Chapter 8 Dante #2
"Obviously. Let me rephrase. How long until we put together a solid plan? I can't imagine you'll just turn tail and run, or am I incorrect?" His tone is clipped and short. I narrow my eyes. Perhaps it's the stress, but he's been less and less professional with me.
"Watch yourself, Ro. My wife was just rescued from prison. She suffered a horrific, traumatic miscarriage. She was taken from me. I just got her back," I grit out between my teeth. "Let me enjoy her for a singular moment before launching into more horrors."
"Doesn't seem like you're enjoying much," he chuckles. "She's prancing around in tiny outfits, and you're mooning after her like a goddamn puppy."
Rage flashes through me as I throw the coffee mug against the wall. The shattering ceramic doesn't faze me, but the hint of fear in Roman's eyes makes me smile maliciously. "A puppy? Is that so?"
He straightens his back and levels his gaze directly into my eyes. "It is."
"Big words for a man I employ." As soon as the words exit my mouth, he rises from the sofa. I follow suit and puff out my own chest. "Go on, then. Tell me what you really think."
"I think you're being pathetic. There's a war against us, and you're following her around.
Begging for her forgiveness. You got the entire Consortium to work together to prepare for this war, and all you're doing is hiding in this bunker.
" He glares at me, and I ball up my fists. "Is that how a man acts, sir?"
Sharp pain radiates from my fist when it connects with his jaw—I didn't even realize I threw a punch until I felt it.
But the floodgates open, and it feels good to slam him to the floor.
I pin him down between my legs and swing my fist again at his stupid, grizzled jaw.
He's been taunting me, pushing me, and he shouldn't be fucking surprised when I snap.
I didn't get to where I am today by always hiding behind him.
Roman's hand snaps around my wrist, blocking my blows. Gritting my teeth, I squeeze my knees together around his waist, forcing the air from his lungs.
"Is this how a man should act, Roman?" I yell as I throw another punch with my unencumbered arm. "Is it?!"
"Hey! Fuckers!" Melody stomps up the stairs and glares at us. "Take your catfight outside. I don't wanna hear it."
"Listen to your wife, Dante," Roman sneers. "Let's take this outside and have a fair fight."
Huffing out a breath, I swing at him one more time—the bastard blocks me, of course—before I release him and stand.
The way he says "wife" sets another fire ablaze in my gut, and I want to tackle him down to the goddamn floor.
I want to bash his brains in with a rock.
Listen to your wife, Dante. Fury and disgust are still written across his face, and I can't wait to wipe it clean.
Melnyk follows us outside, warily surveying the overgrowth around the seemingly abandoned cabin. "I do not like this, sirs."
It appears the other men agree with him; they've made themselves scarce. Most likely hiding in the underground bunker. Melody saunters to the door and slams it shut. The click of the lock breaks my heart just a bit further. But if Roman insists, I will beat out my frustrations on him.
Before I can even square my feet, his fist connects to my jaw with a throbbing, painful crack. The coppery tang of blood fills my mouth, and I spit crimson onto the forest floor. Roman smirks and winds his fist back again, but I catch it before he can make purchase.
"You motherfucker," I grunt and throw his arm away.
"You want me to act like your version of a man?
Fucking fine." And I sucker punch him back, square in the jaw.
His leg sweeps mine out from under me, but I snatch the hem of his jacket, and we tumble to the ground.
Yanking his shoulders, I roll us over so I'm on his chest and start fucking pummeling.
Every hit feels so goddamn cathartic. For the past year, he's been snarky about Melody. She's got issues, sir. I ram my fist against his cheek. You're following her like a puppy. I let out a primal shout as my fist connects with his jaw again. Is that how a man acts?
Roman shoves his fist between my arms and pushes me back.
I hit the ground ass-first. Before I know it, he's pinned me down and throwing punches.
Blood bubbles between my lips, and I can't help but laugh.
Sure, it hurts, but this is nothing compared to the pain of knowing that bitch Ella beat Melody.
"Why the fuck are you laughing?" Roman snarls as he lands another blow. "Is that all I am to you? A joke? Just another drone to throw away?"
Sweat beads and falls from his brow, splashing onto my face.
All of my muscles tense as I prepare to rip myself from his grip.
Roman's boots dig into the softening dirt—it's springtime.
My wife was in jail, on trial, through the winter holiday season.
I didn't get to spend Christmas with her.
I didn't get to kiss her at the stroke of midnight on New Year's.
I didn't get to show her the ridiculous spectacle of the Mummers Parade.
Ella took that away from us. And Roman misplaced his anger at me.
He winds his fist back for another punch, but I snap my arm out and shove him away, just like he did to me. Jumping to my feet, I aim a kick at his gut and relish in the soft oof from all the air exiting his lungs.
