18. Savage
Chapter 18
Savage
“So, uh…how long are we?—”
“You can leave,” I tell Vito. I meet Andy’s gaze in the rear view mirror. “Take her back to the villa, get something to eat.”
“I guess…” Vito trails off, scratching his nails over the millimeter of stubble on his jaw. “I do need a shower.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” Andy’s green eyes are ablaze when I turn to look at her over my shoulder. “I shouldn’t have left her in the first place.”
I scoff. “You don’t know my wife that well yet, Andy, but trust me—she’s a lone ranger kind of girl. I’d say independent, but it’s closer to stubborn as a fucking mule.”
Andy drops her gaze, but still shakes her head. “I shouldn’t have backed down so easily. She could be anywhere by now.”
“Unless she figured out teleportation, I’m pretty sure she’s still inside the club,” Vito says, a chuckle in his voice that dies an ugly death when he looks in my direction. “Right?”
I run a hand through my hair, mussing it even worse than it had been. “I don’t know anything anymore. It’s been two hours. What the fuck could possibly take that long to discuss?”
Vito lights another cigarette and offers it to me, but if I inhale any more nicotine tonight I’ll fucking puke. It’s had the complete opposite effect, anyway. I’m jittery, distracted, near feral with frustration.
The line at the door dissolved over an hour ago. The stragglers arriving now simply pause beside the bouncers for a minute for the obligatory search and ID check before being let through the doors.
I should have stayed inside. I considered it, but the thought that my wife might leave via an exit and I wasn’t there…Of course, I don’t know if she’s leaving via the front entrance.
They could decide to throw her out in a trash bag out back.
Andy gasps and Vito mutters “Jesus fuck,” under his breath when I slam a fist onto the dashboard.
“The fuck is taking her so long?” I grit out.
“Negotiations and shit.” Vito’s words give me deja-vu, I’m guessing because we’re stuck in a loop now. I demand to know where my wife is, Vito or Andy try to come up with explanations for her disappearance, I go back to glowering.
I flick a hand toward Vito’s pocket where he keeps his phone. “Check on Matias. It’s been a while since he’s?—“
Nyx walks out of The Foundry as soon as I focus on the entrance again.
At first, I think I’m fucking hallucinating. It’s happened a few times tonight. I see a blonde in a black dress, and I have the binoculars pressed to my face in an instant. But then I make out their features, I realize it’s not her.
It’s never her.
But this time, when I focus the binoculars, when I shush Vito with a click of my fingers, when he utters the inevitable, “Do you see her?”…
I fucking see her.
Vito fumbles with the binoculars when I toss them absently in his direction. I don’t know how I make it across the road, because I stopped breathing the moment I zoned in on Nyx’s navy blue eyes. On the way she flicked her hair over her shoulder, standing at the entrance like she didn’t know where the hell she was.
If a car had come down that road right then, I’d be fucking dead, and I wouldn’t care.
Because reaching Nyx is as much a relief as death would have been.
I don’t care who sees. If both the bouncers managing the entrance have fucking dinner at Sully’s goddam house every motherfucking night.
I scoop my wife into my arms, turning as if to shield her from the neon yellow glow of The Foundry’s sign.
I hear a muffled, “Caesar,” against my chest, but I’m too busy suffocating Nyx against my body, making sure she’s real, that her bones are intact, that her hair hasn’t been replaced by a wig, that she’s not some doppelganger I got back instead.
Wouldn’t put any fucking thing past O’Brien.
She whimpers when I fist her hair and yank back her head, because she feels real, smells real, even warms me like a real person would…but the true test is in the eyes.
And when she looks up at me with her blown out irises, face white, lips trembling, I can’t believe it’s her. The anger and sullen fury I’ve grown to crave is back in a heartbeat.
She grabs the lapels of the stupid fucking blazer I’m still wearing, and yanks me down so she can kiss me.
It is her.
She came back to me.
My joy is bright and effervescent, like the sparkling charge on a firework’s fuse.
And, just like I knew she was gone, I know we’re set to implode.
But I have no fucking clue how long the charge is.
Now, with the taste of her in my mouth, her warm lips sliding against mine, tongue tangling and fighting like I knew she would…
Fucked if I care.
Andy and Vito are both outside the car when we come walking back. Andy steps forward and then hesitates, as if she wants to hug Nyx but decides against it. Maybe it’s the protective arm I’ve slung over my wife’s shoulders, or the way Nyx keeps her head down, as if she’s huddling out of the cold.
She’s shivering enough that it’s possible, but her body feels warm against mine where she’s pressed against my side.
“What happened?” Andy asks, glancing at me when Nyx remains silent the closer we get.
