Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
DANTE
The cold is the first thing that tugs at my awareness.
Cracking my eyes open, I fumble for my phone on the floor beside my bed with numb fingers. It’s light outside, but I’m not sure how long I’ve been asleep. All I know is I’m bone-fucking tired, my muscles hurt, and my stitches itch something fierce.
I hit the button to light up my phone screen. Shit. No way I passed out for seventeen hours.
Shoving upright, I wince at the soreness in my body. I carry my phone with me as I wander into the bathroom to piss. There’s a message from Gage.
Hey, babes. Are you okay? I guess your brother called in. Said you were sick. Let me know if I can drop anything off. Kisses.
Sighing, I close out of my phone. No. I’m not okay. Everything has been building inside of me. Fear. Anger. Sadness.
Loneliness.
The truth is, I’m suffocating, and I don’t know how to tell anyone.
On that depressing note, I finish peeing and head back to my bed to wallow.
A loud metallic rattling outside has me detouring to my window instead. There’s a moving truck parked in front of the neighboring brownstone. Not a great first impression, causing so much noise this early.
When a silver-haired figure appears from behind the truck, hauling a cardboard box, my heart falters.
Oh, hell no.
I snatch the closest hoodie off my messy floor and tug it on.
Shoving my legs into sweats and then a pair of old sneakers, I storm down the stairs.
Laz’s absence from his bedroom doesn’t go unnoticed, but I’ll overthink that later.
Probably owe him an apology for my behavior, too, but that has to wait because right now, I’m in a fucking rage.
As I stalk next door, another head pops out from behind the moving truck.
“Dante! What’s up? How ya feeling, man?” Forest calls out.
Ignoring his greeting, I march up the porch steps and through the open front door into a mirror image of my brownstone.
I quickly hunt down Rev in the upstairs bedroom that faces my own, where I suspect him to be.
He’s currently tearing the plastic wrap off a new mattress next to an upholstered gray headboard.
“No,” I spit out.
Rev straightens up. Tucking his hands into the front pockets of his light blue tailored pants, he turns to face me.
It’s not the time to notice how he looks, but I do.
He’s wearing a fuzzy pastel sweater that probably costs more than my entire bag full of expensive dance clothes.
Combined with his delicate earrings and slightly tousled hair, he looks good.
Though I’m not sure which way I prefer him—dressed like this or wearing his tactical gear.
“No what?” he asks coyly.
“No to this.” I wave my hand around the room, assuming these must be his belongings. He seems to get off on fucking with me. Moving next door is just about the biggest middle finger I can think of.
The primal way he looks me over, slowly and thoroughly, sets my body on fire. “You’re going to have to be more clear with your communication, Dante.”
He exists solely to rile me up, I swear it.
I stomp into his space but instantly regret it. It’s one thing to have his smooth, taunting voice in my ears. It’s quite another to have his warm, strong body radiating heat into mine.
Wonder how quickly he’d pin me down on that bed if I slid my hands under his sweater and spread them over the muscles I know are there.
“Dante.” His eyes dip to where my tongue swipes along my bottom lip. I’m trembling in his presence, but not because I’m scared.
No. I’m fucking cold, irritable, and highly annoyed that I’m so turned-on by the man standing before me.
Scrunching my nose, I say, “You can’t move here.”
His blue eyes flash with amusement. “Landlord said otherwise.”
“He made a mistake.”
Rev chuckles. “You gonna call him about it?”
My hands tighten into fists. We haven’t been able to get the landlord on the phone again after bringing up the issue with the heater. If I call and start complaining about his other tenants, he might decide to evict us. Honestly, we don’t pay enough rent for him to put up with our shit.
“Didn’t think so,” Rev says. “You don’t seem to care about your well-being, so it’s either this arrangement or I drag you back to Sinro, where I can better protect you. I assumed you’d prefer this.”
Neither of those choices appeal to me. I’m not a child who needs supervision.
“Third option.” I poke him in the chest. “You move right the fuck back out.”
“No can do, baby boy.”
