by Chloe Walsh
"You need to keep his baby safe," Mr. Capaldi interrupted. "You are stronger than you think, Ramona Dillon. You will survive this – even if we don’t."
"If this is such a lost cause, then why bring me here at all?" I cried, wiping my cheek with the sleeve of my sweater. "Why not leave me in Italy?"
"Because if I fall tonight, you will not be safe in Italy," Raffaele replied.
"You won't be safe in America either," Mr. Capaldi twisted the knife by saying. "This isn't a game, Ramona. There are no second chances in our world. There is no pause or reload button and you only get one life. Raff's men will take care of you. All you have to do is everything you're told."
"I trust only a handful of men and they are right here," Raffaele continued. "They are honorable and will protect you with their lives." Emotion flashed in his eyes. "They will protect my grandchild."
The car pulled through the steel gates of the Capaldi estate and I couldn’t stop the tears from trickling down my cheeks.
"So, what are y'all saying here?" I choked out, tears stinging my eyes. "You're just going to walk to your deaths? There's no hope?" I wanted to scream in frustration. "This is so unfair."
"There is always hope," Raffaele replied, eyes burning with emotion. "You showed me that." His gaze flicked to my stomach for the briefest of moments and he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, every ounce of emotion that had been burning in his blue irises was gone.
The car door opened and he looked to Mr. Capaldi. "Let's go, cousin."
19
Presley
"Jesus," I panted, hands and cheek still pressed against the wall.
Breathing hard and fast, I tried to find some semblance of composure but it wasn’t coming easy. I wasn't sure how I felt right now.
Dirty?
Guilty?
Violated?
Thoroughly fucked and satiated?
All of the above and more…
Completely freaking reeling, I dressed and turned around to look at him.
"You did good," Seth said as he pulled his jeans up his hips and snapped his belt into place. "I might just keep you around, pretty boy."
I didn’t have an answer for that.
For once in my life, I was genuinely speechless.
Sauntering towards me, he closed the space between us, pinning me to the wall. "I knew there was a reason I liked you the first time I saw you." Gripping my chin in his hand, he tipped it up forcefully, giving me no choice but to look at him. "Now I know why." Leaning in, he gave me a rough, punishing kiss. "It is why I haven't killed you." He pinned my hands above my head, and his tongue snaked out, parting my lips and massaging my tongue with deep, erotic strokes. "I am going to take you again."
Losing my freaking mind in his lips, I let him kiss me until my mind was racing wildly, right along with my heartbeat.
Click.
Startled by the strange noise, I broke our kiss and looked around wildly, eyes landing on the handcuff binding me to the metal rail of closet. "Okay, I don’t know what first impression I made on you, but I am so not ready for BDSM, dude –"
"Relax," Seth whispered, tugging on my bottom lip with his teeth. "When all of this is over, I am going to keep you as my lover."
I blinked rapidly. "Come again?"
"Oh, I intend to." Winking, he dragged his shirt over his head and moved for the door. "See you soon, pretty boy."
"Wait…what?" My eyes bulged in my head as I watched him walk out of the closest, letting the door click shut behind him. "So, you're just going to lock me up in here?" I listened for a response and came up empty. "Oh my God."
Had I been played?
Seduced by the devil?
Oh my God.
I had.
He fucked me and chucked me!
In a coat closet, no less.
That big dicked bastard!
"Sketch!" I hollered at the top of my lungs. "I know you're busy and stuff, but if you can hear me, I'm trapped in a closet against my will, and I need you to come save me!"
20
Romi
I watched both Raffaele and Mr. Capaldi climb out of our car and into a waiting black Sedan before making the short journey to the estate next door.
Time came to a still after that.
Minutes felt like days and hours felt like years.
I couldn’t sit still, even though I didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. Still inside the Hummer, and surrounded by six burly Italians dressed in the finest of suits, I fidgeted restlessly, hoping and praying for a resolution that involved nobody dying.
I knew it wouldn’t happen.
