by Tara Lee
By the time I finish work, I still haven’t heard from Callie. I’m really starting to worry because it’s unlike her to not at least call me out on my shit.
I pace back and forth in my shop, trying to think of where the hell she could be. I even tried Luna; she hasn’t heard from her.
I’m running my hands through my hair, pulling at the strands, close to yanking all my hair out when the bell chimes above the door. I lift my head, eyeing the man who I hate more than anything.
He stands there with a smirk on his face and his goons around him. One of them flips the sign over and locks the door.
“House call,” I chide.
He takes a seat in the chairs we use for the waiting area.
He slips off his gloves, the ones he wears to hide the scars. I catch myself before I let my eyes drift down. It cost me a lot of beatings growing up, the questions I was never meant to ask.
“Hai riconsiderato, ragazzo-you reconsidered, boy?” Pasquale asks me, like he’s offered me a job not an empire.
“I think I’ll pass.” I busy myself packing up.
Pasquale stands abruptly, the chair squeaking loudly, as he does, anger rolls off him like a tsunami, ready to shatter me into tiny pieces. I am pretty sure if I didn’t share his blood that would have already been done.
“Rispetto- respect,” my father yells.
I chuckle and shake my head as my father’s face turns red.
“Rispetto- respect, is earned, Father.”
“E un tuo diritto di nascita- it is your birthright,” he spits, saliva flying from his mouth.
“For God’s sake, Father, speak fucking English. I’m not you, never have been.” I try to delay the inevitable as long as I can.
We both know I won’t win.
His breathing escalates, and he curls his fingers in and out of his palm.
“You can’t stop the inevitable, son. E il tuo futuro- it’s your future.”
“I know.” I sigh. He’s right, I can’t stop my future, but being a Demetrius comes with a burden.
“I don’t think you understand, my boy, nothing will stop this from happening, just like Lorenzo’s boy.”
That makes me perk up. What the fuck is he talking about?
“Excuse me?” I question.
He closes his mouth, realizing what he just let slip.
“It’s nothing. Just know, il sangue e sangue- blood is blood, and no matter what you boys think you can run from, it always finds you.”
My father stares me down for a few seconds, begging for me to argue.
“Lo faro- I’ll do it,” I grit out.
Before I have a chance to question what he said, my father gives me a glance and walks out the door not looking back.
My father and I have always had an arrangement, but I guess he’s tired of waiting, and it looks like I’ll be taking his place sooner rather than later as Il capo.- the boss.
“Blood is blood?” I gnaw on my bottom lip so deep in thought I don’t realize my phone is ringing until the vibration rattles on my desk.
I shake off my thoughts and pick up, not even glancing at the name on the screen.
“Yeah.”
“Bishop.” The sweet voice fills my ear, and I can’t help but smile.
“So you're okay, thanks for letting me know.” I come off a little blunt, but she hasn’t gotten back to me in days, what the heck does she expect.
“I need your help.”
Of course she does. I roll my eyes and sigh loud enough for her to hear.
“What is it now, Callie? I’m not your damn henchman.”
“I-I...” Her voice wavers a little, and she sucks in an intake of breath. Is she crying?
Fuck. Now I’m a damn asshole.
“Callie,” I try, but it’s no use.
Her sobs bark out on the other end, and I curse myself for losing my temper.
“I’m sorry,” I try again, and this time she takes a breather and sniffs.
“Don’t worry about it, I'll figure it out.” The line goes dead before I get a chance to say anything else.
“Callie,” my voice is louder this time.
“Fuck,” I yell and slam my phone down. I pick it back up and ring back.
The line rings a few times and finally a voice says,
“Hello, you’ve reached The Eaton residence, may I help you.”
I pull my phone away and look down. She didn’t ring from her mobile?
“Hello, can I help you?” the voice says again.
“Um, yes, sorry, I just had Callie ring me from this number.”
“I don’t think so, sir, there is no one here by that name.”
Again the line goes dead.
What the fuck?
What the hell is going on?
Am I losing my mind? Did she really just ring me?
I shake my head and decide to call it a day and head home. Losing my mind over a woman has never been my thing, but since Callie came into my life she’s turned it upside down and made me feel shit I shouldn’t be feeling.
I can’t keep being her savior, my past is. Far from fucking simple.
Fuck, it’s hard, and as soon as she finds out who I truly am, she’ll run as far away from me as she can. It’s better if she does.
But can I let her go that easily?
I guess that’s a question I need to figure out, one I'm not sure I'm going to like the answer to.
