Chapter Eleven— Vinny
I knew something was off before I even unlocked the door.
I could smell bleach and spices from the other side. I walked into my house slowly, my hand at my waistband where my gun stayed holstered.
The living room was spotless.
The couch was straightened.
The floor had been vacuumed.
Shit had been dusted.
She'd even organized the stack of old unpaid bills on the coffee table.
My place hadn't been this clean in years.
I stepped into the kitchen and found Jamie at the stove.
Barefoot and naked.
I had never met a woman so secure in her own body.
My hands flexed at my sides, fingers curling tight like I needed something to hold on to.
My eyes traced over her flawless skin, over the curve of her hips, down to her perfectly round ass.
She had the type of body that looked like it had been sculpted for sin.
Heat slid down my spine, settling low.
I shifted, adjusting my dick without thinking.
I swallowed hard, but it didn't help.
My throat stayed tight.
She moved like she knew I was watching—slow, easy, hips rolling as she stirred whatever was in the damn pot.
She glanced over her shoulder.
No fear, no shock in her eyes.
Like she wasn't my captive.
"You look hungry," she said, her voice light. "Sit."
"How the fuck did you get out those cuffs?"
She responded easily.
"You ain't the first man to cuff me to a bed. You ain't special."
She chuckled.
I wanted to hear that story.
"Get dressed," I said.
It was pissing me off how much I wanted to touch her but couldn't.
She chuckled.
"Nah, I'm fine. I haven't had a chance to be this free in a while. I made you a plate."
I didn't even argue.
I hadn't had real food in days.
I sat down, the chair creaking beneath me as I reached for the plate she slid in front of me.
Chicken breast.
Alfredo pasta.
Spanish rice.
I didn't have much in my fridge, but she'd made do.
Before she sat down, she slid a glass of my good bourbon across the table.
I raised an eyebrow.
She had made herself right at home.
"Drink with me. You need to relax," she coaxed.
I ate.
And I mean ate.
Like a man who forgot he needed food to stay alive.
And drank.
"What are you gonna do with me?" she asked suddenly, her voice dropping a little, a slight pout playing at the edge of her mouth.
She looked up and leaned in close.
I wanted to reach out and trace the outline of her dark areola.
I fisted my fork tighter.
I didn't let it show.
I just leaned back and spoke flatly.
"I don't kill women. If it had been up to me, I would've given you some cash and told you to disappear. If it came to it, yeah—I might've had someone else do it so I didn't have to live with that shit. But it ain't that simple now because of who you are."
She stayed quiet, watching me in a way that said she was dissecting everything I said and storing away what she'd need later.
"Lady of Rage is suspicious. Real suspicious," I continued. "If she finds out you're alive, it's not just your head on the line. It's mine too. So for now, you stay put. Until I figure out a way for us both to breathe easy."
She smiled, slow and sly.
"So... do I have to stay? Or do you want me to stay?"
I gave her a look that shut that shit down quick.
She shrugged like she didn't care either way.
"I'm sure you'll figure it out, Vicente."
Her back hit the kitchen counter with a thud before I realized I'd moved.
My forearm pressed across her collarbone.
"How do you know my name?" I growled.
Her breath hitched, but her eyes held mine.
She really was fearless.
She hesitated just long enough for me to know she was deciding which version of the truth to tell me.
"I saw your face before," she said.
I didn't move.
Just narrowed my eyes.
"There was a hit out on you," she added.
I stared at her.
Breathing hard.
Fighting the urge to shake her.
Though none of this was actually her fault.
Shit was getting more complicated.
"I heard things before. What you did. You did right by her, Vinny. Bellamy's bitch-ass son deserved worse than what you gave him. You did what any real man would've done. You scorched the earth for your woman."
Her words hit harder than I wanted to admit.
They weren't filled with sympathy or pity.
This was something else.
Understanding.
She said it like I was some kind of man worth respecting.
I didn't feel like a hero.
I felt tired.
Back then and now.
But part of me wanted to beat my chest like a goddamn animal because she thought I was one.
"You don't know what you're praising, sweetheart."
I remembered the mess I'd made.
The rage I felt.
The fucking loss.
I'd burned every bridge I had.
I'd left my parents behind.
My company.
Bodies in my wake.
I thought I'd gotten my vengeance, but all it really did was turn me into something I didn't even recognize.
I stepped back, giving her room to breathe.
I dragged a rough palm down my face, scraping over my stubble.
"I need a nap," I muttered.
I hadn't slept more than a few hours in days.
Between Lady of Rage breathing down my neck and Jamie being a ticking bomb in my house, I was stretched thin.
Jamie ran her hand across her neck.
"You trust me, papi, enough to sleep? I call this progress."
That wasn't the response I'd been expecting.
I shot her a dry look, reaching out and grabbing her wrist tightly.
"Cut that papi shit out," I warned, my voice low. "I'm not moved by it. I know exactly what you're doing."
Before I could pull back, she grabbed my hand and kissed my knuckles.
Her lips were so soft.
Precum leaked from my already hard dick.
She was trying to kill me.
"Sorry. I'm trying to make a bad situation tolerable," she whispered, her lips brushing my skin before she let go. "Go to bed. I'm going to put away the leftover food, then sleep too."
I didn't argue.
I just stood and walked away, too wired and confused to think straight.
It didn't matter if she was loose.
The doors were locked, so she couldn't run.
And she couldn't kill me.
I'd heard her say she was going to sleep too, but I didn't think she meant in the same bed.
There was only one bed.
When she climbed in beside me and pressed close, all my calm cracked.
My whole body went stiff the second her skin touched mine.
Every muscle locked tight.
I knew she felt it.
But she didn't move.
We were close enough to breathe the same air.
She didn't say a word.
Just curled into me like she belonged there.
And fuck me...
Part of me didn't mind.
But part of me did.
It felt like betrayal.
Then there were the dreams.
For the life of me, I couldn't open my mouth and tell her to move.
Or force myself to.