Couldn’t if they wanted to. These men were mobsters. They paid their debts with blood and settled their feuds by taking the lives of their aggressors.
Problem was, Sketch and I didn’t belong in this world. We might be the children of violent men, but we weren't raised to live by any code or survive in this world.
Curling my hand around my belly protectively, I closed my eyes and said my prayers.
Keep him safe.
Please Lord, keep my Sketch safe from these monsters.
I'll do whatever you want.
I'll go to church every Sunday.
I'll be a good Christian woman.
I'll be the best mama I can possibly be.
Please, Jesus, I'll never ask you for another thing, but please…please keep the child growing inside of me and his father safe…
"We're under attack!"
"Wh-what?" My eyes blinked open and my entire body seized with terror when the door of the hummer was ripped open and the sound of gunfire pierced my eardrums.
"I said move!" one of Raffaele's men repeated, dragging me out of the hummer and shielding me from an onslaught of flying bullets. "Now, now, now!"
Shoving me to the ground, the burly bodyguard dragged me around the side of the property, continuing to shield my body with his. "Run," he hissed, thrusting a gun into my hands. "Go now."
"But...but…I don’t –"
"Run or die," he hissed shoving me towards the back yard. "Find somewhere to hide. Four of our men are down. If I make it, I will come find you. I promise." His dark eyes burned holes in mine. "Go now."
And then he was gone.
Moving on basic primal instinct, I did exactly what I was told and ran away from the house as fast as my legs could carry me. I didn’t know where to go, nowhere was safe anymore, but I didn’t stop moving.
Run.
Move your ass, Romi.
Don’t you dare stop!
Choking on my own fear, I fought the urge to curl up in a ball and pressed on. Even though I was fairly certain I'd never been more scared in my life, I fought my fear and kept going. Maybe I'd had enough of being pushed around by bully men or maybe it was my prematernal instinct kicking in, demanding I protect my unborn child. Whatever it was, it was keeping my mind clear and focused. It was making my feet move forward.
Armed with a gun I didn’t know how to use and only my wits to protect me, I rounded the outdoor pool, my feet taking me on a journey I had taken a thousand times.
Feet pounding through the neatly trimmed gardens and shrubbery, I ran straight for the tree line at the end of the Capaldis property and slipped through the tiny, child-made gap in the bushes that linked their back yard to ours.
My muscles burned and my legs protested, but I didn’t dare stop to catch my breath.
Finding somewhere safe to ride out this bullet ridden storm was my first and only priority.
I could breathe later.
Bobbing and weaving between trees, I ran deeper in the woods, not stopping until my hands had a firm grasp on the old ladder.
Feet finding the rickety steps, I didn’t hesitate to climb the ladder I had fallen off only a few short months ago. Moving quickly now, I ignored the burning explosion in my knee and kept moving, dragging my body to the very top.
I was breathing so hard I could hear the gasping sounds coming from my throat
. A mixture of fear and exhaustion, the cause of my burning lungs, no doubt.
It doesn’t matter.
Find safety.
Protect your baby!
When I reached the top, I dragged myself through the tiny entryway. Falling onto to my hands and knees, I desperately gulped in mouthfuls of air as exhaustion crept into my bones.
I did it.
I actually freaking did it.
My relief lasted only a millisecond before a large hand covered my mouth and then I was being dragged further into the treehouse, deeper into the darkness.
21
Romi
My back hit the floor of the treehouse not a moment later, followed swiftly by a hard body landing roughly on top of me, and I dropped my gun.
One large hand came down on my mouth again, and the other gripped my throat.
Unable to scream or call for help, not that anyone was coming to help me if I could, I ripped and tore at the hand cutting off my air supply, digging my nails so deep into the skin, I could only pray that I had drawn blood.
Fiercely fighting for my right to live, for my baby's right to live, I bit down hard on the hand and sucked in a ragged breath when my attacker released me. Twisting onto my hands and knees, I scrambled away, putting as much space between me and my attacker as I could in the small space.
