3. Riley
THREE
This isall kinds of wrong.
Evil.
I fumble for the door handle and yank on it. Nothing. I strike my palm against the butter-soft tan leather covering the door. I hit it again, and again, and the only thing I get back in return is a dull sting on the skin of my hand.
I try breaking the window, but I only manage a dull slap. This isn”t a regular car. Must be some sort of bulletproof glass. What is happening? What does he want from me?
The car begins to move. I stare incredulously out the tinted window and spot the giant lug of a man who attacked me. He”s standing near the hood of my car, rifling through my purse. Which has my cell and the keys to my apartment and my notebook. My entire life.
”Hey! Let me out of here! What the fuck is going on?” It feels like my eyes are bulging out of my head as I gape everywhere but at the man sitting calmly next to me. The reality of this situation is beginning to set in, and the expensive car seems way too small. Every muscle in my body tenses, and I”m sweating buckets, even though the temperature inside is subzero.
I slam my fist against the plexiglass dividing the front and back seat, but the driver doesn”t flinch.
I”ve been forcibly taken by Gabriel Greco. Another word for that is kidnapped.
My breath comes in short, shallow gasps.
My first impulse is feral and unhinged, one that”s born of my hardscrabble Southie background. Nobody fucks with an Irish girl. I want to throat punch him, to wrap my hands around his neck and never let go until he takes his dying breath. I sneak a glance at his face, wondering if I could successfully attack him. No, I can”t, because he”s so much bigger, and seems so powerful. Even though he”s merely sitting there with a maddening smirk on his face, as if he”s enjoying this. I can”t even look at him, I”m so angry and petrified.
Sick fuck.
”I”m not going to hurt you.” His voice, smooth as glass, doesn”t allay my fear.
”Yeah, right. Your hired goon did a number on my leg.” I flip up my skirt to inspect my knee, which made contact with the guy”s muscles during the struggle. My skin is a furious shade of red, and I rub my hand over it while racking my brain for a way to get out of this car. My flesh stings under my touch. ”Look at this shit.”
The door”s locked, we”re merging onto the interstate, and we”re going fast. Bile rises in my throat.
I”m trapped. With an obvious madman.
”I”m truly sorry about Johnny. He can be a bit of a brute, but you put up a decent fight.” Gabriel”s gaze is on my legs, which pisses me off even more, so I tug my skirt toward my knee. How dare he?
”Fuckin-A right I did. He ambushed me in broad daylight, in public. Who does that?”
His smirk grows more annoying. ”I”m Gabriel Greco, by the way. We haven”t had the pleasure of meeting face-to-face.”
I smooth my skirt over my legs with shaky hands, still not facing him. ”I can”t believe this bullshit,” I spit. Usually I don”t swear around anyone but my co-workers in the newsroom, but I don”t give a crap what this jerk thinks.
”This all could”ve been avoided if you”d just replied to my attorney”s email this morning.”
I let out a strangled grunt. The nerve of this asshole. ”Oh, forgive me for not replying immediately. Excuse me for not dropping everything on Valentine”s weekend to have cocktails at your house.”
”That”s right. It”s Valentine”s Day tomorrow. I”m sorry, did you have a date? I”m afraid you”re going to have to cancel.”
I whirl to face him for the first time and notice that his eyes are a striking greenish-hazel. From my research, I know he”s about five years older than me. Thirty? Thirty-one? I can”t remember anything right now. We stare at each other for what seems like minutes, and I”m breathless from two emotions fighting for dominance.
Fear and desire.
”Look,” I say in my most hostile tone, ignoring all of my conflicted, traitorous feelings, ”you can”t just take people off the street. That”s a fucking crime. It”s illegal.”
”I decide what”s legal in this city, Riley. You arrived here, what? Two months ago? Grew up in Boston? Even an outsider like you should know that I”m incredibly influential, and that when I email or call, you respond. Immediately.”
Something about his arrogant tone, his self-assured words, and the sharp cut of his jaw set my teeth on edge. I knew men like him back in South Boston. Connected mobster types, only instead of Irish, Gabriel is Italian. The kind of man who claimed to love Lorna, my best friend.
The kind of man who killed her.
Gabriel”s been doing his homework on me, which leaves me unsettled and a tiny bit proud. I force out a laugh. ”But there”s one thing you don”t control, and that”s the press. So fuck you, let me out. I don”t want to talk to you.”
”Oh? Really? I think you do. I think you”d do almost anything to have an exclusive interview with me. It could make your career. And I just might grant you that wish tonight. If you”re a good girl.”
I stare at him in horror. He”s disturbingly handsome, more so in person than in the photos I”ve seen. And the words good girl make something inside of me hum. I”ve always wondered if I have a praise kink...
Wait, why am I thinking about that now, of all times?
His perfectly olive-tanned skin on his face is devoid of blemishes, sweat, imperfections. The only thing that isn”t model-perfect is his nose, which is crooked enough to be visible. Somehow, this makes him even more dangerous, and more attractive.
