Lauren Landish - A Bad Boy Romance - Relentless (ang)

RELENTLESS A BAD BOY ROMANCE

LAUREN LANDISH

Edited by

VALORIE CLIFTON Illustrated by

LOVE N BOOKS

Contents Copyright Relentless Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chanter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Epilogue BONUS: Off Limits PREVIEW: Reckless About the Author Also by Lauren Landish

Copyright © 2016 by Lauren Landish All rights reserved. Cover design © 2016 by Love N. Books No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The following story contains mature themes, strong language and sexual situations. It is intended for mature readers. All characters are 18+ years of age and non-blood related, and all sexual acts are consensual.

RELENTLESS THE BERTOLI CRIME FAMILY BOOK ONE BY LAUREN LANDISH

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RELENTLESS Protecting her should be easy for a man like me . . . When assigned as a bodyguard for Adriana Bertoli, I knew I was in for a world of trouble. With her fiery-red hair, sparkling green eyes, milky white skin, and lush, curvaceous body, she's a damn knockout. But she also happens to be the niece of one of the most powerful mob bosses in the Seattle-Tacoma area, Don Carlo — my boss. And he’s made it clear that none of his men are to lay a finger on Adriana. The man to have that honor would have to be perfect — a warrior and a saint. Sadly, I was no saint. It should be an easy order to follow. After all, I owed everything to the man, and I’d

be nothing without him. But every moment in Adriana’s presence is pure temptation. The longer I'm with her, the more I want her, and I fear it won't be long before I betray the man who’s like the father I never had. **Relentless is a full-length novel with an HEA and no cheating! At the end, you get a preview of the first four chapters of Bertoli Crime Family Book Two PLUS bonus novel Off Limits. Relentless ends at ~50%.

CHAPTER 1

ADRIANA

“H ey honey, you wanna party with an APE?”

I rolled my eyes at the idiot standing in front of me, a young guy who looked like he was maybe nineteen and wearing a fraternity t-shirt. He was obviously approaching me as part of some sort of frat thing, although at least he had some taste. After all, he did have his choice of women to choose from—I don't go to a tiny school. “Are you doing this as a rush or something?” The idiot's eyes wavered for a moment. He'd probably seen my paint-streaked clothes and mussed hair and correctly pegged me for an art student. Sadly enough, art students at my school have a bit of a reputation for being easy lays, and I guess he'd picked me out as an easy target. It took him a moment before he reassumed his false bravado. “Come on, baby, you know APE's got the best parties and the best time for your weekend! Besides, you look like you could use a real APE, if you know what I mean.” I crossed my arms over my chest and stared at him, raising an eyebrow. This idiot certainly didn't know who I was, nor what I'd been through these past six months. Still, his grin didn't waver, and I pulled out an old nugget I'd picked up somewhere when I first came to campus. “You do realize that the average male gorilla has a penis size of only one and a half inches, right? Trust me, if I needed some dick, an APE's the last place I'd go looking. Run along, monkey boy.” The frat pledge, looking defeated, turned and walked away, quickly reassuming his cocky persona to hit on the next girl who came by and caught his eye. Laughing a much needed laugh under my breath, I readjusted my bag over my shoulder and kept walking, leaving the campus library and heading toward my apartment. As I walked, I kept my eyes open for Vincent, hoping he'd gotten the message. After months of harassment, which had left me frazzled and at the end of my wits, I'd taken out a restraining order against him the week prior. I hoped it would end the creepiness I'd been through for most of the past five months, even if my family thought otherwise. Uncle Carlo wanted to send a message his way, but I'd

convinced him to let the legal authorities take care of my former sculpture teacher. Uncle Carlo is old school Italian. Sicilian, in fact, and yes, that means exactly what you think it means. Carlo was in the family business, the Mafia, and worked his way up the ladder to become the Godfather of the Seattle-Tacoma area for the past fifteen years. After taking over for his murdered brother—my father—he'd quickly consolidated power, ruthlessly crushing his opposition and enacting revenge for his fallen sibling. Bloodthirsty, and certainly not a man to be trifled with. That was Uncle Carlo. At the same time, he was a kind and generous family man who'd taken my mother and me into his house as soon as he could, caring for us like we were his own wife and daughter. Cancer had taken his wife when I was in sixth grade, so for most of my life, Uncle Carlo had been the male authority figure and his sons had practically been my brothers. He and Mom were in no way romantic. In fact, she filled an important role in his organization as one of his prime lieutenants. Still, if anyone could talk Uncle Carlo out of a course of action, it was me, and he let me try it my way at first. I went to the cops after Vincent started harassing me, getting a restraining order and having it delivered to the school as well, which removed me from the class next door to his in order to conduct an 'internal investigation'. That hadn't stopped his communication issues, though, and I'd gotten tired of his constant text messages, emails, and phone calls. Unfortunately, he knew my campus email, and that was one address I couldn't get changed. To say it was a bit disheartening was an understatement. You would think that a restraining order and evidence of sexual harassment would have done something more than just a change of classrooms and an 'internal investigation'. I was wondering what to do about it when I got back to my off-campus apartment that I shared with Angela. Angela—never Angie—had been roomies with me for two years, after she'd passed Uncle Carlo's discreet but thorough background check. Short, Asian, and alternatively perky and serious, she was the total opposite of me as a math major. However, for some reason, the two of us gelled, and for two years, we'd been the best of roommates. The first threads of worry started to work their way through me when I saw the open window to our apartment. Angela had terrible allergies and insisted on keeping the windows of our apartment shut, even in the dead of summer. With ionic air filters and other anti-allergen devices running almost constantly, we racked up quite an electricity bill on a monthly basis, but thankfully, Uncle Carlo had no problems with footing that cost, and the nearly sterile air did mean that when I painted at the apartment, I never had to worry about some stray cat hair or something screwing up a canvas. For Angela to leave the window open was just not

possible. Hurrying to our door, I quickly unlocked the deadbolt, pushing the door open. “Angela? You home?” Leaden, oppressive silence greeted my words, and I waved my hand in front of my face. The apartment was hot, and a sour, metallic smell was coming from Angela's bedroom. Setting my bag down, I walked carefully toward the room, calling out the whole time. “Angela? Hey, Anj? You here? You would have laughed your ass off. I ran into a pledge from Alpha Rho—” The words dried in my throat as I entered Angela's bedroom and saw the carnage in front of me. Angela, dressed in her normal early semester apartment wear of a tank top and a pair of Seahawks shorts, was lying facedown on her bed, the back of her shirt ripped and torn, her shorts pulled down to expose her ass to the air. More important to me, though, was the spreading red pool underneath her and the drip of the blood from her bed and off her outflung arm. The wall next to her was splattered, red raindrops against the eggshell white drywall. I don't remember much of the next hour or so. Everything was a bit of a haze. I must have screamed, or perhaps I'd maintained enough presence of mind to call 91-1. I do know that there were bright lights, and eventually a cop, who led me into the living room, handing me tissue after tissue as I cried my eyes out. Later on, the same cop—I think—led me to an ambulance, but I wasn't sure why, except that they wanted me to go to the hospital. It wasn't until I was at the hospital and got an injection from the doctor that I started to calm down—but in that detached, sort of loopy way that comes with some really decent drugs. I didn't really start to come to until that night, and I noticed that I was now in a room in the hospital. Everything was painted that sort of vomit-inducing color that looks like baby blue and mint green were mixed, and I was laying on one of those reclining beds. “Wha . . . What happened?” “It's okay, Bella,” Uncle Carlo said from my left, his voice soft and concerned. Bella was a nickname he often called me. I looked at him and took a deep breath. Carlo was wearing his dark blue suit, one of his suits that I associated with him and work. He must have come straight from the office, where he worked in his day job as owner of Bertoli's Pizza, the largest independent pizza delivery company in the state of Washington. Carlo had even once gotten on television with Guy Fieri, if you can dig that. He had other businesses, including Bertoli Trucking, Sicily Dry Cleaning, and a few others he was a minority investor in, but his day job was at the pizza company. “Uncle . . . oh, it was so horrible!” I said, my voice still sounding slightly separated from my body. I felt like a little girl again, telling him about the monster under my bed or something. “There was so much blood!”