"Jesus fucking Christ," a familiar voice hissed in the darkness, cradling his hand.
I froze.
Completely freaking froze.
Eyes glued to the dark silhouette in front of me, I shuffled forward on my hands and knees, not stopping until my knees brushed against his.
Taking a wild leap of faith, I reached up and pushed his hood down.
Blue eyes landed on my face. They were full of fire and venom but quickly morphed into relief and recognition.
Every ounce of air in my poor, neglected lungs fled my body in an audible gasp.
My entire frame started to shake violently.
My heart, my poor fragile heart, almost beat its way out of my chest.
"Sketch?"
He was here.
He was alive.
He made it.
"Ro?"
"Sketch," I sobbed, unable to contain my feelings. "Oh my God, Sketch!"
"Holy fuck, Ro?"
My whole face caved in. Every emotion I'd been battling to control burst clean out of me. My heart went wild at the sight of him. I couldn’t make it stop. It was hammering in my chest like I had run a marathon. The relief in my veins was flooding me.
I wasn’t sure who moved first, but we both lunged for the other, bodies fusing in the tightest hug humanly possible.
"Sketch…"
"Ro." His breath was coming hard and fast as his arms came around my body, wrapping me up in his embrace. "I've been looking everywhere for you."
"You're okay." My tears ran freely down my cheeks as I cried hard and ugly, feeling more gratitude and relief in this moment than ever before. "Oh, thank God!" My hands roamed all over his face and chest, seeking confirmation that this wasn't another cruel mirage or dream. "You're here. We're both here. We're gonna be okay…"
"Baby." His fingers were caked in dry blood but he still reached up and wiped my tears away. "I can't believe you're really here." His voice cracked and he pulled my face to his. Kneeling in front of each other, he rested his brow against mine, breathing hard and fast. "Fuck, Ro, when I woke up and found you gone, I lost my fucking mind." Cradling my face in his hands, he pressed a hard kiss to my lips before pulling back to just look at me, his breathing fast and ragged. "Where'd you go, huh?" His voice was thick with emotion. "I was so scared. I looked everywhere for you. I thought I'd never see you again."
"Yeah, I know the feeling," I half-panted/half-sobbed, mirroring his actions by clutching his face in my hands. "I've been so scared I could hardly breathe. When I watched that bullet…" No. I couldn’t talk about it. I couldn’t even think about it. "I had to believe you were okay," I sobbed. "It was the only way I could keep going and not lose my mind again."
"Yeah," he replied gruffly, mirroring my words. "I know the feeling."
"What the hell are you doing back in Pocketful, you big jerk?" I demanded, shaking his shoulders, furious with him for trusting Seth, but too in love to let him go. "You came here to kill my father? Are you completely insane?"
"Maybe," he replied honestly. "Or at least I was when I agreed." He blew out a breath. "I had to find you, baby, and Seth said that he knew where you were." He looked so lost as he spoke. "I knew that I couldn’t find you on my own – and God knows I tried. Presley tried. He had Lucky and his goons try to find you, too, and nothing. You were just gone, Ro." His shoulders slumped in defeat. "I'm crazy for you, Ro, you know that. There ain't a damn thing I wouldn’t agree to if it meant that I got to see this pretty face one more time." His thumb stroked my cheek. "But I know that I screwed up, okay? I get that."
"Uh, you think?"
"He's dangerous, Ro," Sketch admitted. "Like completely fucking unpredictably dangerous."
"Seth?"
He nodded slowly. "He gave me this." He pulled a cell out of the pocket of his hoodie. "He said that when he texts me, I have to go inside and help him." He cringed in shame. "He wants your dad dead, Ro. He's so bitter that I think it's poisoned his mind."
"Well, you don’t have to help him," I blurted out, fury filling my veins. "You're not going anywhere near my father."
He sighed heavily. "I said I would, Ro. I gave him my word, baby –"
"And I'm saying no!" I snapped. "It's not happening, Holden. You are not going into that house to get your head blown off by my deranged family!"