Can I simply cut all ties with Callie? Even if it means keeping her safe away from my world?
I have to try, she’s better off without me. Heck, she’s better off without me in her life period. It will only end with bad things. I can’t keep running from my destiny, but maybe I thought I could put it on hold for as long as I could.
Guess that clock’s run out.
My father had kept me locked up for two days before my mother let me out because they had guests over and, of course it, was one big show. I had been on Eric's arm, smiling the fakest smile I could manage without actually vomiting.
I had excused myself to use the bathroom and searched my father's office for my phone. I knew he had taken it while I had been asleep and, needless to say, I saw the missed texts from Bishop, so I called. Big mistake.
When I told him I needed his help, I was ready to tell him everything, but the way he spoke just had tears rolling down my cheeks and me eager to get off the phone. It had only been a couple of minutes if that when he rang back, by that time I had dropped the phone because Lorraine, the house-keeper, had caught me. She tsked at me as I ran.
I looked back to see her talking on the phone. I knew what she was telling Bishop. What she had been trained to do. Lie.
I ran back downstairs to try the front door, but it was locked. Why the hell was it locked?
I ran back through the kitchen, my elegant dress getting in my way. I turned the corner to check the back door when I slammed straight into Eric’s chest and he caught me before I fell.
He gripped my chin, his hands almost crushing my mouth with the force he used.
“Going somewhere, darling wife?” he hisses.
“I’m not your wife,” I mumble through my crushed cheeks.
His hand tightens, and I whimper at the force.
“Going back isn’t an option, sweetheart, so you better start playing the part.”
His words have so much venom in them, and the way he’s staring down at me like I’m just an object to be won, like he sees me as nothing…
“I will never play the part.” I cry out as he yanks me toward him, his fingers digging into my cheeks. Fresh tears fall.
“I think you need to check that attitude, Calista, because once you’re my wife, and you will be...” he says when I try to shake my head,
“I won’t put up with it, and trust me, you won’t like what I’ll do if you disobey me.”
His other hand grips my waist, his fingers ram into the soft flesh, more than likely leaving bruises.
He has me tucked in the corner
, away from prying eyes. I wait with bated breath, and he pulls me into the little storage area that holds all the fancy dinnerware.
He shuts and locks the door behind him, leaving me trapped between him and the only way out.
“Eric,” I whisper, my voice shaking with fear.
“Strip now, wife,” he snaps, making me jump.
“No.” I cry out as his hand comes across my cheek so hard it leaves a burning sensation.
“Now,” he screams this time.
He moves back and removes his jacket and places it on the hook behind the door, rolling his sleeves up one at a time. He moves closer again, and his feet collide with mine. I swallow. He pulls his belt from the loops in his pants. He snaps it together, and again I flinch.
His hand flies to my throat, and he squeezes, cutting off my air.
“If you think I’m going to let you walk out of here without claiming what’s rightfully mine, Callie, then expect to be here all fucking night,” he spits.
My tears fall, and I slip down the straps on my dress and reach for the side zipper, tugging it so the dress falls at my feet in a bunch.
I shake, his fingers trailing over my skin, leaving goosebumps, but not the good kind.
I close my eyes, and he yanks my bra down and spins me so I'm facing the wall.
I zone out after the sound of his zipper fills the space. Everything in me wants to fight, but I know I won't win.
I wait until he’s done with me and he opens the door, leaving me in my underwear and with the need to vomit.
I put my dress back on while I shake so bad I drop it a few times before I get my legs in. My body shudders and vomit holds back in my throat. I rush out, leaving the door wide open, and head for the bathroom.
I vomit in the sink, not making it to the toilet, and once my body has finished heaving up what I ate for dinner. I turn the shower on until it’s scalding hot and scrub myself until my skin is red raw.
Sliding down the wall, I sit in the shower recess and let it all out. The scorching water beats down on me. I drop my head back, and the water hits my face. My eyes open suddenly. Realization hits me like a ton of bricks, I’m trapped. I’m alone, and there’s no escape because this time, Bishop isn’t going to save me.
I feel like I’m drowning and I can’t breathe.
I have no idea what Callie is playing at and what the fuck that phone call was about, but I get the feeling it’s not good.
Ever since we started this whole deal, she’s been different. I mean, she’s a pain in my ass at times, but fuck, it’s different with her.
I get the sense Callie is in trouble, but I have no idea where to even begin looking for her. New York is a big fucking place, she could be anywhere.
As if it hadn’t been staring at me like a big neon sign above a door saying ‘this way, dumbass!’, it hits me. Her parents,' that's the number she rang from.
