around the corner.”
Her eyes focus on me and she smiles sadly.
“It was right here, her bassinet was right over there in the corner.” She gestures to a spot somewhere over my head, but I don’t look away from her. “He held his hand over her face until she stopped breathing.”
The bile that I’d been holding down rushes forward and I turn away from her as I gag and vomit.
“I know this is hard to hear, but I figured you needed to know.”
“Why has no one heard about this? Why wasn’t it in the news or any tabloids or anything? Nowhere in any article about him does it mention a child or the death of one?”
“I love him,” she says with a shrug of her shoulders. That explains nothing, but it’s all she gives me. Tears stream down her cheeks and she reaches into her purse. “I know you won’t believe me. You don’t have to. Just ask him.”
She passes me a photo face down and walks away. On the back of the picture is three names and a year. Dominic, Janae’, & Baby Shayla – 2013. I grip the base of my skull, hoping to ease the blinding pain accumulated there. Everything in me rebels against turning the picture over, but that collision I mentioned earlier? Yup. Full steam ahead. Hand trembling I flip it over and my world screeches to a halt.
According to my mom, when I was younger I used to be a chatterbox. She would always have to tell me to be quiet or threaten to tape my mouth shut. She said one day I stopped talking and she immediately knew something was wrong. She found me in the laundry room, mouth opened in a silent scream and crying. I held an empty two-cup capacity measuring cup in my hand and she knew exactly what had happened. My dad had pissed her off and as a punishment she made him do his own laundry. When he asked her about using bleach, she told him he only needed one cup for a full load of white clothes. He’d already measured out two cups. Instead of pouring it back into the bottle, he’d left it on one of the shelves in the laundry room. Thinking it was water I’d found it and drank all of it. The bleach ended up burning my vocal cords. She told me I cried nonstop, thinking I’d never be able to speak again.
I don’t remember it, but I’m guessing that fear is exactly what I’m feeling now. Something has reached inside me and pulled out all capability of speech. Something that feels suspiciously like fear. Anguish. Heartbreaking disappointment. I trusted him. For the third time in my life I placed my heart in the hands of a man to cherish and hold dear and it blew up in my face. My dad was my first disappointment because he decided Connor should be the one to care for me. Even when I told him he’d made the wrong choice, he still decided Connor was sufficient. Obviously Connor was the second disappointment. Now Nico and I think his betrayal is worse than the others. I gave him all of me and have a gift in return to prove it. When I was at my lowest and when I thought I wouldn’t survive everything I was going through, I found him. When I lost everything that mattered most, he was there. I promised myself I would never trust another man and I went back on my word and trusted him. Fuck.
In a daze I clean up the vomit, grab the evidence of the pregnancy test, and pack as much as I can. Halfway to the garage my feet slow to a drag. My heart refuses to believe that any of this is true about my Nico. And he is mine. I promised him I wouldn’t just run. God, I really want to run. Dropping my suitcases, I perch atop one and pull my phone out. He answers before the first ring is even done.
“Little mouse, I’m about to walk out now. Apparently I’m too white to be here today.”
I smile at the thought of him being teased by his friends. They’re relentless when it comes to him, but in the end they all defer to him and his decisions. What do you call the leader of a group of alphas? How could someone who is so loved by everyone around him be as bad as Janae said he is? There’s no denying this picture though. I reach into my coat pocket and pull out the picture. They look like happy parents, gazing down at the baby with smiles on their faces. Looks can be deceiving.
“What’s wrong, little mouse?”
“Nico. I need to ask you something and I need you to be honest with me.”
“I’m always honest with you. What’s going on? Why do you sound like that?”
I can hear the hesitation in his voice. The concern. A part of me shrivels inside. I honestly feel cherished with him. Appreciated. For once, someone other than my dad is giving me the affection that I crave . . . and it’s being ripped away from me.
“Nico, tell me about Shayla.”
There’s complete silence on his end. I don’t even hear the sounds from the gym. His silence is very loud. “Nico?”
“Where’d you hear that name, Bailey?”
The pain in my head is nothing compared to that in my heart. I can count on one hand the number of times he’s called me Bailey. If he’s speaking directly to me it’s always little mouse. Even when I complained, he stuck to calling me that. It speaks of his state of mind that he would say it now.
“Answer me.”
His voice is tight; low and just as dangerous as when he speaks to everyone else. I always noticed that his voice is softer, more mellowed when he speaks to me. With everyone else he was the brooding asshole. I’ve seen it, but it was never directed at me. Until now. “Will you tell me about her? Did you . . .did you hurt her?” He says nothing again. “Is that a no? You didn’t, right?” My questions are met with silence except the rustling of clothes, letting me know that he’s moving.
“I want you to tell me where you heard that name. I’ll be home in a minute.”
He hangs up without waiting for a response. I stare at the phone for a few seconds then stand. “I won’t be here.”
