Chapter Sixteen
Roe
A yelp ripped from between my lips as instinct had me yanking against the hold instead of trying to do something productive. Find my pepper spray. Grab that hefty under-door lock. Call Milo.
But my fight only made his grip tighten, the pressure feeling like my bones were rubbing together.
“Who was it?” a familiar voice snarled.
“Frank?” I whimpered, turning to face him. The move made my arm twist between us, acting like a barrier between our too-close bodies.
But this wasn’t the Frank I knew. The one I knew how to charm, to handle, to carefully push away.
This was someone else entirely.
I thought I’d seen the man angry before.
It was nothing compared to the blotchy-faced, small-eyed, trembling man standing in front of me right then.
My pulse kicked.
Words formed and died on my tongue.
My gaze slid from side to side.
We were on the Boardwalk.
In public.
But it was too late.
There were no cars.
No drifting pedestrians.
It was just silence.
And him.
Standing too close.
Breathing too hard.
Squeezing too tight.
The pain had tears pricking my eyes, but I blinked them back.
“You’ve got some nerve.”
His voice was low, roughened by something I had never heard from him before.
Not irritation.
Not the slick arrogance he wore like a tailored suit.
This was something else entirely.
I wanted to pull away, to run, to scream.
No.
Fawn.
Fawn first.
Always.
I forced a small laugh. “You scared me!”
The light, the ease, the pretend ignorance of his bad intentions.
The move had worked a million times before.
My stomach flipped at needing to touch him, but my hand slid over his, resting lightly.
Gentle.
Calming.
“Frank, you’re hurting me.”
His fingers tightened.
The bruising pressure deepened.
I bit the inside of my lower lip to keep it from trembling.
“You think I didn’t see you?”
I forced the smile to spread. Small, a little confused.
My stomach sloshed.
“See me?”
“Coming out of that hotel.”
The words hit like ice water.
The chill burrowed into my bones.
Did he know?
About Milo?
About the plans?
I tilted my head slightly. Softening, soothing, doing what I always had to when he got in an uncomfortable mood.
“There’s a bar in the hotel, Frank,” I said.
A lie, wrapped up in a truth.
It normally would have worked.
But his face—
Something was wrong.
He wasn’t buying it.
His jaw flexed, eyes dark yet also fever-bright.
“Do you think I’m an idiot?”
“Of course, I don’t—”
“You think I don’t know what is going on right under my nose?”
Dread flickered.
“You’ve got customers lining up for your attention all night,” he said, voice tightening with each word. “And now you’re sneaking off to finish the job elsewhere?”
The accusation slammed into me.
Ugly.
Charged.
Yet not wholly unexpected.
But I spoke too fast.
I didn’t think.
“That’s ridiculous.”
I knew it instantly.
That was the wrong move.
The wrong words.
My heartbeat stumbled.
His grip grew even more punishing.
“You lying little whore.”
The word cracked the air between us.
My breath hitched.
Not at the insult. At the venom. At the naked fury vibrating under his skin.
It was his usual jealousy, yes. But it was something else too. Something feral. Unhinged.
I shifted tactics.
My voice softened, grew cloyingly sweet.
“Hey…” I said, giving his hand a squeeze, then sliding up his arm slightly. Placating. An intimacy I never would have initiated otherwise.
It was the choreography of survival.
I just hoped to hell I knew the steps.
“You’re upset.”
“I’m pissed.”
“I see that.” My tone went warmer, coaxing. “Frank, I have never… sold myself to customers.”
“Yeah, you all say that.”
“All? Frank, it’s just you and me right now.”
“Teasing whores, all of you,” he snarled, yanking me closer.
The pain was a white flash across my vision that had me blinking back tears.
“Frank, please. This is me you’re talking to.”
“Always flirting. Always hinting at things you never let me have. Then I catch you… giving it out to some random tourist. Did you do it just for the money? Or did you like it? I bet you liked it, you slut.”
Suddenly, horribly, I felt it.
The shift.
Every other time, rebuffs had been met with a certain level of playful frustration.
A cat-and-mouse game.
But he’d gotten tired of the chase.
Now, he had me in his claws.
And I had a feeling I wasn’t going to like what was going to come next.
“Frank, I—”
“You think I’m stupid?” His voice was a slap, making me jerk back. “Getting diamond necklaces without spreading your legs. No man is stupid enough to spend that much without getting pussy.”
Bile slid up my throat, making me regret all the food I’d just eaten.
There was no flirting my way out of this.
There was no fawning that would ease the sharp edges of his rage.
“I got a drink at the bar,” I insisted, chin lifting, eyes holding his. “Alone. Let’s go ask the bartender—” My arm screamed as I tried to walk in the direction of the hotel.
But he just pulled me closer.
“You’re gonna give me what you owe me,” he snapped.
And I was suddenly too aware of the space between buildings, the cover of darkness that could hide all kinds of sins.
I had to get away.
I had to…
“Hey!” a voice called, sounding slow and thick.
High? Drunk?
“Hey, I know you!” the voice declared, making both Frank and me turn to watch him stumbling toward us, his gait so unstable that it was a miracle he stayed upright.
He wore black slacks and a black button-up, but he looked messy, like he’d had a rough night. Likely losing at the tables and drowning that disappointment in a bottle.
“Fuck off,” Frank snapped as the man slow-blinked at him while he drew closer.
“No, I know you! You’re the guy. The guy with the place!”
