Chapter 12
It had been a week since I’d left my tiny apartment.
After stumbling in after the disaster at Carlo’s, I’d slammed the door and locked it tight. I hadn’t opened it since.
For the first couple of days, it wasn’t an issue. Medical protocol for suspected concussions called for rest for the first forty-eight hours. I would have given anything for a CT scan to better understand what I was dealing with, but going to the hospital was out of the question.
So, instead, I made due by running myself through a few standard neurological tests—checking my vision, balance, and strength as best I could on my own. Once those were complete, I moved on to the cognitive examination.
Fortunately, after the first two days, I was passing everything with flying colors.
Unfortunately, that good news only made room for a brand new pack of fears to rush in.
New York had suddenly become a very dangerous place.
I might have survived Carlo’s initial attack without lasting brain injuries, but he was still out there, pissed off and hungry for revenge. I couldn’t return to work, and my savings were meager. Without a plan, I wouldn’t last long.
The only good news was I already had plenty of experience in how to disappear.
I shut down my burner phone to prevent Jane or anyone else with the number from tracking its movements. Everything I owned fit inside a single duffel bag, so I traveled light. And thankfully, the thousand dollars Dorian had paid me the week before meant I could afford to lay low for another week and still have enough for a bus ticket out of town.
I had to assume Carlo wasn’t a total idiot and was watching all the major train stations and bus depots. So, the only thing I needed now was for things to cool down before I risked showing my face on the street.
At least my apartment was still safe.
Since no one had kicked in my door all week, I figured my address was still a secret. Each day that passed made it less likely they would.
That was the good news.
The bad news was that after a full week of being locked in a 100-square-foot room, I was running out of groceries. At this point, all I had left was half a jar of peanut butter and a small bag of rice. Meaning that in the next couple of days, I would have to risk sneaking down to the corner bodega.
I was standing there, contemplating my empty shelves, when there was a tap on my door.
Instantly, I froze, too afraid to even breathe.
One second passed in silence…two seconds…three.
Another knock, this one louder.
Maybe it was a mistake—someone with the wrong address or a kid playing in the hall trying to prank his neighbors. Maybe whoever was out there would just go a?—
Scriiitch.
The sound of metal scratching against metal sounded as the doorknob began to jiggle. Oh shit—someone had found me, and they were picking the lock.
In desperation, I glanced toward my only window, but it was no good.
There was no fire escape, just a five-story sheer drop straight down to the street, meaning my choices were almost certain suicide or stand and fight.
With shaking hands, I reached out and wrapped my fingers around the handle of my small cast iron skillet—the closest thing I had to a weapon. Then, as silently as I could, I slid over to the wall, ready to hide in the door’s shadow when it opened.
And only a couple of seconds later, it did just that—slowly creaking open as my heart pounded in panic against my breastbone.
I gripped the handle of the pan tighter as one careful footstep creaked against my floorboards…then two. The sliver of a shoulder came into view, the back of a head. This was my chance.
I sprung forward, iron pan held high above my head, ready to bring it down on whichever bastard had been sent to kill me.
But before I could, the intruder spun around, his reflexes lightning fast. One massive hand circled my wrist, immobilizing it instantly, while the other gripped my shoulder, pinning my other arm helplessly to my side.
“Kiera.”
The adrenaline rush started to fade when I heard my name—my real name. Only one person in this city knew it.
“Dorian.”
Instead of letting me go, he pulled me in closer, wrapping me fully in his arms and crushing me against his chest. Surrounded by his embrace, I started to breathe again. I let go of the frying pan, and it clattered against the floor.
He stood there, simply holding me, for at least a full minute before finally leaning back. His expression darkened as he took in the sight of my face. The muscles lining his jaw hardened as his eyes turned to ice.
“What the hell happened?” he demanded.
I tried to tilt my face to the floor, but he lifted my chin, forcing me to face him.
I wasn’t sure why.
Even though a week had passed, I still hadn’t fully recovered from Carlo’s assault. The black eye he’d given me had only grown uglier as it started to fade. Instead of simple black and blue, my cheek was now painted with ugly swirls of yellow, brown, and orange. At least the swelling has gone down.
“I’m okay,” I tried to assure him. “It looks worse than it is. Nothing’s broken. I had a concussion for a couple of days, but there’s no permanent damage.”
Far from being reassured, he was growing angrier. “Tell me what happened, Kiera.”
This time, it wasn’t a question; it was a command.
