by T K Barber
As if he didn’t already know. Somehow, he always did. It could be quite annoying.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I said yes. Go home. Get some rest. I have work to do.”
Rico tightened his arms. “We.”
It was also annoying that he never simply did what she said. For an employee, he was astronomically disobedient. Anyone else would have been long gone. Marianna shook her head. “You need rest.”
Rico barked a laugh and moved closer to the island, leaning on his elbows, directly in front of her.
“I’ll rest when I’m dead. What do you need from me, Signora Price?”
Marianna wrinkled her nose, and Rico grinned.
“If you promise to never call me ‘Mrs. Price’ again when we’re alone, I’ll consider letting you live.”
Rico laughed and hung his head, then glanced back up at her with a piercing, glassy gaze. “Farei tutto per te, Marianna.”
Marianna exhaled loudly and rubbed her temple. She was too frustrated for Italian, no matter how stunning and musical it always sounded in his voice. “What does that mean?”
He held her gaze for a couple of seconds before a half-smile hit his mouth, his eyes no longer shining. “You’re the boss.”
She stared at him another second before she nodded. “Yes. I am. So, go home.”
His lip curled as he straightened. “Marianna, starò con te. I’m staying with you.”
She groaned in exasperation, barked, “Fine,” and turned on her heel, waving for him to follow.
It certainly wouldn’t hurt to have a second set of eyes, not that she needed them.
She was stronger than she looked. She stomped up the stairs, not even bothering to listen for Rico’s steps. He’d be there. She crested the top, and when her gaze fell on the mahogany master bedroom door at the end of the long hall, her stomach twisted.
Strong, yes. But that didn’t mean things were easy.
She took a sharp left and shoved through the first door, the hinges groaning under the attack. The warm brown tones of the room did nothing to calm the turmoil in her gut, not to mention she hadn’t bothered to eat anything for lunch. And they had no time for that now.
She spun on her heel, hand raised to gesture to Rico, but he wasn’t there.
Her words died in her mouth, arm dropping like a stone at her side.
Where on Earth?
She huffed a breath. First, he refused to leave, then wasn’t where he was supposed to be. Fine. She grumbled as she stepped out of her shoes and bent at the waist, setting them by the door frame.
She’d get started without him. When she popped back up, she was staring straight at Rico’s broad chest.
When exactly had he packed on so much muscle? She craned up to meet his gaze and her throat constricted, prompting a swallow.
“Where did you—”
Motion snapped her attention to the space between them. One of her fine bone china plates appeared, atop which rested a heaping mess that might have, at one time, resembled a pastrami sandwich.
Her brows lifted and a smile spread on her face, followed by a few short laughs. “That’s hideous!”
Rico laughed and shrugged. “Si. Horrific. But it’s good. You need to eat.”
Her stomach made its loud agreement known, and they laughed as he ushered her into the room.
He set the plate down on her desk with a thud, then pulled out her chair. “Sit.”
“And if I don’t want to sit?” The smile on her face was apparently more than enough to draw an eye-roll. He cupped her shoulders and maneuvered her to the chair, pushing her down.
She laughed again. “Injuring your boss is frowned upon, I’ll have you know.”
Rico chuckled and gave her shoulders a single squeeze before rounding the desk.
She sank into the overstuffed cushion. A chair fit for a queen, though she hardly felt like that. More like a glorified babysitter with access to a large arsenal of deadly men. Each of whom expected her to rule with a heavy hand. Expected her to demand and enforce compliance. For each of her decisions to be perfect.
After all, what she said was law.
“Così difficile” he clicked his tongue and shook his head. “So difficult.”
Marianna snorted. “Me? I’m difficult?” Any other witty retort she had fizzled out when the glorious, sharp scent of spicy mustard and her favorite deli meat reached her nose. She inhaled deeply, and slid the cool plate across the desk, fixing him with a stare. His brows crept up higher with each breath.
“Thank you, Rico.”
A sweet, almost shy smile hit his mouth, and her heart squeezed.
