by LP Lovell
“Anna, you’ve been through a lot.”
The rejection washes over me, so hard and fast that it knocks the breath from my lungs. I snatch my hand away from him and back away until I hit the headboard. God, it hurts, more than I ever thought it would. I never saw a day where I would willingly offer myself to anyone, and he doesn’t want me.
He groans. “Don’t do that.”
“Can you just…leave. Please.” I feel the crater of space ripping wide between us as my wounded little heart limps along in a jilted beat.
“No.” His fingers wrap around my ankle, and he drags me down the bed until my back hits the mattress. His huge body presses over mine until he’s staring down at me. “You don’t get to shut down on me like that. You don’t get to spend the last month like a zombie, only to slice yourself up and then act like everything is okay.” I close my eyes and tears track down my temples. He’s so angry, his body trembling over mine. “You don’t get to just leave me like that,” he says, quieter now.
“I’m sorry,” I can’t do this. The moment of bravery I had has gone, and now I’m just ashamed. He doesn’t want you. Why would he? You’re dirty and used. You’re a filthy whore. I cover my face with my hands, and a sob chokes past my lips.
“Little warrior, you can’t break on me now,” he whispers, his lips brushing over my shoulder.
“You’re ten years too late for that.”
He pulls my hands away from my face and pins them to the mattress above my head. “You may be down. You may be a little bashed up, but you’re never broken, avecita. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.” His eyes flick over my face. “It’s why I love you.”
“But not enough to want me.”
He huffs a small laugh. “Little warrior, you have been the bane of my existence since I laid eyes on you. To want something that you know you’ll destroy so badly; it’s a particular form of torture.”
“Then why—”
“Because I have to know you’re ready. This can’t be an attempt by you to forget what they did to you.”
“It’s not.”
“You sure about that?”
I chew my bottom lip and drop my gaze away from his. He leans in, trailing his nose up the side of my neck.
“They took something from me that I didn’t want them to have, and I hate that they’ve had a part of me you haven’t.”
“Why?” He pulls back, his eyes locking with mine. “I need to hear you say the words, avecita.”
“Because it’s different.”
His lips twitch in a hint of a smile.
“Because you aren’t them.”
“No, I’m not.” His fingers trail the length of my arm, over the bandages on my wrist. “Ask me again.”
There’s a beat, a moment as if the world holds its breath with us.
“Please take it all away,” I breathe. It feels like a weight lifting, as though I’ve never truly been able to fill my lungs properly before now. I just asked Rafael for something I never thought I would want. But I do with him. So much.
He kisses me again, fingers skating my stomach and pushing my shirt up, our lips breaking apart only so he can remove the material. His eyes never leave mine as he strips my pants and underwear. Nervousness flutters through my stomach, and that flight instinct teeters just on the edge of my consciousness, but I fight it. Rafael’s shirt disappears, revealing hard muscle, tanned skin and endless ink winding over every inch of him. He’s beautiful in a feral, wild way, something that can’t be tamed or leashed. A beast with the inclination to bite, and yet, the way he looks at me so reverently; I know he would never hurt me. He’s my beast.
When there’s nothing between us, his body presses over mine, hot skin branding me until I’m burning up. His fingers skate over my jaw, his dark gaze searching my face. “So beautiful.”
I’ve been naked in front of a lot of men, but I suddenly feel exposed in ways only he can elicit. He strips me in a way that’s more than just physical. This is it for me, a final step. I’m standing before him with my heart clutched in my hand, an offering. He could hurt me more than any of the men who have come before him because he has something they didn’t: my trust, my heart, my soul. It’s all so very fragile, and yet I want him to have it. He’ll either bind all the fragmented pieces of my soul, or he’ll destroy it so entirely there’ll be no coming back.
His lips brush over my neck, my collarbone, my breast, my stomach. With each tiny touch, I tremble. He keeps going until his broad shoulders are resting between my thighs. “Look at me,” he demands.
