12. Sara
Sara
My heart races mile a minute, and my system accelerates with panic.
As I struggle to escape the burly man who grabbed my collar, one of his arms squeezes my waist as he buries his face in my neck. I squirm and swing at him, without success.
“Come on, baby. Don’t be like that. If it’s about money, I got money. How much for an hour? Name your price.”
A disgusted shudder racks my body. “Let me go!”
This time, my slap lands, hard enough to send him stumbling back a pace. He touches his reddening cheek as his expression contorts with rage. “You stupid little bitch. You’re gonna pay for that.”
Panic overrides my adrenaline. I attempt to dodge him, but he captures my upper arm, trapping me in place. As his fist rears back, all I can do is close my eyes and pray the blow doesn’t knock me off my feet.
Then I’m free.
For a few seconds, shock roots me in place.
What the…?
A pained whimper forces my eyes back open. Dante continues twisting and wrenching my attacker’s elbow until the man’s shoulder pops out of socket.
As the man cries out, Dante inspects me from head to toe. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Just a little shaken up.”
His jaw flexes, and his attention switches back to the stranger.
My pulse whooshes in my ears as the rest plays out like a movie.
The man sways on his feet, and Dante wraps him in a hug, steel glinting in his hand.
After a few violent motions, the stranger clutches his good hand to his belly while Dante lowers just him to the ground.
Dante then nonchalantly wipes his wet blade on the man’s dark jeans, tucks the knife away, and fishes through pockets for a wallet.
When he finds one, he scans the ID inside. “Washington Heights, huh?”
Dante studies the name and address before tossing the wallet onto the man’s belly.
Pale and sweating, the man tries to crawl away only to realize he has nowhere to go. His spooked eyes appear too big in his pallid face. “What the fuck, what the fuck—”
“There’s a lady here, so I’ll keep this short.
” Despite Dante’s calm demeanor, I sense an inferno raging inside him.
I can tell he wants to rip the other man apart.
I think the guy should thank his lucky stars that the place is crawling with people.
Otherwise, I don’t like to think about his chances of surviving this encounter.
“Fortunately for you, I refrained from nicking any important organs. But I suggest you don’t hang around the Bazaar too much longer. You have ten, maybe fifteen minutes to get to a hospital before all that sauce leaking out of you becomes a real problem.”
Already more ashen than he was a moment ago, my attacker struggles to his feet, clutching his stomach where a dark stain spreads across his brown Luigi’s Pizza t-shirt. “You’re crazy!” Spittle flies from his gray lips as he wobbles.
Dante releases a beleaguered sigh. “Possibly. But in my defense, you really shouldn’t go around touching other people’s things.”
The man’s gaze darts to me, and I take an involuntary step back. I should probably be mad over Dante referring to me as his belonging, but under the circumstances, I’ll give him a pass.
Dante notes my retreat, and his upper lip curls. When he speaks, pure menace laces his tone. “Be careful getting home later, Andy Pelton, of 955 Fort Adams Avenue, Unit E.”
With another muttered curse, Andy Pelton staggers off. Dante waits until the injured man vanishes into the crowd before focusing on me. “I promise he won’t bother you again. Problems like him have a convenient way of making themselves disappear.”
I don’t ask. I won’t like the answer, and nothing I say will persuade Dante to alter his chosen course of action. Besides, the man assaulted me. Who knows what might have happened if Dante hadn’t shown up?
As reaction sinks in, I start shivering and hug myself tightly. Dante brushes his fingertips over the bare skin of my upper arm, right where the man grabbed me. “That fucker. You’re going to bruise.”
When he spins like he might hunt the jerk down and finish the job, I snag him by the shirt. “Stop. Please don’t leave me here again.”
An emotion that resembles guilt flashes across his face. He opens his mouth. Closes it again.
My pulse drums in my throat. Is this…does Dante actually care? “I’m okay.”
His expression softens before a wall slams down between us. “Don’t get any ideas. I only did that to protect my property. I can’t let someone disrespect me like that.”
His property. Right. Silly me for believing there was more to it than that.
My chest aches as he unhooks the leash from the tree and lets it fall to my side. When I sink my teeth into my bottom lip, he zeroes in on the tiny motion. For a heartbeat, I think he might kiss me, but then he shakes his head before angling it away.
Sighing, I gaze blindly out into the crowd. “You didn’t hurt him too badly, did you?”
