Chapter 5
5
Matteo
W hat a chain of fucking events.
The meeting with Gucci was always going to end in bloodshed. He deserved a bullet simply for using a name like that as an alias. The information he’d provided in the past had been worth a couple of bucks, but the only reason he insisted on meeting today was because Gucci grew a set of balls and decided to let me know he’d aligned with the Cartel.
Which is the only reason I’m here, because if you’re gonna make stupid decisions and side with those untrustworthy pricks, you’re gonna pay the price. Blood has been shed for a lot less.
But the tricky fucker managed to land a couple of shots. It was mostly dumb luck, since he fired randomly in response to me jumping him first. It was a miracle—him landing a shot—but not the miracle of the day.
Her scent wafted to me, and even clouded by chemicals, it was so sweet and tasty, my teeth ached. At first, I thought it was a dream, like one of those fever dreams full of noise, touch, and taste. Even after my eyes were open, I seriously thought I was still dreaming…until she looked at me. And then I was falling.
She chose me.
Naturally, I wasn’t letting a woman that smart go.
I wasn’t lying about the camera feed…exaggerating a fair bit, but not outright lying. Any good hacker would be able to jump the PD firewall if they knew where to look. Since only my pack knew where I was, the risk of anyone randomly checking this video feed was low. Still, it made a decent point and ultimately got me the girl.
“God, you weigh a ton,” she mutters under her breath as we finally stagger away from the alley.
“This way,” I insist as I lean harder on her, stopping her from trying to take me back into The Dock.
Killing a recently pledged member of the Cartel is bad enough; it would be infinitely worse if I got caught doing so in the neutral zone. And since our family has enough going on, without being sanctioned by the Council, I’m not above manipulating the little cutie to help me over to our side of town where I parked.
Up this close, it’s painfully obvious something isn’t quite right with my rescuer. She’s too thin, but more worrying are the secrets in her caramel-colored eyes. Though she has the determination of a goddamn elephant—maybe the strength of one too, judging by the way she’s dragging me along.
“My keys are in my pocket,” I say with a grunt before we step out of the shadows.
Without realizing the danger, she digs her hand into my pants pocket, and I may stumble a little more, so her fingers brush over my cock. If I’m going to die, at least I’ll die knowing she felt me up.
Hearing her breath hitch when her hand accidentally on purpose glances over my dick is kind of like a death knell for both of us. Whether by choice or by force, I won’t be able to let her walk away. Not after she’s seen my face and touched my dick. Anyway, that’s my excuse, and I’ll use it for the rest of our days.
I watch her glare right at me as she digs my keys out of my pocket.
“Dying wish and all.” I half smirk, then fully succumb to my injuries—for show, of course.
I groan with each step we take closer to my car.
“You’re gonna have to drive. I promise I’ll make it up to you,” I murmur softly, probably going too far with the act, but my skills have gotten her to keep helping thus far. She eases me into the passenger side before gliding into the driver's seat.
And then she seals her own fate by making my CT5-V Blackwing purr. She knows how to drive a stick. This woman is my soulmate.
“Where to?” she growls over the idling of the rumbling engine.
After plugging in the coordinates for her to follow, I tap her arm. “I’m not going to die on you.”
“Kind of seeing that for myself now.” She half glares at me before I cut off her mood with a glare of my own, which she answers with a roll of her eyes.
She checks her blind spot, all but confirming what a good person she is, considering it’s early morning and there’s no one around. I swear she’s talking under her breath about being too trusting, but when she turns back to face me, she’s all business.
“Are we good?” I push, leaning back against the chair with my eyes closed, simply enjoying how comforting it is being with her in a confined space. God, her scent is alluring as she is. It’s like warm, sweet, homemade caramel, full of butter and sugar, and it makes my mouth water.
“Yeah. I hate being dragged into stuff I don’t know anything about.”
“I’ll protect you.”
“From?”
“All the bad guys.”
She’s quiet for a bit, and when I reopen my eyes, I catch her chewing her nails nervously as she drives slowly through the streets.