“I know,” he replied, taking my hand in his. “I saw a little of the crime scene. The police didn’t tell me they had brought you here until after I arrived. Tell me exactly what you saw.” I recounted my memory, starting with the APE and ending with my seeing Angela's body. It didn't take long. After all, until seeing the open window, everything had been a boring yet normal late summer day. I had just taken the last of my first sessions for the semester and had been looking forward to a good year. The only dark mark was Vincent Drake in the background, but I hadn't seen or heard from him at all that day. I finished my recollection, waiting while Uncle Carlo sat back, nodding to himself. It’s one of the things that makes him good at what he does, in my opinion. Regardless of how much of a storm he might be feeling emotionally, when it came time to make a decision, he forced himself to step back, setting his feelings aside for the moment. “There were things you didn’t see,” he finally said, sitting forward. “The police haven’t told me much, only what I was able to quickly see when I came to take you to the hospital, but I did overhear some things. Those fools never could keep their damn mouths shut.” “What did I miss?” I asked, starting to tremble. “Was it bad?” He nodded. “The killer is most likely Vincent Drake. Tell me what you know about him.” I sighed, regretting limiting my actions to just a restraining order. Uncle Carlo had been right the first time. “I took Drake's class last fall semester. He was teaching Conceptual Sculpting. He always wore these cheap suits, the kind that you'd get at a Goodwill or something, and they always looked like they were about ten years out of date on his frame. I swear he bought himself a six pack of discount suits when he was thirty, and twenty years later, he was still working his way through them, waiting for the seams to give out or something.” Uncle Carlo chuckled at my description. “That’s one of the things I love about you, Adriana. You’ve always been a born artist, with such great descriptions of people and things. Tell me about your relationship with him.” “What relationship? The guy was a loser from day one. I hated the course,” I protested, a bit of my natural temper flaring up. I come from Sicilian and Scottish roots, so me not having a temper would have been a miracle. When he gave me a look, I sighed and fell back into my recollections. “For the first few classes, things were normal. He was creepy, but nothing I haven't had to handle before. It wasn't until the midterm project that he started to really focus on me. The sculpture I did wasn't the best, in my opinion, but it was special to me because I tried to carve Dad as if he'd survived all the years to now. I'd poured my heart into it and planned on

giving it to Mom for her birthday before all this started and ruined it for me. For some reason, Vincent really took to it, and he started obsessing over me.” “Eventually, I filed a sexual harassment complaint against him with the school, but they did nothing, saying it wasn't enough to do anything against a tenured professor. They just warned him and told me to stay away.” “Adriana, why did you put so much trust in these incompetent fools? Have I not shown you how useless they are?” “You have, and I don't know why,” I said. “I guess . . . I guess because I know what you would’ve done. He has a family, after all—a wife and supposedly, a daughter.” “Had a family . . .” he said. “It was on the news while you were out. He killed his wife before coming to your apartment. Another stabbing. There’s talk of some sort of letter or manifesto, but no details have been released. I have men working on it now. Good men.” I shivered again, finally realizing just how insane Vincent Drake was. “So what am I to do?” He smiled, then patted my hand and stood up. “You’re young and you’re idealistic, my Bella. Part of that is my fault, part your mother's. Your artistic streak has made you fiercely independent, and we agreed to give you some free reign to try things your way. But now it’s time to do things my way.” I gulped and nodded as he continued. “You will stay the night here. I’ll have a man posted outside your room, and then, starting tomorrow, Daniel will become your driver and your bodyguard.” “Daniel?” I asked, trying not to sound too excited or surprised. “Daniel Neiman?” He nodded, but still caught the tone of my voice. “Be careful, Adriana. Daniel’s a good man, and is as loyal a Soldier as any of my men, but he does have a weakness for pretty young women, as I’m sure you know. I won’t tolerate anything going on between you two. Do you understand, Adriana? I’ve seen the way you look at him, and if it were anyone but you, I’d just assign someone else, but Daniel is the best at what he does.” I nodded, swallowing my objections. While Daniel was charming and there was a certain magnetism about him, he could also be a first-class bastard. My physical attraction stopped there. “I understand. You have nothing to worry about, trust me.” After Uncle Carlo left, I lay back, my mind whirling. As if I didn’t already have enough on my mind, now I’d have to deal with Daniel around the clock. He was easy on the eyes. I’d have my hands full keeping myself from jumping his bones. He’s

got this Germanic or Nordic look about him, with piercing, amazing blue eyes to go along with blond hair, a square jaw and a chiseled physique. He came to Uncle Carlo's house when his parents were murdered by a mobster who'd mistaken his family for someone else. I didn't even know his real name. Carlo had gotten him a fake identity in order to keep him safe from the Russians, who undoubtedly would’ve tried to hunt him down in order to eliminate all evidence of their screw-up. I’m not sure why Uncle felt it was his responsibility, but despite being the boss, he did have a heart. Daniel was raised in Uncle Carlo's house, and when I came, he was like one of the staff's children. Now, at twenty-five, he looked like an Adonis, like someone who should have been making movies or causing housewives to have hot flashes on television rather than as a member of Uncle Carlo's organization. He'd gone to work for Carlo almost immediately after junior high school, starting as an errand boy before working his way up, not through brown nosing or anything, but through hard work and a level of dedication that was both frightening and inspiring. Still, Daniel had his drawbacks, namely his cockiness. While most of the time it came across as good humor and banter, it annoyed the hell out of me. He knew he was hot, and he wasn’t ashamed to flaunt it. He was God’s gift to women, and I admit I’d fantasized about him more than once, which was probably why he sometimes got on my nerves. But anything between Daniel and me would have to remain a fantasy. Uncle Carlo had made that clear more than once. He put up with Daniel’s womanizing as long as I, his Bella, remained hands-off. That, and that it didn’t interfere with his job. And that’s what worried me—now Daniel was assigned to me. The most efficient and dedicated operative in Uncle Carlo's organization, and one of the sexiest men on the planet, was to become my bodyguard and driver, by my side virtually twenty-four hours a day. I shivered and lay back. Life was going to get very, very interesting.

CHAPTER 2

DANIEL

he little Hispanic girl wiggled back and forth on my lap, trying her best to T entice me with her moves. Unfortunately for her, I was distracted as the music just wasn't sexy at all. I get it. Bass heavy dance music gives the girl a chance to shake her ass, and the throb of the bass can reverberate through your body to add to the illusion of her touching you, but I can't stand it. Finally, I lost my patience and lifted her off me. “Not happening tonight, chica. Find yourself another disco stick.”

“But yours is the biggest here, Papi,” she complained, reaching down and cupping my crotch. She made contact, a clear violation of the club's rules, but I was still wearing my pants, and I was the sort of patron that the normal rules didn't apply to anyway. “Dios mio, you must be stuffing those pants.” Stuff my pants? Hardly. “Maybe you'll find out another time. Now beat it. I'm not in the mood.” She wiggled her tits, clearly surgically enhanced but an overall good job, then shrugged when she saw I was serious. She was a pro and knew when to back off. She smiled when I held out a twenty. “For your efforts. Just not tonight.” “Next time you're in here, just ask for Carmen. I'll make sure you get taken care of.” I nodded in understanding, and she walked off, knowing how to move her ass in the barely there miniskirt and high heels to make sure I got one last good look at her wares. I downed the rest of my drink and got up from the seat, making sure my pants were unstained. Not seeing anything in the dim lights of the club, I shrugged and buttoned up my coat, making sure my tie and everything looked exactly as they should. Semi-satisfied, I turned and left the club, getting ready for the rest of the night's work. Thankfully, I didn't have too many assignments that night. Don Bertoli knows

