"I have no doubt, brother. But what if she asks to turn him in? And what about her aunt?" Wrath asks. He's trying to be rational, I get it, but I don't think he understands.
"Maybe she will, but she deserves to live a life without fear. And if he goes to jail then she will always be worried about when he gets out, or what his friends might say or do. I won't have that. Even if she hates me for it, I’ll make the fucker pay. And her aunt will suffer the same fate. They don't deserve to breathe the same air has her." I want him to fully understand where I'm coming from, I want him to be fully aware of what my intentions are.
He smiles at me and then steps closer. "I fully fucking agree. And I'd like to help you take them both out. I'd like my own pound of flesh from them. So, what do you say you and I have some fun with this slimy fucker here, then we can figure out how to take care of her piece of shit relatives?"
"Okay. If you're sure you don't mind sharing?" I ask him.
"I don't mind if you don't. Now let’s spill a little blood and then we can both go see our girls," he says with a smirk.
I smile and push off from the wall. I'm going to enjoy the rest of my night. "Let’s make this quick and painful. I want to get back up to her before she wakes."
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I'd woken feeling groggy, and my head was pounding. I had expected Ice to be there, and I was disappointed when I realised he wasn’t.
A full bottle of water and an hour later, I’d had to get up for another drink. I was so thirsty.
By the time I got downstairs it was late, and the room had seemed really quiet. I looked around for Mason, but the only people about were a few of the club girls and the prospect behind the bar.
Candy had seen me come down and made me a cuppa, telling me that Marissa had taken Mason up to bed after telling him that I’d been busy talking to the guys. I was relieved that they had chosen not to tell him about my panic attack. I don’t like lying to him, but telling him that won’t do him any good, it will only make him worry.
Candy had sat with me for a while after telling me that the guys were dealing with some club business. She spent the next hour explaining a few things about the club and the rules.
It was only when one of the brothers came looking for her that she left me and I decided to go for a wander around the building. The layout and some of the untouched room made it obvious that it used to be an old hotel.
I turn a corner and at the end of a corridor there is a large set of brown double doors. I reach the doors and look behind be, there’s nobody around and I’ve not been told not to wander. Curious to see what’s behind, I push the door open and step through it. The room is huge, it looks like an old dining hall.
There are some tables that have been pushed to the sides, some have tablecloths and some don’t. But the place is covered with dust.
As I look over by the big window, I’m stunned to see a large dusty black grand piano. Letting my feet carry me toward it, I reach out my hand and gently run it over the top, disturbing some of the dust.
I step around the end, letting my fingers trail down the side of it and along the keys. I shiver as I let my fingers press the keys, checking to see if it’s still in tune. I’m surprised to find it is. I cast a nervous glance toward the door, I’ve not played for around six years. The week before our parents were killed was the last time I played. I’d just learned how to play Chopin,Spring Waltz. Mum had sat with me for hours until I finally got it.
Not wanting to get lost in the memory, I slowly remove the sheet covering the stool and take a seat.
I take a few deep breaths, placing my fingers on the keys. Closing my eyes, I let my fingers move, without even thinking I begin to playSonata No. 14by Ludwig Van Beethoven. This is oneof the first pieces my parents taught me to play. My fingers dance over the keys as the rich sounds of the notes fill me with a sense of peace. A calmness that I haven't felt in so long.
As I let the melody wash over me, silent tears begin to flow. Music was everything to me, playing instruments gave me a sense of belonging. I forgot how it made me feel because I refused to play anything after I lost both of my parents. It felt like I was betraying them by doing something we all loved.
As my fingers continue to move across the keys, I transition into playingExperienceby Ludovico Einaudi.Allowing myself a few quiet moments to just enjoy the music.
The panic I felt when I got to her room and she wasn’t there was like being hit by a truck. I'd raced back to the main room to look for her, but before I had even gotten down the stairs, the Prospect had sent me a text telling me she was in the old dining hall. And knowing that she still wasn’t one hundred percent, he had chosen to follow her until I was free, just in case something happened. Why we hadn’t patched that kid in yet, I didn't know. He deserves it more than anyone.
As I got closer, the sounds of the piano filled my ears. Who the fuck is playing that? Turning the corner, I see Prospect leaning against the wall right outside the door, his head tipped back, eyes closed. He looks relaxed—he isn’t, but he looks it.
The moment he hears me, he shifts, his back to the door, arms down by his sides as if he's ready to pounce. But he relaxes when he realises it’s me. "Sorry, Sargeant," he tells me. And I'm grateful that he was ready to protect her from something or someone he didn't know.
I give him a small smile. "Thanks. I've got it from here, you can go." He doesn’t say anything, simply nods and heads back to the main room. I need to talk to Prez. We need to patch this fucker in.
As I approach the room, I gently open the door just enough for me to be able to see her. My breath catches in my throat as I see her sitting there, in my hoody, her hair in a messy bun on the top of her head. She’s leant forward, hyper focussed as her fingers race over the keys. I have no idea what she's fucking playing, but she’s stunning.
Watching her play, watching her so lost in the music makes my heart race and my dick twitch. I'd love nothing more than to take her right there. But I don't move.
I'm frozen to the spot, in complete awe of her beauty and talent. I fold my arms over my chest and lean against the door frame, standing there for I don't know how long just listening to her play. But the more I watch her, the more I want to be near her, to touch her.
I push away from the frame and walk toward her. She doesn’t hear me, so when I place a hand on her shoulder, she jumps, her fingers hitting the wrong note. "It's just me, Dragonfly, please don't stop," I tell her. She glances up at me and smiles, then turns back to the piano, her fingers resuming their rhythm across the keys.
She shuffles her bum along the stool, making room for me, and I straddle it, my legs either side of it, spreading them wider so I can tuck her closer into me. She lets me pull her close, not flinching as I place one arm on her back, my hand cupping the back of her neck as my other lies flat on the top of her legging-covered thigh.