I do, and as our eyes lock, he places his mouth on me. It feels wrong and yet so right. I want to both pull away and never move. This isn’t like last time though. I know what’s coming. Foreign sensations wash over me, sparks igniting from somewhere deep within. The feeling grows until my body moves of its own violation, my back bowing away from the bed. And then he stops. I glance at him, and he smiles wickedly, placing a kiss on my lower stomach. He sits up and slides an arm around the small of my back, yanking me off the mattress until we’re face to face, my thighs either side of his. Our lips are barely an inch apart, and can feel the ragged rise and fall of his chest against mine. Fingers slide around the back of my neck, his forehead touching mine. “You okay?”
I force a small smile, my courage dwindling. “Yeah.”
“Then focus on me.” He pulls back a fraction, his gaze imprisoning me as his hands slide to the top of my thighs. Then I feel him pressing against me there. My heart beats faster and my breaths speed as every muscle tenses. “Anna, look at me.” I can’t. My mind starts to spin, thoughts melding into a muddy blur like static on a TV. Survival instincts override everything logical, and I feel myself gravitating toward that dark little hiding place deep within myself. “I love you,” he whispers against my ear. Those three words are like lightening ripping through black clouds, illuminating my world is blinding light, and like the beat before the roll of thunder, everything just…pauses. The blissful silence is permeated only by the ringing in my ears, then a single breath sucks into starving lungs. He pushes into me, and the storm breaks lose in all its glory, battering against my defenses and washing away everything that came before him. It’s beautifully chaotic. Rafael tears apart all the ugly facets of me that existed before this moment, ripping up my foundations and destroying everything in his path. He lays waste to my body and soul, and all I can do is cling to him as the tears streak down my face. He ruins me, just like I always knew he would. But then slowly, piece-by-piece, he completes me. Every soft touch, every gentle kiss, each slow roll of his hips feels magnetic. He’s pulling me back together, re-arranging everything I was until it all makes sense—until I’m stronger, better…his own personal masterpiece.
My mind snaps back into place, and the fear, the loathing, the disgust…it all just disintegrates as if it never even existed. It’s like nothing before this point was ever of any consequence. Him and I—that’s it.
He cups my cheek, and I focus on him, on the feel of him moving within me, making us one. I grab his face and kiss him. I want this. I want every little piece of him.
“Anna,” he groans against my lips.
He forces me to experience everything until I’m pulled under a tidal wave of feeling, drowning and yet breathing for the first time. Rafe swaddles me in his love, making an unbreakable vow with his body. His name falls from my lips like a prayer as strong muscles tighten beneath my fingers, a long growl working its way up his throat. It’s raw and primitive, my big bad wolf.
He stills, heavy breaths washing over my throat for long moments. When he tries to move away from me, I pull him closer. I’m not ready to let go of him yet. He kisses my forehead. “Are you okay?”
A soft smile pulls at my lips. I wish I could explain it to him, but I can’t. This sensation can’t truly be put into words. My fingers stroke over his lips. “You’re like coming home when I’ve never had one.”
His arms band around my back, tigh
tening like a vice. “Good. I want to be your everything.” He has no idea how much he is.
He lifts me, placing me on the bed before he walks over to the bathroom. I hear the shower start. “You coming to join me?” he calls.
“Maybe later.” I need a minute to just…process everything.
“Okay.” The door closes, and he leaves me alone with my thoughts, but when I slowly lower the guard on my mind, expecting a barrage of feelings, there’s nothing—only a blissful acceptance, as though I finally know where I belong. The absence of turmoil is just that; absent. It’s strange. Peaceful.
Rafael is a balm to my battered soul, and for now, it’s quietly healing.
