Chapter 7 #2
Kathleen Caruso. The aunt. She gave Ransom the tip about where to find Noemi, the two-faced rat bitch.
"Rian." Ransom, from the corner. He's read my face. "What are you upset about? Caruso?"
I nod. "Noemi’s aunt."
He's quiet for a second, calculating. "You want to tell Noemi, or you want me to dig around first?"
Or just kill them all, Beast supplies. I’ll help.
I look at the two men in front of me and think about how I'd like to do this. Slow, with the rope. I’d like to have the whole night ahead of me to damage these men, ruin them so badly that they’re begging for their death.
I’ve done it before.
But I think about Noemi alone in my bed with a sick bag clutched to her chest. She needs me, so I don't have the night. I need to be upstairs with the girl who depends on me more than I need to kill them.
That's new. I cock my head, taking a second to resent it, then I sigh. "I have to go," I tell Ransom. “You want me to save any of them?”
Brent makes a long gurgling noise. Leo shivers from the floor. Neither are worth anything at all. Ransom shakes his head slowly. “Go ahead.”
I finish the job up quickly. Much quicker than they've earned, a shot to the forehead, point-blank. Leo and Brent take it without making a sound.
Zack, in the other cell, goes last.
He cringes away from my approaching footsteps, his eyes on the gun. “Wait! What did I–”
I fire and the bullet hits the inside of his skull, pinging around like a fucking game of Pong rather than exiting cleanly. It must hit an artery, because I’m hit with a huge gush of arterial blowback, spraying a heavy red mist over my neck and shirt.
“Shit.” I look down at the damage. This shirt is done for. I bought ten of this same dress shirt because they keep getting bloody. Still, it’s his damned fault. “Inconsiderate.”
Should’ve let me hang him, Beast says.
“Shut up,” I snap.
“I didn’t say anything.”
I whirl, realizing only then that Ransom is still watching from the cell door. His gaze sweeps the floor that’s currently covered in what used to be a man and is now simply a mess. "Tidy.”
"Fuck off." I slam out of the cell and walk to the industrial sink, washing off as best I can. "Find out everything about Kathleen Caruso. Where she is, what she was promised, who promised it. Don't move on her, though."
"Why not?"
"Because she's Noemi's family." I dry my hands on a towel that's seen worse days. "As long as she doesn’t put Noemi in further danger, that's not my call to make."
It's my call, Beast says. There's an edge to it I don't like. I watch out for her. What’s her family ever done besides get her kidnapped and then turn around to tip us off for reward money?
He has a point there, but I shut the door on him before I can get distracted.
Ransom watches me with an amused look. "You've got it bad, Rian."
"Yeah. Noted." I leave before he can enjoy it any longer.
* * *
Upstairs, Justin sits in the hall exactly where I told him to be, scrolling his phone. He looks up and takes in the front of my shirt. His expression doesn’t change. "Laundry, sir? Or the burn pile? Hard to tell from here."
"Burn pile," I confirm.
"Very well." He pockets the phone. "Miss Caruso moved around some. Didn't wake up at any point, though."
I jerk my head. "Go home."
“Sir.” He goes. I clean the basement off me, scrubbing the blood under my nails until the water runs clear. By the time I'm dressed, I can hear the sound of her stirring through the wall.
Oh, thank god. I started to worry that the Gloss and the adrenaline shot fucked up something essential in her body. The relief that hits me is immense.
I'm in the kitchen, putting together something bland enough for a wrecked stomach when she comes out. She's wearing my t-shirt and a pair of my boxers rolled at the waist, her dark hair a catastrophe, her face scrubbed and pale. I suck in a deep breath.
She looks good in our clothes, Beast says. Let’s keep her that way.
My imaginary friend has a serious hard-on for this girl. He’s not the only one.
Noemi stops at the edge of the kitchen like she isn't sure she's allowed in it. She carefully takes in the scene, looking everywhere but at me.
"You're up," I say, trying to sound conversational. Like I’m a friend instead of a fiendish pit viper who’s been charmed by her presence. "How's the stomach?"
"Functional." Her voice is weak. She wraps her arms around herself, licking her lips, still not meeting my gaze. "Um. About earlier?"
I set the plate down and beckon for her to come eat. “Which part?”
She glares at me. A little part of me rejoices because at least she’s looking at me rather than everywhere else.
"I rubbed myself on a stranger and demanded he help me get off. Several times." She tells the floor this, her cheeks going red. "I'd like to formally pretend that didn't happen."