exactly how much to push a man and when to give him some time off to unwind. After taking care of some problems with one of the local motorcycle clubs two weeks prior, Boss had put me on light duty. “Those gear heads may be as stupid as two ducks fucking, but they know how to swing a mean wrench,” the Don explained when he’d visited me in my apartment, where I was healing from a swollen shut eye. The motorcyclists had fared far worse. “You handled yourself well, Daniel. Enjoy the time, and we'll work you back into the rotation when the time comes.” The time had started a week ago—nothing too extreme, just a few visits to the businesses that had relationships with Don Bertoli to make sure they were up to date with their payments. Sure, collection work was newbie shit, but it was easy, and it kept me from sitting around my apartment for too long. Tonight, on top of the strip club I'd just visited—with a nice wad of cash in my pocket for the efforts— I had two more stops to make before three in the morning. I was in the parking lot when my cellphone rang. As only ten people in the world had the number to my work phone, I knew it had to be important and pulled it out. “Neiman,” I greeted. “What's up?” “Daniel, it’s Carlo,” a mid-tone, accented voice said in my ear, and I immediately stiffened. “I need your services.” “Of course, Don Bertoli,” I said immediately, sliding behind the wheel of my car. “What do you need?” “First, go home and get some sleep,” he said. “I’ve asked another man to do the rest of your pickups for the night. What did you get done?” “Williams' Market and the Starlight Club, sir. I was thinking of going to the others closer to closing time. Give them a chance to make sure they have the cash on hand.” I heard Don Bertoli's warm chuckle and was pleased. “You’re wise beyond your young years, Daniel. But don’t worry about that tonight. Tomorrow morning at six, I want you at Harborview Medical Center to pick up my niece.” “Adriana?” I asked. Adriana and I had been friends when I was a child, and while I couldn't say the same any longer, we still would run into each other from time to time. “What happened, Boss?” “Some psycho piece of shit instructor is obsessed with her, stalked her, and killed her roommate this afternoon. Now don't worry. I have a man watching her room right now, but I know Adriana. She’ll want to go back to classes, and you’re the best man for the job. You’re young enough that you won’t stick out too much amongst the college students, but more importantly, I know that you are a man of honor. You’d never allow anyone to harm her.”

“You have my word,” I swore immediately. My benefactor had treated me well in the twenty-five years I'd been under his protection. “Protect her like she's the most important person in the entire world. If you see Christ himself resurrected and saying Adriana is not one of the saved, you are to slay the Lamb, do you understand?” “Absolutely. I’ll be there at six.” There was a sigh on the other end of the line, and I could tell he had something difficult to say. “Daniel, what I say next is not because I don’t love you like one of my own. You've been a better man than many of them, and I look upon you with the same pride that I do my own sons. You know that, right?” “I do, sir. And I see you as the closest thing I’ll ever have to a father. You know that.” “And I appreciate that, my boy. But Adriana, she’s blood, and she is the closest thing I will ever have to a daughter. I won’t have her with a man in this kind of business. So I’ll say this again, even though I know you’ve heard it before, if only so that you know exactly where I’m coming from. If you so much as touch her, let alone do what you’ve done with all those other women, I will make sure that your cock is chopped off and stuffed up your ass before you die a miserable death. Understood?” “Understood,” I said, a fine sweat breaking out on my brow despite the coolness of the evening. “Perfectly.” “Good. Give me a call in the morning when you are at the hospital. Good night, Daniel.” “Good night, sir.” The phone went silent in my ear, and I closed it with a slightly trembling hand. I'd known Adriana from the first day she came to the Don's house, and for years, she'd been that one woman who was always untouchable. Don Bertoli had no problems with my sleeping around. He felt that young men should be virile, and if I was a one-time only bedmate, that was my choice. He'd even gifted me with some of the girls who worked for him from time to time, including a semi-famous actress who'd done a few science fiction shows in Vancouver—the sort of stuff that had a decent dedicated following of geeks, but didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of getting any awards. From the beginning, Adriana had been off limits. Not just to me, but to everyone in the Don's organization, and it was spelled out to us in very clear terms. Touch Adriana Bertoli, and die. The problem was, she was my weakness. In my twenty-five years on this Earth, I'd

trained myself to ignore pain, to ignore exhaustion, and to ignore every temptation. Money meant almost nothing to me. I had enough from what the Don gave me, and he'd taught me how to invest it well so that I would have more than enough when I wanted it. Physical possessions, the same. The only reason I drove a BMW was because as a member of the Bertoli family, it was expected that I drive a nicer class of car than the average jackass on the road. Stylish, understated, and with a sense of power. That’s what a Bertoli man drove, and that’s what I drove. But sex was both one of my most potent tools and also one of my biggest weaknesses. Oh, the average slut that I went to Pound Town with, I didn't even give a second thought to. I'd never felt guilty fucking just about any woman that caught my attention, and with my cock, who could blame me? It’s not like they’d turn me down. It's not everyday that a woman gets to feel a legitimate nine inches of thick man meat inside them. I can’t help I was blessed with size and endurance—give me five or ten, and I’ll saddle up for round two and round three. Turning your regular Girl Next Door into a cock slut just so happened to be a hobby of mine. Adriana, though . . . she was different. Sexy, intelligent, and self-assured in a way that no other woman I'd met was, she’d been the subject of some of my earliest masturbation fantasies back when I was in high school and needed to rub one out at least once a day. Where other women would melt at a look from my eyes and a smirk, she always returned my taunts with verve and spice, usually with something along the lines of once I had her, I'd be the one addicted to her and not the other way around. Not that I would’ve ever touched her if she acted like other women. I am rather fond of my balls, after all, and would prefer to keep them attached. I started up my Beamer and turned on the lights, taking a deep breath as I put the stick shift into first and pulled out of the strip club's parking lot. I couldn’t help but feel a little anxious. Adriana was the ultimate forbidden fruit, and I had to admit that my greatest goal in life was to have just one night with her. “Just do your fucking duty,” I reminded myself, hanging a right and driving uptown toward my apartment. It was going on ten thirty, and if I wanted to be fresh-faced and ready to guard Adriana, I had to get back to my apartment quickly and try and get some sleep.

CHAPTER 3

ADRIANA

believe Daniel when he showed up the next morning at my room. I'd I couldn't slept like crap, tossing and turning most of the night but not really dropping

off until about two in the morning. Even still, a nightmare drove me from my sleep at about five. The morning light glowed in my window, and I decided to hell with it. Uncle Carlo had gotten me a private room, so for the next forty-five minutes, I gave myself a long sponge bath, sluicing away the dirt and bad feelings from the previous day before washing out my hair in the sink that was in the corner. The water was hot, at least, and as I pulled my clothes back on, I couldn't help but chuckle when I saw the streak of paint on my right thumbnail. “Cheaper than a set of nails,” I joked, thinking about my bad habit of not always cleaning paint off my clothes as well as I'd like. Rarely a day went by that I didn't find myself slapping my forehead over some missed streak of paint on a pair of pants, a shirt, or my body. I'd even once done a whole dinner with a rather cute guy with a streak of titanium white between my eyes. It wasn't until the dessert course and he asked if the mark was for Lent that I'd even realized it was there. A few minutes later, Daniel knocked on the door, and I smoothed my hair back, checking my shirt and pants to make sure I didn't have anything hanging out or a water spot in an embarrassing place. “Come in.” “Good morning, Adriana. Long time no see.” “How're you doing, Dan—” I began, then I saw him in the mirror and broke down laughing. “What the hell are you wearing?” “What?” he asked, slightly miffed. It wasn't that he didn't look handsome. He was debonair to a degree that few men could even hope to attain. “Daniel, you look like you're about to go to work at a bank or in a law office,” I said, turning to face him, crossing my arms, and leaning back against the sink. “Seriously, a slate gray suit with a tie?” “Gray is better for daytime work,” Daniel said simply, adjusting his tie, which was

