38. Tyson
THIRTY-EIGHT
TYSON
There’s a million things to do before we re-enter the States, but right now, snuggling with the petite, dark-haired beauty snaked between my arms remains at the top of my priority list.
After our whirlwind of a day, she needs to sleep, and even though Massi is ripping through his boxes of grenades like a kid on Christmas, I’ve decided that I too, could use the rest.
Typically, I sleep a few hours a night, completely refreshed no matter when I crash or wake up, but since we rescued Carter, I can feel my batteries depleting, the energy being sucked out of my body at an alarming rate.
After all, I did survive three gunshots, defied a grim diagnosis, and crossed the country running on fumes to get her back, but I’ll be damned if my injuries are what causes us to make a mistake, or worse.
We all need to be at our strongest as we eliminate the ground we’ve already covered, but I have a feeling the battles we’ll face once we touch down in California again will require the utmost strength.
Carter’s father is not going down without a fight, and since we’re playing wedding crashers, the Groom will likely find himself in my crosshairs, a place that he does not want to be.
When she told us what he did to her, I promised that I’d stop calling it rape, stop making her feel like a victim, but when it comes to her, anyone who even looks at her sideways deserves a death sentence, and the pathetic excuse for a man who abused her will feel my wrath.
I’ve kept my anger bottled up since we left California, away from Massi and Carter, but what happened to her was traumatizing, disgusting, and most importantly, unacceptable.
Not a single person who assisted in her abuse will be granted mercy, and even though I’m not the brute of this trio, I’ll be spilling blood in Carter’s name before we embark on a new journey.
“These are totally going to fuck shit up!” Massi cheers, ripping through the final box of grenades, and I try to shush him, but Carter giggles beneath the blankets, her sweet laughter filling up the room within seconds.
“Can you stop being a deranged psychopath for two fucking seconds and get some sleep?” I taunt, knowing that he can’t help himself, and deep down, I’ve missed his brand of chaos.
The rehab facility was quiet, exactly what I needed to focus on my recovery, but not having my brother a few steps away, or right by my side, was brand new territory, something I never want to live through again.
He may drive me insane, but he’s been a constant since we were kids, and without him, life has a certain lack of excitement that only he can deliver.
“Not a chance. We have a wedding to destroy, and a Don to demolish. Besides, someone needs to stay on guard, and I’ll take the first shift,” he rambles, inspecting every grenade in the box from his place on the floor, the obnoxious sound of metal clanking together enough to keep me far away from the sleep I so desperately need.
“Are you sure this is the right move? What if we’re walking into a trap? I muse, speaking my thoughts aloud, but feeling the anxiety creep in as I release them from the chamber of my mind.
“That’s what these bad boys are for,” he laughs, closing the boxes and slipping an automatic weapon from one of the men we killed earlier across his chest, taking comfort in the armchair next to the front window.
Right now, he’s too wired to have a coherent conversation, or an exchanging of ideas, so I turn my focus back to Carter, lightly dragging my finger along the bridge of her nose, tracing the freckles that dance along her complexion as if they were a map of constellations in the night sky.
While I dearly missed Massi’s chaos when I was holed up in the rehab facility, I was even more desperate for Carter’s company, her presence being the key factor to calming my heart rate, racing thoughts, and settling my body into a place that resembles rest.
Her snoring used to drive me up the wall, but now, I block out every other sound, focused only on her breathing, and for once, I feel at peace, like giving up control of our escape plan sent a cascade of calm from my head to my toes.
With Massi taking the lead on keeping guard, I slip into a state of unconsciousness, and for the first time, there’s no screaming, desperate pleas for help, or terrifying screeches that would wake me from the deepest of slumbers.
Wherever I’ve landed in my mind, I’m content, and although I know my stay is only temporary, I welcome the silence with open arms.
The sound of pots and pans banging echo throughout the cabin, and I groan in response, desperate for the quiet to come back to me, but even as I stack the pillows over my head, a sweet laugh travels around the room, and I’m immediately brought back to life.
“Carter, you’ve never cooked a day in your life. Just go back to bed and I’ll make whatever you’re craving,” Massi bargains with her, but judging by the stomping sound of her feet, she’s not budging.
“I’ll have you know, Jasper Masseria, I make the meanest french toast on the West Coast. Sit back down in that chair and keep watch while I whip us up a midnight snack,” she snarks, the sharp sting of slapping skin bleeding into the bedroom, but her sweet giggles quickly replace it, and when I glance at the clock, I realize we only slept for a few hours.
After resting, my legs tend to get stiff, causing me to climb out of bed slowly, but after a few stretches and my cane, I’m good to go, perched against the doorframe as I watch Carter work in the kitchen.
Back at Emory, we only ever ordered takeout, especially after she was drugged and almost kidnapped, so color me surprised when she gathers all the ingredients for french toast, the cabin coming with a fully stocked fridge and pantry, at my request.
They call this cabin ‘The Honeymooners Escape’ and I dubbed it perfect for our getaway, especially since the add-on services that the host offered made it easy for us to come and go without the stress of shopping.
