29. Riley
The food Loganmade for me sits like a lump of lead in my stomach, weighing me down and making it impossible to move. I have no idea how the casual, relaxed atmosphere in the kitchen changed so quickly, and I’m kicking myself for ruining what had been a nice moment… although I still have no idea what happened.
When it becomes clear that Logan isn’t coming back, I make myself get up, automatically starting to tidy up the kitchen and put away the rest of the food he left out before I realize how fucking stupid that is. I don’t know where anything goes, and Logan’s already made it perfectly clear that he hates when people touch his shit.
So I leave everything out on the counter where he left it.
I don’t run into anyone else when I leave the kitchen, but I’m not sure I’m up for the whiplash that Maddoc and Logan often give me, so I decide to hole up in my room until one of them gives me a reason to leave it.
I wish like hell that the reason would turn out to be Chloe being freed, but wishes are about as likely to work out for me as breakfast with Logan did, and it doesn’t surprise me that I don’t hear any big rescue plans from the men for the rest of the day, even though we now know exactly where to find my sister.
“Stay strong, little sis,” I mutter quietly, resting my forehead on the cool glass of the window in my room as the sky starts to darken later that night. “Just a little while longer. We’ll see each other again soon.”
I miss her so fucking much. I’m scared for her, of course, and it guts me that I haven’t been able to protect her well enough. But, maybe selfishly, I also miss her. I miss joking around and being with family and just… feeling normal.
I sigh, turning away from the window, and decide to brave the kitchen again and find something to eat. It’s been hours, all damn day, since I stuffed myself on Logan’s gourmet spread, and at least being hungry is a problem I can do something about.
I’m still feeling wary of running into any of the guys as I venture downstairs, so of course when I pass the living room one of them is there.
Dante.
He looks up, a tumbler of what looks like whiskey in his hand, and I bite my lip when I see how warm his eyes get.
I nod in greeting but keep walking toward the kitchen. I came down for food, not company, and with some papers spread out next to him, he looks like he’s working on something anyway.
“Hey, princess,” he says before I’ve taken more than a step or two. “Don’t go.”
I cross my arms over my chest, stopping where I am. “Why not?”
He cocks his head to the side like he’s thinking, then shrugs and holds up a bottle of amber liquid. “I’ve got whiskey.”
A shot of heat goes through me as I’m reminded of the first time we met, but I wave away the offer. “I haven’t eaten anything since this morning. It would probably be a bad idea to drink on an empty stomach.”
“Probably,” he agrees with a wink, beckoning me closer. “But there’s one thing you forgot.”
“What?” I ask, taking the bait and joining him in the living room.
He grins. “You’re really good at bad ideas.”
I laugh in spite of myself as I come to a stop in front of the couch. Fucking Dante. He’s bad for me in all the best ways.
He chuckles, looking a bit smug at having gotten a reaction out of me, but when he reaches for a second glass and looks up at me, his face goes serious in a way that tugs at the most vulnerable parts of me. “Rough night last night. How are you doing?”
“I’m fine,” I say quickly, both loving and hating that he asked.
He gives me a long look, then chuckles again as he pours, shaking his head. “I know you are. That’s what’s fucking us all up.”
He hands me the glass, and although I probably shouldn’t take it, the smoky, spicy scent is too good to resist. My nerves and emotions are less keyed up than they were yesterday, but I could still use a drink.
“What are you talking about?” I ask. “What’s fucking you all up?”
He shakes his head again, topping up his own glass, and I smack his shoulder when it looks like that’s the only answer he plans on giving me.
“Dante, I’m serious. What do you mean?”
“You’ve got an indomitable spirit,” he finally says, pushing aside the paperwork and tugging me down onto the couch next to him.
I hiss when the pressure on my belted ass lights it up, squirming a little at the feeling. Dante turns toward me, running a calloused finger down the curve of my cheek.
“I saw it from the first moment I met you, princess,” he murmurs. “And it’s fucking incredible. Me and my brothers, we’re used to breaking things. Hell, we kinda like it sometimes, especially Madd. But you? You just won’t break.”
My throat gets tight, and I have to look away.I don’t trust this man to have my best interests at heart, but I do trust him to be honest. He’s never promised more than he’s delivered, and if he thinks I’m strong…
Well, I know I am. I have to be.
But sometimes, it really, really helps to hear it from someone else too.