“One of my clients got handsy and then got upset when I told him no.” It might have been a massive understatement, but it was still technically true.
But if I’d hoped that by dialing down the severity of the attack, I could temper Dorian’s anger, I was terribly mistaken.
His face turned red as the cords along his neck stood out.
“Did he…” His words trailed off as his jaw began to grind in rage, but I knew what he was asking.
“No.” I shook my head. “I kneed him in the nuts and knocked him out with a bowling trophy before he could do anything more than land a punch.”
He pulled me close again, close enough that I could feel the pure fury shaking through his body. Even so, his arms felt like heaven—so strong and secure.
For the first time all week, I was able to let down my guard a little and breathe, knowing that, just for a minute, someone else was watching my back.
I didn’t want it to end.
“Why didn’t you come to me?” he asked without letting go. “I promised to protect you.”
“Yeah, but…”
“But what?”
I tilted my head back to look up at his face. “But I figured that was just pillow talk.”
His brows pulled together hard. “What the fuck is pillow talk?”
“You know, the bullshit guys say to women when they’re in bed,” I said. “It sounds good in the moment, but they never actually mean it. I just figured you talked that way to all your girls.”
His eyes hardened. “There are no other girls, and I don’t say anything unless I mean it.”
And I believed him…but it didn’t change anything.
“Unfortunately, even if I’d known that, it still wouldn’t have come to you,” I confessed. “This client, he’s a real gangster, Dorian. He wants me dead, and I’m pretty sure he’d kill anyone who tried to stop him. I’ve been too afraid to leave this room for a week. There was no way I’d ever risk bringing a mess like that to your door.”
Even through the rage, I spotted a spark of tenderness in his eyes. Cupping his broad palm over my cheek, he pressed my head gently against his chest.
His hard, steady heartbeat against my ear was the medicine I’d been missing all week. In that moment, he felt like an immovable rock, the kind you could cling to and press against for shelter in a storm.
“Do you know this gangster’s name?” he asked.
“Maybe,” I said. “He called himself Carlo, but I don’t know if that’s his real name or?—“
“Carlo Costa,” Dorian said, his voice unusually low and menacing, even for him.
“You know him?”
“He’s one of a dozen midlevel cousins in the Costa crime family. I’d say he’s a fuck up, but that would be giving him too much credit.”
“Please tell me you’re not going to confront him,” I said, suddenly worried. “I wasn’t kidding when I said how dangerous he was. I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to you.”
“You have to stop worrying about me, Kiera,” he said. “I know it’s in your nature to care about others, but if you knew who I really was, you wouldn’t care what the hell might happen to me.”
I shook my head against him. “That’s not true.”
“Yes, it is.” Gripping my shoulders, he pulled me back so I stood at arm’s length. “You have to understand. I’m not just some bad guy. I’m the bad guy. I’m the one your gangster client is afraid of. And not just him, but his boss and his boss’ boss—they all have nightmares about me.”
That didn’t sound like bragging. It sounded like the cold, hard truth.
I already knew that violence was a part of his life. I’d seen the evidence of that with my own eyes, stitched back together the consequences of it with my hands. Still, for some reason I couldn’t explain, I wasn’t afraid.
Not of him, at least.
Though, it did make me wonder something.
“How did you know where I live?” I asked.
“Jane told me.”
“She just told you?” So much for her vow to keep all our information private.
“Don’t blame her,” he said. “Jane knows if I want something, I’ll find a way to get it. No matter what.”
Of course. I already knew that.
All he’d had to do was tell Jane he wanted me on Tuesdays, and she’d bent over backward to make it happen.
“But why?” I couldn’t help but ask. “Why did you bother looking for me at all?”
“You already know the answer to that.”
No, I really didn’t. “I hope you don’t think you still owe me for stitching you up last week. I?—“
If his growl of frustration or his hand slipping behind the nape of my neck didn’t stop me from talking, then his mouth descending over mine in a possessive kiss certainly would have.
His lips met mine with a fierce kind of tenderness that melted my soul. His hands felt like a branding iron on my skin, indelibly marking me as his.
And, God help me, all I wanted to do was hold on to him and never let go.
“I told you that morning in my bed, Kiera,” he said, still cradling me against him. “You’re mine, and I will always protect what’s mine. Now grab your things and come with me.”
“Where?”
“My place,” he said. “I never should have let you go in the first place. But you’re under my protection now, and that’s not going to change until I’m one hundred percent certain that you’re safe.”