Bright morning sunlight streams through the open balcony doors. Dust particles catch the light, sparkling like little bits of glitter. I lift my hand, allowing my fingers to play through the light. A sigh slips past my lips when I look at the strange flat void where my little finger once was. I haven’t been present enough to process the simple fact that I’ve lost a finger. It almost looks as though it was supposed to be like that, except it’s not. Part of me is missing. Unable to look at it any longer, I go to the bathroom in search of a bandage or something, anything to cover it. I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror, the shadows beneath my eyes so dark they’re almost purple, but I no longer look like a walking dead girl, and there’s some relief in that. Tearing my gaze away, I rummage around in the bathroom drawers until I find a bandage. With trembling fingers, I try to wrap it around my maimed hand. I’m aware of Rafael’s presence long before his hand covers mine. Tears sting my eye as he takes the bandage from me. It’s just a finger. There are worse things that could happen. I don’t know why I’m so upset about it.
Rafael says nothing as he starts wrapping my hand.. “You didn’t have enough bandages already?” A small smile plays over his lips as he ties it off.
“I don’t want to see it.”
“It’s okay to be upset about it, avecita.”
“It’s just a finger,” I say, more to myself than him.
His thumb brushes the inside of my wrist. “No one wants to lose a body part.”
“She didn’t even blink.”
“Your sister must have her own reasons.”
“What possible reason can there be for that?”
He grips my jaw, swiping his thumb just below my ear. “You know what kind of a man Nicholai is…”
I step away from him. “Are you defending her?”
“No, but…she sacrificed herself for you. She sacrificed her baby.”
“What if that was always the plan? She is Nicholai’s ‘daughter.”
He shakes his head. “You didn’t see the way she looked at Nero.”
“She’s Elite. They’re trained to seduce, Rafe. Manipulate and kill.” He can’t be this easily fooled, surely? My sister has no loyalty to anyone but Nicholai. I’ve seen it firsthand.
“Then why kill for Nero in exchange for you?”
“Nicholai could have orchestrated the entire thing. You don’t know what he’s like.” I do. He’s sheer madness.
His eyes soften, and I see the pity in his eyes. I don’t want his pity though. I want him to feel the same anger I do. “And Nero? You think he was in on it? That I was?”
“I don’t know, but my sister is a traitor.”
He moves closer, backing me against the vanity unit. “Fine. You don’t trust Una right now. And you have reason not to trust Nero, but do you really doubt me?”
My eyes meet the endless dark depths of his. “Maybe I should.”
“But you don’t.”
“You’re the only person I trust. You’re all I have.” I sure as hell don’t have Una.
He slides a hand around my neck and presses his lips into my hair. “Give it time, avecita.” He walks out of the room.
No amount of time can ever make this okay. She was my last hope in a hopeless place, and she betrayed me. And it’s this pain, this blinding level of rage and hatred that made me hide for so long. Because it hurts: soul deep, to the bone, hurt.
The only blood relative I have left, and she turned on me.
47
Anna
I wander through the house, feeling the eyes of his men on me. As soon as I walk into the kitchen, the guys gathered there stop talking. Rafael glances up from his spot at the table, his gaze flicking over my body. One simple act has changed everything. He feels more vital, more engrained on my soul than he ever did before. Still, the silence reigns throughout the kitchen until he clears his throat.
“Avecita.” He beckons me forward. I walk over to him, if nothing else, just to escape everyone else. Taking my hand, he pulls me into his lap and kisses my temple. Heat touches my face, eliciting a low chuckle from Rafe.
Maria places a cup of coffee in front of me, a watery smile on her face.
“We’re so glad you’re back.” She places a hand on my head, like a grandmother would a small child, and then retreats. I glance sheepishly around the table, catching the eyes of Samuel and then Carlos. Do they know? Do they think I’m some crazy girl who tried to kill herself?
I look for the one missing face in the room and whip around to face Rafael. “Lucas?” For a second I’m right back in that eucalyptus grove with his blood pouring uncontrollably through my fingers, watching him die, completely unable to do anything about it.
“He’s recovering.”
I release a tense breath. “Good. That’s…that’s really good.”
“Anna,” Carlos clears his throat. “Thank you. For calling me. You saved him.”
“He was shot because of me.”
