by Chloe Walsh
And with all of that tightly packed muscle, I could only assume that throw would be not far.
Maybe I was being far too cynical and wary here, and he was a genuinely good guy, but I'd rather be wrong than foolish.
With the pedal to the metal of my rental car, I sat back as the sweet motor ate up the miles back to Pocketful, Louisiana. Population 4,879.
4,878 if I didn’t hurry my ass up.
My phone vibrated from its perch on the passenger seat and I picked it up and swiped accept without checking. It was a mistake. Noah's furious voice came down the line. "I don’t know if I should congratulate you on your balls finally dropping or tell you to find a very good hiding place because if I hunt you down and find a mark on my Lexus, you're a dead man."
"I'll have you know that I am the poster boy for safe and sensible driving, Mr. Messina," I replied, pulling at the collar of my shirt. "And well, for the want of a better word; YOLO."
"Yolo?" he growled. "The fuck is yolo?"
"YOLO, dude. It's an acronym. You know, for you only live once," I explained, rolling my eyes. "And don’t worry. I'll return it in perfect condition with a full tank of gas."
"Not the point," he grumbled. "You didn’t ask before you took. That's a big fucking no-no in my book, kid."
"Well, Lucky's woman, as he – so not twenty-first century – refers to her, is ovulating, and I can't wait around for a week while he inseminates her. This is my friend's life we're talking about, Noah!"
"Then why didn’t you steal his wheels?" he growled.
I shrugged. "Hey, I'm spontaneous, not suicidal."
"You think he's more dangerous than I am?"
"Yes, but I think you're hotter, if that's any consolation?"
"Does Lucky know you're gone?"
"Nope," I replied. "Last I heard from good ole' Luck, he was giving it to his woman at full throttle. I'm talking some seriously impressive, not to mention loud as hell, headboard banging kind of giving. Big house, but the walls are thin. Kids are probably scarred for life."
"That's my niece you're talking about."
"Uh-huh, and your thoroughly fucked niece, by the sound of it."
"Jesus Christ…"
"T.M.I?" I asked. "Oh, that's an acronym for two much information –"
"I know what it means," Noah snapped. "Alright, you've got three days," he grunted, thankfully relenting. "I want my damn car back in my garage in seventy-two hours. You got that, kid?"
"I've got it," I replied cheerfully.
"So, are you nearly there?"
"Yup. The lights of my hometown are coming into view as we speak."
There was a pause. "Are you scared?"
"Sufficiently shitting myself," I replied, sounding manically upbeat.
"Christ," Noah chuckled. "Well, stay safe, kid."
"Will do."
"And try not to get yourself killed before you get my car back to me."
"It's on the top of my agenda."
16
Sketch
"Tell me, Giacobbe Toretto, are you brave enough to die tonight if this does not go our way?" Seth asked as we lay on our stomachs in the overgrown shrubbery at the back of my father's property.
"Call me that one more time and you won't be around to ask dumb fucking questions," I warned.
"Why not, Giacobbe?" he drawled. "That is your name, is it not?"
"Gee-a-cub-eee," I mocked his accent, rolling my eyes. I didn’t know this guy, I trusted him even less, but my desperation to find Romi trumped everything. "Dude, you are getting on my last goddamn nerve. I ain't fucking around here. Quit it."
"At least we will meet our mothers," he mused, popping a piece of gum into his mouth. "My mother was a brilliant woman."
"Quiet," I growled, spying Giuseppe, one of my father's guards, through my binoculars. It was growing dark out and I was growing anxious. Waiting for the shift swap and the fifteen-minute gap between watchdogs had never made me feel so damn sick. I guess the prospect of having another lead ridden bullet lodged in my body was the causing factor.
I knew this place like the back of my hand – and Romi's place with it. I could walk every square inch of this property blindfolded and not put a foot wrong. I knew where every guard was stationed, where every security light, laser, and alarm were positioned.