"I thought you wanted me to act like a man, Roman? I thought you wanted this?" I growl as I rear my foot for another kick. He retches and gasps as my shoe digs deep into his stomach. "Is this man enough for you?"
I spit the last trickle of blood from my mouth onto the earth next to him as he groans in pain, then turn back to the cabin. Melody swings the door open for me, raking her gaze up and down my body.
"For what it's worth, I like you following me around like a dog." She sniffs. "You're well on your way to being my good boy again." She offers a tiny smile.
Huffing out a laugh, I shake my head and push past her. "Good to know. I'm showering now."
Melnyk and the other men look up from their card game when I clamber up the stairs from the bunker, freshly showered.
Honestly, I'm not sure what to say to them, so I say nothing.
Melody sits quietly on the couch with that horribly ugly cross-stitch she was working on before Ella stole her away.
With a sigh, I plop down next to her and lay my head on her shoulder.
"Where's Roman?" I ask in a hushed whisper. She shrugs.
"Don't know. Out in the forest somewhere. He said he needed a break." My wife shifts and wraps her arm around me, tossing the cross-stitch project to the side. "Is that safe, though?"
"I don't know," I grumble. "He's mad. Probably hurting a bit, too. But if anyone can take care of themselves, it's him."
"Agreed," Melnyk pipes up. The other men mumble their assent and return to the card game.
I'd like to join them, honestly. But my wife's arms around me are a rare treat, and I intend to make as much of the situation as possible.
With the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest, my eyelids grow heavier.
She's so warm. She smells nice—even here in this doomsday hideout—and the room is just so cozy.
Fighting my second in command was more tiring than I thought it would be.
Though, to be honest, I never thought I'd have to.
His behavior has been a bit strange ever since Valencia died.
He assured me at the time that he didn't need anything special.
He wanted to get back to work. To find who did this and punish them for it.
I agreed, absolutely, but then Ella kidnapped Melody, and everything else went by the wayside.
Perhaps he's angry I haven't been doggedly pursuing Valencia's killer like he thinks I should.
Another pang of guilt roils around in my gut. He's right, honestly. But fuck his snide comments about Melody. I've let her murder a man for an offhand comment about her weight. I'll be goddamned if she has to stand by and listen to him sneer disparaging words about her, up close and personal.
Just as my eyes close for a dreamless sleep, the front door emits a soft beep and opens. Roman stalks into the cabin and approaches Melody and me. Struggling to keep my eyes open, I gaze up at his bruised and battered face.
"Sorry," he grumbles. "I'm pent-up out here. I was wrong to talk to you like that—and about you like that, miss." He dips his chin to Melody, who nods.
"What's this really about, Roman?" Melody straightens herself, shifting me from where I've burrowed into her side. "What have I done to you?"
He groans and rubs his chin, shuffling back to sit on one of the leather armchairs. "You haven't done anything. I'm just… tired."
"Okay, that's bullshit. You said you're pent-up. Talk to me." She shakes her head.
"I don't—fine. Listen. I'm not… used to this.
I hate that Helena didn't keep you safe.
I hate that she's been so traumatized by everything you two went through, but you're here like nothing happened.
You talk, you laugh, you terrorize this guy—" Roman jerks his head in my direction. "—and she's not."
Roman seems like he wants another beating, blaming my wife for Helena's troubles. I move to rise from the sofa, but Melody slaps her hand across my chest and pushes me back down.
"I get it. I really do. That basement was…
horrific, honestly. And I'm having issues keeping my calm when I go down those fucking stairs to sleep in another concrete bunker.
I dream about bleeding out almost every night," she says with tears welling in her eyes.
"I think about Helena constantly. All I want is for this to be over.
I want my life back. I want my friend back.
And I have to live with the knowledge that I made her sleep in the same fucking basement as a rotting, festering corpse. "
"Is that number five or number six?" Roman gives her a half-smile, clearly trying to lighten the mood.
"Honestly? I don't know. I know that he had keys that could get us the fuck out.
I did what I had to do. I bashed his skull into the floor.
I stole the keys off of his corpse. We were so close—Roman, I'm not kidding, we got out.
We ran faster than I ever have in my life, but Ella was there.
She caught us and frog-marched us back to that fucking hellscape and left the guy's body in the basement with us.
" She shudders. "I thought I'd never get rid of the smell.
It feels like it crawled around in my brain and made a nest. I can still smell it if I think hard enough. And the flies."
I run my hand along her shoulders and pull her in close.
Her eyes have a faraway look, like she isn't even in the room with us.
She probably isn't, not mentally. She's reliving that horror show.
I got her out, but I brought her to another underground concrete room.
I didn't even think about it. I just knew it was safe.