at least a tasteful purple. “I thought black or blue would be too dark for today.” I dropped my head and shook it back and forth, momentarily flummoxed. Daniel was the prototype for the perfect Bertoli man, but that didn't mean he was perfect for all times or situations. “Fine, for today only. But Daniel, you can’t wear that if you plan on following me to all of my classes. Remember, I'm a college student, and an art student at that. You wear that monkey suit on campus, and you're going to stand out like a sore thumb.” He considered my words, then gave me a surly shrug. Even as kids, he'd hated being shown in error by anyone, especially me. “Fine. I wear this when I’m on duty, but I’ll make an exception. What is it college students are wearing nowadays anyway?” I gaped at him, then laughed. “Seriously? You dress in thousand-dollar suits all the time?” “I don’t mind a pair of jeans and a tank top on my day off, but when on duty, yes. There’s no use putting fuzzy dice in the mirror of a Bentley,” Daniel taunted, falling back into his old banter. “Especially when you've got the engine of a Ferrari like I do. Want a test drive?” It was an old game between us, using supposedly innocent terms to banter back and forth sexually. It was fun most of the time, and I felt another smile coming on. It seemed that I needed the immature silliness. “If you even knew how to get that Ferrari out of the garage, I doubt you'd be able to do much more than first gear anyway. But seriously, what do you have for your non-work wear?” Daniel thought, then brought his hand up to tick off his wardrobe. “I wear 5.11 for when I do my work at the range, Venum shorts for my martial arts practice, maybe some Under Armour sweats for colder days at the gym. You know, I work a lot—” “Enough!” I laughed, glad he hadn't gone into his sock brands. “Just wear some jeans and a t-shirt, maybe a button-down.” Daniel shrugged dismissively. “I can do that.” “I'm sure you can,” I said, trying not to laugh again, “and I doubt Uncle Carlo will mind. He’s not the one who has to deal with any APEs.” “Apes?” Daniel asked, clearly perplexed. He held his hands up and shook his head. “Never mind, you can fill me in while we drive. So where am I supposed to go shopping for these button-downs? It’s not really my style. I either go professional or as casual as it gets.” “How about Nordies, for one?” I asked. “You do know what Nordstrom's is, right?” “Of course,” Daniel replied with some defensive arrogance. I'd realized long ago

that he was at his most sarcastic and verbally taunting when he felt threatened or insecure, although I didn't know what it was that caused him to act so around me more than other people. “It's where I like to get my dress shirts. They have some good labels there, ones the Don likes.” I rolled my eyes, knowing that regardless of what I said, there was nothing that would shake Daniel's devotion to my uncle. Daniel felt he owed his life to him and strove to be the best, most useful member of the organization possible. Considering he was only twenty-five, non-Italian, and being tasked with protecting me, I'd say he was doing a good job. “Come on, let's go.” “It's a little early, isn't it?” Daniel asked, checking his watch, which I noticed would have to go too. No college student—at least none on my campus—wore Bvlgari watches. “It's not even seven yet.” “Give me some time to get checked out, and then we can grab some McDonald's, or are you on a special diet too?” “I try to eat healthy, but no, not really,” Daniel casually said, as if men who looked like him ate fast food on a daily basis. “Let’s go to an IHOP, though, if you want to eat like that. I can go to town on their pancakes.” Not even realizing it, I smiled and nodded. “No problem. Let's just get the doctor in here to get me checked out.” It actually took us until nearly eight, by which time I was starving, and as we left the hospital, I was actually looking forward to the day. We got into Daniel's BMW, and I had to remind myself that a lot of his taste was because of his desire to project the right image for Carlo. I wondered what the real Daniel Neiman would want, but then as I sat there, I realized it was probably this car. Gunmetal gray, it purred the whole time he drove, his eyes on the road and his hands at the ideal ten and two. Finally, after about two or three miles, I had to laugh. “Relax, Dan. You're not driving for the Indy 500, nor are your Jason Bourne skills necessary right now.” “Your uncle thought it was necessary, so I’d say my skills are more than needed right now,” he replied tersely before cracking a cocky grin. “Well, most of my skills. You can't handle all of them.” “When you're done practicing with the girls and are ready for a woman, then I might give you a call,” I shot back, laughing. That one had been too easy. He was out of practice. “Seriously, Dan. Thanks. It's good to see you. It's been a long time. When was the last time? Christmas?” “Something like that,” he said, relaxing a millimeter or so in his posture, but more so in his voice. I could start to hear the ghost of the guy I'd been friends with as a kid, the guy I actually liked. “Hey, there's IHOP up ahead, right next to the mall with the Nordstrom's. I have a feeling you’re going to try to dress me up like an

idiot, though.” “You're hardly an idiot. I could dress you like a Japanese boy band member, and you'd still look impressively heterosexual.” “Aura, Ade,” he said, using the nickname we'd used among each other since we were kids, just as I was the only person who called him Dan—at least that I knew of. “Just can't help it.” We parked, and Daniel let me drag him inside the IHOP, where we both ate our fill. For his part, he was not so much tense as attentive, making sure we were seated in the area of the restaurant that gave him the best view of everyone both entering and exiting. When I tried to engage him in conversation, he was slightly distracted, his eyes constantly scanning the room and out the window while he forked his big stack of pancakes along with sausage and maple syrup, never looking down but amazingly never letting a single drop fall onto his suit. It was kind of like watching an android or something eat, and I was reminded again of the nickname one of the other Bertoli men had given him back when he was in high school. He was the Terminator. Breakfast finished at about nine, and for the next three hours, until just before noon, I helped him with picking out and trying on different outfits, trying to find that right mix that said he was a college kid with enough cash to drive a late-model BMW, but not so stuck up that he looked like a douchebag. Of course, I got more than my fair share of eye candy too, and I was impressed when he came out in a printed t-shirt. “Jesus, Dan, you have any more veins in those biceps, and you're going to get kidnapped by the pre-meds to practice doing IVs on.” “Welcome to the gun show,” he joked, giving me a small flex. “In more ways than one.” I saw the small bulge under the shirt on his right side, near his hip on the belt line. “Don't tell me . . . even inside the store?” “I have my concealed carry permit,” Daniel said with a chuckle. “After all, I'm a perfectly law-abiding citizen with no criminal record past two speeding tickets, one when I was a minor.” “Exactly how big is it?” I didn't realize until after the words were out of my mouth how deeply I'd stepped in it with the comment, but he let me go without too much of a retort. Instead, he smirked and raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn't you like to know?” While I waited for Daniel to get changed after paying—there was no way I was letting him continue wearing that hitman suit. There were enough rumors about the Bertoli name around campus as it was—I got a message on my phone from

Uncle. The crime scene investigators had finished at the apartment and released it to me to get my things out. “Hey, Dan? Carlo just messaged me. He said that we can go by the apartment and get my things. Do you mind?” He finished changing and came out, looking impressive in his jeans and polo. “Not at all. He told me that after getting your things, I was to help you move into a safe house, someplace that’s in another name. I don't know where. I think he's having someone set it up right now.” “Then before we leave the mall, let's stop and get you a new watch,” I said, noticing again the incongruity. “In fact, take that damn thing off and give it to me. I'll stash it in my bag.” “What's wrong with the watch?” Daniel said as he began to undo the leather band. At least he wasn't wearing one of those styles that came with gold metal bands. “Not college enough?” “Not by a long shot,” I said. “You're wearing a fifty-dollar pair of jeans, a thirtydollar polo, hundred-dollar shoes, and a twelve-thousand-dollar watch. Which part of that strikes you as strange?” “Fine, fine,” he said, handing me the watch. “But if you scratch it, it's going on your bill. Come on.” Daniel turned to leave, and I just stared at him. “Excuse me?” He turned back, lifting an eyebrow. “What?” “The bags?” I asked, indicating the half-dozen bags we'd bought. “You know—put those muscles to work and all.” “My muscles work by making sure you're safe and protected,” Daniel replied evenly. “Not by being your pack horse. Next time, don't buy so much crap, even if it’s for me. It may not be chivalric, but you're going to have to carry your own damn bags.” It was a struggle, and I know that he could hear the muffled curses under my breath, but I knew he was right. We skipped the watch kiosk though, and I figured if Daniel really wanted to check the time, he could look at his phone like a lot of other people did. We went back to his BMW, filling most of the back seat with the bags, and I went around to the passenger seat, getting in. It was only then that Daniel relaxed enough to get in on his side, dropping into his low-slung bucket seat nearly silently. Closing the door, he looked at me. “You're pissed off. I can tell. I’m sorry about that. I wish this were like when we were kids, but it isn't. I have a job to do, and even if you hate me every step of the way, I’m going to do it.”