Being the black sheep of the family with a penchant for sleeping with the girl next door, I had made a career out of getting in and out of both houses undetected.
Who knew it would come in handy now that I actually needed it?
"You're sure Cal's in there?" I asked, not feeling sure about a damn thing. "Next door, I mean."
"Where else would he be?"
"Gee, I don’t know, asshole. Maybe a million different places –"
"He's home," he growled, stiffening beside me. "And I am going to enjoy watching him take his last breath."
"Whatever you say, dude," I muttered, desperately trying to keep his sister out of my thoughts. If I was going to do this, I needed to keep a clear head. I couldn’t do that when it was clouded by Romi.
"So, is my beloved twin sister the love of your life?" he asked then, tone morphing to one of amusement. "Or do you believe in that sort of thing?"
"Get fucked, Seth."
"Hey – I am simply trying to make some friendly conversation here."
"We're not friends."
"No, but we are allies."
"Nope. We ain't that either. We have a common interest, Seth. A mutually beneficial arrangement. That's all. Once I get what I want from you, I couldn’t care less if you live or die."
"Cal Dillon."
"Hmm?"
"Cal Dillon," he explained. "The common interest we share."
"Romi Dillon," I corrected. "I couldn’t give two shits about your dirt bag dad, dude. No offense."
"You have no interest in avenging the family he took from you?" he asked, sounding genuinely curious.
"Of course."
"Then why not take more pleasure in this?"
When I didn’t respond, Seth let out a surprised laugh. "Oh, you mean my sister, don’t you? She's the only family you're interested in? You do not care about the mother and brother he slaughtered?"
I stiffened, but didn’t respond.
"Hmm. I cannot decide if I envy Ramona for having a man who loves her this fiercely or pity you for the weakness she exposes in you."
"Neither," I deadpanned. "You don’t know shit about me, Seth, so don’t bother trying now. We won't be in each other's company for much longer."
"And after tonight, you and I will never run into each other again, right?" Humor filled his voice.
"With any luck."
He chuckled. "You are fascinating."
"And you are fucking annoying."
"Don’t let many people in, do you?"
I rolled my eyes. "Wow. Nothing gets past you, does it?"
"Who taught you how to shoot?" Seth asked then, steering the conversation to another random topic. "My ear is not very grateful."
"Be glad it wasn't your brain," I muttered. "And it was my dad."
"You mean –"
"I mean my dad, jackass!" I snapped. "As in the man that raised me. You got it?"
"Well, he taught you well," he replied, thankfully not pouring salt on that particular open wound. "To shoot, that is."
Relaxing, I nodded. "Yeah, he dragged me and Chris down to the shooting range every Saturday for twelve years." I shrugged. "Hunting trips, too. Hell, he even used to send us to these super intense, month long survival-training boot camps each summer. Character building, he used to call it." I smirked to myself. "More like hell on earth."
"Sounds to me like he was training you to be the warrior you were born to be," Seth offered in a mild tone.
I had no answer to that.
The thought had crossed my mind a time or ten in the past few weeks.
Before I could think about it anymore though, a piercing light shone in our direction. "Who's o
ut there?"
"Busted," I groaned, dropping my cheek to the earth when I recognized Giuseppe's croaky voice. "Motherfucker." In all my years of slipping in and out of here, my father's ancient guard was the only person that had managed to catch me out. "Fucking figures."
"Holden, is that you?" he continued to call out. "Boy, you better show yourself before I take my gun out."
"I'll take this," Seth whispered before springing out of his spot.
"Seth, wait!" I hissed. "No, he's one of my dad's. You don’t have to –"
My words died on my tongue when Seth lunged towards our family's elderly security guard and plunged a knife into his throat.
Giuseppe collapsed on the ground not a moment later.
Horrified, I gaped at his lifeless frame as he bled out on my mama's withered geraniums. "What the hell did you do that for?" I demanded, rushing to his side. "Jesus Christ, you killed him!"