“Drink up,” he says, tapping my glass with his and then downing his whiskey in one gulp.
I follow suit, and he immediately pours us both another.
“Where is everyone?” I ask, twisting the glass in my hand. I’m not sure I should drink too much if it means losing my edge when I need to stay on guard.
“Out,” Dante says, lounging back, one arm spread out along the back of the couch.
I roll my eyes. “Is that your way of telling me it’s not my business?”
He chuckles. “Nah, it’s just true. They’re out. Taking care of shit. It’s just you and me.”
“So basically, you’ve been left behind to babysit?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
He grins without answering, and I snort back a laugh, looking away again before the piercing green of his eyes can suck me in.
I take another drink, actually tasting it this time. It’s good, much better than the bottle we shared back at Club M, and when I tell Dante so, he grins.
“I like nice things every once in a while,” he says, his eyes heating up as I take another sip and savor it. He lets that vibrant green gaze of his drift lazily down to my mouth, then lower, watching my throat as I swallow.
“That shit was stupid at the club last night,” he murmurs gently.
I look away. “I know.”
“Coulda gone really bad.”
I glare at him, the concern in his voice threatening all that inner strength he was just praising. “I know. I just… I saw someone grab Chloe. What did you expect? I can’t just let that happen.”
Dante’s big hand wraps around the back of my neck, squeezing just enough to ground me against the wave of emotions rising up inside me. “Breathe, princess. I get it. But it was still stupid, and you can’t be. Not around all of this. Not if you’re gonna survive it.”
The gangs, he means. This life. This world. And he’s right, but that’s the whole problem.
I was never supposed to let Chloe near them.
I was supposed to protect her.
“I just snapped,” I admit, squeezing my eyes closed as memories slam into me. Not just of last night, but of the first time I ever saw her, looking no bigger than a pink-wrapped burrito when they brought her home from the hospital. Tiny, perfect, and as fragile-looking as the delicate set of china our mom used to have before Frank broke it.
“You love the fuck out of her,” Dante notes, giving the back of my neck one more reassuring squeeze before sitting back. “Anyone can see that.”
I sigh, opening my eyes. “She’s my best friend. She just turned eighteen. I’m seven years older than her, so maybe it sounds weird that we’re so close, but we’ve always been that way. Maybe because it’s always been just the two of us.”
“How old were you when your mom died?”
“Ten. Chloe was three. Too young to understand what any of it meant, really.” I clear my throat. “I’d always looked out for her, but from that point on, I was part mother, part sister to her. I tried to live up to what our mom would’ve done, but I don’t know if I ever succeeded in that.”
I finish off my whiskey in a single swallow before holding out my glass for more. Dante obliges, and I take another sip before continuing.
“There was this old movie our mom was obsessed with for some reason,” I say, deciding to focus on a happier memory. “We had it on DVD when we were kids, and she’d watch it over and over and over. Whip It. Have you seen it? It’s about roller derby.”
“Don’t think so. Should I?”
“No, it doesn’t matter,” I say, grinning at the interest that lights in his eyes. “It’s not even that good. But still, Chloe and I must have watched it a million times when we were kids.” I flip my hair and lisp like Maggie Mayhem. “Put some skates on. Be your own hero.”
He gives me a blank look at the quote, and I roll my eyes at him.
“So after I started stripping and actually had a little money,” I go on, “I bought us each a pair of roller skates at this secondhand shop over on Miller and Tenth.”
Dante nods. “Seventeenth Street territory.”
I shrug. I’ve never heard of them, but I assume he means another gang. “Anyway, the first time we try out our new skates, Chloe goes all Babe Ruthless, bites it hard, and knocks out her front tooth.”
He winces, and I don’t blame him. There was blood. So much blood.
“So, that sucked,” I say, which makes him laugh, a deep, warm sound that makes my stomach flutter. “But then, when I take her in to get it fixed, they give her those drugs they use for wisdom teeth, you know?”
“I’ve seen some videos,” he says, arching a brow. “Did she think there was a zombie apocalypse? Decide she was a unicorn?”
I grin. “Nope. We were both superheroes, and she was totally paranoid that someone would find out my secret identity since I’d forgotten my mask. Every time one of the nurses came into the room to check on her, she’d put her hand in front of my face to try to hide me.”
“What about her? Didn’t she need a mask?”