WITHOUT MISSING A beat, I dial the number Janae called me from yesterday. I should have known she would have pulled some shit like this. No one else would have mentioned Shayla to Bailey. For Janae to be the one to bring her up . . . there’s no telling what bullshit she told her to make Bailey ask if I ever hurt her. I knew I should have answered her, but I let my anger cloud my judgment and I shut down. I could never have hurt her.
“Finally came to your senses?”
“What the fuck did you do, Janae?”
Her laugh is maniacal. I grip the steering wheel as tight as I can. “Answer me!”
“I told that bitch exactly what I needed to make her leave. Did you really think this would end well for you and her? Did you think I would let you be happy with anyone else?”
“Janae. You left. You decided we weren’t going to get married. You made that choice. You wanted to be gone, so I fucking let you go. You don’t get to come back and dictate my love life.”
“And you don’t get to have a love life with anyone,” she shrieks. “Love, ha! You don’t love her! You should have seen her face when I told her you killed our daughter because you never wanted kids. I told her all you wanted to do was traffic drugs and having a baby stood in the way of that, so you had to get rid of her. I even hit her with a few crocodile tears. She ate it up like the stupid bitch that she is. She was so devastated she actually threw up. You chose a weak bitch, you should be thanking me for saving you.”
Love? Did I say that? Shit. I love Bailey. And I can’t even fault her for believing Janae. She can be very convincing. She had me fooled for years. Not to mention Bailey’s had a shitty example of how a man should treat a woman in a relationship. It’s a blow that she just took Janae’s word though. She didn’t even let me . . . my thoughts trail off as I realize how bad I just fucked up. She had doubts and she called me to clarify them. I gave her nothing. No reassurances. No answers. No comfort. I demanded that she give me an answer I already knew and I hung
up on her.
“Janae.” She pauses mid rant, probably still spewing bullshit about Bailey. “You’re dead to me. From this point forward, you mean nothing to me and you’ll never come back from that. Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”
“You don’t mean that, Nico. You’re upset about that cunt bitch, but you’ll get over her.”
She says the words, but her voice isn’t as strong as it was when she first answered. “Call her anything other than her name again and they’ll never find your fucking body.” She grows silent for a few seconds. “You crossed a line.”
“Dominic?”
I don’t answer and she stutters out another plea that I don’t mean it. I do. I definitely mean it. Bailey is the best thing in my life. If Janae has taken her away from me, God have mercy on her because I damn sure won’t. “Bailey threatened to slit your throat and your wrists. The difference between us? I don’t make useless threats and you of all people should know that. If you value your life, keep it away from me.”
When I walk into the apartment I know she’s not here. I can feel it. I know I’ve let her slip through my fingers. I call her name anyway. There’s no answer. I check every room ending with the master bedroom. Clothes and shoes are strewn everywhere. She packed in a hurry and left just as quickly. One lonesome shoe sits atop the bed. I sit next to it and pull it into my lap. I told her once that I’d always find her. This time is no different.
THE BELL ABOVE the door rings as I balance precariously upon the ladder. This bulb has been flickering for two days now. If I don’t change it now, it’ll be another two days before I get to it.
“Welcome to Decadence, give me a minute and I’ll help you out. We’re about to close, so everything is 25% off. Feel free to look around and let me know if there’s anything specific you want. I already sold out of sweet lavender bars and praline blondies, so I apologize in advance if you’re here for either of those.”
I always seem to run out of those two items first. It never fails. I can make extra batches all throughout the day and still manage to have none left at closing time. Just as I’m about to screw the replacement bulb in, a spark shoots out. I jump back, forgetting I’m up on the ladder and my heart lurches. I clutch my stomach praying that I don’t fall far or hard enough to do any major damage. I don’t fall far at all. I land in a pair of arms. Arms that I know very well. Arms that held me and comforted me when I needed them most. It’s been two and a half months since I last felt them wrapped around me, but my body hasn’t forgotten. In fact, it perks up and gives a standing ovation.
“Maybe next time you could hire someone to do that. At the very least have another person to hold the ladder?”
His voice vibrates through me where we’re connected and as usual it sends a burst of heat straight to my core. I look up at him and his eyes meet mine. He’s as gorgeous as ever. Dare I say even more so? His bottom lip is split in the left corner and beneath his left eye is a swollen kaleidoscope of black, blue, and purple. His injuries take absolutely nothing away from his looks. He’s still cloaked in confidence and strength. Maybe the way he got them plays a part in it. A week ago he fought to defend his championship title. He won. I got my first glimpse of The Savage Prince and he was frighteningly beautiful. He took a few hits in the beginning, but after that I saw what it truly meant to “fucking attack.” He was ruthless. Relentless. Murderous. He went at his opponent with everything he had—fists, knees, and elbows. Every move he made was to inflict serious pain and damage. He was truly a savage. And the sicko that I am, loved every minute of it—except when he’d get hit. That part I could really do without. Mostly, he fought like he had something to prove. Like he wanted everyone to know that the octagon is his dominion and anyone who thought to take it away would suffer terribly.
“You left me, little mouse.”
