28. Andy
Chapter 28
Andy
My heart’s still pounding from what almost happened with Vito. What we almost did.
Crap, what was I thinking? I should have stayed in my room.
It’s petty, but I blame Nyx. I know I asked her to tell me what happened at The Foundry, but all it damn well did was trigger me. A whole whack load of memories I’d buried resurfaced, and with them the ghosts of my past.
I lay in my bed in the dark, hoping the alcohol would knock me out, but I kept hearing noises in the dark. And every time I closed my eyes, I’d imagine someone reaching for me.
Vito breathes quietly beside me, but he’s not asleep either. For the past hour I heard him clearing his throat, or grunting softly as he tried to get comfortable.
It was a shitty thing I did, but I couldn’t control myself.
Not when I let him get on top of me.
Not when I shoved him off.
Bet he wishes I never came to his room tonight.
Things have been…difficult…since I escaped. I’ve tried dating a few times, but even random hookups trigger me too much. I really need to see a therapist, but they cost money, and I haven’t exactly been flush lately.
Gideon Fyre offered to treat me, but I wouldn’t have been comfortable speaking to him. Not knowing what a man like him was capable of.
The sheer magnitude of his violence is…awe inspiring.
And not in a wow, that’s amazing, kind of way.
In a biblical Armageddon, we’re all fucked and we know it, kind of way.
Luckily for the world at large, he’s chosen to focus his malevolence toward nasties and creeps that are better off dead anyway.
Holy cow, it’s like Nyx unlocked Pandora’s box inside my mind. The weed had actually helped for a while, but as soon as Vito’s lips had touched my skin, I was stone-cold sober.
Such soft, warm, gentle lips.
I’d been terrified after walking into Doctor Gomez’s house. The awful crime scene, those putrefying bodies so purposefully arranged…I’ve met deranged people in my life, but no one holds a candle up to whoever orchestrated that nightmare.
The children …
Then Caesar and Vito Domingo walk in. I was so terrified, I nearly shot them both before I realized who they were.
Vito is nothing like I first thought he would be. He looks like a rich playboy in his designer clothes and immaculate haircut. But there’s a darker side there, and not just the kind that plays with floggers.
When he thinks no one’s looking, his smile fades, and his eyes go dark. Is he looking into the future, fantasizing about the wicked, depraved things he’d like to do? Or he is peering into the past, remembering all the terrible things that were done to him?
I groan quietly, burrowing my head into the pillow. I might as well admit I’m not going to get any sleep. Maybe I should go back to the cinema room and see if this palace has Netflix.
Sitting up, I gingerly slide closer to the edge of the bed.
“Stay,” Vito murmurs from his side.
“I can’t sleep. I’m just going to keep you awake the whole night.”
His hand slides over the silky sheets with a soft rasping noise, fumbling until they find my arm. He gives me a gentle tug.
“Come here.”
“I really don’t think we should?—“
“Just…come here.”
I never figured he’d be like this.
Compassionate. Understanding.
It’s freaking me out.
I really am broken, aren’t I? Will I ever be able to tell the good guys from the bad?
I lie down on my side, and let Vito draw me closer to him. The pillow’s still between us, but that doesn’t stop him leaning his head forward until I can feel his breath against the back of my neck.
“This okay?” he asks, his fingers flinching before relaxing over my hip.
“Yeah.” I nuzzle into my pillow, expecting my eyes to stay wide open and staring in the dark…but the rhythmic contrast of warm air when Vito exhales, cool air when he inhales, rocks me to sleep.
I let out a long sigh, and force my body to relax.
I’m always trying to control every aspect of my life, hoping that it will somehow determine the outcome. That I can keep myself safe.
Yet here I am. Side-by-side with the type of man I swore I’d never go near again.
Something wakes me, but I’m not sure if it was Vito’s hand tensing against my hip, or the sound of the door opening. Bright light stabs into my eyes, triggering a splitting headache.
Vito’s fingers dig into my skin, and I inhale a sharp breath through my nose as I try to sort out all the sensations and information hitting my mind at once. My mouth is dry, my stomach queasy, and it tastes like I’m exhaling tequila fumes.
I can’t believe I actually fell asleep.
