Chapter 15 #2
The main area is chaos. Bodies pack the place, the air swollen with heat from sealed windows and an overactive radiator.
From too many sweaty assholes. Every eye turns to me, waiting to see who moves first. I kick a chair out of my way.
A man stands, hands up, looking like he wishes he were anywhere else.
I grab him by the collar and shove a gun to his head.
"Where is she?"
Color drains from his face, bloodless as a fucking corpse.
"Back room," he says. "Please—"
I let him go, but the others don't get off that easy. They freeze for a second, like I kill the whole room just by being here. Then it all breaks loose. I'm already moving, blood pumping fast in my veins. She'd better be alive. If they touched her, they'll wish they were dead.
Someone lunges at me. Stupid move. I smash a fist into his jaw and feel the crack of bone.
He drops, and the rest stay back. For now.
I know their kind. They'll swarm once they think I'm not watching.
I keep my head down, drive a knee into another guy's gut, push through the noise and the heat and the stink of fear.
The lights hang dim and yellow above, but all I see is the memory of Sloane's voice when she promised not to do this. When she didn't listen.
I kick a door down, but it's empty. No Sloane.
A body slams into my side. Two of them, maybe three, fists and arms and shouts.
I hit the floor. Hard. I scramble to my feet.
She isn't here. The thought pushes through the weight of bodies.
She isn't here, and she needs to be. Needs to stay alive until I get to her.
I drive an elbow into someone's ribs, feel the rush of air as he falls back. Kick out at another pair of legs.
I fight my way back out to the hallway. The taste of blood is sharp and good.
One of them is almost laughing, the cocky fucker, and I guess he doesn't know the kind of damage I can do. He thinks he can take me. Thinks he'll live through this. His grin snaps back with the force of my punch.
It smells like sweat and old weed. A place with cracks in the walls, cockroaches in the corners. I know these buildings. Know them too well.
She'd better be there when I kick the next door down.
I crash through another room, the hum of panic steady and sharp. Shouts ring out behind me, but they're just noise, less than fucking insects. Reyes is who I want. I'll make it slow for him. Make him wish he never crawled out of whatever hole he came from.
There's shouting now, desperate and hard, and then I'm through. Reyes stands, gun raised, his smirk too big for his face. Scrawny, cocky, in all sorts of trouble. He guards a locked door, and there's no prize for guessing who's behind it.
The men stand in a loose circle, taking their time, waiting for their chance.
"Carter!" Reyes shouts, low and smug and sure. "This guy coming for you?"
He nods at me, smiles with his teeth.
I hear her voice from behind the door. Breathless. Sharp. So fucking alive it's better than blood.
"I told you he would," she says.
The words are enough to blow this whole place open.
Enough to make me crash through everything in my way.
I hit Reyes first, fast and hard. I smash the smirk off his face, feel it split under my fist. I slam an elbow into his throat.
I feel him choke, feel him drop, watch him claw at the air like the worthless bastard he is.
They come harder then. More of them.
I hit back, hit fast, knuckles raw and ready for anything. They don't get that she matters more than all their lives combined. That they can't win this.
I slam another one into the wall. Hear him gasp, feel him crumble under my fist. I grab another, fling him back like the fucking insect he is. I don't stop. Can't stop. Not when she's so close. I'm still on my feet, even as their numbers dwindle, reduced to obstacles on the floor.
My hands are sure and quick. I don't stop. Not until they're done. Not until every last one of them knows what it means to touch a girl like Sloane.
They're not getting back up. Not this time. Maybe not ever. The room goes still and bright.
I'm at the door, splinters cracking beneath my boots. Her name is on my tongue, stuck there, and I won't say it until I know. Until she's safe. I tear through the door like I'll tear through them all, not a fucking thing in my way.
And then she's there.
And then she's mine.
She's on the ground, wrists tied and red, skin paler than I've ever seen. She looks up, eyes wide and scared. Her hair is loose, messy around her face. Her lip is split, but not enough to slow her down.
"Rafaele," she says.
The rope falls away like it's nothing under my knife. I pull her off the ground and into my arms, hold her tight, tighter, breathe her in. Feel her heart beat. Feel her breathe. Feel her alive and real against me.
"Told you not to come alone," I say.
My voice is raw, too close to something I don't want her to hear. She wraps her arms around me, holds me like she thinks I'll disappear.
"And miss this?"
She smiles, but her hands are shaking.
"You're a fucking idiot, Sloane."
"There were only three guys. I thought—"
Arms still wrapped around me, like I'm the one who might vanish.
