Chapter Forty-three
Vida
I’ m back here again with the sound of my voice echoing in my ears. My every attempt to beg him to leave doesn’t work. The two standoff, their guns drawn, ready to fire.
“Adam, please,” I beg, tears welling in my eyes.
He doesn’t listen, he just stands there, his hand steady as he points the gun at Raphael. I watch the smile on Raphael’s face grow. He’s enjoying watching me beg.
“Please, let’s just go. Please!” I beg, the desperation in my voice growing louder than my own words. “You don’t have to do this.”
His eyes are on mine, but the look on his face has me thinking he can’t make out the words I’m saying to him.
“Listen to her, pretty boy. The woman has a point,” Raphael says and I hear him chuckle.
“Stop, Vida, go back to the car,” Adam barks, his voice sharp enough to make me shiver.
Why? Why is he choosing to be a hero and not listen to me? I can feel the anger boiling up inside of me, an emotion that I’ve never felt towards him until now.
“No,” I say, shaking my head.
Then, as always, for as long as these nightmares have happened, everything shifts. The air grows colder and heavier. One moment I’m begging with tears streaming down my face, and the next, I’m not me anymore. I’m standing where Raphael had been, my hands gripping the gun Raphael had been holding, with my finger on the trigger.
The truth of nightmares drills into me; I killed Adam. It is all my fault he’s gone. I should’ve listened and stayed in the car.
“No,” I whisper, but my body betrays me. It moves like it’s being controlled by someone else.
“Vida, Vida, what are you doing?” I watch Adam ask, yet, he doesn’t move.
As I try to fight myself, I pull the trigger.
The deafening sound of the gunshot fills my ears as I watch Adam fall backward, his eyes wide open in shock. My legs finally move on their own, taking me to him as he falls hard onto the cold, hard ground. His blood covers my hands as I try to stop the bleeding.
“Adam,” I cry, my voice breaking as I shake him.
“Babe? Baby please, please, please, please. Wake up! Help is here,” I cry, hearing the sound of police cars.
My chest tightens and squeezes, my guts tearing through my stomach walls as I hold him, watching the life leave his eyes, his hands . . . me.
I look at the corner of the room, looking for the one person that reminds me that this horrible event is only a nightmare, one I can come out from. But he isn’t there. For the first time in two months, Ciro isn’t standing in the corner of my dream with his beautiful blue eyes that wake me up.
“Please, please,” I beg, not sure if I’m begging Adam to stay alive or Ciro to come save me.
As I hold Adam, I feel a hand on my shoulder, and slowly, I turn to see the most perfect blue eyes staring back at me.
He came! He came to save me.
“Wake up, my little chaos,” he murmurs, his voice low. “I need you.”
Those three words have me bolting upright in bed, gasping for air as my heart hammers in my chest, threatening to escape. For a moment, I can’t move. My hands clutch at the sheets as I try to remind myself where I am. But then I hear it; a faint, rhythmic beeping.
I turn my head toward the sound, looking around the room in the darkness. It’s coming from the corner. And then another corner. And another.
What is happening? I wonder, squinting my eyes as I get out of bed, throwing open drawers and digging through my things. The beeping comes from each drawer, every bag, every pocket. Tiny black devices, blinking faintly. I’ve watched too many crime shows to know what they are.
Bugs. But . . . but who would . . .?
Oh God!
My chest tightens as panic takes over.
I yank open the door and bolt down the hallway, shouting,
“Carmela! Help!” I yell, trying to stay sane.
I hear the sound of doors opening and footsteps running towards me, and before I’m even down the stairs, Cito, Franchesco, and Carmela step out of the living room and look up at me.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, holding me as I throw myself at her.
I pull back, my hands trembling as I open my hands to show her the things I carried from my room.
“Ciro,” I whisper, trying to catch my breath as I let the first tear roll down my cheek. “I think he’s in danger.”
The clock in the living room ticks louder than usual, or maybe it’s just my heart, pounding aggressively in my chest. My legs ache from pacing, but sitting still isn’t an option. I doubt I could even sit still if I tried. Cito and the others stand around the room making plans in whispering tones, like they are trying to keep me from listening in. If they thought I can’t handle the full extent of the situation, well, they’re wrong.
I can. I have to. I will.
Carmela walks over to me, holding my shoulders and making me stand still as she giggles lightly.