God.
How was he still walking and talking with how wasted he was?
“I’m busy here,” Frank snarled, barely glancing at the guy as he got even closer.
I turned my focus to the stranger.
I didn’t have a lot of hope.
I mean, he could barely string words together. How could he help me?
But maybe if he could just tick Frank off enough to release me, I could run.
I could—
If I hadn’t been watching the drunk stranger so closely, I would have missed it.
But I saw his one hand disappear up his sleeve and come back with… a needle?
Before I could even wrap my head around its appearance, he had the cap off, grabbed Frank from behind, and jammed it into his neck.
Frank staggered, then fell.
I didn’t even get a chance to see if he was still conscious when he landed.
Because another hand reached for me, grabbing my wrist in a firm, but gentle, grip.
“We gotta run,” he said.
I didn’t know the guy from Adam.
There was no reason to trust him.
He carried needles up his sleeve, for God’s sake.
But one thing I did know was that Frank was definitely going to rape me. And this man stopped that from happening.
So, well, I ran.
And ran.
Until the tall stranger yanked me into an old parking garage.
His hand immediately released me, holding his hands up, palms out.
“You’re okay. I’m not gonna hurt you.”
“You… stabbed him.”
“Well… to be clear, only with a needle.”
It was so… calm, casual.
Like he wasn’t above using a knife, but it just hadn’t been the right time.
Normal people didn’t talk like that.
I glanced up at him.
Great bone structure, dark hair, green eyes, but that distinct Italian olive undertone to his skin.
This wasn’t a random savior.
This was another Grassi man.
“Are you R?”
“R?”
“Milo put someone in my phone with an R. R and D. And I met D tonight.”
“Remo, sweetheart. Now listen, you’re gonna have to do something right now. How good are you at conjuring up tears?”
“Right now?” I asked, already blinking them away as the adrenaline waned and the pain started to really set in on my arm.
“While it’s fresh, I need you to call the cops.”
“What?”
“You call the cops, say you don’t know what happened but a man collapsed on the sidewalk. Then say where. Tell them to hurry. Sound upset. Then hang up. That’s it.” Then, giving me a calm, reassuring look. “It’s not a lie. It’s not a crime. You’re just being a Good Samaritan.”
He handed me a phone.
I reached for it with sweaty, shaky hands and dialed.
I hitched my breath.
I let the tears flow.
Then I did what I was told.
When I was finished, I held the phone out to Remo, who quickly ripped out the SIM card and tucked it into his pocket.
“That was perfect.”
“But… why?”
“Because we can still save this if we’re smart.”
“Save it? He was going to rape me.”
Pain sliced across his handsome face.
“And if you never want to go back to that place, I understand and don’t hold it against you.”
“How could I ever go back?”
“Well, your boss just took a hefty dose of drugs. The kind that are gonna make everything that just happened pretty blurry. You can rewrite it, if you want.”
“How can you rewrite something like that?”
“He was crazed. Something was seriously wrong. He was grabbing you, hurting you, saying wild, crazy things that made no sense. And then he collapsed. You rushed away to find a phone to call the police. When Frank wakes up, he will be confused. He’s…
rewriteable. So we rewrite him. If he doesn’t remember why he was actually pissed, I’m betting on him at least faking regret at hurting you. ”
“You think we could use his remorse against him.”
“Something like that. But, listen, I’m not going to force it. Think on it. It’s okay,” he said when I jumped at a sound drawing near. “That’s my baby brother,” he said when a shadow moved closer to us.
Then there he was.
A younger version of Remo. A little chubby in the cheeks still. But the family resemblance was strong.
“He’s gonna walk you home. If you want, he can check your apartment to make sure no one is there. And if you look out your window at any time tonight or tomorrow and see some guy lingering, he belongs to me and he’s just there to make sure nothing else happens to you.”
With that and not a damn thing else, Remo turned and disappeared into the shadows from which his brother emerged.
“Is he always like that?”
“With the grand entrances and cocky exits?” the brother asked, shooting me a boyish smirk. “Yeah.” He held out an arm, waving toward the exit. “Let’s get you home.”
It was an offer.
But also, maybe, a demand.
So I fell into step with the stranger and let him walk me the rest of the way home. I even let him check my apartment.
“Ice your arm,” he told me when he stood in my doorway after he was done. “And take some ibuprofen. You’re going to swell. It’s going to hurt.”
With that, he was gone.
I turned and locked my doors before walking on numb legs over to my couch.
I collapsed down.
The tears came, pointless, but unstoppable.
And all I wanted was to take a ride back to the hotel and wrap myself in Milo’s arms.
But I didn’t do that.
I didn’t even call.
I just let the feelings wash through me, took some medicine, then grabbed an ice pack and moved to the window.
I pushed back the curtains and blinds.
And sure enough, there was a man lingering across the street, casually smoking a cigarette but keeping an eye on the building.
I took myself to bed but sat awake, staring blankly at my television, rolling over Remo’s words.
I couldn’t do it, could I?
Go back to work?
Face Frank again after that?
One thing stuck with me, though.
If Frank didn’t have his memory, it let me shape the narrative.
It gave me my power back.
And after that attack, I really, really wanted not to feel so small around him again.
Maybe I could do it.
Go in there.
Fake it.
Play on his feelings one last time.
Then help these men fuck up his whole life.
He had it coming.
If I could find the strength to face him again.