Owning Nicci

20. Nicci

20

NICCI

I ’m past the point of caring what he says. I can see in Savio’s face that he knows as well as I do that the games are over. Or, at least— his game is over.

I hadn’t planned to spill all of the past to him—or to break down sobbing in front of him. But it’s clear that it disarmed him, made him see me differently, and that can only benefit me. If he’s dropping his guard around me, so much the better.

Another shudder runs through me at the thought of what would have happened if he hadn’t come home when he did. I’d heard the door unlocking and thought it was Savio. It was too early for dinner, but I’d thought that maybe he’d had another bad meeting—and wanted to go out—or that he wanted to work out some frustration—and was going to take me to the playroom. I hadn’t dreaded that idea as much as I should have. But then that guard had come in—the one who had leered at me in the hallway when I was in my nightgown—and I’d known from the moment I saw the look on his face that I was in danger.

It had been too much. The fear of what the guard had planned for me, the shock of Savio bursting in and killing him with his hands still on me, and then how quickly Savio had scooped me up and taken me out, comforting me, asking questions…

I fell apart. I hate myself for it, but I did. And now Savio wants us to leave? I shake my head again, looking at him.

“We’re supposed to go after Vince tonight. We have the hit all planned. We talked about it.”

“We’ll do it later. We’ll make a new plan. I want to get you out of here, principessa .” Savio looks anxious, running a hand through his hair. “You can’t do this the way you are right now. You need to rest, recover.”

“Don’t fucking tell me what I need.” It bursts out of me, sharper and more defiant than I think he might tolerate, but he just looks at me, unmoving. “I want to go after Vince tonight. I want to take how I feel about what just happened and take it out on him. Don’t tell me you don’t understand that.”

Savio’s gaze holds mine, and he lets out a long breath. I can’t help but think, in that moment that stretches out between us, that he and I are far too much alike. It’s why we clash, and it’s why we can do this at all. It’s why, in the moments when he loses control, the sparks between us burn hotter than anything I’ve ever felt in my life. It’s why we make a good team. But it doesn’t matter.

I’m still going to kill him before this is all over.

Savio presses his lips together. “We’re doing it differently this time. You’re not seducing him. Don’t fucking argue with me.” He shakes his head sharply, and I let out a bitter laugh.

“I wasn’t going to. I don’t think I have it in me after what just happened.”

“Good.” He runs a hand through his hair, and despite what I said, a shiver of desire vibrates through me. No matter how much I hate him, no matter how much I despise what he’s done to me and the part he’s played in all of this, there’s something about him that calls to something in me. An undeniable chemistry that I’ve felt since the moment he first walked into that back room at the Gilded Lily. I’d almost say we were made for each other, if I believed in things like that.

But I don’t. If I ever did, I forgot a long time ago.

“I have his address.” Savio looks at me as if waiting for me to argue. “We’ll stake it out and make our move. It’s in a rough area, so it’s likely no one will take too much notice of us if we’re careful. But we’ll need to be careful and take a good bit of firepower with us. He won’t be an easy target.”

I catch something like worry in his voice, and I narrow my eyes at him. “I’ll be fine,” I say firmly. “What’s all that training been for, if not this? It’s one man.” That last comes out a bit braver than I feel—for all my bravado, I’m well aware that this one is particularly dangerous. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t want to do it. I want the anticipation, the rush, the feeling of being powerful enough to take someone down who worked for someone who hurt me, who would have once taken pleasure in hurting me himself.

I want this. I need it. And as long as Savio is willing to help me, as much as I hate to admit it, I need him too.

But I won’t need him forever.

—

It’s well after dark when Savio and I leave the penthouse. None of the guards so much as look at me, dropping their eyes when I walk past and giving me plenty of space. I can tell that they’re all afraid of what Savio might do to them if they so much as brush the line of impropriety, and it’s a welcome change after those long weeks of Barca’s men leering at me and vying for the possibility of getting me as a reward. I try not to think of how Savio’s insistence on protecting me feels, focusing instead on the job ahead of us.

