Chapter 2
TWO
TOMA
Ifucking hate parties.
They’re a reminder that no matter what I do, there’s no concealing the bulk of my frame. I’m bigger than most people here, and some of the men are big motherfuckers. I still tower over most of them, and barely fit through the doors.
My nickname, ‘The Beast’, is on many lips tonight, and I don’t like it one bit. It’s what I can do—track and kill like an animal. It’s not who I am. At least, I’d like to think it isn’t. Especially when I’m so close to her light.
Lucie Ventura hasn’t arrived to her goodbye party yet.
She’s the only reason I’m here. For a glimpse of her, one of her real smiles. Maybe I can ask her to dance. I don’t dance but how hard can it be?
My mind stays fixated on what ifs when she finally descends the grand staircase at the Ventura mansion.
The lavish space decorated with priceless art and illuminated with expensive candelabra and designer light fixtures pales in comparison to the exquisite woman taking steps to meet the crowd assembled here for her.
Her long blond hair falls in gentle waves around her round cheeks to settle on creamy shoulders.
I’m unsure if it’s the thick mascara or false lashes making her eyes look even brighter and more lovely than usual, but damn, I can’t look away.
I’m too far to see the hazel green that has become my favourite colour, but I know every sparkle and subtle change with her emotions.
I’ve studied them a lot. Right now, I’d bet they’re tinted with that orange hue as she fights tears of joy at being surrounded by people who love her.
The shimmering, pink dress shifts on her ample body like it was designed to make her look like a goddess.
In place of her usual Doc Martens black boots are open-toe heels.
From my vantage point, I can’t see her toes but I’d bet they’re painted the exact same colour as her dress, with sparkles reflecting the light. I’d suck those toes if she’d let me.
Lucie Ventura is everything I don’t deserve.
Monsters like me aren’t meant for women like her.
Yet, my heart keeps beating a drum in my chest, and my primal brain refuses to acknowledge what I know to be true.
It simply repeats that my darkness can hold hers.
Because there’s no way Lucie Ventura is that happy and sunshine-y, with everything we witness in this life.
She told me once her father never shielded her from anything and raised her with no regard for gender roles.
Behind the bright smiles, something lurks.
I can feel it. Or maybe, I’m just even more of a monster than I thought, finding excuses to justify my obsession.
Her real smiles are so few and far between, I’ve come to know them well.
I can spot them from far away, and right now, they’re real.
Why would she waste them on foot soldiers?
I want them all for myself. I’ve lived in darkness my whole life, and she has been protected and well loved.
Yet, sadness lingers on her face so often it’s uncanny.
I want to peel all the layers of Lucie Ventura to reveal only the real sunshine and hoard it all for myself.
I’m the one who really needs it.
My whole body vibrates at her mere presence.
There hasn’t been a moment since I laid eyes on her three months ago when I haven’t looked for her every time I come here.
And I have found a lot of excuses to immerse myself into the Ventura-Dobrev operation.
People in power like them always need a good tracker on their team.
I may be useless with words, but I’m good at math and coding, patterns and human psychology.
And being invisible. All skills that matter in the underworld.
I’ve also looked for her when I’m far from the London mafia HQ, but it’s not something I’d admit in front of the Ventura-Dobrev congregation. They’d have my life for it.
The truth is, I just want Lucie to be safe and I don’t trust anyone to care about her well-being as much as I do.
Not even her cousin. After all, he married her off.
I may like the guy, and Lucie seems to hold no grudge, but that was a shit move and she should at least punch him for it.
I’ll do it for her if she’s too pressed about hurting family.
When the need to protect her got too strong, I may have hacked into her phone.
And her building cameras. And her car’s navigation system.
And her e-reader. I’ve never pretended to be a particularly ethical person.
Whatever my lady needs to thrive and be happy.
At least, I left her social media accounts alone. Even I have standards and boundaries.
