11. Vegarro “Vega” Moretti #3
The man glanced toward the security guards gathering nearby. “For what?”
Wise glared at him and that was enough. The patron slowly placed his right hand flat against the table.
Wise removed a knife from beneath his pocket and drove the blade through the center of the man’s hand. His scream tore through the club. The dancers stopped moving, but the music continued playing while blood spread across the black tabletop beneath his palm.
Wise leaned close enough for the man to hear him over his own crying. “The women working in here sell dances. They don’t sell you the right to put your hands wherever the fuck you want.”
“I’m sorry,” the man gasped.
Wise pulled the knife free, earning another scream, then wiped the blade against the man’s shirt.
He looked at our head of security. “Get him treated, take his picture, and make sure he never walks through these doors again.”
Two guards dragged the patron away while another employee hurried over to clean the table.
The dancer rubbed her wrist and while telling Wise, “Thank you.”
He nodded once, then returned to our booth, sat down, and picked up the conversation as if he hadn’t just nailed a man’s hand to a table.
Prodigy glanced at the blood on Wise’s cuff. “You could’ve let security handle that.”
Wise smiled. “That wouldn’t have been any fun.”
Checking the cameras had become my nightly ritual.
Usually, I would’ve handled my need to bust a nut in another way.
I would have waited for Elana’s shift to end, called somebody else, or taken care of myself before going to sleep.
But, suddenly, the urge to bust a nut had been replaced by the need to watch Sonnet.
I entered the security room, pulled up the feed from her bedroom, and expected to find her pacing, inspecting another vent, or attempting to dismantle something she had no business touching.
But she wasn’t moving. Sonnet lay flat on her back across the bed, one arm resting beside her and the other pressed weakly against her stomach.
Her glasses sat crooked on the nightstand.
Even through the camera, something looked wrong.
I switched angles and zoomed in. Her face appeared thinner than it had when I brought her there. Her cheeks had lost their softness, and her lips looked dry. The clothes I’d bought in her exact size seemed looser around her waist.
The untouched lunch tray still sat near the door.
So did the breakfast I’d brought hours earlier.
“Fuck.”
I left the room and headed upstairs. On the way, I retrieved the mask from the island and put it back on.
The mask stayed on because wanting her didn’t make me stupid.
Sonnet didn’t feel what I felt, and once I found a way to get her out of this without Roman reaching her, I couldn’t keep her locked away forever.
She might run straight to the police, describe every tattoo, every scar, and every feature she could remember.
Even if she eventually understood why I took her, that didn’t mean she would forgive me for it or fall for me too.
Keeping my face hidden gave me one last layer of protection, but it also gave her one less weapon to use if fear won out over whatever trust I hoped to earn.
When I unlocked her door, she barely reacted. Usually, the sound of the lock brought her upright and ready to fight. That night, her eyes opened slowly but didn’t focus on me.
I crossed the room and placed the back of my gloved hand against her forehead, and she was too warm to the touch, even through the leather.
She turned her face away. “Go away.”
Her voice was weak and dry.
I removed the glove and touched her again. Her skin burned beneath my palm. Then she weakly pushed my hand away.
“How long have you felt like this?”
She didn’t reply.
I went into the bathroom, grabbed some Tylenol, soaked a washcloth in cool water, then returned to the bed. When I pressed it against her forehead, she flinched but didn’t have enough strength to push me away.
That was alarming. So, I grabbed the water from her nightstand and opened the medicine.
“Sit up.”
“No.”
“Sonnet.”
“I don’t want anything from you.”
I slid one arm behind her shoulders and lifted her carefully. Her body felt too light against mine. She resisted, but the effort lasted only seconds before she sagged against my chest.
“Take the medicine.”
She stared at the pills in my palm. “You’re trying to poison me.”
“If I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn’t use Tylenol.”
Her eyes lifted toward mine. Even sick, she didn’t trust me. I hated that I had earned every bit of her suspicion.
She finally swallowed the medicine and took a few small sips of water. I lowered her onto the pillows, replaced the cloth, then pulled the blanket away from her overheated body.
“You’re going to eat.”
“No.”
“Stop making yourself sick just to prove you can fight me.”
Her eyes narrowed, but there was no strength behind it.
“Starving yourself won’t open that door,” I continued.
I sat beside her and pressed the cloth gently against her temple.
“But I’m saving you anyway.”