“Si, si.” He waved his hand. “Thank me by eating.”
Marianna took a large bite and eyed her Italian body-guard—though, in truth, he was more—as he dragged another brown leather chair over from the wall, straight up to the desk.
How did someone so muscular move so gracefully? It didn’t make sense, honestly.
He dropped down with a heavy sigh and leaned back with his arms crossed, teetering the chair on its back two legs. He drew in the side of his mouth and chewed on it as he stared at the far wall.
Was he as worked up over the doctor as she was?
Marianna swallowed. “What is it?”
Rico shifted, but his eyes stayed fixed. “What is he waiting for?”
She lowered the sandwich. If only she knew.
“Well,” she brushed off her fingers, and linked them, elbows resting on either side of the plate. “You and I both know Lyle’s far from dumb. He surely knows Thomas isn’t dead. Most especially since he showed his face downtown. And he’ll assume I’m involved. What he doesn’t know is where he’s being kept.”
“Marianna, don’t fool yourself,” Rico’s gruff tone bit through the room, making her swallow again. “He knows. So, what is he waiting for?”
“I don’t know.”
The words came out smaller and far quicker than she would have liked. Damn it.
Rico cut his eyes to her, and she snagged the sandwich again, taking another fair-sized bite.
The chair rocked forward on all four legs again, and Rico rested his crossed arms on his side of the desk.
“We’ll keep him safe.”
Marianna nodded, even though fear burned a hole in her brain. They had no choice. There was no job more important right now.
Ryker
The interview room seemed smaller this time. Probably just his imagination, but he still hated it.
Gavin’s imposing, muscled frame filled the doorway as he entered, glare pinned on Ryker. Endlessly irritating how different they were physically.
The guard nodded to Ryker and pulled the door closed. That was what one fat bribe could get you nowadays. Private room with an inmate.
Ryker sat up straighter and smirked. “How’s prison life?”
The plastic chair creaked under Gavin as he sat. “Why don’t you find out for yourself?”
Ryker chuckled. “Nah. I’m good. I like fresh air too much.”
Gavin didn’t respond, he simply linked his fingers on top of the table. “How is she?”
“Who?”
Gavin’s knuckles went white as he clenched.
Ryker grinned. So easy. He shrugged. “Batshit crazy, as always.”
Gavin launched up from the chair. It skidded back a few inches as he pressed his palms down on the table. Ryker flinched and leaned back in his chair. Maybe that was too far.
“She’s. Not. Crazy.” His voice was muted yet animalistic. Quite a feat, really. But he wouldn’t do anything. He couldn’t. He’d never get out then, and he knew it.
“You know,” Ryker crossed his arms. “Watching you throw your life away on a half-baked cookie is part of why I went into medicine to begin with.”
“Ryker, I swear to God. If you don’t stop talking about her like that—”
“What? You’ll kill me?” He snorted.
“Be kinda hard from in here. Not to mention you probably don’t want to say things like that when you’re in jail.”
Check.
Gavin dropped back down in the chair and scrubbed his hands down his face. “No,” he let out a grunting puff of air and crossed his arms. “You went into med school because you were a dope head. Then you chose Psychology because you’re a fucking psycho who loves screwing with people’s minds.”
Ryker’s jaw clenched.
Gavin scooted the chair closer and rested his elbows on the table. “I still don’t know how you,” he sneered, “came from Mom and Dad. The two nicest fucking people on the planet.”
Ryker shrugged a shoulder and leaned back. “It’s just part of my tragic past. I could say the same about you.”
Gavin’s laugh was too loud. Too forced. Ryker rolled his eyes as Gavin shook his head.
“All I did was steal a damn car. Punch a dude. I was a poster child before then, and you know it. Mostly.” He snorted. “Fucking Gandhi compared to y—” He narrowed an eye and pointed to Ryker. “Why’re you here?”
Finally, the behemoth catches on.