“You’re pacing like my brother did when they took you,” she says, making a smile tug at the corner of my lips.
“Did he?” I ask, feeling almost happy, the emotion betraying the part of me that is panicking and still scared. Carmela nods, smirking at me.
“Exactly like that. Like the world wouldn’t keep spinning unless he had you back. He even yelled at me.” She rolls her eyes, making me laugh.
“Well, I’m not going to yell at anyone,” I assure her. Everyone is under enough pressure as it is, I can’t be yelling at people. That is Ciro’s thing, being an absolute ass . . . a fine, sexy . . .
“Franchesco will stay behind to protect you,” Cito announces, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“What?” I turn around, glaring at him.
“You’re safer here,” Cito says firmly. “We’ll handle this.”
Is he joking? ‘Cause he better be.
“Do I look like I need a babysitter?” I ask, crossing my arms.
“Vida,” Franchesco starts gently. “This is for your protection. You . . .”
Bullshit!
“No!” I snap. “You don’t get to decide what I need or don’t need.”
“This isn’t a negotiation. You stay here. End of discussion,” Cito says sternly with a frown.
The audacity of these men! What on earth do they take me for?
“End of discussion?” I laugh, stepping closer to him. “No, Cito, the discussion’s just started. I am going, so it’s your choice. Either I follow you, or I sneak out after. Either way, I will go get my husband.”
The room goes dead silent as everyone stares at me like I’ve grown a second head.
Carmela’s right, I am a lot more like Ciro than I wanted to admit. And for some reason, I like that very much.
I turn toward the door with my chin high as I begin to move.
“You heard the lady, boys. Let’s go,” I hear Carmela say in amusement, almost making me laugh.
I have to keep up this act long enough!
“Fuck!” Cito curses under his breath. “Fine. Let’s move.”
He follows Carmela out, leading the way for the rest.
As we drive, I feel like every step closer to him is a step closer to breathing again.
The house is full-on chaos the moment we step inside, the sound of gunshots filling the place as I lean on the cold wall, holding onto the small knife Carmela had handed me before we broke in. I have my gun tucked into the back of my top, but I’m not sure I’ll be shooting anyone just yet.
I watch as everyone moves in a familiar manner, like this isn’t something new for them.
I hear Cito’s voice coming from somewhere ahead, shouting orders as I slip into a corner and notice a man slipping into a room. Something about the way he moves, the way his eyes dart back and forth before shutting the door, makes it too suspicious not to follow. I look around for Carmela, watching her shoot a man in the knee. She looks a little too occupied to go with me. So, I move closer, standing just outside the door, and press my ear against it to listen in. All I can hear are muffled voices, one belonging to a woman.
“Stay in here with him,” the man orders. “They’re here for him, which means the person I need is being locked up at home”
“Are you certain she didn’t come with them,” the lady asks.
“Not a chance,” he scoffs. “They won’t let the wife of the almighty Ciro Ballera get her hands dirty in a rescue operation. You stay. I’ll deal with Vida myself. That bitch won’t be a problem once I’m done with her.”
Oh, really? My blood boils, ringing in my ears.
I hear footsteps coming closer to the door and quickly think of a plan. As the steps get louder, I watch the doorknob turn, and I slam the door hard against his face, making him grunt and stumble backward, cursing. His gun clatters to the ground, and before he can recover, I dive for it.
“Big mistake, asshole,” I snap, aiming it at his chest.
“What’s going on?” the lady inside asks.
I don’t give her time to react. As she appears in the doorway, her eyes widen in shock as she spots me.
This fucking bitch! I growl in my mind as it hits me that this zombie-looking woman is Dr. Lucia.
Without thinking, I jump on her, and tackle her to the ground. The gun slips from my grip as we struggle, her nails clawing at my arms while I grab a fistful of her hair, pulling it with everything I have.
“You’re insane!” she screams, kicking me.
“You’re right about that,” I shout, flipping her over and slamming her head into the cold floor.
“He’s mine, bitch!” she yells, throwing a punch at my nose.
Her nails rake across my cheek, creating bruises that I can’t care about now. I take a quick glance at Ciro, his hands tied to the ceiling. He’s unconscious and in bad shape.
This bitch is the only thing between my hands on his skin and his lips on mine, and I hate that!