Maybe that last one was a step too far, but knowing my girl has a soft spot for monster porn was a revelation.
I read along every single one of them and she devours one every two days or so.
She seems to really like the ones with something I’ve learnt is called ‘the fated mates’ trope.
Fitting, since we are fated, her and I. Even though I’m determined to stay in the shadows so I don’t taint her with my past and the blood running inside my veins.
My father’s blood. My brother’s blood. We’re the worst of human kind, and day and night are never meant to meet.
When I look at her angelic face framed with long golden strands and those deep hazel eyes, one thing is obvious. I’m the monster that protects her in the dark, never to be seen.
My little extra-curricular activities are how I know she’s due to leave London in three days to start her first semester as a Psychology student at the University of Edinburgh.
And I’m coming with her.
I weave my way through the crowd of the Ventura-Dobrev coalition and their allies, shaking a few hands as I go.
We’ve grown close while we were on our rescue mission for Dante, but right now, I don’t care about shooting the shit.
A woman approaches me and I side-step her when she tries to touch my arm. I’m not hers to touch. I’m Lucie’s.
I only care about seeing and talking to Lucie, being touched by Lucie, being seen by her. It’s a dangerous craving, one I only indulge in because we’re not alone.
She’s tucked in a corner, making Irina laugh. That’s such a weird sight. Irina Ventura doesn’t laugh. I heard her say once that she believes it’s for fools and will give her premature wrinkles. But even she can’t resist the little sunshine in pink.
Except, the sunshine in pink is lying through her teeth. That no one has noticed how Lucie hides behind exaggerated smiles and exuberant laughter is beyond me. Pain is written all over her face.
“Irina, always a pleasure,” I greet the hostess before giving Lucie my full attention. “Lucie.” Her name is pure ecstasy on my tongue.
It’d be even better if it were Lucie Kova?.
That will never happen. I’ll die soon anyway, that was always my destiny. I’m twenty-eight years-old. I don’t think I’ll make it past thirty. I’ve already been lucky to go this far. My brother is never going to let me escape him.
For a millisecond, Lucie’s mouth tightens at the corners.
I want that dark purple lipstick she wears all over my skin.
A second later, she turns on the kilowatt smile, flashing perfect white teeth and cute dimples.
That right there, that hiding she does, it makes me want to dig.
It makes me want to chase her to the ends of the Earth just to uncover her darkest secrets and deepest desires.
I let my gaze rove over her, from her toned calves and thick thighs to the hips I long to hold in my grasp, the rolls of her stomach I’d want to sink my teeth into and the generous breasts on display in her pretty gown.
Her neck is left bare. I can almost imagine my teeth marks there, and clench my jaw to stave off my reaction to that particular image.
The blush on her round cheekbones is lovely, her eyes darker from this close up, inviting me to drown in them.
I take a step forward, barely aware of Irina leaving us alone in the hidden alcove. Nothing else matters when I’m in Lucie’s orbit.
“Are you hiding from me?” I ask, voice rougher than I intend with how much she affects me, and she swallows like the question makes her uncomfortable.
“Of course not. Why would I? I don’t really care about you. I don’t even know why you’re here.”
My grin widens at her abrasive tone, so different from when she cried in my arms when Dante was taken, a weakness she didn’t allow anyone else to see.
Maybe that’s when it all started. My obsession only deepened after I saw fat tears roll down her cheeks, raw emotions wafting off her as she cried, grieving when we couldn’t find her cousin, taken by an enemy who was more shadow than man.
Her soft body against mine was ecstasy even though her tears made me want to rip the world apart just to make her okay again.
“Sorry,” she quips before dropping her gaze to the floor like her being anything but a perfect sunshine would offend me.
I crowd her space until I can smell that intoxicating flowery perfume she wears.
Ana?s Ana?s by Cacharel. I bought a bottle to spray my pillow with but it’s a pathetic copycat for how it smells on her golden skin.
