Chapter 32
32
Layne
I had all these ideas of how Dante and I would spend the afternoon, and a lot of them ended up with us being sweaty and panting. But not like this.
“Come on, baby.” He stands in front of me, clapping his hands and counting down the timer on the treadmill.
My lungs are burning, and I’m pretty sure I’m about to punch him in his pretty face. But he’s so sure I can do this. I mean, I know I can, too, but I’m still annoyed I’ve been doing a full cardio circuit.
I make a point of not glaring at him, instead focusing on the countdown and all but yelling at myself to keep hauling ass and not fall into a heap.
Dante slams his hand down on the stop button once I pass the ten-mile mark.
“Walk it off around the mat,” he says, already striding away.
As I go one way and he goes the other, a sharp whistle cuts through the abuse I’m internally flinging at him. I watch as he sends the dogs out of the gym. Before I can ask what he’s up to, he switches the music off and turns on a few monitors, and it takes me a second to realize they’re streaming zones from inside their home and from outside their building.
Of course, he’s right that I feel better the more I walk, my heart rate dropping back to normal and my breathing becoming a hell of a lot easier within a couple of laps. I’m pretty proud of myself, actually, and my heart rate and breathing leveling out this quickly is a good sign my fitness hasn’t dropped too bad.
Being able to work out in a gym was a luxury I couldn’t afford when I was only working in coffee shops, but I always did what I could to stay as active as possible.
“Weight session?” he suggests, coming over with a fresh towel for me and a bottle of water.
I glare at him, but he laughs it off and waves me over to the first piece of equipment. It’s huge and is a combination of a Smith Machine and cable weights. He sets up one side of the weights with a bar for squats and the other for lat pulldowns, and then we do a couple of sets together. We don’t talk much, but the way his Amaretto scent gets an edge to it as he works out is as good as incentive as any to stay in the moment with him.
“How are your arms?” he asks, a smirk on his face because he knows the last set had my arms wobbling.
“Yeah, fine,” I clap back, trying to hide the way I shake them out when he’s not looking.
He brushes his dark hair of his face as he laughs. And Dante laughing is fast becoming one of my favorite things. The sound is low and deep, and it resonates over my skin, making me smile.
Next, we take turns on the seated back row machine, and I try not to feed his ego when he loads the weights on his sets, but it’s impossible to look away from the hundreds of muscles that ripple on his body when he works out.
“You want me to wipe your mouth, baby?” He talks at me using the mirror, so he doesn’t stop mid set.
“What?”
“You’re drooling,” he teases and lets the hand go, and the weights crash back home, to make a point to wipe his mouth.
I blaze red and don’t answer. I also try really hard not to laugh at him, but it’s near impossible.
“Last exercise, then we can go shower together.” He winks as he climbs off the seat.
He drags an adjustable weight bench over to face the mirrors, then brings over weights for me and him. And a camera tripod. I don’t think too much of it; obviously he’s going to film us to talk about form and style later.
Once everything is set up, he stands in front of me, looking like he’s up to no good.
“Park your ass there, il mio tutto .” He points, and I grumble under my breath the whole way over to him.
He squats without effort, scooping up my weights with one hand and passing them over. Of course, they weigh a fucking ton, but there’s no way I’m going soft on him now.
Dante stands behind me and talks me through which muscles to engage and when to breathe, and I try, I really do, but my arms are jelly.
“Drop them, and show me your form,” he says. He spots me from behind while I pretend I’m lifting weights, before he stops me, my arms hovering mid-air. “Here’s the problem.”
I look at my arm, trying to see it how he does.
“What?” I ask, confused. I’m even more confused when he pulls off his training tank and I’m left gawking at his incredible physique.
Before he answers, he catches both my hands and twists them so they’re behind the seat on the bench, and then he winks, using his T-shirt to tie my arms so I can’t move them.
“Oh,” I huff. “Great, now I have to escape?”
“No chance.” He laughs. This time, his rumbling is deeper, huskier, and my eyes fly to his face, but he’s moving, his back to me. Even when he reenters my field of vision, I process his actions slowly, realizing too late what he’s done.
I try to move my legs, but I can’t. He’s used his wrist straps to tie my legs to the seat support. “Dante?”
“You worked so hard, baby, now I’m going to give you your reward,” he murmurs, looking down at me.
“Yeah? What’s my reward?”
Instead of answering, he kneels between my knees before freaking me the fuck out when he pulls out a hidden knife. Except, when he sees the look of shock on my face, he pulls back slightly, like I offended him.
“Well, that’s rude,” he grouses as he sits on his heels, staring at me with wide eyes. “You don’t trust me?”
“Dante! You pulled a fucking knife out of nowhere!”