"Shh," he coaxed, holding me tighter. "Okay, okay. Relax."
"I mean it," I added, clinging to him. "I don’t trust Seth. Your father thinks this whole thing is a trap and I agree with him."
"My father?" he replied in a flat tone. "Which one?"
"Both?" I offered weakly, feeling a world of sympathy for him wash through my heart. "They're both here," I added, snuggling deeper into his chest when he stiffened. "They want to help us."
"Fuck them both," he bit out, shaking off all notions of help. "I don’t need a damn thing from either one of them. I only need you. The rest of the world can get fucked."
"My dad wants to hurt you," I said. "He wants you dead! You should have heard the things he said – the things he wants to do to you." I shook my head, rejecting the memories. "You can't trust either one of them." A shiver rolled down my spine. "Your dad and Raffaele went in there to negotiate with him."
"Raffaele," he whispered the name softly. "That's who you were with?"
Swallowing deeply, I nodded. "Yes."
"Did he…" Grimacing, he blew out a pained breath before finishing, "hurt you?"
"No."
"You sure?"
"I'm sure, Sketch."
"Oh, thank fuck." Releasing a ragged breath, he pulled me onto his lap and stretched his legs out. I came willingly, choosing death than to be separated from him again.
"It's okay." I nuzzled his chest with my chest. "I'm okay."
"I'm sorry, Ro." Cradling me in his big arms, he rocked our bodies back and forth. "So fucking sorry, baby."
My breath hitched in my throat. "For what?"
"For being such a piece of shit to you," he groaned, tightening his hold on me. "All you wanted was a decent apology and I couldn’t give that to you. All of the hell I put you through, and I couldn't get the fucking word out when you needed it."
"Sketch, it's okay –"
"No, it's not, Ro. It's not okay at all," he replied, tone urgent. "I made a promise to myself that if I was lucky enough to get the chance to see you again, I would fall at your feet and beg your forgiveness. So, I'm sorry, Romi Dillon. I'm so fucking sorry. For the things I said and didn't mean. For the worthless way I made you feel. For standing back and allowing those pricks at school to call you names. For calling you those names myself." He visibly flinched, his shame a
nd remorse stifling. "I am so sorry for being the very worst version of myself during a time in your life when you needed my best version." His eyes burned with sincerity as he spoke. "When we were apart, it was like the best part of my soul got lost, and all of the good in me had been snuffed out… except that it wasn't lost Ro, it was stuck to you. You took it with you."
"Sketch…"
"I nearly broke down so many times. I wanted to scream fuck you at your dad and just snatch you up and run. So many goddamn times, baby. You have no idea." He sighed. "But my pain was never an excuse to treat you like I did. And I am so sorry for that."
My heart.
It squeezed so tight in my chest I could barely breathe.
I loved this boy.
I loved him with everything I had inside of me.
"None of that matters anymore," I replied, knotting my fingers in his hoodie. "And I forgive you if you forgive me?"
Tender affection filled his eyes. "I already have."
"What are we going to do, Sketch?" A shiver rolled through me. "How are we going to get out of this? They're shooting out there. There are men with guns everywhere and my father wants you dead. It's a freaking warzone!"
"I don’t know."
"I'm really scared," I admitted. "Of this world we've been thrown into."
"Yeah, Ro." His arms tightened around my body. "Me, too."
"Do you think we're going to make it?" I squeezed out. "Survive this, I mean? Find a way out?"
Sighing heavily, Sketch reached out and stroked my face with the back of his hand – his bloodied and bruised hand.
He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Instead, he tucked a wandering tendril of hair behind my ear before catching my chin in his hand.
"Come here," he finally whispered, twisting me around to straddle his lap. His hand moved to the back of my neck as he pressed his forehead to mine. "You're going to make it." He clamped his free hand on my hip, fingers digging into my flesh with his obvious desperation. "I'm never going to let anything happen to you. You're going to get out of this, Ro. You're going to survive all of this bullshit. I promise –"