“Just drive,” I said, rubbing at the lines in my palms left by the plastic handles of the bags. “Sure you have enough space for my stuff too?” “I'll help you pack some suitcases,” he said. “We'll get the clothes you need for the next week, and Don Carlo can send over someone else to clean out the rest.” We got to my apartment, and Daniel actually came around to open my door for me, not so much as a gentleman, but to tell me he thought the area was safe. We went to the door, which still had some little bits of crime scene tape stuck to the door jamb, which disturbed me but I felt prepared for. Inside, though, my nervousness started to get the best of me, and I shuddered as I stayed behind Daniel, who'd produced his pistol from somewhere near his right hip and was sweeping it from left to right. We reached the living room and stopped. Daniel lowered the gun. “All right, where's your bedroom?” “To the right,” I said, pointing. The smell of blood still hung in the air, and I had to cover my nose and breathe only through my mouth to try and avoid getting sick. They may have finished with the investigation part, but the cleaners still hadn't been by—that was for sure. “Come on.” I hadn't gone into my bedroom the day before, and the sight that greeted us both when Daniel opened the door made me scream. Written on the walls in reddish black, the coppery smell confirming for me that it was most likely Angela's blood, was a message. It was song lyrics, and an immediate nauseous feeling came over me. I fell back into the hallway, turning to run in a new panic when Daniel grabbed my arms and pulled me to him, holding me against his chest. I buried my face in his new shirt and shuddered, trying not to sob or scream. I didn't want to have to take any more drugs, even though it felt like my mind was breaking. “Wha . . . why weren't you told?” “The cops probably didn't mention it, the idiots,” Daniel said softly, his strong arms helping me feel safe and secure. “What was that message on the wall, anyway?” “Genesis,” I replied. “It's Vincent's favorite group. He subjected us to all sorts of that shit during the semester I was in his class. It's from a song called Mama. I fucking hated it even before he got creepy on me. In fact, Phil Collins is on my personal list of asses that I want to kick, just because of that damn class.” Daniel nodded then reached up, and with a hand that was both powerful and reassuring, stroked my hair. “Well, it's just some blood on the wall. I've dealt with that before, so tell you what. I'll go in there, get your suitcases, and pack the bags myself. As long as you don't mind me fooling around with your underwear.”

His little joke didn't have the desired effect, and I pulled him closer to me, needing to feel strength and security for the moment. “Promise me something.” “What's that, Adriana?” he asked, his voice softer than I'd ever heard before. He sounded concerned, even tender. “Promise me that you'll protect me from this psycho?” He squeezed me tighter and hummed. “I promise, Adriana. I won't let him hurt you, no matter what. But, you're going to owe me for this. Big time.” His promise let me relax enough to hear his joke, and I slapped him in the chest, pushing him away. “Yeah right, Dan. Like I said, that Ferrari of yours isn't even getting out of the garage with me. Let alone to top speed.” He chuckled and nodded, holstering his pistol and stepping back. “We'll see, Adriana. We'll see. In the meantime, just remember that I'm going to know exactly what type of bras and panties you like.” “And if you're a good boy, maybe, just maybe, I'll let you fold them when you do the laundry for me. Now get going.”

CHAPTER 4

DANIEL

hat evening at nine, after turning over Adriana's security to Julius Forze, I T reported in to the Don. He raised an eyebrow when I walked into his house, setting aside his glass of Chianti. “Daniel, have you decided on casual Fridays or something?”

Realizing I hadn't changed clothes after leaving Adriana in her new apartment, I looked down, chagrined. “Sorry. Your niece felt that if I was to accompany her on campus, I had to blend in better with the average college student.” He looked me up and down, then chuckled. “Daniel, I doubt that regardless of how much you dress down, you'll look like the average college student. Men such as you and I, we've seen and done things that almost none of those bleating sheep can even begin to comprehend, and it shows in our faces and in the way we carry ourselves. We know the reality of life and of death. But if Bella wishes that you dress that way, I can only say to enjoy it. Please, have a seat and a glass of wine.” “Thank you, sir,” I said, taking a seat in the leather chair. We were in the study, a richly decorated old-fashioned library, with oak paneling, deep leather chairs, and even a pool table in the corner, although I'd only been invited to play a game there once, one I’d intentionally lost. I poured myself a glass and took a measured sip. The Don values men who can appreciate a fine wine, but he appreciates men who don't get sloppy more. I quickly figured out exactly the right amount to drink and savored it for a few seconds before swallowing. “Fine vintage. New bottle?” “Just imported from Castellina last week,” the Don said. “Black Rooster.” “What can I do for you?” I asked, knowing there must be something. He sat back, his chin seeming to disappear into his neck as he relaxed. It was a posture I'd seem him adopt countless times. If you were a confidant of his, he'd relax and slump into his chair when he was temporarily setting aside the distance between you and was inviting you to speak to him honestly, man to man. On the other hand, he also used the pose with strangers in order to let them underestimate him. I understood, as he wasn't the most physically imposing of men. Slumped like

he was, a foolish stranger could easily mistake his nonchalance for lack of intelligence or strength, a mistake few had the opportunity to repeat. In my case, at least, he was relaxing and letting me be more familiar with him. “You’re going to have quite a challenge on your hands, Daniel. My niece, she’s very willful.” “She is a strong woman,” I agreed. “I believe that runs in the family.” He considered what I said, then chuckled. “Point taken, Daniel. Are you concerned that you’ll have problems protecting her?” “None. My only concern is that this Vincent Drake will be found quickly and brought to justice.” “I’m for the moment letting the police handle that side of things,” Don Bertoli said sadly, “primarily because the other girl, Angela—her parents are raising hell in the press. Her father is first generation from China, and he’s the type who believes that the government is the solution to all our problems. Stupid man, but well intentioned.” “Would you like me to do some investigating? I’m sure I can be useful in that regard.” He shook his head, smiling. “Your entire life, you've always been an enigma, you know that? You came to my house when you were barely nine months old, and ever since you were out of diapers, you've been dedicated to learning whatever it is I ask of you.” “You could have abandoned me to the state orphanage,” I replied, thinking back to my earliest memories. “You could have let me go to some foster home where I'd have grown up in a trailer park, or hacking it out in a Section 8 tenement. Or worse, I might have ended up adopted by some of the same people that you call fools. Instead, I was given a fine home and cared for. You made sure I was raised strong and well. I know we aren’t blood, but you’re the closest thing I have.” The Don smiled and reminisced for a moment. “You’ve comported yourself with honor and loyalty, more than anyone outside our line of work would understand. But now you have the most important task in your life. I’m counting on you, Daniel.” “I won’t fail you, Boss.” “You never have.” After leaving Don Bertoli's house and returning to my apartment, I wasn't so sure. Keeping Adriana safe—that was nothing. I was sure that I could keep her safe from anything one man could throw at her. I'd probably even be able to keep her safe

against a squad of professionals. I wasn't concerned with one fifty-three-year-old art teacher. Instead, I thought as I got out of my shower and looked at myself in the mirror, the biggest threat to the successful completion of my mission was looking at me in the mirror. I was worried because when she was in my arms at her apartment, it had taken every bit of willpower I had to not think of all the dirty things I wanted to do to her. The way her breasts felt pressed against me, the fluttering of her heart, and the soft little voice she used when she asked me to protect her? I was surprised my cock didn't burst a seam on my jeans. “Face it, No Man,” I said, referring to my assumed last name as I talked to myself in the mirror. “You've wanted to fuck Adriana ever since you figured out what your dick was good for besides taking a piss with.” Adriana always had a special place in my mind, like the perfect template that all others were compared to, only to find them falling short. I'd never wanted any woman more than I wanted Adriana Bertoli. Ten years later, standing in front of my own mirror naked, I shivered, both in desire and in fear. It had been at about that point that my typical banter with Adriana had taken on slightly sexual overtones, both of us becoming more brazen as she turned eighteen and finished up high school. Still, we both had that line that we were to never cross, even though I suspected that both of us wanted to. Don Bertoli would never allow it. Adriana was his family, his blood. While I'd been loyal to him and served him well, and yes, loved him, I was an outsider, not even Italian. Besides, I wasn’t the relationship type, and that’s what she deserved. The rumors of me tagging the entire girl's volleyball team in my senior year were true. Come on, with those ass hugging shorts and all that jumping? Most of those girls were more than ready to put those ass muscles to work once they got a glimpse of what I was working with. No girl ever got two nights, though, even after high school. It’s probably what concerned Don Bertoli and was one of the main reasons I wasn’t allowed to even think about being with Adriana. If I'd been the sort of guy who had a history of being loyal and dedicated to my woman, he may have considered it. He was a fair enough man. But a player who fucked and flew? No way. Was it unfair? Sure. After all, the Don's two sons weren’t any different. But men were allowed to be men, except for the man who was to be good enough for his Bella. That man would have to be perfect, a saint who was also a warrior. And sadly, I was no saint. “Fuck it, just do your damn job and keep your dick in your pants,” I said to my reflection. “Now get yourself to bed. You've got work tomorrow, remember?”