I stare at him in silence unable to form the words that I want to say; need to say. For instance, how would I say “Hey, just when I found out I was pregnant your ex-fiancé showed up and told me you killed your daughter, so I ran away from you.” I’ve spent countless hours thinking about what I’d say to him when I saw him again. Not if, but when. I knew I would see him again. He murdered his child. Accidental or not, she’s no longer here and no matter how much I wish it weren’t true, it is. And for that reason, I would never tell him that I carried his child. I can’t risk him doing the same thing again. I won’t risk it. So, I need to figure out a way to get him away from me. So many times I wanted to reach out to him. Ask him how he could do such a thing. To an innocent child, no less. How could he have let me believe he was anything more than what he truly is? A monster. I try to keep my eyes diverted. I don’t want to look into his and risk getting lost in the depth of his gaze. That sort of connection is more intimate that I want to be with him. I want nothing with him. If only my heart would get on board, I could let go of this heartache and move forward with my existence.
“That wasn’t very nice.”
“You found me,” I utter stupidly. It’s nice to know my brain to mouth filter still malfunctions in his presence.
“I told you before.”
“You’ll always find me.”
He nods slowly, never taking his eyes from mine. His knees bend slightly as he places my feet flat on the ground. His hand drifts toward my waist and even though I know it’s only to steady me, I slap his hand away and stumble backwards. He snatches his hands back, but quickly reaches forward again to keep me from falling. I catch my balance against the display shelf before scurrying around it and putting distance between us. I fiddle with the latch on the shelf not knowing how to explain what just happened. I know he only wanted to help, but had he touched my stomach he would have felt my baby bump. Apparently being skinny means you start to show a lot sooner than expected. Or at least that’s the case with me. I like to think I’m not overly huge, but at fourteen weeks pregnant, I measure two weeks further. No surprise there, considering the giant standing before me is the father.
“I’m sorry. You don’t want me to touch you, I’ll respect that.”
His voice is tight and when I look up I can read the frustration in him. Jaw set, those broad shoulders stiffened, and hands curled into fists. I force a smile and shake my head. “It’s okay. It’s not that. I’m just . . . surprised. Really surprised. What are you doing here?” I wince at that last part. Hopefully he doesn’t take that as me not wanting him here. I do. I really do. I just know if I shouldn’t. I have to keep reminding myself of that. “That came out wrong. I mean, I’m glad you’re here. Well, not really because we didn’t really part well, but then again you were being a jerk and I had been told some really bad things, so it all just kind of blew up and then I watched your fight, and it was really, really amazing. I’ve never seen you like that before, which makes sense because I never saw you fight before. You would think I would just Google a video of it or something, like we did that time with my dad and my grandpa when I didn’t believe they were really boxers, but then again, if I’m being honest with myself, I didn’t want to watch because I don’t like the idea of you being hurt, but then I’d think about what Janae told me and I would think you deserved to hurt and then that would just hurt me because as much as I thought you deserved it, I really didn’t want. And then that led to me thinking something had to be wrong with me because why would I feel bad for a murderer and then nothing would make sense because the truth is I just missed you.” I place a hand over my mouth, forcing myself to stop speaking. It’s really embarrassing how I get diarrhea of the mouth when I’m near him. Words just fly out and I have no control over them.
“I missed you, too.”
The sincerity behind those words is surprising. I stare at him trying to figure out what to do or say next. I have no clue and he just stands there, unflinching, and staring back. I glance down at the display shelf again and see a lone nectarine tart amongst an array of lemon bars. How’d that get there? Turning away from Nico, I grab a serving spatula and an ap
petizer plate. Placing the tart in the center, I add fresh whipped cream and slide it to where he stands. He stares at it for a moment then picks it up and devours half of it with one bite. I smile when he turns the rest to me.
“Thank you. This is really good,” he murmurs as I take a bite.
“You’re welcome. I tried a new recipe with some grapes, honey, and ricotta. It’s a cheesecake bite and I know you love them. Want to try it?”
He smiles as he nods his head and I can only stare. He has to know what his smile is capable of. No one is that dumb. His smile grows into a full-blown grin and I flush. Not out loud. Not out loud. Not out loud.
“What exactly is it capable of?”
Fuck! That was out loud. “I’ll grab that bite for you.” I move to the other end of the cases and pull out the last two cheesecake bites. He follows me without prompting. I drizzle a little more honey on top of them and pass him one.
“I was able to maintain those extra ten pounds after you left,” he says, brown eyes intense and unblinking. “Mark was ecstatic. I was miserable. I even tried to make that buttermilk cake you showed me. Didn’t work out too well.”
I stare open-mouthed, unable to believe he tried to bake a cake. Him. The guy who is flabbergasted by the oven having a light and a timer that could automatically shut it off when it’s done. I’m not at all surprised he was unsuccessful, but I do wonder why he’s telling me this.
“We should talk about a few things.”
“Talking is extremely overrated. I think you should just go,” I say with a shake of my head.
Heart of a Savage Page 17