Chapter Thirty-One
Summer?
“I’ll see you tonight. I’ll pick you up around seven, ok?” Bhodi presses his lips to mine.
My hands cup his cheeks, and I feel my body leaning back onto the bed. Bhodi lets out a low growl before pulling away and standing tall, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans. His eyes sparkle, and that beautiful smirk pulls at his full lips.
“I really need to get going. You’re making me late.” He shrugs, but the smirk stays in place.
Pushing the duvet away from my body, I rise to my knees on the bed. I feel my heavy tits and hard nipples brush against the cotton when it slides away, goosebumps rising on my skin. Rolling my bottom lip between my teeth, I can’t help but smile. Bhodi’s eyes darken as he shakes his head, leaning in once more, his hand around the back of my head, he pulls me close.
“You’re making me late; I’ll see you in twelve hours.” His voice is dominating, pulling me in for one final kiss.
I fall back into bed, letting out a heavy sigh. I watch as Bhodi leaves, his footsteps moving through the apartment before reaching the door. Once the door closes behind him, I pull the duvet back over my head, inhaling his woodsy cologne. Stretching, I feel my muscles ache, but I can’t help but smile, as the memories flood my mind. His smile, his eyes, how his body and soul connects with mine, and how I react to his touch.
The silence in the apartment is strange; the sun has already risen, revealing a clear blue sky for the day, but I don’t want to move just yet. Glancing towards the clock I see a couple hours have already passed.
I must have fallen asleep.
Rolling back over, I gaze out the window as I relive last night. I know how angry I should be right now, but I’m not.
The story about Pamela broke my heart. All those involved had seen firsthand how she was let down, made to feel worthless, and further humiliated by Luca and his lawyer. She was nothing more than a plaything for them to taunt, but my dad made sure she felt safe and cared for along with Bhodi. How could I ever be angry at that?
The mask is a different story for now, but I must assume it was meant to protect us both. Harry has been able to find me, which means I’m not too hard to track down, and it’s not like I was hiding. This was my dad’s home, after all.
This was my dad’s home…
Kicking off the duvet, I step through the apartment, sliding my hoodie over my head and adjusting the clothing as I begin to make a much-needed coffee. Sliding the bar stool out, I prop my elbows onto the marble top, propping my chin on my hand as the rich, earthy scent fills the room. The apartment feels empty. I’ve spent the last couple of weeks aimlessly wandering the space with no purpose or plan.
Glancing around the walls, they’re stark and bare. For a moment, I allow myself to wonder what the place would look like with a feminine touch, but soon, the idea becomes stale. This will always be my dad’s home, not mine. It was a place I stayed and never lived, but these past couple of weeks have left an odd yearning to start fresh. Escaping Harry definitely gave me hope, but meeting Bhodi gave me so much more.
I feel safe with him, cared for, and needed. For once in my life, someone needs me, and I need him too. I know I told him last night that I love him. For the first time, I said it to someone I cared for, and I meant it. I felt his body tense, and I could feel him lying uncomfortably in my bed, but I wanted him to know, to know that he is loved.
He promised tonight to answer any questions I have. There’s a fear deep within me, that I could be told secrets that make me look at him in a different way, it could cause me to run as far away as I possibly can. But something tells me, that won’t happen. I need to have trust in my dad and hold onto the good person he was and always will be in my heart. His decision wasn’t taken lightly and everything they have done was to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves.
The beeping from the coffee machine causes me to jump slightly, sliding from the stool. I pour the steamy coffee into a mug along with cream and a single sugar. Cupping my hands around the mug, I inhale deeply, enjoying the rich, nutty aroma. Stepping out of the kitchen with the mug placed to my lips, I stare at my dad’s bedroom door.
Pulling the mug away from my lips, I feel my body becoming heavy from sadness. My eyes land on the door handle. I’ve been here for days and haven’t set foot into that room yet. Each time I find myself looking to the door, I’ve managed to force myself away, making up some silly excuse that I was busy with the funeral or something, but now that’s not the case.
Lacing my fingers around the door handle, I slowly push it open. Standing at the threshold, I lean in slightly as the lingering scent of his cologne hits me. Closing my eyes, the scent fills my nostrils, and the tears threaten to fall. As I gasp for breath, sitting on the edge of the bed, I try to steady my breathing. I count to ten before opening them again.