He growls. “You know he was trying to buy you for sex, right? And that was before he tried to punch you. I swear, you’d hate to see even the lowest gutter rat in pain, no matter how pathetic or diseased it might be. You need to learn that in my world, compassion is a weakness.”
I lift my wobbly chin. “Then I guess I’m weak.”
He glares. “That softheartedness will get crushed out of you sooner or later.” When I refuse to react, he kneads the back of his neck and scans the sidewalk one last time. “Andy will survive.”
He doesn’t tack on for now, though I hear it. And I don’t ask for reassurances.
“Okay.”
When I reach for his hand, he freezes for an instant and then laces our fingers into a death grip. “Remember, you’re mine to do with as I please. I don’t need to justify myself, least of all to you.”
“Okay,” I repeat.
As he leads me away, his words repeat in my head. Yet no matter how many times my mind replays them, I can’t seem to decide.
Was he attempting to convince me…or himself?
Back in the car, I clutch the straps of my seat belt. “You’re bleeding.”
The scratches covering Dante’s forearm look like defensive wounds, though I don’t ask. Mainly because I don’t want to know what he was doing when he got them.
Dante’s jaw clenches, then relaxes. “So?”
I nervously lick my dry lips. “So, let me see.” It feels like I’m poking a beast, but my survival hinges on taming him, and now’s as good a time as any to test his defenses. Dante goes rigid, and his eyes harden like flint.
I sigh and stare out the window. “Do you remember when we first met?” My breath fogs the glass, and from beside me, leather rustles as Dante shifts in his seat.
I was working as a receptionist at Staten Island Teaching Hospital, and several young men from the local fraternity were drunk and harassing me after work one night.
I kept asking them to leave me alone, but they followed me for a block before I ran into Dante.
Literally ran nose-first into his chest as I rounded the corner.
To be fair, he didn’t have to do much. Not with his darkened eyes, that Creation of Adam tattoo on the side of his neck on full display, and the expensive suit that did nothing to camouflage his visibly brutal strength.
With a cigar clenched between his teeth and smoke swirling up around his head, he took one glance at me and gestured at a group of boys who abruptly realized they had better things to do and scattered like leaves in the wind.
Dante took me out to dinner that same evening before eventually dropping me off at home, and the rest is history.
I echo what I said that night. “You’re trouble. You’ve always been trouble.” He doesn’t answer, but I notice his fingers loosen a little around the steering wheel, which gives me a spark of hope.
Obviously, I’m losing my mind. The man led me around today on a pearl-studded leash and tied me to a tree.
Checking on him should be the last thing on my mind.
But him coming to my defense reminds me of the day I first fell for him.
He’s the only person who’s ever made me feel safe, and I soften toward him despite my common sense screaming at me.
“Let me see your arm.” I say it again, more sternly, and this time, he capitulates with a reluctant sigh.
“Fine.”
He drops his hand in my lap, resting his fingers on my upper thigh. My heart races as I trace the marks. He’s warm. Large. Even in stillness, his strength is evident. With a sudden burst of bravery—or possibly stupidity—I decide to push my luck.
“Did you find what you were searching for?” I almost regret asking, but when he doesn’t pull his hand away, I press on, needing to understand this version of Dante better. “The guy in the blue hoodie. We were following him, right?”
His eyes narrow. “Why do you say that?”
My answering laugh is strained. “I mean, it was kind of hard not to notice something was going on after you tied me to a tree. So, did you talk with him, or—”
When Dante tries to extract himself, I squeeze his wrist, urging him to stay put.
A heavy sigh deflates his chest. “No.” The admission seems reluctant, almost as if he’s holding information back, so I perform a quick scan and freeze when I notice blood beneath his nails.
What sort of life has he been living that this kind of violence is just par for the course?
Just another day? His upper lip lifts in a snarl.
“Fucker just coughed up a bunch of shit I already know.”
My brow creases. “You hurt him, didn’t you?” I don’t realize that I’m stroking his arm like he’s a cat until Dante’s head inclines toward me.
“Obviously.” He turns back to the road with a guarded air, and I realize with a start that he’s waiting for me to cast judgment.
Warning lights flash in my head. I need to proceed with caution. “Maybe there’s more to it?” I ask carefully. “If I were in his shoes, if someone were hurting me, I’d provide whatever information they wanted if it meant they’d stop.”
I’m so tempted to ask about the night the men with guns invaded our apartment, but I’m scared of losing what little ground I’ve gained.