Chapter 6
Soren
My heart is still racing in my chest from the shit that went down at Carmine’s club. I’d only been watching him to make sure he wasn’t going to get up to anything dangerous again. He’d been in that damn office for hours, and I’d been about to leave.
It’s a good thing I didn’t.
My stomach turns as I think about what that disgusting motherfucker Jackson was trying to do to him. Of all the bullshit I thought he might pull, trying to rape a Dresvanni wasn’t on the list.
Now he’s dead. Lying in a pool of his own blood on the office floor. I’m almost sad that I don’t have a front row seat to it anymore. That I didn’t take a picture or two just to be able to remember that he’s gone for good.
Getting Carmine somewhere safe is more important.
I’m not sure why I care so much, but for some reason my hands tremble at the thought of Jackson actually hurting him. The fact that he even touched him is enough for me to want to find the rest of those Carvels and show them what getting involved with us—me, really means.
I can’t. That’d be stupid. I need to focus on the plan.
On Carmine.
“Your uncle isn’t going to be pissed off that I know where this safe house is now?
” Carmine asks me as we walk through the side door of the place.
A small cottage a half mile or so from the docks where the fishermen leave their boats for the night when they’re finished reeling in their catch.
Where kids and their grandparents cast off for a day of catch and release, and where my family put a place to go when going home wasn’t an option.
“Maybe. I’ll deal with it,” I tell him. “Right now, we need to talk.”
“About? You shot Jackson in the head, he’s done. There’s nothing to talk about.” Despite Carmine’s words and the stern look on his face, he still stands in the entryway while I double lock the door and flip on the light that dimly illuminates the entryway and the living space ahead of us.
“What he tried to do to you…all because he thought you were fucking Victoria…” I mumble and move past him toward the kitchen after shrugging off my leather jacket and leaving it by the door.
“Which I’m not, if that isn’t clear,” Carmine says. “Regardless, it’s over. I don’t even know why I’m here.” I can tell he’s following behind me.
“I really don’t give a damn if you are or not,” I insist. It’s a lie.
In the pit of my stomach, there’s an ache when I think about him screwing with Victoria Carvel.
“But look at you, you’re covered in Jackson’s blood, you’re still practically shaking.
” I motion to his arms. His fingers are twitching.
“You look like shit.”
He scoffs. “Fuck you, Soren,” he turns and starts to walk away from me.
“Fine. You don’t want my help. Guess you don’t need it.” I shrug but continue to lean down and go through one of the cabinets under the sink until I find what I’m looking for. I pull a first aid kit out and place it on the counter.
I hear his footsteps practically stomping away from me, but then they stop, and start again, this time coming back.
“Why exactly do you think I need your help?” Carmine asks me. “Why do you think we need your help? You give us extra guards, you stalk me, kill Jackson Carvel…”
I look over at him, just eying him in his suit with blood splatters all over it for a moment.
Truly, I’m thinking about how hard that shit is gonna be to get out, but I’m also admiring him.
It feels wrong after what just happened, but damn, he looks good.
Sweaty, bloody, exhausted even. Even looking like shit he looks hot as fuck.
I blink, realizing I’m distracted. “Does it matter?” I ask in return.
He laughs. “Now you’re fucking with me,” he points. “Does it matter…of course it does. Wouldn’t you be asking these questions if we traded places?”
I hum once and turn my attention to getting a few things out of the first aid kit.
“They couldn’t have killed my dad, he’s already dead, so, maybe not,” I reply with a bit of a smirk.
Suddenly, the back of my shirt at my neck is balled up in Carmine’s fist and he pulls me back to look him in the face.
“I’m not fucking around here, Soren. Why should I accept your help?”
I yank myself away from him, and he lets go of me more easily than I would’ve expected.
“Well first of-fucking-all, you’re clearly not at your best right now.
You smell like a fucking distillery, and you’re barely sleeping.
Right? How many hours are you getting per night, two, maybe three?
That’s after you pass out from the alcohol, hmm?
” I turn to square up with him. I tower over him with my broad shoulders and cast a shadow down on his face.
He somehow looks even smaller in this venue.
“Do not start shit with me; you don’t want to finish it,” Carmine snaps.
I step even closer to him and put a hand on his shoulder.
“I do, and I will. You’re the one with more to lose, Dresvanni,” I growl out at him.