"You were drugged out of your skull. The guys who dosed you had you so fucked up that they obviously didn’t expect you to live. So don’t feel the need to explain." I slide the toast, broth, and ginger ale toward an empty stool. "Eat."
She doesn't move. Without thinking, I step around the counter. I reach to push her hair off her face, an instinct I can't seem to kill. She flinches back hard enough to stumble.
My hand drops, my pulse pounds as I study her face. She looks terrified of me. “Shit. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Noemi’s eyes flash. "You don't get to do that. We don’t know each other. You bought me. At an auction. With money."
It takes a staggering amount of effort not to react. "I know how I got you, Noemi."
"Got me." Her laugh is cruel. "Listen to yourself. You think paying for a person means you own her?"
"No." I lean back against the counter, because looming over her won't help anything. "I think it means I got to you before someone worse did. That's the whole of what it bought me. Nothing else."
"Then I can leave?"
I pin her in place with my stare. "No."
"There it is." She flails her hand. "You can't have it both ways. Either I'm free, or I'm yours. I can’t be both."
She's right, which is the irritating thing about her. She's quick. The Gloss didn't dull her intelligence.
“Noemi, don’t you want to know how I found you at the auction?”
She tilts her head, her eyes narrowing. “I didn’t know you were looking for me. I don’t know you at all.”
I glance at the cooling food I’ve made for her. She needs to eat. Her body has been through the wringer in the last week.
“I’ll tell you everything you want to know if you’ll have something to eat. Toast, broth, ginger ale… Or something else, if you want?”
Noemi drops a hand to her stomach, her lips pouting. I watch her quick mind at work, doing the math. It’s been a long time since she’s eaten anything.
“Fine.” She drops into a seat at the counter and drags the toast in front of her. She waits a moment, then snags the unopened can of soda, popping the top. “Make this make sense, Rian.”
"Where do I even start?”
She takes an experimental sip of the ginger ale. “The beginning?”
“Four months ago, I was assigned to watch the office above your bookstore.”
“Assigned?” she cuts in. “Who assigned you?”
“Ransom King. The head of the King family.”
“Ah.” Her expression hardens. “So you’re the mob.”
“We’re not the mob, exactly. Mob-adjacent? We’re arms dealers, recently arrived from Boston, looking to make inroads here.”
This earns me a glare from her. “You’re gun runners?”
“Sometimes,” I say. “Like I said, we’ve been watching operations in New York City, staking out the different boroughs and the crime families that run them. We identified the Vitellis as either a family that we could do business with… or the family that we could replace.”
Understanding dawns on her. “You were keeping tabs on my building.”
The next part is delicate. I grab a stool, sitting down, and steeple my fingers. “Yes. It started as monitoring the Vitellis, occasionally stopping by when a few of their associates were in the office upstairs. But then I saw you.”
“What do you mean, you saw me?” I don’t know if this is a good thing or not, but she takes a small bite of toast. After a moment, she takes a fuller bite.
“You’re smart. Funny. Nice. And of course, there is the fact that I find you mesmerizing.”
She coughs, choking a little. “Me?
“Yes, you.” I want more than anything to squeeze her hand, but I don’t. She doesn’t trust me yet. “I watched you for four months," I explain. "At the bookshop. Walking home. Sitting outside at that little bistro you eat at. I find you fascinating.”
“What? In what way?”
“Every way.” I shrug. “I know how you take your coffee, and which books on your bookshelf you dog-ear, and that you talk to yourself when you lock up the shop. I know everything about you, Noemi. I’m devoted to you. Obsessed with you. The only thing I've ever wanted is to keep you safe."
"Safe." She spits it out like it tastes bad in her mouth. "I felt how hard you were last night when I was pressed against you. I was practically in your lap and you were a steel bar. You're going to stand in your million-dollar kitchen and tell me this is about safety?"
That lands. She sees it on my face. Her chin comes up like she's daring me to lie about it.
But I won't.
"You're a beautiful woman," I say. "I can want you and want to keep you safe at the same time. Those two things aren't fighting each other. One of them just isn't your problem unless you decide you want it to be."
Her mouth opens, closes. She wasn't braced for honesty, which tells me plenty about the men she's known.
Noemi stands up, still a bit wobbly, making eye contact with me. “You have to let me go, Rian.”
I shake my head. “I can’t.”
Fast as a whip, she flings the mug of by-now-lukewarm broth at me. I jump back as it splatters on me. The mug cracks as it hits the floor.
“Fuck me,” I mutter.
She's fast for someone who spent four days paralyzed and two more vomiting, I'll give her that. She gets halfway across the living room before I catch an arm around her waist and lift her off her feet. “Not fast enough.”