I WAS AT ADRIANA'S SAFE HOUSE THE NEXT MORNING AT FIVE FORTY-FIVE, STILL WIPING THE SLEEP OUT OF my eyes. I'd spent most of the past seven years since graduating high school working the night shift, and these early mornings were definitely not what my body was used to. Still, as I sucked down an energy drink, it could’ve been worse. After all, the Don had let me go early the night before, and I'd been able to get plenty of sleep, even if it was disturbed with dreams of Adriana. “How'd the night go, Julius?” Julius, an older man in his mid-thirties who'd been with Mr. Bertoli since I was in elementary school, stretched his arms over his head and groaned. “Not too bad. She had a few bad dreams, but I guess you'd expect that considering what she saw. I had more than a few myself after my first death scene.” “Since we caused our first death scenes, I think it's a little different,” I replied with a slightly regretful sigh. “Is she still asleep?” Julius nodded. “Yeah, she told me before she closed her door that she'd set her alarm for six thirty. She wants to be out of this place by seven thirty. Something about first class of the day, and this place being farther from campus than her old place. Hell if I know.” I wasn't surprised, considering that Julius was a high school dropout whose grandest idea of higher education was truck driving school. He was good in a fight, but pretty much dumb as a rock. Still, he was a good soldier and did his job well. “Okay. You had any breakfast?” Julius shook his head. “Nope, I was thinking of grabbing some drive-through on the way back to my place. I know my old lady ain't left nothin' for me—never does.” Julius's wife was a former Bertoli whore who'd found herself unable to overcome the binge eating that came from her childhood history of growing up starving. Growing up on the wrong side of Seattle, where the time between meals sometimes counted in days rather than hours, did that to you. On the other hand, she was a lot smarter than Julius, and had at least gotten an associate’s degree. She worked for the Don as an office assistant in his import/export business that operated out of SEATAC. “All right then, man, tell you what. Let me put together a little breakfast for the three of us, if you want to hang around an extra fifteen minutes.” “And save me ten bucks? You throw in some coffee, and it's a deal,” Julius replied. He was even more of a skinflint that I was. “What're you making?” “Let me look,” I said, opening the fridge. I'd picked up some basic groceries with

Adriana the afternoon before, so I was a little disappointed to find the cooling remains of a Papa John's box inside. “Yours or hers?” “Mine,” Julius said. “I was jonesing about eleven or so. Don't worry, the order was in my name and this place is in another. And I paid cash.” “Still,” I said, wondering if I should say anything about it to the Don. I decided against it. Julius was normally a reliable man, and everyone gets the occasional urge for sausage pizza. “Well, on the good side, at least that means most of the stuff I bought yesterday is still here. Do you like spinach?” “My mother used to make me eat that stuff three times a week—said it'd make me strong. Don't know if it worked or not, but I hate the shit now.” “All right then,” I said, setting the baby spinach back inside. “Guess we'll go with an omelet.” I made one of my go-to breakfasts, a three egg white, one whole egg omelet with ham and cheese, cutting it into three pieces when I was finished before whipping out another one, knowing how much I tended to eat. I heard the door to the back open, and Adriana poked her head out, her red hair tousled and her eyes still bleary. She looked adorable, and I had to remind myself to pay attention to my tea before I poured some on my hand. “Is that an omelet with cheese that I smell?” “Yeah, you ready to join us?” “Give me two minutes,” she said, giving me a grateful smile that I appreciated more than I should have. “Thanks, and good morning.” “Good morning, Adriana.” Julius looked from me to her, then back at me as Adriana ducked her head back into her room and closed the door. “I've watched you two from time to time. Why didn't you two ever get together?” I gave Julius a sideways glance and shook my head. Loyal, but dumb. Picking up the pan with the omelet, I started to plate. “You know exactly why. If it's all the same to you, I'd like my head to remain acquainted with my neck for as long as possible. If I mess around with Adriana, the odds of that become about the same as the Mariners winning the World Series this year.” “Gotcha, man. You’re right. Well, if you don't mind, I'm gonna eat now and hit the road.” Julius ate his breakfast in about five big, gulping bites, looking kind of like a shark swallowing a fish, but at least he rinsed the plate and dropped all his stuff in the dishwasher before wiping his mouth. “Take care, Daniel.” “Thanks, Julius. See you tonight.”

He left just as Adriana opened her door and came out, dressed in jeans similar to the ones I'd chosen and a printed t-shirt that had a silk screening of Mt. St. Helens on it with the caption, Look out, she's gonna blow! underneath it. I wondered if Adriana grasped the double meaning of a woman wearing such a shirt, then decided she knew exactly what she was doing. Rolling my eyes, I set her plate on the table. “Here you are. Coffee, tea, or orange juice?” “OJ if it's still in there,” she said, giving me another somewhat shy but enticing smile. “I didn't know you were a chef. This smells delicious.” I turned, trying to hide my reddening cheeks. “There are all sorts of skills of mine you don't know about. Maybe you’ll get to see more of them.” “You show me yours, I show you mine,” she teased back. “In another lifetime. Maybe when I'm desperate.”

CHAPTER 5

ADRIANA

like to say that I was able to throw myself back into my studies without any I 'd problems. I'd like to say that I was supported by everyone, who took me having

an escort and bodyguard in tow with no problems. I'd like to say that the next week was productive and helpful, and that I was enjoying being an upperclassman in college. I'd like to say all those things, but I can't. Instead, my first day back on campus ended within an hour of my arrival, with me jumping at nearly every snapped shut book or glittering object that came into my line of sight. Considering that I was walking around the arts building of a major university, that was a lot of books.

Finally, after my first two classes, I couldn't take it anymore. Both of the professors had given me the hairy eyeball when Daniel came in, to the point that I had to threaten to call the campus registrar about it with my photography professor. The other students stared, with more than a few whispered comments and understated conversations that I knew were about the murder, jacking up my stress levels even more. The final straw came when a door slammed, and I jumped nearly a foot in the air with a small scream in my throat before Daniel had me, holding me in one arm while his eyes constantly scanned the hallway around us. “Come on,” he said, talking softly in my ear and walking me along. We ended up going all the way out of Seattle and south a little bit, stopping along the coastline at a random resort town and picking out a cafe. “You looked like you could use the break,” Daniel said when he got on the Interstate. “There was no way you were getting any more learning done today, not with the way you're looking.” “Thanks, I guess,” I said simply, resting my head against the headrest of my seat and letting him drive. I dozed off until we got off the Interstate and was charmed by his choice of where to take me. “Where'd you find this place?” “I've never been here before, and I bet neither have you,” he said. “You know the coastline is filled with little spots like this—there's gotta be a cake and coffee shop somewhere along here. It's something I learned in the past few years. If you really

