Chapter 11
CELINE
After pulling on a T-shirt, I lead her into the rear of the house, into the kitchen. She’s got her arms wrapped across her middle again. Her scrubs cannot hide her gorgeous, curvy body. I need to text Julian and ask him to bring her more clothes.
But some fucked-up part of me likes her like this. Sweaty. Messy. Red-cheeked and ready for more.
She keeps her distance. Like she’s afraid of what will happen if we physically get too close. It’s not like I can blame her for that.
I didn’t plan on doing that in the gym. But the second her hand touched me, it felt like a dam burst in me with desperation to be inside of her, to feel her, to taste her, to own her.
Focus.
She pauses in the kitchen, watching me as I lean down and remove the false floorboards.
“Do all mobsters have secret prisons?”
“Only the really evil ones,” I grunt.
She flinches as if she doesn’t want to think that about me. Or perhaps that’s wishful thinking on my part.
“Do you have a first-aid kit?” she asks.
“Under the sink.”
She walks to the counter, finds the first-aid kit, and brings it to the hidden basement opening.
“He doesn’t deserve this, Celine,” I remind her.
“I patched you up, remember? Are you saying you’re any better than him?”
Yes. I don’t kill women. I don’t kill children. I’ve got a goddamn code. Only kill people who deserve it. Not that I’ve ever let the streets know that. If I’m smart, I won’t let Celine know either. Let her believe I’m a monster, and perhaps that’ll keep us away from each other.
“That’s all the answer I need,” she snaps when I don’t reply.
I open the basement hatch and then switch on the lights. Stairs lead down a narrow corridor with a door at the end. I walk ahead of her, not trusting myself to be behind her. To get a view of that perfect ass squeezed into those scrubs.
Even now, when I should be thinking about how messed up this is, I want to grab her ass. Squeeze it. Spank it. Bite it. Own it.
I open the door to the cell. It’s a small, simple room with a toilet, a sink, a bunk bed, and a small kitchen area. Rico is handcuffed to the bed, sitting on the floor, his legs stretched out in front of him, and blood matted to his hair.
For someone who’s done so many bad things, he does a good job of playing innocent. Gets all watery-eyed when he sees I’m with Celine. Looks up at her as if he wasn’t going to warp her reality for the rest of her life in that alleyway.
It might be the first-aid kit that does it. He thinks she’s weak.
“I’m going to check your head,” Celine says. “Can you remain calm while I do that, sir?”
“Please,” Rico whispers. “Water.”
“Water?” I growl. “You’ve been down here for an hour tops, you sick bastard. Don’t tug on her heartstrings.”
Celine glares at me, seeming annoyed that I’m getting involved.
I raise my hands. “You can check on him if you have to,” I say. “But I’m going to be right there, making sure the prick doesn’t try anything.”
Kneeling next to Rico, I put my hand on his shoulder and squeeze just enough for him to feel how powerless he is. Even with both hands cuffed behind his back and to the bedframe, I’m not taking any risks.
“I don’t want to die here,” Rico moans, voice breaking.
“It’s an act, Celine,” I say, as she rubs at his head with antiseptic wipes.
She ignores me, focusing on her work.
“Don’t let him hurt me,” Rico whimpers.
“Are you forgetting you had a hard-on in that alleyway?” I snarl, raising my fist, ready to give him a wake-up call.
“Don’t,” Celine hisses, looking at me sternly. “Just… don’t do that.”
I grind my teeth.
“I don’t think you need stitches,” Celine says. “But you’ve got some bruising.”
“What about my brain?” he whines pathetically. “What if my brain’s swelling or something? I need a hospital.”
“He should be X-rayed,” Celine mutters.
I shake my head. “Out of the question.”
She shoots me a look. “I’m saying, in an ideal world, he should be X-rayed. I’m not saying that you should let him go or anything like that. I’m not a little kid, Damian—”
“I never said you we—”
“You don’t need to talk to me like I’m some na?ve little idiot,” she cuts in. “Like I haven’t got a clue, okay? I get it. If you let him go, he goes running to the mob. If he goes running to the mob, it means bad things for you. Right?”