Maybe she noticed the faint streaks over Nyx’s arms and legs and face that look like dried blood hastily wiped off with a damp towel. Or the clusters of hard, blood-darkened hair dotted with what might be bits of bone.
Or the thousand-mile stare in her glassy blue eyes.
“Get in the car.”
Vito throws me a questioning look, but I just shake my head. He climbs in the back with Andy.
I usher Nyx to the driver’s side, opening her door and helping her inside. She doesn’t even try to stop me when I tug my leather jacket over her shoulders. The fact that she lets me do any of it sends a prickling uneasiness through my body.
Why the fuck is she so…docile?
I close the door, and there’s a moment’s stuffy silence inside the cab before I turn on the ignition.
“Fucknest?” Vito asks.
I glare at him in the rear view mirror, and Andy mutters, “Seriously?”
“What? It’s that or the villa.”
“The villa.”
I jerk at the sound of Nyx’s voice. It’s hoarse, like she’s been screaming. But her voice always ran on the husky side of things.
“Strap in.”
Everyone puts on their seat belt, except Nyx. I lean over and do it for her. As I’m straightening, I pause and stare at her up close.
“Tell me you’re fine,” I murmur. “Tell me I don’t have to go back in there and set the place on fire.”
“I’m fine.” Her eyelashes flutter as she blatantly forces herself to look at me. “No fires. I just…I need to think. And we—” Her eyes dart to the mirror as if to check whether Vito and Andy are paying attention. “We need to talk.”
I wouldn’t be surprised if I give everyone in the car whiplash when I throw the Expedition into reverse. But no one complains when I tear out of there like a demon running late for an appointment with Satan himself.
We stop at the circular gravel drive outside the front courtyard. The sprawling Mediterranean inspired building has been in the Domingo’s list of assets for over five decades. Like the cartel itself, it’s fallen into a state of disrepair. It’s never been as obvious as it is tonight, when I go to open the door for Nyx, and she doesn’t cuss me out for treating her like porcelain.
Vito must have messaged ahead, because there’s only one guard in the foyer, and the man hangs back when I burst in with Nyx at my side. Vito and Andy are still outside. I guess they’re as reluctant to be around me right now as the rest of the cartel men are.
Everyone was silent on the way over.
Nyx had ample opportunity to speak, but her entire body projected fuck off vibes so strong it was hard to breathe.
Shit’s gone down, and my wife decided to torture me by keeping her mouth shut.
I lead her to the stairs, but she angles for the elevator instead. It’s only one floor to my room, somewhere private where she can finally tell me what the fuck is going on, but I humor her, because there’s a part of me that doesn’t want to know.
Maybe there’s even a part of me that didn’t want her to walk out of that fucking club.
For her to just disappear.
No need for retribution, because I’d never know if someone had hurt her. No need to mourn, because I’d never know if she was dead or not. No need for any of these fucking feelings inside me, because far as I can remember, I swore to myself I’d never, ever, fucking feel like this again.
Not after Camila.
As soon as the elevator doors close behind us, I grab Nyx’s throat and shove her against the bronzed mirrors.
That sense of deja-vu flows over me again. The first day I met her, we’d been in this very elevator, Nyx still wearing her terrible disguise as I demanded she go on her knees.
That’s when she kicked me so hard in the balls I don’t know if I’m even able to father children anymore.
I had no inkling she’d become my wife.
Back then I didn’t care, because I hardly knew her.
It’s as if we’ve lived seven lifetimes together since then.
“You’ve dragged this out long enough. Tell me what the fuck happened.”
“I will, as soon as we’re?—“
I pull her forward an inch, slam her back. Her eyes flutter, but my wife made it pretty fucking clear from day one that she’s not made of glass. She usually goes for the jugular at the merest suggestion.
“Was he there? O’Brien?” My teeth are bared, and I have to push my words through them in a muted growl. “Did he touch you?”
There’s the briefest flash of something in her eyes, fuck knows what, and then Nyx looks away and gives a mirthless laugh.
“None of this is my blood, Papi. And unless you’re a hundred percent sure this fucking elevator isn’t bugged, you’ll wait until we’re in your room.” Her gaze slowly drifts back up to me. “ Comprende ?”
If the elevator hadn’t chimed and the doors opened, I might have kept her there longer. I like the way she looks in the bronze mirrors, glowing and golden like a Greek goddess.
It’s fucked up. When people dare to disrespect me, I want to slice off ribbons of their face until there’s nothing left but a bloody, slimy skull.
But Nyx?
Her blatant disobedience sets fire to my soul.
She yells in surprise when I bend and scoop her up, slinging her over my shoulder in one smooth motion. She immediately starts struggling, but a ringing slap to both ass cheeks settles her down.
“I know how to walk, asshole.”
“Do you? Because all you’ve done lately is run.”