I shake my head, smiling at the memory. “Nope. Her superpower was going invisible.”
His brow crinkles as he considers that. “But then wouldn’t they have seen through her?”
“I know, right? That’s what I kept saying!”
He’s still chuckling as he takes another sip of his whiskey. “Dad used to date a girl who did roller derby.”
“Are they still together?” I ask, suddenly intensely curious to hear about his life.
“Nah.” He pauses for a moment. “They were always on again, off again. ‘Off’ when Dad got taken out. But when they were on, man…” He grins, skimming right over the part where I’m pretty sure he just told me his father was murdered. “We used to have some fun. She was a wildcat. No fear at all, and she could talk him into taking us to the craziest places.”
He goes on, relaxed and easy, sharing a few lighthearted stories that have me smiling. But when he winds down, I can’t stop myself from asking the question that’s been buzzing in the back of my mind ever since he mentioned his father.
“How old were you when your dad died?”
His eyes go flat, and he finishes off the last half inch of whiskey in his glass before refilling it. “Fourteen,” he says after a minute.
I guess that’s all he wants to give me, so I’m not sure why I don’t just leave it alone. “Was it just the two of you, then?”
He’s never mentioned his mother.
Dante nods, then takes a deep swallow of whiskey.
I wonder what he did once he was on his own, if he ever saw the roller derby woman again, how he took care of himself. But what I end up asking is, “How did he die?”
He finishes off his drink again, then stares into the empty glass, a storm cloud passing over his face.
Fuck. My stomach clenches with nerves, but it’s not the same as this morning, with Logan. I’m not as unnerved by Dante as I am by Logan, but I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he picked up and left just like Logan did, now that I’ve crossed over into something that’s obviously too personal.
And maybe it would be better for both of us if he did, but… I don’t want that.
I chew my lip, grasping for something to say to get us back into the easy-going mood I just ruined.
Before I can come up with anything, he sighs, then looks up at me with a wry grin. “Need a refill?”
“Yup.” I shoot the rest of my whiskey, almost choking on the quick burn, and hold out my glass.
He laughs, pours us each another, then leans back, kicking out his legs as the tension in his face eases and his charming smile returns. “Tell me more about your sister. She as tough as you?”
“I made sure she doesn’t have to be,” I say, pushing away thoughts of how that might not be true anymore.
“Yeah? And how did you go about that?” Dante asks. He leans a little closer, twisting a lock of my blue and purple hair around his finger.
“She used to get bullied a little in high school,” I say, plucking a random story out of my memory. “She didn’t want to tell me about it at first, but once I found out…”
“Let me guess.” He smirks. “You showed up and kicked the mean girls’ asses for her.”
I scoff. “Girls? Please. It was this prick who thought he was a bigshot because he was captain of the wrestling team.”
Dante laughs. “Twice as big as you and twice as mean?”
“No one’s twice as mean,” I say, cocking a challenging eyebrow at him.
“I dunno, princess.” His voice drops to a low burn, and he tugs gently on the strand of hair he’s still holding, “You seem pretty sweet to me.”
“Don’t fool yourself.” I lick my lips, my cheeks suddenly feeling warm as something flutters in my stomach. The way he’s looking at me reminds me too much of the first night we met, and I look away before he can read those thoughts on my face.
“I think you should cut me off,” I murmur, swirling the remaining whiskey in my glass before emptying it.
“Sure,” Dante says easily. “Whatever you say.”
He eases the glass out of my hands, brushing his thumb over my lower lip to catch the last drop. He tugs on my hair again, and I drift toward him, mesmerized by the lazy curve of his lips as he smiles at me with hooded eyes.
“I fucking love this color,” he murmurs, smoothing the long blue strand he’s been playing with down over my chest, then reaching up to brush a purple one away from my face.
He lets his hand linger on my cheek, and I lean into it without thinking.
“Me too,” I say, although I’m not talking about my hair. “I’ve always liked green.”
Those gorgeous emerald eyes crinkle at the edges as his smile grows, the vibrant color sparkling. Pulling me in even deeper.
“Yeah?” His voice turns husky as the energy between us shifts.
“Yeah,” I whisper, my heart stuttering.
I really shouldn’t have had so much whiskey. It’s broken down too many of my walls.
I’m too open.
He sees too much.
But right now, I really don’t care.