I also try not to think about, as we get into the car, what we did after the last hit. I keep my hands in my lap as we drive, trying not to look at the places where my hands gripped the door and the seat, trying not to think about how the cool leather felt under my knees as Savio slammed into me.

I wonder if he’s thinking about it, too. Out of all the times he’s touched me since I came to the penthouse, all the ways he’s had me, it’s the only one that felt real. That didn’t feel staged, like a game that only he knew the rules to. It’s the only time I’ve felt like the man touching me was the real Savio.

Shoving the thought down, I focus on the plan. I have a gun tonight under my hoodie, the way Savio wears his—under his jacket, tucked in a holster. My knife is on my thigh. There’s extra ammo in my pockets. We’re both wearing all black—Savio in black pants, a black turtleneck, and a leather jacket, and me in black jeans, a T-shirt, and a hoodie. My blonde hair is covered with a black beanie, and I feel a little bit like an assassin. I start to turn to him, to make the joke, but when I glance over at him, he’s firmly looking away from me.

Not for the first time, I wonder what he’s thinking. His jaw is tight, the fingers of one hand tapping against his thigh, and I can tell he’s preoccupied.

The driver parks where Savio sent him a pin—an alley a block down from the house where we’ll find Vince. He pulls into the narrow alleyway and parks. Savio leans forward. “Leave it running,” he says curtly, then opens the door, motioning for me to follow him.

I slip out after him, into the shadows of the alley. It stinks, and I wrinkle my nose as we slink down to the other end, wincing when my boot splashes into a puddle. I’m not sure if I want to know what it is that I just stepped in.

“Follow me.” Savio’s voice is low, almost too low to hear what he says. I nod, following him through the darkness, into the thin alleyway that cuts behind the row of shabby houses in this neighborhood.

Most of them are dark, with the occasional light on, gleaming through broken blinds or a sheet thrown over a window. I hear a dog barking several houses down, and freeze—but Savio motions for me to keep going.

The backyards are tiny, with cracked concrete, broken fences, and junk littering the spaces. Another dog barks, louder this time, and Savio shifts to the other side of the alley, motioning me through the pools of shadows and away from the light that beams down from a single streetlight.

“This one,” he mouths, as we pause at a back gate with a broken hinge. He reaches out one gloved hand, flipping the latch, and slowly inches the gate open. I wince, waiting for it to creak, but there’s no sound. I don’t know if it would matter if there was; the house is entirely dark.

Savio and I pick our way through the tiny backyard—around a rusted bike and an old grill, past a pile of trash that no one’s bothered to get rid of. The back door to the house is sliding glass, and Savio reaches a hand into his pocket, sliding out a thin leather case that he pulls a lockpick out of.

“Wait,” he says, in a hushed voice, and I stay close to the fence, a foot away from him as he quickly, expertly picks the lock.

“Be ready for anything.” He reaches out, slowly sliding the door open, and both of us slip into the silent darkness of the house.

It smells musty—like unwashed dishes and air that’s been still for too long. I see a stack of pizza boxes on the counter, a full trash can next to the island, and a tower of dishes in the sink as we step into the kitchen, every movement careful in case of squeaky floors. The floor is linoleum, slick and faintly shiny in the dim light coming from the next room, and I hear what sounds like clicking from past the doorway.

Savio motions towards it, insinuating that he should go first. I narrow my eyes, shaking my head, and his mouth thins. We argued about this before, and I thought we’d come to an understanding, but maybe not. It’s clear that he wants to take point, and I don’t want him to be the one to kill Vince.

After today, of all days, I want to be the one who pulls the trigger.

I see his jaw tighten, but he nods, taking a step back. I hesitate for just a second, surprised that he gave way…but only for a moment. I’m not about to squander this.

I slink past him towards the door, my hand slipping inside of my hoodie to go for the gun. Carefully, I nudge the door open, peering through the crack. My heart drops.

It’s not just Vince. He’s sitting in front of a huge TV, playing some shooter game. There are three other guys with him—lounging on the beat-up couches. Two of them playing as well, and one with his feet propped up on the coffee table, beer in one hand and his phone in the other. None of them are paying attention, clearly, but they will be in a moment. And four against two, while not the worst odds, isn’t what we were prepared for.