She lets out a dramatic sigh, propping her elbows against my shoulders. “Not everyone’s your servant. Maybe you’ll get it in your thick skull one day.”
That earns her another slap, and I swear I hear a stifled laugh.
Fuck, my heart wants to slam its way out of my chest at the sound. When she walked out of The Foundry like someone who’d just woken up from a coma, I thought O’Brien had broken her somehow.
Mentally, physically, I had no idea. But I was sure she wasn’t the same woman who’d walked in there.
Until now.
Until she laughed, and for a split second, the world felt capable of being a wondrous place where people lived happily ever after.
I open the door to my room, kicking it closed before stalking over to the bed and dropping Nyx unceremoniously on the slate-gray bedding. I barely pause to strip off the blazer and kick off my shoes before I’m on top of her, head burrowed into the side of her neck.
“Savage.” She pushes at my shoulder, but I ignore her, sliding my knee between her legs to force them open. I want answers, but I need to claim her even more, to remind her, myself, the fucking world that this woman is mine.
“Caesar!” This time she punches me in the fucking kidney.
I roll off her with a grunt, lying on my back with a hand over my torso, staring up at the ceiling.
“Jesus,” I mutter.
“Read the fucking room.” Nyx shuffles to the edge of the bed and slides off, heading for the bathroom.
I prop myself up on my elbows. “What are you doing?”
She scowls at me over her shoulder. “I haven’t peed in days. Give me a fucking second, would you?”
The bathroom door slams so hard, it rattles an abstract artwork the villa’s interior decorator put on the wall. I’m surprised it doesn’t fall and shatter. I strip off my shirt, my dirty jeans, my boxers. I’m about to change into clean clothes when I hear the toilet flush.
Fuck this, I need a shower before I change.
Nyx spins around with a gasp when I open the bathroom door. “Are you fucking kidding me?” She’s standing by the basin, I assume washing her hands like a good girl.
“What?” I step into the shower. “It’s been days since I’ve had a shower. Give me a fucking second.”
She smooths the shock from her face, turning back to the basin.
I frown. “What are you doing?”
Her arms stop moving. “You don’t give up, do you? Like a dog with a fucking bone.” She barks out a laugh that sounds almost manic, and then strips off her dress, bundling it up and tossing it in the hamper.
I’d just turned on the faucet to hot when she faces me wearing only her black sports bra.
There are bruises on her body…and not all of them are mine.
Fury closes over my chest like a fucking bear trap. I can feel myself grimacing, can hear the angry sound coming out of my throat, but even when the water becomes scorching hot, I can’t move, can’t speak, can’t even fathom what the fuck I’m looking at.
Nyx tosses back her head, as if she’s somehow daring me to say something.
“He do that to you?” I sound like a goddamn caveman, but it’s a miracle my words are coherent at all.
Instead of answering, she strides up to the shower and slips inside with me. She reaches back almost absently to adjust the scorching water, and thank fuck because I was about to blister.
“Patrick said he was taking me to see Donny.” She glances to the side, grabs my bottle of body wash, and squirts some on her hands like this is some normal conversation we’re having and she doesn’t look like she was in a fucking car accident.
I jerk when she slaps her soapy hands on my pecs and starts rubbing me down. Her eyes are focused on her task, but she glances up at me every few seconds as if to make sure I’m still paying attention.
Christ, the moon could crash into Earth right now and I wouldn’t take my eyes off her. The water darkens her hair to brown, forms it into sinuous lines down her shoulders and breasts. I tug at the strap of her bra, but she shrugs her shoulder away from my fingers. It’s soaked through already, but maybe she thinks her breasts will distract me too much.
It’s highly possible. Even clothed in her snug bra, it only serves to emphasize what sumptuous hand fulls they are.
“Donny did this?” My vocabulary is still at Neanderthal levels, but I’m doing my fucking best. My entire body is shaking from the effort of staying where I am and not tearing out of here and back into that club with a fucking machine gun like Scarface.
She scoffs. “Donny’s dead.” She tilts her head down, eyeing some of the bruises. “When I saw his body, I realized Patrick was in on it. That’s when I started fighting.” Her eyes dart up to mine, ablaze with arrogance. “Took three of them to take me to O’Brien.”
“He was at The Foundry? Where? We searched every inch of that place.”
She laughs, gaze following her fingers as they glide down my stomach. Her hands stroke my muscles, working a lather over my skin. “He was in the warehouse down the street.”
“I had eyes on all the exits.”
“Not all of them.” Her face is grim as she slides her hands around my torso, pulling me against her. “There was a tunnel. Long enough to kill my feet in those fucking heels.”
“Christ, of course.” I grip her tight, sinking my fingers into her wet hair. “Probably used it to smuggle in alcohol back in the twenties. Must have been there for decades.”