"Wow. Nothing gets past you, does it?" Rolling his eyes, he recited my earlier words. "He was in my way."
"He was harmless," I spat, anger swelling in my gut. "I've known that man for most of my life. He has a wife, dammit."
"And now he has a widow," was his cold answer. "What is your point?"
"You're a real piece of shit, do you know that?" I snarled, climbing to my feet just to shove the bastard. "Goddammit to hell, I must have been crazy agreeing to help you."
"Not crazy, just in love," he replied. "Or maybe that means the same thing. Either way, you will help me. If you don’t, you'll never get her back."
I hated him.
I honest to God hated this guy.
"I am going inside," he continued to say. "Wait out here until I give you the go-ahead. You still have the burner phone I gave you? The moment I text it, you will follow me." His tone was hard, matching his darkening expression. "Do not fuck this up."
What.
A.
Dick.
17
Presley
Skulking around a house that aligned with the home of a madman had to be an all-time low for me. Yeah, my stupidity at following my friend into the pits of hell wasn't my brightest idea. I was more likely to end up on a Netflix true-crime original than rescue Sketch.
Knowing my luck, my life would be portrayed in a sidekick/secondary character role by the likes of Dylan O'Brien or Robert Sheehan, while the show focused on Sketch and Romi's epic love story. Sketch would probably get played by Stephen James or some other divine looking God while Britt Robertson played cute-as-a-button Romi. They would get laid plenty while I remained un-sexed and offering up all of the necessary humor provided by the token gay BFF on a hit show. Ugh. Somebody needed to find a stick and beat me with it.
"Sketch?" I whisper-hissed, as I crept around his house in the darkness. Something didn't feel right. Every light in the house was off and not one member of staff was lurking around. Add that to the fact that I wasn't stopped by security at the gates and you had a recipe for a Presley pancake. "If you're in here, then you better show yourself, buddy, because I've had a lot of coffee and I can't guarantee my –"
A hand grabbed me in the darkness, covering my mouth, and cutting off my air supply. Moments later, my back slammed against a hard wall of stone, and the hand on my mouth was replaced with lips.
Warm lips.
Soft lips.
Welcome lips.
Too stunned to do anything but hold my hands up in the air, I sagged against the wall at my back while a skilled tongue probed my lips to duel with mine.
Arousal roared to life inside of my body and it took my brain a few seconds to put the pieces together.
Once I did, I shoved against the powerful chest encasing me and gasped for air. "Did you just kiss me?"
"Yes." Unperturbed by my rejection, Seth didn’t step back. He didn’t give me an inch of personal space. "Are you complaining?"
Was I?
My dick certainly wasn’t.
"Wait –" I shook my head, desperately trying to clear my lust-ridden thoughts and gain some clarity and control of the situation, "What are you doing in here? And where the hell is Ske –"
Before I had a chance to finish, Seth's mouth was on mine again, our lips crashing together violently, as he kissed me hard and rough.
Biting down hard on my lip, he reached for my hand and placed it on the bulge in his jeans. "Feel that, pretty boy," he growled, tugging on my lip. "I'm going to rip your tight little asshole in half."
"Oh, sweet mother of Madonna. I didn’t think you were actually gay."
"I'm not."
"What?" I pushed his face back. "Then what the hell is this?"
"I fuck who I want to fuck," he explained, pressing me harder to the wall. "And right now, I want to fuck you."
"So, you're bisexual?"
"Two things you should know about me," Seth purred, grinding his hips against mine. "One, I don’t like labels. Two, I like small talk even less."
"I'm here for Sketch," I strangled out, trembling with a mixture of lust and fear. "Where is he –"
"He is where I need him to be. Enough with the questions!" Seth commanded, before slamming his lips against mine again. He thrust his tongue deep inside my mouth, commanding me to obey him with his dominant moves.
And I was ashamed to say that I was lost. I was completely and utterly caught up in the madness as Seth shoved me into a coat closet under the Capaldi's staircase and slammed the door behind us.