”Tonight? This weekend? What are you talking about?” There”s the bile again, rising in my throat.
”I”ve been impressed with your articles. I”d like us to get to know each other better, and want to spend a few hours, or more, discussing how we can be of mutual benefit to each other. I think we have the same goals.”
Despite my terror, I can”t help but retort in a snarky voice, ”Same goals? Yours is to make money, bribe public officials and obviously,” I wave my hand around my face, ”commit crimes. My goals are to inform the public of the corruption that”s happening in this godforsaken tropical hell. I don”t think we have similar goals at all.”
He chuckles. ”You are oddly adorable, you know that?”
Oh my word. Could I hate someone any more?
”So you”ve kidnapped me and are making me spend the night or the weekend with you? What kind of kinky shit are you into?”
Again, the corners of his mouth quirk up in a maddeningly devilish smile. ”I assure you, there will be no, as you say, kinky shit, between us. Unless you want there to be, and then we can discuss the ground rules. I do believe in consent when it comes to sex.”
I haul in a breath. ”Yeah, obviously. Consent is a top priority for you, that”s obvious. You won”t get away with this.” I still don”t quite understand what he wants from me. ”Sounds even more illegal, to be honest. You shouldn”t fuck with people who buy ink by the barrel.”
He turns to me, his green gaze flickering over my face, landing on my mouth. There”s a pause for a few seconds, which makes sweat break out on my upper lip. I feel grimy and gross next to him. His eyes lift and we”re now staring at each other.
”Riley, I fuck with whoever I want.”
For the rest of the ride, I glare out the window, vacillating between fury and terror. I cross my legs because my bladder feels like it”s going to burst, and angle myself away from Gabriel so I won”t have to look at his stupid, perfect face.
The car exits the highway and heads downtown. We creep through rush-hour traffic. All while trying not to think about how badly I must pee, I wonder if there might be an upside to this situation.
If Gabriel does indeed grant me a long interview, it would raise my stock in the newsroom. He hasn”t talked to the media at any length, ever, except for a handful of fluff quotes during charity events. A full profile of him would impress the hell out of my editors and all the other reporters at the paper.
Maybe I should play along with this asshole and get the story. I ponder this as we cross over a bridge and onto Davis Island. It”s close to downtown, an enclave where the richest people in the city live.
Greco owns a home here. I looked up the online property records when I was doing my research. Of course it”s one of the biggest homes in the entire neighborhood, a six-bedroom, seven-bath, seven thousand square foot Mediterranean behemoth built nearly a hundred years ago. As someone who has always lived in small apartments, I wondered why he lived in such a vast place alone. Wondered if it would be lonely, empty, weird.
I guess I”ll be finding out soon enough. How am I going to take notes? Will he give me a notebook? Maybe he”ll return my phone, but I seriously doubt that. Why does he even want to talk to me in the first place?
The car winds its way to the very end of the island, down a quiet street.
”See that house?” Gabriel says, interrupting my thoughts. He”s practically leaning over me, pointing out the window at a ridiculously large home.
I shift away uncomfortably, and he retreats. ”Yeah?”
”Alex Rodriguez, the ballplayer, lives there.”
I scrunch up my face. ”Is that supposed to impress me?”
He grins. Fucker.
The car goes for five, maybe ten more minutes, and rolls up to a gate, which magically opens. The foliage is generically tropical, and extremely well-tended. I make a mental note of everything I”m seeing, in hopes of writing it down later. Of course, this is a coping mechanism, I”m aware of that. Cataloging everything, ignoring the trauma.
I”ve done this once before, in the weeks after Lorna”s death.
We come to a stop. Gabriel lets himself out of the car from his side. I try the handle. Nothing. Now I”m fed up because I need to relieve myself right now. I swear to god I will just pee in this car...
He opens my door from the outside and I unstick my thighs from the leather seat. I shoot him a glare, but again, those waves of fear and desire crash over me. How is it that I”m so drawn to a man who”s trying to hurt me?
”I need the bathroom. Now.”
”Of course. You”ll be able to make yourself at home until cocktail hour.”
We begin walking toward the house, which is even larger and more impressive than what I saw while researching him online. It”s a dream home, like something you”d see in a magazine or on one of those luxury property shows. I don”t know whether to be awed or disgusted, and all I want is to not piss myself here in his driveway.
”Come with me. Welcome to my home. There are worse places to spend a night, baby.” He puts his hand on the small of my back and gently guides me toward a massive wooden front door. I shiver under his touch.
This might indeed be great for my career. Maybe I will get the story of the century out of this and win a Pulitzer Prize. But that doesn”t mean I”m going to play nice, at least not right at the moment. Maybe later. And I still might try to escape, right after I empty my bladder. I imagine running down that stately, secluded road, sprinting toward downtown and freedom.
This is all my fault that I”m here. I should”ve listened to Brynn.
I turn to Gabriel and glare. His expression is both cruel and beautiful, and in that moment, I”ve never hated someone so much.
”Don”t ever fucking call me baby.”