Just the sight of her in domestic bliss has me sporting a semi, her tangled curls tossed in a messy bun on top of her head, Massi’s blood-stained t-shirt falling right above her knees, and even though there’s no music on, she’s humming and swaying her hips to whatever’s playing inside her head.
“Baby girl, it smells delicious,” I say softly, trailing my hand along her exposed shoulder so as not to scare her, and she tips her head back, eyes meeting mine with a sleepy smile painted on her face.
“I’m sorry if I woke you, I was absolutely starving,” she inhales a deep breath, smirking as the pan on the stove sizzles, the sweet scent of cinnamon filling the air.
“Make mine a double?” I ask, kissing her forehead before she returns her attention to the food cooking, flipping the slices of bread with a flick of her wrist.
After a few minutes, she delivers two plates stacked with syrup-covered toast, the carb overload smelling like pure heaven as she leaves a sticky kiss on my cheek, doing the same for Jasper while he sits on his perch, watching out the window with an eagle eyed focus.
“This is fucking incredible, my little Michelin star chef,” Jasper groans around his bite of food, the syrup dripping down his chin as I occupy a spot on the couch, tapping the cushion until Carter joins us.
It’s reminiscent of our days at Emory, sharing a meal around the same table, and although those days were a bit dark considering what she was hiding, I’m thankful that we’ve found that again, even if under different circumstances.
“You better be careful, Carter, we might make you the resident cook once we get to our forever home,” I chime in, the first bite of her french toast dancing along my taste buds.
“I grew up around chefs my whole life, so they taught me a thing or two in the kitchen. My father was very particular about his meals, but they’d make whatever I wanted, and most of the time, they’d let me watch or pitch in.
I have quite a few recipes that’d knock your socks off,” she smirks, feeling quite proud of herself as she lets us into another part of her life, nothing but the truth dripping off her lips.
It makes sense, the girl who is skilled with every knife or blade known to man can cook, but I’ll wait until she handles a steak before passing down my judgments.
“What else should we know about your childhood, baby girl?” I ask, hoping the open line of communication stays open, and we can absorb every drop of information she’s willing to share.
It’s a few minutes before she speaks again, the silence hanging over the three of us like a dark cloud, the only sounds coming from the clanking of forks, or in Massi’s case, the dropping of his cleaned plate onto the table.
“It’s sad, right? That I’ve worshiped my father since I was little, but can’t think of a happy memory that doesn’t involve training or torture?” She inhales sharply, dropping her head onto my shoulder in defeat, but I prop her up, staring into her pretty baby blues.
“You’re all of my happy memories, Carter,” I say, gently stroking her cheek, keeping a stranglehold on her focus, not allowing the sadness to invade her mind.
After everything he did, Carter is still struggling with the idea of murdering her father, the thoughts flooding her with reasons to back out, but I won’t let her succumb to the masterclass of brainwashing he put her through, especially as an impressionable young adult.
That’s what the training sessions truly were, his way of creating and controlling the most loyal soldier this world has ever seen, but Massi and I are here now, putting an end to the vicious tyrant and giving Carter a chance at a final escape.
“Welcome to the club, Principessina,” Massi snarks from the chair, never taking his eyes off the front window, but keeping himself present in our conversation.
“Soon we’ll all be fatherless,” she laughs, but it doesn’t reach her eyes, a certain sadness within them that I’ve seen too many times recently.
Before anyone can even process her dark humor, the satellite phone rings again, all three of our eyes meeting as Carter exhales a deep breath.
The sun is just starting to rise over the horizon, birds can be heard chirping outside the window, but for some deranged reason, her father is calling at this ungodly hour, likely to rile Carter up even more than she was yesterday afternoon.
“Should I answer?” She asks, holding the phone in her hands while it continues to ring incessantly, the sound bouncing off the empty walls like a boomerang.
“Answer it,” Massi replies coldly, his grip tightening around the weapon as if the Don were going to show up right outside our door.
“Hello?” She whispers, placing the phone in the center of the table, and the room is so silent, I’m sure a mouse could crawl across the floor and be heard.
“There’s my little lady. I’ve missed you, Carter,” a voice says, and Carter is visibly repulsed, her body erupting in goosebumps that trail from her neck, down her thighs until they reach her toes.
“Vincent. What do you want?” She groans, keeping up an act over the phone, but I can see how his voice is affecting her, the tears threatening to spill from her water line as his name leaves her lips.
“Making sure you remember our deal. I can’t be left standing at the altar in front of some of the most powerful people on the West Coast. That kind of embarrassment would destroy my reputation, and wouldn’t bode very well for you,” he sneers, a righteousness in his tone that makes my skin crawl, like he’s convinced a few carvings on her skin is still enough for her to comply.
Maybe before we arrived in California that little bargaining chip was enough to keep Carter relatively safe, but now that we’re back in the picture, right by her side, it’s only the signature on his death certificate.
Tearing my gaze off Carter, I check on Massi, but I can feel the anger radiating off his bones from across the room, this being enough to send him into a blind rage.
For all of our sakes, I need them both to keep it together, stuffing down their violent, revenge-focused minds, but even I know that when it comes to Vincent, the man who raped our girl, there’s nothing in this world that’ll stop us from getting our pound of flesh.