From the way my head feels, however much I got, it wasn’t enough.
“Should have known I’d find you with a whore in your bed,” a man says, smooth, callous.
I quickly push onto one elbow, shading my eyes with a hand as I squint blindly toward the doorway. Every hair on my body stands on end before I even catch sight of the man. He sounds much older than Vito, but with a strong Colombian accent.
The way Vito’s fingers flinch, like a protective reflex, makes me suddenly feel very, very exposed and oh-so fucking vulnerable. Like when you lift a rock and see an earthworm burrowing frantically into the safety of the soil.
I’m that earthworm. But there’s nowhere for me to escape.
“What time is it?” Vito croaks, sounding hungover and groggy as he fumbles for his phone on the nightstand.
“Time to get out of bed.” The man steps closer, and my eyes finally adjust to the glaring overhead light he turned on.
My mouth goes dry.
The man staring at me with a faint half-smile on his wide mouth bears a strong resemblance to Bryan.
This must be Sergio Domingo. Who else would barge into Vito’s room?
Which makes Vito his son.
Sergio gives me a lingering once-over that switches my body and mind into full PTSD lockdown mode. I can’t even scrape the sheets up against my chest, or cower away, or think about slipping out of the room.
I just stare at Vito’s father, my lips parted, my eyes glazed over, as I wait for the horror that will inevitably come next. I can recognize the cruel twitch of sadism on someone’s mouth as they entertain whatever sick thoughts are scrolling through their minds.
That is a skill you can never unlearn.
Your survival depends on it.
“Yeah, yeah,” Vito says, calm as a fucking Buddhist monk. “Could have given us a heads up. Then I’d have been ready and waiting.”
Sergio clasps his hands behind his back. At a glance, in his perfectly pressed black suit, crisp button-down shirt, and gleaming dress shoes, he’s the epitome of a wealthy gentleman.
But I know what I’m looking at. One look in his soulless black eyes, and any woman would know he’s neither gentle, nor a man.
Monsters don’t always hide in the shadows .
Finally, fucking finally, my paralysis breaks. “I should go,” I whisper, scrambling to the side of the bed.
I hear Vito lighting a cigarette, and he drawls out an easy, “Yeah, sure, babe. Why don’t you go wait downstairs? I’ll get one of the guys to take you back to the club.”
His words almost put a crick in my neck as I spin to face him. “What?”
Vito stands, wearing only his boxers, and gives me a lecherous smile. “You were good, but you weren’t that good. Only the best whores stay for breakfast.”
My cheeks flush so hot, it’s as if my skin’s going to peel off. My throat is too strangled for me to say anything, which is probably for the best, because God knows how Sergio would handle me talking back to his son.
No need to bother with my pants, so I focus on tightening my robe’s belt around my waist instead.
I turn and walk straight into Vito’s father. I bounce off with a gasp, nearly losing my footing.
Oh God, why is he standing so close? Why doesn’t he move?
I twist the belt around my trembling hands, mentally willing Sergio to step aside.
Vito’s cigarette smoke fills every breath I take.
“She’s uglier than your usual whores.”
“Cheaper, too,” Vito quips.
My cheeks are boiling, but it’s not just shame. There’s fury mixed in there too.
How fucking dare he?
But I’m not going to hang around here to defend myself. There’s a violent charge in the air, like the taste of tin before a lightning strike.
I glare at Sergio, and step around him.
His right hand latches on to the front of my throat. He stares down at me like he’s examining a bug he just squashed under his boot.
I almost black out in sheer panic at the feel of his fingers crushing my windpipe. But a tiny smidgeon of self-preservation kicks in. I step back with my left foot, spinning to knock his hand away with my right arm.
He seems surprised that his hand is no longer around my throat.
“You’re not one of his whores, are you?” Sergio muses.
I’m still grappling with the fact that this man dared lay his hands on me, and that his son doesn’t seem to give a damn. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s that hierarchy is sometimes the only code criminals honor.
Guess it’s time to play the only card in my pathetic deck.
“I’m Viviana’s daughter,” I tell him, tilting my chin up to stare at him straight in the eyes, despite how my body quivers in panic. “If you touch me again, there will be hell to pay.”