Rafael’s hand grips the back of my neck in an iron hold. His breath whispers over my neck before he speaks in my ear. “The Russians shot my men and took you. I’d love to hear how that’s your fault, little warrior.”
“He was your bodyguard. It’s his job,” Carlos says dismissively.
Rafael’s fingers tighten on my neck as if daring me to argue, but I will never see Lucas as my bodyguard because he was my only friend back when I was still nothing more than a whore to anyone. “Is he here?”
Rafael checks his watch. “He should be in the gym now.”
I nod and push to my feet. He lets me go without a fight. “Make sure you eat,” he says as I walk toward the door. Was he always so demanding?
I make my way to the gym, expecting to find Lucas working out. What I find has my stomach balling into a tight knot and bile rising in the back of my throat. There are two white railings set up in the middle of the gym at waist height, and Lucas is holding onto them, slowly taking one step at a time as a woman watches on, giving him encouragement. Discarded to the side is a wheelchair. Lingering in the doorway, I press my hand to my chest, trying to relieve the lump in my throat.
When he catches sight of me, his young face breaks into a wide grin. Still smiling.
“Anna!”
I walk further into the room, forcing a smile on my face for him. “Hey.”
He hobbles to the end of the railing and throws one arm around my neck in a tight embrace. “I’m so glad you’re okay. Rafael wouldn’t let anyone see you.”
“I uh, wasn’t exactly good company.”
He stares at the ground, nodding awkwardly.
“Lucas, I’m so sorry you got shot.”
He rolls his eyes. “I’m your bodyguard.” Why do they all say that like it makes it okay?
“You’re my friend.”
He smiles wide. “That too.”
“How are you?” It seems a stupid question when he can barely walk.
“The bullet lodged in my spine. No permanent damage, but it’s like learning to move all over again. It’s harder than it looks.”
“It looks plenty hard enough.” He smirks, and the woman brings the wheelchair around for him to sit in. He slowly lowers himself and glances up at me.
“Do you have to do more rehab?”
“Nope. I’m done for the day.”
&
nbsp; “Well then, let’s go and do something.” I missed him, and I hate that he went through all this without a friend.
“I’m all yours.”
I grab the handles of his chair and push him through the house. “What do you want to do?”
“We could go outside?”
The thought instantly makes my blood run cold. Nothing truly feels safe anymore.
“How about a movie?”
“Fine. But I’m not watching The Notebook.”
“What’s The Notebook?”
He groans. “Ah, see, now I feel like you’re missing out on some girl rite of passage or something.”
We round the corner, my navigating skills with the wheelchair leaving a lot to be desired. “I’m sure I’ll live.”
There’s no theatre room in this house, but there is a massive flat screen in the living room. Lucas wheels himself over to a bookcase and pulls out a DVD, handing it to me. “Just press that button.” He points to a button on the little machine on a shelf, and I follow his instruction, putting the disc inside. He wheels back over to the large corner couch. “I might need a hand.” I offer him my hand, and he takes it, hauling himself out of the chair and flopping down on the couch.
“So, uh, what happened to your hand?” The hoody I’m wearing covers the bandages on my arm, but there’s no hiding my hand. Just like that, my mood darkens, and even Lucas can’t keep my morbid feelings at bay.
“My sister cut my finger off,” I say coldly.
“That’s…”
“Fucked up? Yeah.” I tug my sleeve down over the bandage, not wanting the reminder.
“You have a missing finger, and I walk like a guy who’s drunk a bottle of tequila. What a pair we make.” A gawky grin covers his face and I instantly feel so guilty. I lost a finger. He lost his ability to walk properly. Three months in, and he’s still using a wheelchair. I’m horrible.
“I’m sorry.” I take his hand, and he threads his fingers through mine.
We sit, and I watch The Notebook for the first time ever. Lucas falls asleep about ten minutes in, and I smile as he slumps awkwardly against me. I end up putting a pillow on my lap and rearranging him until he looks comfortable. This movie is heartbreaking and beautiful, and by the end, I’m crying. I’m not sure if I’m sad or happy.