With one final punch, I knock her unconscious, her body going limp beneath me. Breathing heavily, I quickly grab the gun again and stumble to my feet. Making sure the two won’t be a problem, I turn my attention to the only person who matters.
“Ciro!” My voice cracks as I drop the gun in front of him. I cup his face in my hands, loving the feeling of his skin against mine, and then work at untying him.
“Ciro? Please wake up, I’m here now,” I say, shaking him gently, too afraid to cause any more pain as he falls into my arms.
“Please!” I plead, beginning to cry.
“Little chaos . . .” he rasps, his voice barely above a whisper as he slowly opens his eyes to meet mine. The sheer relief that floods his expression makes me giggle.
“Oh God!” I burst into tears, pressing my lips to his. The taste of salt and copper assaults my tongue, but feeling the heat of his skin against mine forces air back into my lungs.
His response is instant. His mouth moves against mine with so much hunger that it sends a shiver down my spine. His kiss isn’t soft or gentle, it’s desperate, like he needs me to keep breathing and like I’m his last and only lifeline. His lips claim mine, while his tongue dives deep into my mouth, leaving no space to breathe, and I could care less.
I moan into his mouth, my hands tangling in his hair, doing all I can not to hurt him, though it’s a challenge. I want to pull him closer with every brush of his lips, and every stroke of his tongue. He makes living so much better.
His wrists are still bound with zip ties, but his hands still move, touching me wherever he can reach me.
“God, little chaos,” he breathes against my lips, his voice low and primal. “Please, don’t stop kissing me.”
“You’re hurt,” I murmur back, barely getting the words out between kisses.
“Break me, kiss me, do whatever you want, just don’t stop, little chaos,” he growls in the most desperate and pleading voice I’ve ever heard.
“I hate you for . . .” I pause, but that isn’t true, hating him is far from what I feel. “I want you. God I need you . . .”
My hands roam his chest, feeling the heat of his skin beneath my own. I can feel his heartbeat pounding as fast as mine, as if our bodies are in sync. And honestly, I believe they are in the most perfect sync.
“Boss,” Cito’s voice cuts in, making me jump away from Ciro.
“Brother,” Carmela calls, running in and wrapping her arms around him, making him wince in pain.
Now he suddenly feels pain? I mentally ask and laugh.
“You look like shit,” Carmela laughs, helping Ciro with the zip ties around his wrists.
“I feel like shit, so thanks.” He chuckles at him, watching everyone as he rubs his wrists before glancing at me with a warm smile.
I’m happy, and grateful that I’m here for him, and that I did something that actually finally worked. I didn’t mess this up.
Before I can say another word or blink, the sound of a gunshot fills the air and Ciro’s frame blocks my view. Carmela is on the floor and Ciro falls into my lap.
Another gunshot, and the man who had been lying unconscious falls to the ground. My gaze finds Cito with his gun pointing at him, which means . . .
I turn to face Ciro, who lays in front of me. I watch him grunt as he holds his bleeding shoulder.
“Ciro!” My voice breaks as his blood stains his hand.
I don’t know what is happening, but my breathing quickens and my chest rises and falls in violent gasps.
The blood. My hands. My fault.
“Vida, look at me,” I hear Ciro say, his voice low and commanding as he cups my face.
I can’t . . . I can’t control it. My panic only grows and my breathing comes in short, sharp gasps.
My nightmares. Adam. What I did. Oh God! Make it stop! Please. I can’t stop staring at my blood stained hands. I’m back there where it all began. It was my fault then and it’s my fault now.
I should’ve stayed in the car.
I should’ve stayed at home.
“Everyone out!” Ciro barks, his voice sharper than the sound of the gunshot that once filled the room. “Take Lucia and clear the house. I want it empty in ten seconds.”
I hear Carmela say something and Cito shout orders, but none of it makes sense. They don’t sound like words, just sounds.
“Little chaos, I’m here. Breathe for me, baby. It’s okay, I’m fine,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead against mine.
Breath for him , I tell myself. Try to do it for him, just for him, and no one else. But I can’t. The guilt eats at me so rapidly, it feels like my heart is about to either stop beating or beat so fast, I swear I’ll die.
“You’re bleeding,” I choke out between sobs, my voice barely audible as I hold his chest.
My eyes land on something I’ve never seen before; a butterfly tattoo that sits pretty on the middle of his torso. It’s beautiful. I want to say that out loud, to tell him that I love it, but I can’t. I can’t breathe.