“Or for the men who come after me,” I snarl. “I just don’t want you to fall for this bastard's performance.”
“Please,” he groans.
“He wasn’t bluffing when he cornered you,” I say, ignoring him.
“Everyone knows what this scumbag does when he thinks he can get away with it. He’s done it before, and he’ll do it again.
The only reason I haven’t taken him out sooner is that he stayed too close to the Family.
They signed his death warrant when they sent him after you. ”
Celine flinches, then stands. “Without taking you to a hospital, I’ve done what I can.”
She turns toward the door.
“Please!” Rico erupts, the handcuffs rattling against the bedframe. “If you leave me here, he’s going to hurt me. He’s lying. I wasn’t going to do anything. I got… carried away. I won’t lie about that. But I wasn’t going to actually—”
“How stupid do you think I am?” Celine hisses, glaring down at him. “I’ve kept my head in the sand for too long. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you trick me. You’re not family. You don’t know how to play on my emotions.”
“I should’ve raped you in that fucking alley!”
I headbutt him so hard a jolt goes through his body. I stand and get ready to aim the mother of all knees at his face. Celine screams and jumps at me, her hand on my arm, stopping me.
“You heard him,” I growl. “You think I’m going to let him get away with that?”
“Just… don’t,” she whispers, her hand warm on my arm. “It’s all too much, Damian.”
She’s overwhelmed. Can’t blame her. She’s been through more than she ever should have.
Rico slumps against the bed, wheezing, blood dripping from his shattered nose.
“You’re lucky she’s here,” I growl, standing. “All of you scumbags who take whatever they can get from innocent people, every damn one of you… you act so tough. So big. So fucking scary. But when it’s time to show what you’re really made of, to show your true metal, you fail. Every time.”
I put my hand on the small of Celine’s back and guide her from the room. Every instinct roars at me to go back in there, to make him pay for even thinking about doing that to Celine. Let alone actually doing it.
Which he would have. Which he still would, if given the chance.
Celine rushes forward as if wanting to get away from my touch.
In the kitchen, she leans against the counter, her hands on her hips, breathing slowly. The small sounds of panic she makes cuts me to my core.
“I have to go,” she says, making for the door.
I move fluidly into her path. She stares at me with wide eyes in shock, as if wondering how someone so big can move so swiftly. It’s not the first time someone has looked at me like that.
“Unless you’re going to stay with your brother, I can’t let you go.”
“I don’t want to see Julian,” she hisses.
“Then I need you here. You’re a target. I wouldn’t… be able to…”
I trail off twice because she’s got a mocking smirk on her face. “No, please, go ahead. Finish that noble thought.” A pause. “Weren’t you going to say you wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself? That’s my guess. Am I right?”
“What’s your damn point?”
“Just seems a strange thing for the Beast to say.”
I’ve got no arguments there.
“Hate what I am if you want, Celine.” At least that might stop us from kissing, touching, and burning again together. “But I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
She tugs at her clothes, letting out a groan. My instincts stir when I see her hands smoothing over her body, but I try not to let it show.
And I fail. Clearly.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she hisses.
“You need to settle down. Try to get some rest. You’ve been at work, then this crap… it’s too much for one day.”
“It’s too much for one life,” she retorts.
“I’m not going to chain you up,” I growl. “But if you leave, I can’t keep you safe. That’s my only concern.”
“What a Good Samaritan,” she murmurs sarcastically.
“Cut the sass.”
She laughs dryly, shaking her head. “You’ve got no right to tell me what to do. If I’m a prisoner here, where am I staying?”
“I’ll show you to—”
“Just tell me.”
“Upstairs, second door on the right,” I tell her. “Spare room. It’s got a bed, clean sheets, and an en-suite.”
“I need clothes too,” she says, already turning away.
“Give me your apartment key. I can handle that.”
“Okay, Mr. Mob. Just try not to rob me.”
She tosses her keys onto the counter and leaves the room. I watch her go, my chest rising and falling rapidly, my muscles tight. And still, even when she’s mad at me, hates me even, I can’t stop staring at her.