I open up Google and type in ‘Eaton residence’.
Pages among pages come through, and they’re all about Callie's father.
Seems he’s a powerful man. He owns a lot of New York and it seems he doesn’t take lightly to threats.
Once I’ve searched everything I could possibly search my head is thumping and I’m exhausted.
They live in The Hamptons, so I rush home, changing my clothes, and decide it’s time to pay them a visit. If Callie is in trouble, I’m going to be there to help her. After all, it seems to be our thing. She gets herself in some sort of trouble and I come to her rescue.
Some messed-up fairy tale we are.
By the time I arrive at the Eaton residence it’s dark out. I pull up to the gate. There is no way on earth that I will be allowed in, and even though I decided to bring my car instead of my bike, it doesn't exactly scream Hamptons. My Impala isn’t what you call Hamptons. But it’s a classic, and she is a beauty.
I step out anyway. My boots are crushing on the pebbled driveway with each step I take, I head to the speaker box to the side. I push the button and wait.
I almost give up when a voice comes through.
“Can I help you, young man?”
I frown, not knowing how they know who it is.
“Look up,” the voice tells me and, of course, I should have known there is a camera pointed right at me.
“I’m here to see Callie.” My voice is firm and strong.
“There is no one here by that name.”
It goes quiet.
Bull-fucking-shit.
That’s what the lady on the phone said. What kind of blindness does Eaton have his people turn at?
“Look, I know she’s in there, and I’m not leaving until I speak to her.” I cross my arms over my chest and lift my brow at the camera.
“Very well.”
I half expect the gates to swing open so when they don’t I become frustrated. My jaw tightness almost cracks my teeth as I clench it in frustration.
“Come on, I know she's in there,” I say, holding the button in.
“Sir, please step off the premises.”
“Not a fucking chance, let me see her.”
I sigh and then shake the gate with as much force as I can. I try to see something, anything to let me know she’s in there. I kick it for good measure, but nothing, not even a peep.
“Callie,” I yell. I kick the gate again, getting frustrated. My voice echoes through the cool air, but even that’s not enough.
I stand there calling her name and shaking the gate over and over. It's not until blue and red flashing lights appear in my peripheral that I know I fucked up.
“Sir, I’ll ask that you step away from the gate.”
I stay, put not giving a fuck, I know Callie is in there and I know she needs my help.
“Sir, I won’t ask you again.”
“I’m not leaving until I speak to her.” I turn around, glaring right at the two officers who have their guns raised and pointed at me.
One gets some handcuffs and nods at me.
“Turn around, put your hands on your head.”
“Look, fellas, I’m not leaving.” My words are cut off by my arm being yanked behind my back while I’m being forced to the ground.
“Fuck.” I curse, my knees slamming to the ground.
My other arm is forced behind me as well and then the cool metal of the cuffs wrap around my wrists, and tightly, I might add.
“Don’t move,” one of the officers tells me.
I feel him reach into my pocket to grab my wallet.
I grimace as the cuff cuts into my skin.
I watch him open and look at my license.
“Bishop Stanton, you’re a long way from home, my boy.”
“Let’s go.” He yanks me up and drags me to the patrol car.
“Fucker, my car.”
“It’ll be taken care of.” He hands the other officer my keys and I eye him in warning. He fucks up my car, I’ll fuck him up.
I’m shoved into the back of the car, and I sigh, letting my head fall back with a thud. I realize how bad this is. Callie needs me, and I couldn’t even get past the damn fucking gate.
I hit my head back against the seat repeatedly. My wrists burn from the cuffs. If those fuckers hurt her in any way, they will pay. I will destroy them.
I’m sitting by a desk after answering a bunch of questions, waiting on officer Clark to come tell me I can get the fuck out of here. Every second that ticks by I become more annoyed at being kept waiting. My fingers drum over the desk, loud enough it catches the eyes of the officers around me. A few give me stares, others pay me no mind.
It feels like forever when he finally comes back with his partner in tow.
“You better not have put one scratch on my car.” I growl as he smirks at me.
“Coglione- fucker,” I mumble.
“Mr. Stanton, do you understand how serious this is.” He starts talking like I’ve committed a major crime.
I chuckle, not meaning to make it as loud as I did.
“Serious
, you mean trying to help a friend is a crime now.”
I stand, ready to end this conversation.
“Sit down, Mr. Stanton,” he bellows.
“Bishop,” I corrected him.
He places some papers down on the desk in front of me.