I turn back to Savio, using my fingers to motion to him that there are four men in the room, rather than just the one. He winces, sliding his gun free and checking the clip before nodding.

I take a deep breath and push open the door, stepping into the room.

It takes a moment for anyone to notice that I’m walking in. The guy on his phone looks up first, and his gaze sweeps over me, a lascivious smile curling his lips as he takes me in. “What the hell’s this, Vincey?” he cackles. “You call a stripper? Come over here and do me first, love. I’m in the mood for a pretty thing to grind on me for a bit.”

Vince snatches the headphones off of his head, twisting around as the other two guys do the same, the two of them finally catching up. “What the fuck? I didn’t call any?—”

“No, you didn’t.” My voice is cool, detached, and I almost feel as if I’m listening to myself from outside my body. “And sorry, love ,” I tell the first guy sarcastically. “I’m doing Vince first.”

“Who the fuck—” Vince’s eyes widen. “Nicci.” My name comes out as a curse. “I’ve been fucking waiting for this day.” He shoots up out of the chair, his hand twitching towards his side as he moves towards me.

“Oh, good.” I smile at him. “So have I.”

My gun comes up just as he goes to grab for his. I hear one of the other guys shout, and the sound of Savio coming in from behind me, but all of my focus is on Vince. I aim, my finger curling against the trigger like Savio has shown me a hundred times now, and I shoot, just as he pulls his gun out from his waistband.

The first shot goes wide, hitting him in the arm. He yowls in pain—just as I hear the dull crack of Savio’s gun, the silencer keeping it quiet as he takes down one of the other guys. I aim again, pulling the trigger just as Vince starts to come at me, and this time I hit my target—right in his chest.

He drops, groaning, to the floor. I stride towards him, pressing my boot into the bleeding wound as I grin down at his pained face.

“Tell Barca I said hello,” I snarl, and I pull the trigger again.

The world seems to narrow down around the two of us, my heart pounding in my ears as I hear Vince’s cry, silenced in the instant that my bullet hits his forehead. And then, before I can pull myself out of the haze of satisfaction, I hear Savio shout my name. I hear another shot going off—and a pair of muscled arms grab me from behind.

I smell leather and cigarette smoke as I hit the ground hard, and I feel the muscled weight of a man’s body shoving me down into the carpet. “Fucking bitch !” a voice growls into my ear, and I try to wrench away from the grasp he has on me, struggling as I kick and punch. I hear Savio curse, hear another shot go off, another, and I can’t see if someone hit Savio. I can’t see what’s happening at all, and I throw my head back, slamming it into the other man’s face as I wriggle away.

Savio is coming toward me. The other three guys are on the floor, dead, and I hear myself call out Savio’s name as the guy who wrestled me down, who must have been in another room, grabs my ankles and hauls me back. Savio is reloading his gun, and I hear him yell for me to hang on, but I’m not about to wait on him.

My gun is an inch away. The man hauls me backward before I can grab it, his hand closing on my face, thick and meaty. He squeezes my cheeks together, shoves me down onto my back as he crawls over me, and he must weigh over two hundred pounds, all of it muscle. I can’t breathe, and he jerks my head up, slamming it back down into the floor. The room swims around me, and all I can think is that at least this man doesn’t seem to want to fuck me—but he definitely seems to want to kill me.

I scrabble at him with both hands, reaching up to claw at his face. He slams my head back down into the floor again. I open my mouth to try to draw in a breath, gasping for air—and a hot, wet spray hits my face as a hole opens up in the man’s head above me. I taste iron, thick and warm, and I gag, bile filling my throat as the man slumps to one side.

I roll over as I hear Savio rushing toward me, spitting onto the carpet to get the taste out of my mouth. Savio’s arm goes around me, pulling me up, and the whole room spins as I get to my feet. I’ve never been this lightheaded in my entire life, and I’m not sure that I’m not going to pass out.