“Stop fucking calling me that.”
His smile turns wicked. “But you blush so prettily when I do.”
I tug at my loose curls and start pacing back and forth. This won’t do. I may have been contemplating agreeing to his offered help with SIXX, but having him living next door to me, too?
Abso-fucking-lutely not.
Without thinking, I snatch up one of his boxes and haul it out of the bedroom. His airy laughter has my blood boiling. Okay, so maybe I act like a child sometimes, but I can’t stop my legs once they’re in motion.
Forest and his buddies, who I imagine must be ruthless killers in disguise as well, pay me no mind as I toss the box beside the wheel of the moving truck. It’s almost like they were warned about a potentially hostile neighbor.
My father would be ashamed of the person I’ve become. However, he’s not here to lecture me or witness the bottomless fucking depth of my grief.
I dig my fingernails into the palms of my hands. I can’t let anyone else in. I wouldn’t survive it.
“You dropped something.” Forest jogs over to scoop up the box. He winks at me before carrying it back inside the house.
I’m about to lose my shit for real. For once in my life, I want to punch something. Someone, maybe. I’d probably regret it afterward. I don’t like the idea of hurting others. Which is probably why I’m the worst person to carry out revenge for Papi’s murder.
But someone has to do something, and I can’t rely on the fucking police in this city to give a shit about anything that goes on in West Bank.
I’m angry at Rev for pulling this stunt, but I’m also angry at myself. I’m an álvarez.
And I’m fucking soft.
Rev appears on the porch. He leans against one of the wooden supports, crossing his arms over his chest. He looks like a model.
Models don’t smile like him, though.
“Keep fighting, Dante. I’m persistent when it comes to something I want,” he calls out.
“Yeah?” I scoff and flip him off. “Lose interest, asshole.”
This is where I’m supposed to make my exit and ignore his existence, but his crooked grin has me frozen to the spot, brain churning over the decision to ask for his help.
My pulse thuds quicker as he closes the distance between us, sucking me back into his orbit. His face softens and his voice lowers so only I can hear him now. “What’s going on inside that head, murder kitten?”
I huff but drop my gaze to our shoes. It takes me a while to spit out the word, “Conditions.”
Every second he doesn’t respond feels like the ticking countdown of a bomb inside me. Maybe I need to make myself clearer. Communication’s never been my strong suit.
“I’m listening,” he says.
“We can hunt them…together. But only together.”
“Whatever you think you need.”
I grimace. “You keep saying that. Of course I know what I fucking need.”
He doesn’t look the least bit fazed by my temper. For how awful I’ve been, everything I say just seems to entertain him. It’s maddening and confusing at the same time. Maddening because he literally won’t let me push him away. And confusing because a small part of me likes it.
I shut my eyes and practice a deep breath as the cold brings a shudder to my body.
“Conditions,” he counters.
“Just say them,” I mutter.
“You train with me. You follow my orders on hunts. You obey my every command.”
My eyes shoot open in outrage. “Fuck that.”
“Then you put my employees at risk, and I won’t have that.”
I glare back at him, slightly appreciative of the fact that he actually seems to care about the people he employs. I have to respect that, right? Doesn’t that mean he’s not a psychopath or whatever? Or maybe he’s just saying that out of obligation.
My gaze drifts to Forest goofing off with the other guys at the back of the truck. A twinge of jealousy hits me over the evident bond between them as they playfully wrestle.
“Fine,” I push through gritted teeth.
“Text me the next evening you work. I’ll send a car for you if I can’t be there to take you home.”
“Don’t tell me that’s one of your conditions,” I reply stubbornly.
“It is now.”
I shift my weight to get some warm blood flowing in my body. “You have another business card you could give me?”
His grin returns, making my heart skip. “What happened to the one I gave you? Tuck it under your pillow so you can dream of me?”
“I ripped it to shreds, actually.”
He tips his head back on a laugh. “Fuck me, you’re perfect. I’ll text you, then.”
With flushed cheeks, I march home and lock myself inside.