She turns in my arms, points at the body wash. I take it mutely, soaping my hands and lathering it over her shoulders.
“He could have taken you away from me, and I wouldn’t even have known.”
“He doesn’t want me,” she mutters grumpily. “The only thing I’m good at is killing people, apparently.”
I drag her up against me, soaping her stomach. She melts against me, shuddering when I slide a hand under her bra to massage her breast.
“That’s not true. I can think of plenty things you’re good at.”
She grabs my wrist, plucking my hand out of her bra. I flatten my palm over her stomach instead, pretending to wash her torso. She lets me, resting her head back against my chest.
“You were right. He’s going to auction them off, Caesar.”
My hand stills. “Your sisters?” The thought makes my skin want to crawl off my fucking body. Even my cock, convinced it knew how this shower was going to end, goes limp. “Jesus, Angel.”
I try to turn her to face me, but she resists, sliding her hand up and gripping the back of my neck.
“I made a deal with him.”
Her voice is quiet, hesitant, so unlike her that I wish she’d still been mute. I caress her hips, wiping soap over the bruises like I can wash them away. These are mine from the construction site, the cottage. They’re a touch darker, more purple than red. I trace my fingers around the shapes they form, and Nyx grabs my wrist again.
“Are you even listening?”
“What kind of deal?”
Her grip tightens, nails biting into my flesh. I drop my head, scraping my teeth over her shoulder, suppressing the urge to clamp down.
“He wants me to kill someone for him.”
We both still. The only sound is the drumming of the water against our bodies, the patter as it hits the tiles below.
She glances to the side, then up at me. “I can’t leave them there. He’s going to sell them!”
“My father.” It’s a statement.
Of course it’s my father. O’Brien hired her to kill him in the first place. I guess he’s giving her a second chance.
I step back, looking down at where the water is circling the drain. Nyx’s fingers land on my pecs, clawing into me.
“No.”
I blink, staring at her in confusion. “No?”
She shakes her head, wet hair shifting around her head. “It’s Sergio.” She’s whispering again like she really is convinced the place is bugged.
“What?” It’s more a laugh than a word. “Why?”
“You think he sat me down for a cup of coffee and laid out his plan for world domination?” She scowls up at me. “You don’t like him anyway. Just tell me where he is, and I’ll handle the rest. I’ll make it look like an accident, like I would have with your?—“
She grunts when I slam her against the tiled wall. I swipe hair out of her face, ducking down until we’re at eye level.
“Sergio’s not here, and I have no idea when he’ll be back. Even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. I hate that piece of shit, Nyx, but he’s my fucking uncle.” I laugh dryly. “And your uncle-in-law. Or did you forget you’re a Domingo now?”
“Who deserves to live more? Athena and Phoebe, or your rapist monster of an uncle?” She’s struggling to speak around the choke hold I have on her throat. Both her hands are trying to peel my fingers from her neck, but she’s not succeeding.
“And that’s it?”
Her eyelids flutter. “What do you mean?”
There’s a hesitation in her eyes. A quickening of her pulse that has nothing to do with my finger wrapped around her throat. She’s used to me being rough with her. She fucking loves it.
What she hates is laying all her cards on the table before she knows she has a winning hand.
“Is that all you spoke about? No other revelations?”
Her gaze becomes laser focused. “Sergio’s life for my sisters’, that’s all. We didn’t discuss anything else.”
I release her.
Step back.
Duck my head under the incessant spray and let the water stream over my face. She tries to slip around me, to leave, but I grab her around the waist and keep her in place.
“Think I’m letting you out of my sight?” I tell her, spitting water from my mouth.
“I want to see Princess.”
“Then I’ll go with you.” I turn off the water, take my time squeezing the water out of Nyx’s hair as she stares up at me with her sullen, navy blue eyes. I pick out a tiny white chunk caught in one of her tangles and hold it out between my fingertips for her to see.
She swallows. “I was standing next to him when Sullivan pulled the trigger.”
“Patrick, or Donny?”
“I have ten days,” she hisses, knocking my hand away like I’m annoying her by asking whose skull was lodged in her hair. “If he’s not dead by then?—“
She cuts off when I press my fingertips over her mouth.
“Hush. No more talking. Papi needs to think.”
Her dark blue eyes stay locked to mine for a second before she looks away. I appreciate that she came to me before deciding to off Sergio in whatever creative way she was planning, but she’s put me in a very inconvenient fucking position.
Family comes first.
But Nyx is family too, now. The lines are getting really fucking blurry.
She pulls away my fingers. “He’s going to sell them off like cattle, Caesar.”
I look down at her, at the bruises, both mine and those she got fighting off O’Brien’s men.
“Put some fucking clothes on before I throw you on that bed and remind you who the hell you’re married to.”