“It’s my fault!” I cry even harder, feeling my palms sweat.
“It’s not, I’m fine,” he whispers, his thumb stroking my cheek as he pulls me closer, wrapping his uninjured arm around my trembling frame.
“I should’ve stayed in the car. I should’ve stayed away. It’s my fault, it’s all my fault. I’m so sorry,” I weep, unsure of what pain I’m feeling at the moment. Everything hurts.
“Adam,” I hear him say, like he’s piecing it all together. “You were there with him. It isn’t your fault, Vida.”
He pulls my face to his and plants a kiss on my lips, the action so gentle I nearly shatter. God, I want him! I want him now. I am sorry, but his words mean more than I could have ever expected them to.
“I’m okay,” he says, pulling away and looking at me, his eyes showing no trace of a lie.
He’s okay. I’m okay. We’re okay.
“Ciro,” I breathe, shedding more tears. I wrap my arms around him and continue our kiss.
It’s unbearable when his lips are away from mine. Every kiss, every press of his lips, makes me forget where we are and what we’re doing.
I cling onto him like my lifeline, like he’s the only possible way to breathe properly again. I can feel the warmth of his blood on my fingers as I roam his body with my hands, but that is the least of my concerns. All I can focus on is the way he holds me, feels me, and owns me with this possessive, unrelenting, dark hunger.
“You’re bleeding,” I whisper.
My body trembles, but it isn’t the panic anymore, nor the guilt or fear. God, it’s the want and the need to feel this man in ways I’ve only seen in movies or read in books.
I need Ciro.
His lips curve into a feral smirk as he breaks our kiss.
“And you don’t care, do you?” he asks in a low, rough voice, making him too sexy to not want to kiss again.
I watch him and swallow hard, unable to look away.
“Words, little chaos. Use them,” he orders after I nod. How am I to even form words when all I feel is heat and wetness seeping through my panties.
“I don’t,” I reply.
With his bruised and bleeding hand, he moves me to lay on my back, and then hovers over me like a prey over its meal.
God, yes! That’s what I want to be; his meal.
“Please,” I beg, unable to bear my lips being away from his any longer.
“Don’t beg, baby,” he growls against my face before he dives back in, owning every part of my lips. “Just take what’s already yours.”
His words send me into a frenzy of no return, and I can’t help it but let go. I need him, fuck, I need him so bad! I don’t care if he is in all the pain in the world. I need him now!
“Ciro,” I moan as a droplet of his blood drips onto my cheek. My chest heaves, and something about it, about the hot drop of liquid that fell on my face, only makes me want him more.
God!
“Your blood . . .” I whisper, swiping away the drop on my face.
“Taste it,” he orders, smirking with a tiny hint of dare in his eyes.
I shouldn’t, I can’t, but I do. The sting of metallic taste hits my taste buds as my finger finds its way into my mouth. I’m having Ciro in more ways than one, and I love it!
“You’re a sick, twisted psycho,” he growls, his lips crashing against mine again.
Yes! Yes I am. I would be anything for him.
His kiss is punishing, demanding, and I meet it with equal desire and need. His tongue slides past my lips, taking what he wants, and I give him everything.
“You love how my blood stains your face and how it tastes?” he asks, his question more a statement as he pulls back just enough to whisper, “What am I going to do with you?”
My back arches as his hands slide into my top, his fingers pressing against my hard nipples.
I grab his face, pulling it back down to mine, waiting until his eyes are locked with mine before I speak. “Anything you want. Just . . . take me.”
Unable to take the torture anymore, I try to pull him closer so I can lose myself in him, but his hands cup my face, his rough thumbs grazing my cheekbones, stopping me.
“Not here, baby, this can’t be how your first time goes,” he says, sounding so considerate.
I don’t care, having him as my first is perfect enough for me.
“This is all I need. You. Now. Here. Please,” I beg, my voice trembling with raw desire.
I wrap my legs around him and pull him closer, close enough to feel how much he needs me too.
His hesitation melts away as his lips claim mine again, hungrier this time. His hands roam my body, finally yanking my shirt over my head. He groans as his eyes scan over every curve.
“You’re so fucking perfect,” he mutters, trailing kisses down my throat. “I am going to ruin you, little chaos.”
“Yes,” I gasp at the promise in his voice, tangling my hands in his hair. “Please.”