I lift my index finger to her chin, tilting her head up, our eyes colliding once more. “Don’t hide your thorns, Ru?ica moja.”
“You don’t know me,” she retorts weakly, pupils blown wide.
“I’m willing to learn.”
She takes a step back and I don’t follow, my hand hovering between us. My words are too close to the truth, a temptation I have to resist. For her sake.
“Presumptuous much, piccolo? I literally got divorced last week.”
That nickname she gave me, little one… It makes my chest rumble with pleasure but I hold it in.
“It was a fake marriage,” I shrug, good-naturedly, eager to come back to neutral grounds where I’m not five seconds from pushing her against the wall and finding out what she tastes like.
It’s a strange urge since I’ve never kissed anyone. I knew the moment I showed interest in someone, my family would destroy them just to punish me from enjoying something, anything.
“I’m done with criminals,” she declares with attitude, pouting and crossing her arms over her chest.
Her breasts are spilling over the top of her dress but I stay focused on the peachy blush on her cheeks.
The little mark of frustration is uncharacteristic for anyone who thinks they know Lucie.
I love it. Unfortunately, I’m a very simple creature and she just issued a challenge.
She’s making it really hard to resist her, and she doesn’t even know it.
I never back down from a challenge. I don’t tell her that this criminal isn’t done with her, and switch subjects.
“I have something for you.”
Taking the small package from my pocket, I hand it to her, clenching my fists just so I don’t fiddle with them.
I’m riddled with an irrational fear of her disliking my gift.
I’ve been beaten, threats to my life were common while I was in Croatia, yet the prospect of Lucie refusing my gift or hating it makes me want to hide.
I’ve never given anyone any, so it’s a first. Not the only first I hope she’ll take from me.
Her shoulders sag and her face brightens with unrestrained joy. Her real smile is dazzling. It’s reserved for only a handful of times and a handful of people. It’s making me feel some kind of way to be on the receiving end and I don’t know what to do. So I do nothing.
You’re too stupid and useless. My father’s voice rings in my head and I shake it away. He has no place where she shines.
“You didn’t have to.” She rips the paper eagerly, though, her actions at odds with what she said. It’s always the case with my little rose. I have to find the true meaning hidden underneath layers of protection.
In her hands, carved in wood, are three objects, attached to a keychain. A wine glass to represent France, a ferry wheel for London, and a motorcycle helmet. My motorcycle helmet.
She observes each object carefully, grinning the entire time.
“It’s so detailed. Where did you get this?”
“I made them.”
“What?” Her mouth drops open, a vulnerable expression shining through the golden and green eyes I’ve become addicted to. Pure surprise. Lucie Ventura isn’t used to being doted on, and made to feel special. I rub at my chest, uncomfortable with that knowledge.
“I made them myself,” I shrug, self-conscious and clearing my throat. “Had to do the wine glass a few times, but I got better.”
It’s my time to swallow, throat dry and clogged. If the urge to fidget hadn’t been beaten out of me at a young age by my own brother, I’d do it right now. Instead, I remain still, waiting for her to tell me she hates it, but smile and lie about it.
Yet, I don’t see any twitching when she glances up again and thanks me.
Then, she steps forward and threads her arms round my waist. They don’t make it around me and I love that a little too much.
Her body is warm against mine, her cheek pressed to my chest. I hope she can hear my heart wildly beating for her.
I don’t waste a second wrapping myself around her in return and inhaling her feminine scent.
The only other time she let me hold her was when her cousin almost died.
Vulnerability makes her pliant. And I already know she hates it, so I enjoy the moment.
“This is very thoughtful, Toma,” she says when she releases me from the best hug of my life. “But why the helmet?”
“It’s similar to mine. A little something to remember me by.” I wink, laying it heavy on the flirting, knowing full well she’s not going to take the bait, and she rolls her eyes.
It’s not exactly a lie. I want her to think of me, to remember that I exist. She simply doesn’t know today won’t be the last time I see her.