want to disappear, just do something you've never done before. You'd be surprised at how most people are just creatures of habit.” The shop was actually not all that great, with easily identifiable store-bought cake and coffee that looked and tasted like it had been found in a glass jar along with its freeze-dried cousins five minutes before we ordered it, but it was exactly what I needed. We sat on the back porch of the cafe, listening to the sound of the ocean in the distance. The sun was warm, and I felt myself relax as I sipped at the mug. “Thanks again, Daniel. How'd you know this would help me?” “Part of what makes me good at what I do is judging people. See who would be worth giving a little bit of slack to, and who needs the stick. And of course, other things,” he said evasively. I understood though. I knew what Daniel was and what he'd done. There was blood on his hands for sure. “Can I ask you some questions about what you do for my Uncle?” I asked. It wasn't that I was ignorant, but everyone liked to keep me at an arm's distance from the criminal side of the family. Despite Carlo’s utter disregard for the law and those who enforced it, he knew that he led a life that ended with a high chance of death by violence. After what happened to my father, he didn't want that for me. “I’ll tell you, but not here,” Daniel said simply, taking a forkful of his slice of cake. I nodded, realizing it was probably a stupid question to ask in public. We finished up and left our plates along with a fifty cent tip on them in order to hold down the napkins in the coastal breeze, driving the two blocks to the beach. Summer vacation was over, so it wasn't too crowded, and walking along the sand, we found a spot after ten minutes or so that was relatively isolated. “Here’s fine,” Daniel said, sitting down. “What is it that you want to know?” “What exactly is your duty for my Uncle?” I had an idea, but I wanted to hear it rather than just assume. “Any and everything he wants me to do,” Daniel said simply. “Are you trying to ask if I’ve done hits for the Don?” “Actually, I wanted to know how much you've done, or how many,” I replied. “I figured by this point, you'd have messed at least a few people up.” “I have,” he said, no guilt at all in his voice. Instead, he talked about it like any other sort of professional with a slightly distasteful job would talk about their work. “And more. I haven't kept count, but I've intentionally done four so far.” “So far?” I asked, shocked. “You're planning on having to kill more?” “If I’m asked to. I owe him my life, Adriana. And I will say, all four were not the sort of people who were worth much in terms of being noble members of society. All

were people who deserved what they got, in my opinion. Don't take me wrong, Adriana. The Don is a ruthless, cold-blooded man when it comes to business. He's not a man to trifle with. But he's also a man of honor, and he will make sure that only those who are guilty of great crimes get a visit by men like me when our guns are hot. Even when he had me visit the motorcycle club up north a few weeks ago, it was only to intimidate, not to kill. The shots fired were because they decided to get aggressive when I'd only come to pass on a fair warning.” I turned and watched the ocean and the waves come in. Maybe it was low tide, or maybe the waves on that part of the coast weren't all that large, but it was calming, and I reflected on it. The more I did, the more I realized it didn't matter to me. I still loved Uncle Carlo, and despite his put upon arrogance, I liked Daniel too, blood on their hands or not. I only had one more question. “How far would you go to protect me?” “I'd give up my life for you,” he said immediately, with an undertone in his voice that left me wondering if he was saying that because of his sense of honor to my uncle or something else. “But I won’t have to—not from a fifty-year-old professor.” I leaned against him, at ease. “All right then. Let's go back, and we can focus on getting me back to class. I can't exactly keep skipping out on it. Some of those teachers don't give a damn what happens in your life. An absence is an absence, and if you pick up enough of them, you fail the class.” Daniel grunted softly and jokingly elbowed me in the ribs. “Just give me their names, and I can pay them a visit.” I got up and dusted the sand off my shorts. “That’s not necessary, but thanks.” FOR THE NEXT WEEK, I SLOWLY WORKED MY WAY BACK INTO THINGS. DANIEL WAS WITH ME EVERY DAY, from sunup until nine at night, when another one of Carlo's men would take over, staying awake in the living room while I slept. Still, Daniel’s presence was comforting. Saturday, he escorted me to Carlo's house, where I had a family dinner together with my mom. “So how has your return to your studies gone?” Mom asked. She’d been out of town in New Jersey but was back now, and we'd spent hours just talking. It was nice to catch up with my mother, since we'd only had the chance to exchange quick phone calls in the time after the attack. “The first day was rough, but by Thursday, I was able to get back to work decently enough. It helps to have Daniel there.” I took another bite of my lasagna and reminded myself to use the house gym afterward. Mom could afford to eat spaghetti or lasagna every day. She's a widow with a grown daughter and no

interest in remarrying. She hadn't blown up or anything, but she wasn't a size eight anymore either. I was a single college student who enjoyed maintaining her figure and didn't have the genetics of an Ashley Graham to be size fourteen with the weight in all the right places. “And before you ask, Mom, Daniel's been a perfect gentleman.” “Really? I was worried he’d have his eyes on you too much to focus on anyone else,” Mom said. “But Carlo did vouch for him . . .” “When it’s about business, he’s as serious as it gets. He's a good man, like Uncle Carlo said.” “I'll mention it to him when he gets back into town. But still, like all good men, they are often nothing more than beasts under their skin. Be careful.” I nodded, if only to get her off the subject. We finished our dinner and I went upstairs to my old room. It was exactly as it had been the last time I stayed overnight. I found an old t-shirt and shorts and pulled them on, a little bit of nostalgia sweeping over me. Angela had gotten me the t-shirt, and I had to wipe away a tear as I thought about her. She'd been a good friend. I went down to the house gym, which was somewhat of an anomaly and a carryover from my father's days. Uncle Carlo wasn't the athletic type, having decided early on that he didn't need to focus on what were, in his opinion, shallow pursuits. My father, on the other hand, had been the athlete of the two brothers and felt that physical fitness was important for both him and his men. So, the house had a complete fitness center, even if it was a bit dated. None of the main equipment was newer than twenty-five years old, two years before I'd been born. Still, Mom and Uncle Carlo kept it in pristine shape, and everything was in as good a condition as it had been twenty-five years ago. Going in, I was shocked to find that I wasn't the only person to have the same idea, as Daniel was in the room already, wearing a pair of compression shorts and his undershirt. “Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt.” “It's your house more than mine,” Daniel said with a shrug, turning his back to me and going over to the squat rack. “I just wanted to get a workout in while it was still a decent hour today. Forgive the outfit. I forgot to pack a bag and only had this in the trunk of my car.” “When have you been working out this past week?” I asked, knowing that as dedicated as Daniel was, he wasn't skipping his fitness just because he was babysitting me. “You look even more ripped than you were a week ago.” Daniel un-racked his bar, holding it in front of him before lowering himself down until his butt was nearly on his heels before exploding up, pushing the bar over his head at the end and locking it out before slowly lowering it and repeating the

process. He didn't say anything during his work, but turned around when he was finished. “I have a membership to a twenty-four-hour gym,” he explained. “It's my first stop after I leave your apartment. I go usually about five times a week and have a short routine that I can get done in forty minutes.” Impressed, I went over to the stretch mats on the side of the room and began my limbering up routine. I felt my eyes constantly pulled back toward Daniel, whose muscles rippled and flexed underneath his clothing. His tight compression shorts were enticing, as whether he knew it or not, he sported a bubble butt that would leave most women envious. It was all muscle, and I knew if I saw him nude I could probably see each individual muscle fiber at work each time he exploded up from his squatting position. The artist in me was amazed and intrigued and wondered if I had the skill to recreate such physical perfection in paint. But the woman in me had much baser interests. I felt the heat first in the pit of my belly, a feeling that I hadn't felt in a long time, before spreading up and down my body until my eyes were nearly locked on Daniel's body. When he finished his work with the bar and went to take off the plates, I couldn't help but gasp when he turned sideways and the bulge in the front of his shorts became more noticeable. He was hung like a horse! He must’ve noticed me staring, because he turned his eyes back to me, concern in his eyes. “Are you okay?” I quickly wrenched my eyes from his crotch to his face, feeling the hot rush of blood to my face and certain that my nipples were imprinted on the thin cotton of my tshirt. “I’m fine,” I said, playing it off. “Just a little twinge. Guess I need to stretch out more often.” He dismissed it and finished his work. He went on to his next exercise, and I climbed off the stretch mat to get on the VersaClimber. At least that was what the sticker on the center post of the machine called it, but in my private moments, I called it the Stairway to Hell. Working both your arms and your legs at the same time like some sort of unending ladder, the machine is one of the hardest cardiovascular machines I've ever seen, and in fewer than five minutes, I was already sucking air. At fifteen minutes, I was gasping to the point that I could feel the blood pulse in my temples. But the intensity of the machine wasn't why I chose it, I realized as I stepped down and wiped my sweating face. I'd chosen it because it allowed me to watch Daniel. I'd used the same bench—someone had once told me it was called a glute ham raise —to work my lower back and butt, but Daniel took it to the next level. Putting the pad closer to his knees than I did, he started with his head hanging down nearly all the way to the floor before he lifted himself in an arc, curling his knees at the top so that he ended up nearly vertical, then lowered himself at an agonizing slowness before repeating it again.