My leg throbs, and I sit up to let up on the pressure. She’s tied the tourniquet so hard that I’m more at risk of losing my leg from loss of circulation than from bleeding out. Gucci’s shot stung like a bitch, but it didn’t strike the flesh deep, more like a scratch really.
“You need me to…” I trail off, wondering if she’ll admit that her nerves are getting to her.
“No, you should rest. Maybe call a doctor or, better yet, an acting coach.”
And then she accelerates, and my car responds with a low hum. Her worries are replaced by a look of exhilaration. She keeps checking her mirrors, making sure the streets are relatively empty, but she’s not pushing the sound barrier, that’s for sure.
“Jesus, woman, put your foot on it. I’m dying over here,” I tease her.
It’s like giving her a green light. She not only floors it, but she drives like a seasoned professional, one who has been track racing for years. I want to press her for details, but the look on her face, and the way her presence shines, means questions can wait while she enjoys herself.
I do reach over and tug her seat belt tighter when she takes one corner too sharply. Instead of bitching me out, she laughs before stomping her foot down and making me and my Blackwing purr like mountain lions.
Flicking off a quick text to my pack mates, I let them know to meet me in the house, also asking them to arrange a clean-up crew for Gucci. And one for me too.
Without being told, she slows down when we get closer to our destination.
“You drive well.”
When she turns toward me, I sit on my hands, so I don’t reach out and pull her over to kiss the blinding smile on her lush lips.
“I want this car.”
“The car comes with the owner.” I wink at her, and she blushes. The glow of color looks incredible on her.
Using hand signals, I direct her into the building, and I wave the guards away as she drives down the ramp.
“Where do you want me…?” Her question trails off when she gets a better look at the collection of vehicles all lined up neatly. “I lied. I want that one. Or that one.”
She inches past the pair of 2011 Ferrari GTOs, but the silver Corvette Stingray steals all her focus, and she nearly stops the car as she stares at it. Something about the Stingray does strange things to her, and when she accelerates again, her smile is long gone, and stress makes her sweet smell all but disappear.
“Stop the car,” I say quietly, trying not to add to her distress, and she complies. “What happened?”
Her hair moves from out behind her ears as she shakes her head, and her hand fucking trembles as she pushes her hair away. I watch as she closes her eyes, not answering me in words but telling me all the same. One of her ghosts is haunting her, and the car was what set her off.
I pull up Leon’s contact.
“Boss.”
“List the Stingray. I want it out of the garage in the next five minutes and sold within a day.”
I hang up and climb out of the car, ignoring the twinges of pain as I make my way around to her side, opening the door and pulling her out. Leaving the keys in the ignition, I guide her with a soft press of my hand away from the ugly reminder of something obviously pretty fucking horrendous. “I meant what I said. I’ll protect you now.”
I know my words get through to her, because I hear her releasing the breath she was holding. Instead of speaking, she jumps back into pretending to help me. Sometimes you need to focus on other people instead of yourself. I know from experience.
The elevator is already waiting, and my fingerprint takes us straight up to the penthouse. Even though I can stand, I keep leaning on her until just before the moment we arrive.
Hitting the stop button, I keep the doors closed as I awkwardly slide out of my suit jacket.
“What are you doing?”
I hold it out for her, and she keeps staring at me.
“We need to talk, and you’re not wearing enough clothes for that to happen.”
She looks down at herself, noticing for the first time that she’s only wearing yoga pants and a bralette top. The lingering discoloration of bruises covers her torso, and her ribs are taped. As she realizes I’ve noticed her injuries, the fight from before returns to her eyes.
“Oh, so before, you were too busy dying to let me know I’m barely dressed?” She looks at me incredulously.
“It’s pretty much the only thing that kept my heart going. Plus, running through all the ways I plan on teaching whoever touched you a very valuable lesson has been added incentive to survive.”
“And what lesson is that?” Her lips push together, suspicious irritation twisting her barely there scent.
“No touching what’s mine.”
“And you are?”
“Matteo De Luca.”
She pales, and before she can make herself sick with worry about inconsequential things, like how she’s already inside the home of a De Luca, I open the doors and pull her out of the elevator.