Ryker smiled, and Gavin leaned back in his seat. “I hate that smile. Means you’re up to something. And I can tell you right now, I’m not interested.” He stood and crossed the room. “Period. I might be getting out of here soon, and I’m not letting you,” he threw a hard point to Ryker. “Or your shit screw that up.” He lifted his hand to bang on the battered metal.
“You will.” Ryker’s smile widened when Gavin froze.
God, this was fun. He settled himself in the chair. The guard peered in through the window, but Ryker waved him away.
Gavin clamped his hand over his mouth and glared at the roof with a loud, lengthy exhale. He leveled a death stare at Ryker and clicked his tongue as he cocked his jaw. “And why’s that?”
Ryker lifted his brows. Three. Two. One.
Gavin’s eyes bugged. Every spec of color drained from his face. That made his already light skin a nice, sickly white. Only slightly more color than Olivia’s. Which Ryker quite liked.
Gavin stomped the space between them in two long strides and planted one palm on the table, the other hand jabbing a finger level with Ryker’s eyes.
He dropped his voice low, and his brow even lower. “Don’t you lay a goddamned finger on her, do you hear me?”
His wide eyes dilated, and his hand shook.
Matchpoint.
Ryker examined his nails. “I’ll assume you’ve met J-Pop.”
Gavin’s brows pitched, and he clawed his fingers through his hair as he straightened up. The pain in his voice was delicious. “If you’ve hurt her, Ryker—”
“He placed an order, and you’re going to deliver it.”
Hands in mid tug, Gavin froze again and pinned Ryker with a wild stare. “You can’t be fucking serious.”
He let his hands fall to his sides and peered over his shoulder as he sat back down.
He refocused on Ryker, wide-eyed again, and whispered. “You brought drugs? Into a jail? Are you insane?” His voice pitched at the end, and he glanced over his shoulder again. Only the back of the guard’s head was visible. Still safe.
Ryker shrugged. “Are we in agreement?”
Gavin threw his hands out to the side and scoffed. “Not giving me much choice, are you?”
Ryker rolled onto one hip and reached into his back pocket.
Gavin sucked in a breath and slapped his hand to his forehead.
“Now? Right fucking now?” He let his hand drop to his lap and swallowed. “What if they find it?
Another smile played on Ryker’s lips. “I guess you’d better figure out how to keep that from happening.”
“God damn you, Ryker!” Gavin clawed his hands down his cheeks with a whimper, then let them fall in defeat. “Fine.”
Checkmate.
Ryker stood and gestured for Gavin to do the same. He groaned weakly as he did. Ryker held out his hand and Gavin clasped it, pulling him into a stiff hug. He took the tiny, plastic bag under his thumb and grabbed the back of Ryker’s head with his other hand.
“Listen up you little shit. She better be in perfect, flawless condition when I get out. So much as a mother fucking hangnail, and I will rip you, limb from limb. Don’t. Touch. Her.”
Ryker released the package and shoved Gavin back. He rolled his neck with a sneer, stepping away from the table. Gavin quickly positioned the baggy under his tongue and walked toward the door. One quick rap and the guard swung the door wide.
Once Gavin was over the threshold Ryker smiled. “Little late for that.”
Gavin’s rage was spectacular. His eyes bulged, and he lunged for Ryker, the vein in his neck popping out. The guard barely caught him in time and shouted for backup.
“You sick fuck!” Gavin’s voice was a strangled screech with a small slur. A second guard rounded the corner and grabbed Gavin’s other arm. “Let me—” He jerked and flailed, trying to throw them off. “Keep your hands off her! Do you hear me?”
Ryker pushed open the door with his back and waved. “Tell J-Pop I said ‘hi’.”
“Ryker! RYKER! Get back h—Let me GO!”
The door closed between them, and Ryker’s grin widened. Through the rectangular window, he watched yet another guard grab onto the small mountain known as Gavin until they finally managed to get his arms behind him. He crumbled to his knees, head hung low, face scrunched.
Ryker exhaled in satisfaction and headed to the exit. His phone buzzed, and he snatched it out, grinning all over again at the screen.
