FORTY #3
I felt it before he even finished the sentence – the hair on the back of my neck standing up.
‘If Cain ever showed a dark side, I’m a phone call away.’
And then he gave me that debonair smile of his.
A perfectly harmless smile. A Vinnie-smile. But something about it sat wrong. Not because of what he said, but because of how well he knew Cain.
And his dark side.
Dark enough to warn me about.
Was he? Warning me?
Or simply testing the ground?
Because I knew Cain’s dark side, too. I’d seen it, felt it, fucking enjoyed it.
And if that was the darkness Vinnie was referring to, then he really didn’t understand a damn thing about me.
So I gave a friendly, though somewhat sour smile. A thank-you and a reprimand all in one for outing his friend and testing his girl. ‘Thanks, Vinnie. You’re a real friend.’
Something sparked in his eyes. It could have been amusement. Or perhaps… understanding.
I turned, gesturing towards the house.
He tilted his head in a mock bow, still grinning as he handed me the duffel. And just before I turned my back on him, I swore I felt his eyes lingering a second too long.
‘There’s a nice hoodie for you in there!’ he called as I climbed the stairs, his voice carrying easily in the quiet night as I stepped towards the front door.
‘Thanks, Vinnie!’ I shot back, already halfway up.
‘Send me a picture of you wearing it?’ he added, full of mischief.
I turned swiftly, nailing him with a look that was two parts amusement, eight parts don’t-push-your-luck.
‘Good night, Vinnie!’ I threw over my shoulder, making it clear I was done entertaining his nonsense.
I heard him chuckle, the easy shuffle of his footsteps fading into the darkened street.
And then, just as I reached the highest step, my eyes landed on it.
A small box sat at the base of the door. Harmless at first glance. Ordinary, even – about the size of a black jewellery case.
But the moment I saw it, my stomach dropped.
The air, soothing and warm a second ago, suddenly became sharp and biting over my skin. My breath went tight in my chest.
I snapped my head towards the street, searching for Vinnie, but he was gone – swallowed up by the night.
A prickle ran along the back of my neck.
I looked around, hyperaware of the streetlamp flickering just a few feet away, the way the distant hum of the city seemed to pull back, as if waiting. Listening.
Then I looked down again. The box sat there, utterly still, as if watching me right back.
I should have left it alone. I would have.
If it didn’t have Cain’s name on it.
I jabbed the call button again, my fingers tight around the phone. Nothing. The arsehole still wasn’t picking up.
‘Fuck!’ I snarled, pacing in front of the door. My breath came fast, uneven, each inhale laced with irritation. ‘Why the fuck aren’t you answering?’
A pang of dread skittered down my neck. What if he was hurt?
The night air bit at my skin as I inhaled sharply, forcing myself to focus. The box sat in front of my uncle’s door like a tiny Pandora’s box of nightmares – small, unassuming, yet it radiated wrongness.
The call went straight to voicemail. After the beep, I took a deep breath, tempering my unrest.
‘Cain. I don’t know what the fuck you’re doing, but I’m standing outside my uncle’s place, and there’s a box here with your goddamn name on it. Come here. Please.’
I hung up, my pulse a frantic drumbeat in my ears.
My eyes locked on the box again.
An insidious shiver rippled through me. It spread like frost under my skin.
Could it be from Travis? But why the hell would he leave something for Cain? Unless he wanted to mind-fuck him.
Then Vinnie’s words slithered into my thoughts, a whisper of warning I’d shoved into the back of my mind.
‘If Cain ever shows a dark side, I’m a phone call away.’
I bit my lip, hard enough to taste copper, grounding myself against the rising dread.
What if I hadn’t seen the worst of Cain yet?
What if the side of him I thought was dark had been just the shallow end of an abyss?
What if he was tangled in something bad – something Travis-level bad?
I sure know how to pick ‘em.
A bitter laugh tried to claw its way up my throat, but it died the moment my gaze returned to the box.
A small, unassuming package. A silent dare.
I considered waking Matteo. If anyone knew how to handle things like this it was him. But perhaps, it was nothing at all.
I crouched beside it, every instinct on fire, screaming at me to leave it the hell alone.
But curiosity was a bitch.
Brilliant. Walk straight into the trap, why don’t you?
But nonetheless, my stupid, stubborn hands moved, fingers peeling back the lid before my brain could override the impulse.
Regret hit fast.
My stomach lurched. Acid burned my throat.
Nestled on a cushion of blood-red velvet sat a severed finger, thick, calloused and unmistakably male. A golden ring gleamed under the dim porch light, the surface carved with an intricate Pegasus rearing high.
Something about it rang familiar.
The world seemed to contract around me.
I finally decided to wake my uncle, but barely had time to move before a sickly-sweet scent flooded my nose.
A hand clamped over my mouth, the cloth damp and reeking of chemicals. My strength drained fast – knees buckling, ears ringing, vision narrowing, the edges of the world curling inwards.
Heat ghosted against my ear, a voice smooth as silk, dark as death.
‘Nosy,’ Travis murmured, his breath a mock caress against my skin. ‘Touching things that don’t belong to you.’
The world tilted.
Spun.
Folded in on itself until nothing remained.