“Your father was just shot down in his own office, possibly by the family of the very guy who just tried to rape you in your own damn office, and you’re probably drinking yourself to death.
Fucking around with your cock out in the back of some filthy alley.
You ain’t bringing guards with you when you go out, but you’re complaining when they don’t do their jobs.
You wanna be all in control of everything, but you’re not.
You’re a fucking mess, Car. You need someone to have your back when you don’t want to bring anyone else.
You might not like it, but you need me.”
Carmine stares at me with those dark brooding eyes of his, and I watch his jaw shift and tighten as he grinds his teeth. Much more of that and he’s gonna need a dentist not me.
My own jaw and neck feel tense as I stand so close to him. Our chests nearly touch. There’s not a single drop of blood on me, but I’m beginning to wonder if I press against him, if Jackson’s blood with transfer to my t-shirt. Or maybe it’s too dried now.
“Why?” he asks me. “Just answer one question. Why do you care what happens to me?”
I don’t know.
That’s what I want to say. I want to tell him I care about him for some godforsaken reason that I don’t understand, but I know that’s a dumb idea. I can’t care about him. I shouldn’t. Everything needs to be for my own gain, for the family’s gain.
Not for some weird heart-on I seem to be acquiring. Worse than a hard-on, those can be taken care of in five minutes.
This? I’m not sure what to do with this. Obsession. This desire to see every part of him unfurl under my hands, at my doing. Perhaps even if it means his death.
No one will hurt him but me.
No one will protect him but me.
Only me.
“If you die, Alessio will never work with me,” I reply simply. I smirk a little, so he knows that it’s true but also doesn’t read into the frustration crawling up my spine.
He eyes me. “True. He doesn’t want us to work with you at all, but…” he trails off.
“Should I be asking you why?” I raise a brow.
“Don’t,” he mumbles. “I’ve had enough talking.”
I turn and grab a cotton pad and witch hazel from the counter and pour some on.
“Good. I’m getting tired of your voice. Let me clean the blood off your face,” I tell Carmine. He rolls his eyes and starts to step back.
“That’s unnecessary, I’ll just go home.”
Before he can move away from me completely, I reach out with my other hand and grab him by the back of his hair. Something I don’t realize I’ve wanted to do since I first saw him. My knuckles brush his scalp and he makes a sound low in his throat that I’m not so sure is displeasure.
“Just let me help you, you stubborn ass,” I snap. I grip his hair tighter as he tries to pull away from me.
“What the fuck,” Carmine grumbles and puts one of his hands on my chest. His eyes flash with icy cold anger and the next thing I know, his fist is meeting my cheek.
I fall back against the counter as stars blur my vision for a few seconds. I don’t recognize the pain, not really, instead the look on Carmine’s face strikes me harder.
“Shit,” I mumble and pull my hand from his head.
Jackson had grabbed his hair, hadn’t he? Before he’d gotten him to the ground. I can’t quite remember. It all feels like a blur; all I know is that Carmine’s eyes are shining with tears and his breath is heavier.
“Just… Hey man, it’s fine,” I insist. “I’m not gonna do what that bastard tried to do. I’d never do that shit.”
Carmine’s eyes widen. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he asks. “I’m fine. I didn’t think… There’s nothing to think about.”
His throat bobs as he swallows, his adam’s apple more prominent than my own.
“That’s a damn lie and you know it.” I reach out slowly this time and brush the cotton pad with witch hazel on it against his jawline.
Carmine’s shoulders stiffen for a moment, but then relax…mostly.
I can tell as I start to wipe at the dried blood on his face that he’s somewhere else entirely. His gaze is across the small kitchen, locked not onto something but through something.
I know that look. I’ve felt that look in one way or another. I keep my mouth shut and just clean the blood off his face and neck. I watch as his skin moves under the cotton pad and the liquid soaks up the blood until the fabric is a pink tinge and I have to grab another.
Droplets of the witch hazel run down his neck and below the collar of his shirt. Carmine shivers gently, and I find myself struggling not to want to make him do it again. I brush my fingers along his neckline this time, not the cotton.
I feel his pulse. Quick, but steady.
The scent of his skin and hair is marred by blood, but it doesn’t make it worse. No, it only makes it better for me. I ache to lean in and press my nose against him. Inhale him. Until his scent occupies every part of me, and I overtake him.