Time for another session with Nataly. Fantastic.
Annalise
Annalise dragged her tired body up the three flights of stairs, making far more noise than was necessary as she stomped up to her and Nick’s door with a loud sigh. Well. Just hers, now. She swallowed.
Maybe she should consider getting a ground floor apartment. Ms. Eliza’s was open. Now. That all too familiar ache in her chest started again, and she frowned. She really wished she’d gotten a chance to at least say bye. Or be here for Nick.
She winced at the sudden swell of emotions as she jammed her key into the stubborn lock and shook it, finally succeeding.
When she stepped into the dim apartment, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. The city sounds muted when the door closed, which left her alone with the scary ones in her head.
Her own voice screaming. Seagulls. Glass breaking. A shudder wracked her, and she sped to the side table, jammed her phone on the dock, and pressed play with shaking fingers.
Deep breaths. Slow, deep breaths.
The silent seconds before the music started were always the loudest. Finally, hard thumping bass, rapid-fire drums, and heavy metal guitars blared through the speakers, and she exhaled through pursed lips.
Vincent had taken her to a little deli he was fond of and tried again to help her understand debits and credits, but her mind kept wandering to literally anything else. She only had a coffee, but her stomach voiced its irritation at not being stuffed full of a double-decker grilled cheese or some sort of fatty pie.
Well. At least a bite or two. Food was still a bit of a touchy issue.
Dinner with V was always equal parts boring, informative, and funny. He was seriously the best. If she’d had him for a dad, maybe her life—she shook her head. Didn’t matter now.
Why did it have to be so much trouble to run a business? If Thomas was here, she’d at least be able—
The unchecked thought was a gut punch.
She clutched her waist, doubled over, and grit her teeth. “Damnit.”
Her stomach churned, and she popped up, dashing to the kitchen. She jerked open the fridge and scanned, frantic for anything. Her eyes landed on leftovers from dinner two nights ago, and she slid the bowl off the shelf, just as the first song ended, plunging the room into sudden silence.
Heya, gorgeous.
&n
bsp; She screamed and dropped the bowl. Not real, not real! She smacked her hands over her ears as she crouched down on the ground, the cool air from the open fridge blowing across her face.
“God!”
She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed he’d be standing there. Even though her broken soul knew better. She blew out another slow breath, gathered up the bowl, and eased to her feet.
The rushing sound in her ears grew but lessened as she breathed. Eventually, she forced her body to turn, confirming she was alone in the apartment.
Completely alone.
A tear dropped onto her cheek and she wiped it on her upper arm as she dished out an entire heaping plateful of spaghetti. She shoved it in the microwave and tapped her nails on the stove as the plate spun under her watchful stare.
Overwhelming hunger tore through her body, blinding her to anything else. Even though she knew it wasn’t completely real, that she wasn’t truly starving, she had to eat. She had to prove to herself that food would be there.
Two loud beeps and the door flew open. The fork was in the mass of noodles before the plate was out of the door, and once it was under her mouth she took as big a bite as she could shove in. Another salty tear dripped onto the plate as she chewed, and only barely managed to swallow.
The burning itch in her brain calmed. She swallowed again, downing the rest of that bite, turned and dumped the entire plate of food in the trash.
She wiped her mouth with the back of her shaking hand and let out a stuttered chuckle. Yep. She was perfectly fine. This wasn’t hard in the slightest. She didn’t need any help. She had this.
That’s what they wanted to hear, right? Who the hell wanted to hear more whining? Crying? No one. That’s who.
She cleared her throat as she kicked off her shoes in the middle of the kitchen and trudged to the bathroom.
A loud squeak, banging pipes, and eventually steam.
She should have killed herself.
Shirt, jeans, socks, underwear all landed on the floor and she stared at the grout lines in the shower.
She’d had ample opportunity.
Finally under the water, she stood motionless as it pummeled her back. Sawdust and miscellaneous other construction bits joined random tiny swirls of teal paint.