“Not nowhere, it was under the chair,” he says, surprised by my shock. “I thought you saw it. I’ve also got another one stuck to the back of the water cooler. There are about ten guns dotted around the room, so in case shit really hits the fan, I’ve got a fighting chance of killing the fuckers.”
And then he stops, his head tipping to the side, and it’s like the longer he thinks about it, the more offended he is.
“I thought you and I were on the same page.” He looks at me with even more suspicion. “Clearly, we aren’t, though, because you just ruined me with a look. You seriously thought I was going to stab you? I’ve got to say, that guts me.”
“Perhaps a heads-up before you pulled out a goddamn Rambo knife would have helped!” I bite back, fighting against the restraints.
He totally ignores my struggles. “Nah. See, when you trust someone, they can fire a rocket launcher your way, but you wouldn’t flinch because you know they’d never hurt a hair on your head.”
I feel bad, but at the same time, his reaction is pissing me off. If I could walk, I’d storm out of the gym right now, but only because of his ability to strip me bare and force me to admit things. I’m just not sure I have the strength, because saying I trust them is also giving them the means to destroy me. And, shit, I’m so tired of being destroyed.
Dante being himself, he doesn’t attempt to hide the devastation he feels. But at he lets control of his designation, his scent flooding the gym so it’s all I breathe, his presence like a touch on my skin. “I couldn’t hurt you if I tried, il mio tutto ,” he admits quietly before going on. “I tied you to the bench and got the knife to cut off your gym shorts, so I could lick your pussy before I knotted you. And, I mean, I still will, but first, it looks like we need to have a chat.”
I bite my lip and slow my breathing, trying to control the gathering storm. I hate feeling like this. I desperately want to believe Pack De Luca is it for me, but I’ve seen proof that life isn’t like a romance movie too many times.
“We’ve already talked about how effortlessly you’ve become a part of us, but now I’m wondering if you’re saying things you think we want you to say, or if you’re even in this as much as we are.”
I don’t know how to answer myself, let alone reply to him. My eyes fall away from his as my head fills with a hundred or so different realities. He sighs in defeat when the silence stretches out, and when he moves, it’s to cut my feet loose.
“Dante.” I barely speak loud enough to be heard, but he stops.
“I wish I could slay all the things holding you back. I really fucking do. And I know you’re fighting against things I can’t see, but open your eyes, and hear what I’m saying, what my brother and Matty are too—we’re so fucking Team Layne it’s not funny. We are happening so fast, my head is spinning, and I know if all the voices get too much and you leave, I won’t ever fucking recover. But, in my heart, I also know I’d risk everything to spend however long we have. If those sixty days we agreed on are all we have, then I’m going to love you so fucking hard that you will never doubt I was in this with everything I am.”
He wraps his hand around my face to tip my head back, ignoring the tears pooling in my eyes but not the emotion behind them. “I’m sorry I scared you. I’m sorry I’m dropping all this heavy shit on your lap, but I’m also not sorry, because how else will you know if I don’t tell you?”
I get so lost in his eyes, completely cast away from reality, while I search for answers that are already in front of me. I must drift off or something, because the next time I blink, I’m back downstairs in my bedroom, Bella’s rump under my cheek and Edward’s body pressed against my back.
A small knock on my door pulls me from my head. Dante pushes it open, and then, without an invitation, he climbs onto my bed, squirming his massive frame into the small space between Bella and the wall.
“Hey,” he says. And it’s enough. One word and my chest aches, while all the emotion that was flooding my throat and filling my dark thoughts gets slammed by my determination not to destroy what is possibly the most incredible thing to ever happen to me.
“Bella, go,” I say, and I roll away to give her the room to jump to her feet and get off. In the next breath, I am closing the distance—physically and metaphorically—between me and Dante. “I’m sorry. I hate that you get this version of me, but goddamn, you are convincing in your argument that I should trust you.”
Shoving myself up on top of his body, I climb higher until I can sit on his chest and look down at his face. And he’s not being smug or looking triumphant; he looks like he’s the manifestation of all my hopes and dreams. “I think I should get bonus tongue time because I’m recovering from my issues faster than ever. Plus, not once have I run away.”
He scratches his chin, looking away, as if he’s really thinking about that, but his other hand squeezes my waist, already agreeing. “I’ll have to consider that. You did try pretty hard today, but I think even you can agree it wasn’t your best attempt.”
I smack his chest. “Dante!”
When he looks back at me, those blue eyes are dazzling and full of the beautiful things in life. “You remember…” He reaches up and snags a hand around the back of my neck to pull me down, trailing his thumb lower, over the tracking device under my skin. “We’re not going to leave you, lose you, or let you get away. Now, get down here and let me kiss you until you’re a squirming mess. Please.”