The décor is stark, much like the rest of the apartment”s muted grey, black, and white tones. If I didn’t know this was my dad’s room, you’d think it was a show home. There’s little in the room that adds any personal touches, no photos, no small Nik-naks. Turning around and spotting the walk-in wardrobe, I pull the door open, revealing racks of suits, some formal, some informal, and on the opposite side of the space, a few casual t-shirts, sweatpants, and some gym gear hang on their racks.
Placing my coffee on the side, I step inside. Brushing my hand across the jackets. The thought of having to eventually bag all his clothing up sends a cold shiver through me. I hate how final it feels. It’s as though stripping every memory away and having nothing left. Walking through the small space, one of the jackets feels heavier than the rest. Turning to inspect the bulk in one of the pockets, I smile.
Reaching inside, I pull out a pile of pictures. In an instant, my brow creases. Flicking through the images, my heart rate picks up and I feel my knees wobble.
“What the fuck?” I mutter.
Squinting my eyes, I pull the photo closer, trying to make out the image. Glancing around the room, I don’t spot a light. Moving back into the bedroom, I spread the photos across the floor. My gaze darts between the different images; all look to be taken at different times, and I spot Luca immediately. The same man from my dad’s funeral and the same man who Bhodi told me hurt his friend.
Why the fuck was my dad following him?
Bhodi never mentioned any of this.
The fear that he could be lying to me slithers over my body. Nervously chewing on my thumb, I scatter the photos wider on the carpet, hoping to see why dad was following him. The photos show Luca speaking with different men, shaking hands and then entering an apartment. I don’t recognize anyone, not what I would have any reason to.
“Shit.” My hand flies to my mouth when I finally spot the reason. “Oh god, no.”
Falling back onto my ass hard, I crawl backward before my back collides sharply with the wall. Frantically shaking my head, I feel my eyes fill with tears, blurring my vision along with the thick knot forming in my throat.Unable to think clearly, I scramble to my feet, thundering to my bedroom. I grab my phone off the bedside table, my finger trembling as I try to unlock it. Hitting the call button, I hold the phone to my ear, my heartbeat storming through my ears, as the call eventually goes to voicemail.
“Shit, shit, shit!”
Scrolling to the next contact, I hit call as the ringing begins. I can feel myself willing James to answer my call. Hearing a knock at the door, I poke my head around the corner. With the phone still in my hand, it falls to my side as the persistent knocking continues.
I eye the door suspiciously. The sequence of knocking is strange, it’s almost frantic.
“Who’s there?” I call out.
Eyeing the phone in my hand, I hold it close to my ear again. Listening to the end of the voicemail, I go to speak but slam my hands over my ears as a loud bang goes off.
“OW!” I cry out.
My body falls onto the floor hard, throwing my left hand over my arm. I feel the warmth beneath my palm. Pulling it away, the blood pools in my hand. My eyes fly towards the door again, and more shots ring out. Frantically crawling towards the bathroom, push the door open. Leaning back against it I slam the lock shut.
I hold my breath as the front door is kicked open and bounces off the wall. I freeze, hearing footsteps through the main hall, and faint whispers merely a foot away from me.
“She’s in there.” One whispers.
They’re right outside the bathroom door. Gripping my nails onto the floor, I force my body away. Sliding away from the door and trying to hold in my cries of pain. Leaning against the wall, I let out a heavy breath. My eyes scan the room, but there’s nothing here to help me.
Spotting the blood pooling on the floor, my eyes widen. Gripping my hoodie, I pull it up. Spotting the blood pouring from my right hip, I feel the panic further settling in.
How did I not feel that?
The footsteps eventually move away. I try to play it out to see whether I could escape, but it’s unlikely. As my body slumps lower to the ground, I feel the waves of dizziness wash through me, my vision becoming blurry and jumpy.
My head falls back against the wall. I can feel it beginning to roll. Inhaling deeply, I clutch onto the bloody wound. Each breath feels like a knife being driven through me. My eyes become heavy, but the smell pulls me from my weak descent.
Smoke.