“Nicci.” Savio’s voice is urgent. “Can you walk?”

“I’ll figure it out.” My voice is thick. “We need to go.”

“No shit.” His arm is still around my waist as we head for the back door. I can hear the dogs barking in the neighborhood, louder now, and I wonder how much noise we actually made. “The driver is coming around,” Savio says, pulling a burner out of his pocket. “I’ll call the cleaner. We have to get out of here, quickly, before someone calls the cops.”

The world is still tilting around me as we hurry out into the backyard. The car is waiting a few feet away, and Savio ushers me toward it, tapping out a message on the burner with his other hand. He pushes me inside, sliding in after me, and gives an address to the driver that I don’t recognize.

“Where are we going?” I lean my head back against the seat, closing my eyes. My head hurts. Everything hurts.

“A safe house. Little cabin upstate that I own. It’s where I was going to take us earlier—before you insisted on hitting Vince tonight anyway.” There’s no recrimination in Savio’s voice, just a matter-of-fact tone, and I nod. I was the one who insisted on it. And I don’t regret it.

“Don’t fall asleep,” Savio says. “You might have a concussion. No telling.”

I rub a hand across my face, wincing as I feel the bruises where the man gripped my cheeks. “I know.”

“Knowing doesn’t mean you won’t.” There’s worry in his tone, and I crack one eye open, relieved to see that he’s not moving back and forth now, the way everything was a moment ago.

“You saved me again.” My voice sounds a little hoarse. “For someone who hates me, that ends up happening an awful lot.”

He looks away. “You belong to me,” he says flatly, but it doesn’t sound the same as when he’s said it before. There’s something hollow in his voice, and my heart trips, traitorously, in my chest. “You were expensive,” he adds, leaning his head back against the seat.

I swallow hard. He says it as if that’s the only reason, but I’m not sure that I believe that any longer. I’m not sure he does, either.

My chest tightens as I remember the way he scooped me up and carried me to his room earlier this afternoon. The way he pulled me down and held me in his lap. I hate him, I remind myself—but it doesn’t land the way it usually does. He hurt me, too. He used me like they all have.

I steal another glance over at him. He’s looking out of the window now, jaw tight as it always seems to be, and I can’t help but think that it’s different. He hurt me, yes. Used me, yes. But there seems to be a reason for it that’s not the same as all the others. Something more personal. I’m not sure that it’s out of the desire purely to hurt, to take pleasure in my suffering. That it’s as malicious as my father and brother and all of those other men have been.

He’s been using me for revenge, just as I’ve been using him. And can I really throw stones, when I’m still planning to kill him? When the very last bullet I’ll shoot will have his name on it?

I swallow hard as guilt threads through me. I suspect that Savio’s feelings for me are starting to run deeper than he’s said. That it’s more than just that he’s invested a staggering amount of money in owning me. He’s fighting it tooth and nail, I can see that, too, but I don’t think things are the same for him now. The fact that he hasn’t breathed a word about putting me in my place again, despite all my defiance today, is proof enough of that.

Dead man walking. He called my father and brother that today, not knowing that to me, he’s the same thing. I’ve decided that I was going to kill him from the moment I realized what he’d done, that he’d bought me from my father and made me his captive, and nothing about that has changed.

It’s not going to, no matter how many times he saves me. No matter that my heart cracked open a little today, when I saw the rage in his face at the story I told him. When he said, viciously, that he was going to kill my father and brother for what they did to me.

He’s a hypocrite for saying it, though, after what he’s done. And I’ve never promised him anything.

I’ve promised myself their blood. His blood. And then my own freedom.

It doesn’t matter if I’m starting to question whether or not he might be a better man—deep down—than the one I thought he was at the beginning. I'm starting to wonder if we might be more alike than even I realized, if he, too, has been through things that warped him into a villain that he never meant to become.

I bite my lip, looking out of the window as we drive through the Lincoln Tunnel, out of the city towards upstate New York. I don’t know how long this drive is going to be, but I close my eyes, fighting sleep.

Next to me, I hear Savio shift in the seat, and a part of me wishes he’d reach for me.