He sits back and lifts me with ease, even with his injured shoulder, and settles me on his lap. The hardness in his pants is impossible to ignore, and he presses me down, grinding me against him.
His good hand grips my hip, guiding me and controlling me, while his mouth finds my ear and his fingers play with my hard nipples.
“You feel that?” he rasps. “That’s what you do to me.”
My gaze flicks to the corner of the room where the man lays dead in a pool of his own blood, and just like the first time I saw Ciro beat a man in the shed, I don’t flinch in fear. Instead, it awakens something inside of me that I didn’t even know existed.
Ciro notices and turns my face to meet his.
“You don’t even flinch, do you?” he asks, his lips curving into a wicked grin.
“I try to, but can’t,” I admit breathlessly.
“You really are something, little chaos.”
His hand slides between us, undoing his belt with ease. He then pushes my pants aside, his fingers sliding into me with so much smoothness it makes me moan shamelessly as I arch into his touch.
“So wet,” he growls. “Your body’s begging to have me.”
It’s not just begging, it’s screaming for him!
“Please Ciro, please,” I moan, grinding my hips as his fingers move inside me.
Without another word, he shifts, his hands firm on my hips as he positions me above him.
My heart races as my body goes into another level of heat. I can feel the tip of him at my entrance. The heat of him there makes me gasp.
“This might hurt,” he warns, his voice unsteady. “But I won’t be sorry after the first few seconds.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
He guides me down slowly, expanding all my walls until I’m filled, stretched, and consumed by him. My head falls back and a choked sound escapes my lips as he sinks himself fully inside me.
“Oh God,” I scream, feeling so full with his length inside me.
“Not God, baby, it’s only me filing your perfect pussy,” he says, pushing more of himself in again.
How could he have more to push in? How?!
“Fuck,” he hisses, his grip tightening. “You’re so tight. So fucking wet and tight for me.”
I wrap my arms around his neck, moving slowly as we both groan at the feeling. He begins to take over, lifting me just enough to bring me crashing back down.
God! I could die in ecstasy. I could, but I won’t, because I want more!
The pain from his injuries doesn’t stop him. If anything, it seems to fuel him on, his movements becoming rough and relentless, and his blood smears across my skin as he holds me.
“Fuck, yes!” I moan, feeling tears welling behind my eyes. I can’t figure out what is making me cry, the pain or the pleasure, or maybe both. The feeling of his dick inside of me sends something coiling in my stomach. I’m going mad. I want to feel like this every day of my life.
“Ciro, please,” I beg. For him to stop? Never! To keep going! To keep lifting and pounding me on his hard dick. I want him to ruin me like he’d said he would. I want to be ruined by him and only him.
“You’re mine, Vida,” he growls, his teeth nipping at my bottom lip.
“Yours,” I repeat, grasping his hair as I hold him tighter.
Fuck! This man.
“Vida,” he moans in the most animalistic manner possible.
I can feel his hair stand on the back of his neck and his body turn cold. His mouth finds my nipple and the cold sensation on the hard peak only makes me even wetter, making the slurping sounds louder.
How has this become my life? One minute I’m the innocent church girl and the next, I’m being fucked in a bloodied house with dead bodies, begging this man to keep stretching every unstretched wall inside me?
“Oh, little chaos, you’re so addictive. Too perfect to ever stop fucking,” he moans around my nipple.
“Ciro, I . . .” I try to say, but the pounding of his hips into me shuts me the fuck up.
God, I thought the books I read explained it all, but this man, he takes me to an entirely different place.
“Come for me, baby. Drench my cock with your juices and show me who owns you,” he orders, and fuck, he doesn’t have to tell me twice! I let myself come undone, my body trembling as he keeps ramming into me without a second break.
“That’s my good girl, let it out for me. Just like that,” he murmurs into my neck, still pounding his length into me.
“Oh heavens, Ciro,” I gasp, holding onto him, breathless.
“When we get home, I’ll bring heaven to you, my little chaos,” he smirks at me, pushing strands of hair off my wet face as he stares at me.
For a moment, there is nothing but our ragged breathing and the sound of my heart pounding in my chest. Then he pulls back, brushing a blood-streaked thumb across my cheek.
“Mine to fuck,” he adds as I feel his length become less hard inside me, and all I can wonder is how those simple words make me want to have him again.