Instead, someone outside of the family had to save my ass.
My chest feels tight as I start thinking about it again.
Not the prospect of dying, no… that I’ve been familiar with for years.
But the way Jackson had touched me. How hilarious he thought it was. How serious he was.
The memories. Buried deep in my subconscious. They had crawled their way to the surface and were wriggling inside my brain like dark little worms.
Those flickers and flashes of a dimly lit room where I couldn’t escape no matter how badly I had wanted to.
This time, I did escape—because of Soren.
“Fine,” I tell him as I look back over. “Get me out of here.”
6
Soren
My heart is still racing in my chest from the shit that went down at Carmine’s club. I’d only been watching him to make sure he wasn’t going to get up to anything dangerous again. He’d been in that damn office for hours, and I’d been about to leave.
It’s a good thing I didn’t.
My stomach turns as I think about what that disgusting motherfucker Jackson was trying to do to him. Of all the bullshit I thought he might pull, trying to rape a Dresvanni wasn’t on the list.
Now he’s dead. Lying in a pool of his own blood on the office floor. I’m almost sad that I don’t have a front row seat to it anymore. That I didn’t take a picture or two just to be able to remember that he’s gone for good.
Getting Carmine somewhere safe is more important.
I’m not sure why I care so much, but for some reason my hands tremble at the thought of Jackson actually hurting him. The fact that he even touched him is enough for me to wantto find the rest of those Carvels and show them what getting involved with us—me, really means.
I can’t. That’d be stupid. I need to focus on the plan.
On Carmine.
“Your uncle isn’t going to be pissed off that I know where this safe house is now?” Carmine asks me as we walk through the side door of the place. A small cottage a half mile or so from the docks where the fishermen leave their boats for the night when they’re finished reeling in their catch. Where kids and their grandparents cast off for a day of catch and release, and where my family put a place to go when going home wasn’t an option.
“Maybe. I’ll deal with it,” I tell him. “Right now, we need to talk.”
“About? You shot Jackson in the head, he’s done. There’s nothing to talk about.” Despite Carmine’s words and the stern look on his face, he still stands in the entryway while I double lock the door and flip on the light that dimly illuminates the entryway and the living space ahead of us.
“What he tried to do to you…all because he thought you were fucking Victoria…” I mumble and move past him toward the kitchen after shrugging off my leather jacket and leaving it by the door.
“Which I’m not, if that isn’t clear,” Carmine says. “Regardless, it’s over. I don’t even know why I’m here.” I can tell he’s following behind me.
“I really don’t give a damn if you are or not,” I insist. It’s a lie. In the pit of my stomach, there’s an ache when I think about him screwing with Victoria Carvel. “But look at you, you’re covered in Jackson’s blood, you’re still practically shaking.” I motion to his arms. His fingers are twitching.
“You look like shit.”
He scoffs. “Fuck you, Soren,” he turns and starts to walk away from me.
“Fine. You don’t want my help. Guess you don’t need it.” I shrug but continue to lean down and go through one of the cabinets under the sink until I find what I’m looking for. I pull a first aid kit out and place it on the counter.
I hear his footsteps practically stomping away from me, but then they stop, and start again, this time coming back.
“Why exactly do you think I need your help?” Carmine asks me. “Why do you think we need your help? You give us extra guards, you stalk me, kill Jackson Carvel…”
I look over at him, just eying him in his suit with blood splatters all over it for a moment. Truly, I’m thinking about how hard that shit is gonna be to get out, but I’m also admiring him. It feels wrong after what just happened, but damn, he looks good. Sweaty, bloody, exhausted even. Even looking like shit he looks hot as fuck.