"Three?" I cut her off before she can say more. "There must be more than ten out there. Must have brought in the reinforcements."
"Because they're scared of me," she says, but I know she doesn't believe that.
I can't help the way my mouth curls up at the corner.
"Because they're scared of the Callahans, idiot."
Sharp. But maybe not sharp enough to make her stop doing this.
She's still shaking, and I hold her tighter. Hold her like I'll make her stop breathing myself if she ever runs off again. She squeezes with all her strength, a laugh catching in her throat as she leans back to look me in the eye.
"What next?" she asks, voice quivering ever so slightly.
I brush her lip, wipe the blood away. Make sure she knows.
"You're coming home."
The adrenaline burns through my system as we roar away on my bike, Sloane's arms wrapped tightly around my waist, her face pressed against my back. The Queens streets blur into the highway as we make our escape, and I can feel her heartbeat hammering against me, keeping time with mine.
I push the bike harder, faster, putting distance between us and Reyes' place. The winter wind bites at my face, but I barely notice. All I can think about is her, alive, breathing, holding onto me like I'm her anchor.
I pull off at a viewpoint overlooking the bridge, cutting the engine. The city spreads out beneath us, lights glittering against the dark sky. For a moment, neither of us moves. Her arms stay locked around me, her breath warm against my neck.
Finally, she slides off, legs shaky. I follow, watching her carefully as she walks to the railing and stares out at the skyline. I hang back, giving her space, even though every instinct tells me to keep her close.
"You okay?" I ask, my voice gruff.
She doesn't turn around. "Been better."
I pull off my gloves, stowing them in my pocket. My knuckles are raw, bloodied, evidence of what I've done tonight. What I'd do again in a heartbeat.
"You could have gotten yourself killed," I say, the words harsher than I intend.
She turns then, facing me. There's a bruise forming on her cheek, a cut on her lip. Something fierce and primal surges through me at the sight. I want to go back, finish what I started with Reyes and his men.
"I know." Her voice is small, shaken.
It hits me then, the realization of how close I came to losing her before I even had her. How it would have destroyed me to find her too late. I've seen death before, caused it with my own hands, but the thought of finding her body in that room makes me physically sick.
"Don't do that again," I say, stepping closer. "Ever."
She nods, but there's a shadow in her eyes that tells me she's not making any promises.
"Why did you come for me?" she asks.
The question catches me off guard. As if there was ever any other option. As if I could have stayed away.
"What kind of stupid question is that?" I growl.
"A real one," she says, her gaze unwavering. "You told me not to go. I went anyway. You could have left me to face the consequences."
She's right. That's exactly what I would have done with anyone else. Let them learn the hard way, if they lived through it. I've never been the type to clean up other people's messes, to risk myself for someone else's mistakes.
Until her.
"I couldn't," I admit, the words like broken glass in my throat.
"Why?"
I step closer, close enough to touch her, but holding back. "Because you matter."
Her eyes widen slightly. "To who?"
"To me," I say, the admission ripping open something I've kept locked away. "I don't know why. I don't know how. But you do."
She studies me, like she's trying to read something written in a language she doesn't quite understand.
"That scares you," she says. Not a question.
I don't deny it. "Yeah."
"Why?"
I turn away, staring out at the city. The skyline blurs as memories surge up—Alisa's terrified face the first time she saw my violent side. My mother's silent tears as she cleaned blood from my father's clothes. The way people look at us, at me, knowing what the Rosetti name means.
"Everyone I care about gets hurt," I say finally. "One way or another."
"I've already been hurt," she reminds me.
"Not by me."
"Is that what you're afraid of?" she asks, stepping closer. "That you'll hurt me?"
I turn to face her. "I know I will."
She reaches up, her fingers gentle against my cheek. I should pull away. Should keep my distance. But I can't make myself move.
"What if I'm not afraid of that?" she whispers.
"Then you're a fucking idiot," I say, but there's no heat in it.
She smiles, and something in my chest cracks open. "We've established that."
I catch her hand in mine, holding it against my face for a moment before lowering it. "Let's get you home."
She doesn't argue as we mount the bike again, her arms slipping around my waist like they belong there. Like she belongs there.
And that's the problem. Because I'm starting to think she does. Starting to think I can't imagine her anywhere else. And that terrifies me more than anything I've ever faced.
Because people like me don't get to keep the things they love. We break them. We lose them. We watch them walk away.
But as I feel her press against my back, her heart beating in time with mine, I know I'll fight like hell to change that. To be different. To be worthy of her.
Even if it kills me.