Controlling me with his lips alone, he pushed me deeper inside the small space until my back was, once again, plastered to a wall.
Snaring me with his hips, he roughly thrust against me, letting me know in no uncertain terms what his agenda was.
"I told you that I was a third date kind of guy," I panted against his lips.
"Did I give you the impression that I cared?" he shot back, growling against my lips.
Ruined.
This guy was going to ruin me.
"You should know that I'm a lot like that Kelly Clarkson song. You know the one where she sings about not wanting to hook up because she falls deep –"
"While I find your rambling oddly endearing, pretty boy, it's not the time."
"But this is complete madness," I continued to protest and ramble, heart racing wild in my chest. "There's a freaking mad-man on the loose who wants to kill my friend, and for all I know, you could be an even bigger lunatic than your pyscho dad!"
"I am, now drop your pants." He pushed off me and moved for his belt. "I want to fuck."
"And if I don’t?" I breathed, chest rising and falling quickly. "If I know you're a bad dude… what then?"
The laugh that escaped his lips was so fucking sexy, I hardened to the point of pain. "I am bad. But you still want this."
Well shit, I think I finally understood what Ginuwine was thinking about when he wrote the song Pony.
I was in some serious trouble here.
Yee-fucking-haw.
My hands moved to my waistband of their own accord, pushing both my jeans and boxers down.
"Good boy." His voice was laced with lusty approval, as his hands moved to his jeans and he flicked the button open. "Now turn around and take me like man."
18
Romi
"There's something I need to warn you about," Mr. Capaldi announced when we drew closer to my old neighborhood – a neighborhood that consisted of our two houses and not a lot else within a six-mile radius. "Something you should be prepared for before you walk in there."
"Let me guess; you're a lying piece of shit and we're both going to die tonight?" Raffaele offered lazily from his perch on the opposite side of the stretch hummer. "No need to warn me, cousin. I am well aware."
"The girl Cal coerced into accusing you of rape all those years ago?" Mr. Capaldi looked right at him. "She is his fiancée now."
Raffaele stiffened. "I see."
"Wh-what?" I asked, eyes widening in horror. "You mean Victoria?"
Mr. Capaldi nodded.
"Oh my God." I felt sick. "Oh my God!"
"What is it?"
"Chris," I strangled out, pressing a hand to my chest. "All of this started when he started looking into Victoria's past." I felt sick. "Because I asked him to. Because I didn’t trust her."
"As well you shouldn’t," Raffaele stated. "She is a conniving snake just like the family she comes from."
When I looked at him in confusion, he explained. "She is the granddaughter of my father's greatest enemy."
"Chris must have dug the old police report up and put two and two together," Mr. Capaldi mumbled, more to himself than us. "He was always too smart for his own good."
Raffaele looked at me. "For the record, I didn’t lay a finger on her."
"I believe you," I replied without an ounce of hesitation. I'd been with this man for months and never once had he put a hand on me. Raffaele was far too wrapped up in the ghost of his wife to even contemplate being with another woman, so I could only imagine how devoted he had been to Carmella when she was alive. "But if it's any consolation, your son refers to her as Vic-whore-ia," I offered with a shrug. "Because she's so desperate and skanky."
His lips tipped upwards. "Smart boy."
"Yeah, he is," I replied quietly, before turning to look out the window.
I was trying so hard to hold it together, but the thought of Sketch filled me with a different level of dread.
The fear I had in my heart for him was all-consuming. Panic churned inside of me.
"Do not worry yourself, Ramona," Raffaele said, detecting where my thoughts had taken me. "You'll stay here, fully protected. If we do not return, my men will take you somewhere safe." He gestured to the six grim-looking men in black keeping us company in the back of the hummer. You will start over. You and my grandchild. I give you my word."
"But I don’t want to stay here with these men," I choked out, swinging my head back to look at him. "And I don’t want to start over on my own. I just want to help find Sketch!" I gripped my head in my hands. "I just want Sketch…"