“You're working your butt and hamstrings today, aren't you?” Daniel grunted his assent as he reached the top of his movement and nodded his head. “And quads. Leg strength is vital to running and fighting.” Of course. If it wasn't enough that he was built like a god, he was interested only in his ability to use his body in his duties, and maybe secondarily in his ability to seduce women. He wasn't trying to look the way he did. He just wanted to be more lethal in his work. That he was making me hotter than I'd been in years was beside the point. I messed around with some of the equipment while he focused on his work, not really working all that hard but just getting a decent little workout while my eyes got to take in the display of human physical perfection in front of me. By the end of his last set, his shirt was soaked and his blond hair was a shade darker from sweat that ran down his skin in diamond rivulets, and I could feel that my panties were soaked, but not from sweat. “I'm going to get changed,” I said, getting up shakily from the leg extension machine I'd been on and wiping my forehead. “Do you think you can pick me up tomorrow at about eleven to go to Angela's grave?” “That's fine,” Daniel replied, wiping his own forehead. “I asked your mother, and she told me I could stay in a guest room tonight anyway. If you need me for anything, I’ll be close by.” “Okay. Thanks. See you later, Daniel.” “Buona sera, Adriana.” I laughed and turned at the door, giving him a grin. “Twenty-five years in this house, and your Italian still absolutely sucks. You sound like you're hacking at the syllables with a machete.” He grinned back and ran his hand through his hair. “It's what you get when your tutors are a bunch of third-generation guidos. Besides, I'm much, much better with my French technique, if you ever want to find out.” I laughed and left the gym, forcing myself down the hallway because there was nothing more my body wanted to do than to turn around and find out exactly how good he was. I hoped that my desire would ease with distance, but instead, I was still overheated when I got back to my old room and fell into the soft mattress, groaning in frustration. “Fuck it. Time for a cold shower.” THE NEXT MORNING, PRECISELY AT ELEVEN, I FOUND DANIEL WAITING FOR ME IN THE FOYER, DRESSED NOT in the casual clothes he'd worn the last week for me, but instead in a black, somber

suit, looking for all the world like a Secret Service agent. I’d also dressed for the trip, wearing a black dress that I'd always kept ready, knowing the sort of lifestyle my family had. Mob daughters have to go to funerals too often, in my opinion. “Ready?” Daniel asked, standing up and buttoning his coat. I looked and was touched that next to him were a dozen roses in a basket, mixed white and red, ready for me. “I asked the gardening staff to pick out the best.” “Thank you,” I said, my throat tight with emotion. He might have most of the time alternated in his personality between that of the Terminator or a cocky Lothario, but I too often forgot that he actually did have a tender, observant side to him. “They're beautiful, and I know Angela would have liked them. Come on. I'd like to save my tears for the graveside, if you don't mind.” Daniel drove me in his BMW, back in his silent mode but slightly more comforting than he'd been earlier in the week. When we got out, the bright sunlight dazzled me, and he silently offered me a pair of Ray-Bans from his inner coat pocket. I put them on and walked with him to the grave site. It wasn't that hard to find. The dirt was still freshly turned and the Astroturf that had been laid on top screamed out against the dark, rich green of the surrounding grass. I had to resist the urge to reach down and tear the plastic off, at least tearing away the lie that under the turf wasn't just a pile of dirt but the body of my best friend. “I hate the turf,” Daniel said quietly, his hands crossed in front of him. “I remember that from Bucky Francetti's funeral last year. They'd lined the edges of the hole with it, and it looked to me like they were making a mockery of him with it.” “Some people are comforted by it, I guess,” I said, kneeling and laying the flowers on top of the small mound. “Twenty-three years. She was too young and too good to end up like this.” “I didn't know her, but I saw her once when you brought her by the Don’s house,” Dan said softly. “She did seem like a good person. I'm sure you’re right.” “I've spent the past week wishing that I'd gone to Uncle Carlo before that day, saying I needed help and protection. I was scared out of my mind, but putting on a front for everyone. If I had and you were there . . .” “You can't beat yourself up about it, Ade. Besides, even if the Don had assigned me a week earlier or two weeks earlier, or whatever, it wouldn’t have stopped what happened to her. My duty would be to keep you safe and protected, and I would’ve been with you, not back at the apartment with her.” I turned and stepped closer to Daniel, reaching up and putting my hand on his

shoulder. “You have kept me safe, and I thank you. For the past week, I've felt more secure and safer than I have in months. Maybe in my entire life.” His hand came to rest on my hip, and we came closer until my body pressed against him. His lips lowered toward mine, and I tilted my head, wanting at that moment for nothing more than to feel his kiss. I could tell in his eyes that he wanted it too, when suddenly, he pushed me away, taking a step back. I nearly fell on my ass as I stepped back, the heel of my shoe catching on the edge of the Astroturf blanket on top of Angela's grave. “What the fuck?” “We can't,” Daniel said, stepping back again. He turned and scanned the area, his head moving like a radar dish. “For both of our sakes—we can't.” “What the hell are you talking about? Don't tell me that you don't want me,” I hissed, stepping around to look him in the eye. “I saw it in your eyes just now, and I've seen it in your eyes before. Tell me you don't want me!” “Of course I do,” Daniel said, his eyes flickering with desperation and anger and something else. “But I can't, Adriana. Like I said, for both our sakes.” “What do you mean?” I asked softly, my anger fading as I saw the emotion in his icy blue eyes. “It can never be just the two of us, Ade,” Dan said, a tinge of sadness in his voice. “First—and I'm not bragging—I'd ruin you for other men. I've made that mistake in the past, and while I'm more than willing to fuck some skank and leave her wanting me for years afterward, you're better than that. I won't ruin your life, because no other man is going to compare to me.” “So why does there ever have to be anyone else?” I asked, putting my hand on his chest. “You and I, we've been eyeing each other for a long time. I think I can make my own decision about whether you're the type of man I want.” “You know nothing!” Daniel hissed, pushing my hand down. Seeing the hurt in my eyes, his face softened, filled now with more hurt, and for the first time in his life, fear. “If I ever touch you, if I ever do what I want to do, I'm a dead man. Don Bertoli has promised me that much. And I'm also worried about something more.” “What?” “I'm worried that you're a dead woman as well,” Daniel said softly. “I can face my own death, Ade. I've never had a life of my own, except what Carlo Bertoli has gifted me with. But I won’t see you dead. I . . . I care about you too much for that.” Daniel blinked and reached into his coat pocket, pulling out another set of sunglasses, this time mirrored aviators. He slipped them on, obliterating my view of his blue eyes, and his face seemed to lose all traces of emotion, once again the perfect Terminator. “I'll wait a few rows away until you're done saying your

farewells to Angela.”

CHANTER 6

DANIEL

he next day, Monday night, after dropping off Adriana, I was back at the T Starlight Club, wearing one of my suits. I was desperate and needed to do something to get my mind right.

Never, in the close to ten years that I'd been doing work for Don Bertoli, had I drifted so close to disobeying an order from him. And the rule I'd nearly broken wasn't some minor little thing like wearing the wrong type of tie or being a little short on a pickup from one of the businesses under his protection. Screw up like that, and you'd get a few words, and maybe be punished with making it up out of your own pocket. For someone with my rank within the Don's organization, I'd get a frown at most and be tasked with going back out to make sure things were rectified as soon as possible. But what I almost did would be like breaking one of the Ten Commandments, a sin that could never be atoned for. Every man in Don Bertoli's organization, from the lowest lackey to even Pietro Columbu, his second in command, had been taken aside by the Don and told in no uncertain terms from the time she was eleven years old and started puberty—Adriana was not to be touched. And the day before, I'd nearly lost it. Her lips had been so close, her green eyes so filled with soft desire, her generous curves so perfect pressed against me. I'd nearly damned us both. It had taken every ounce of my willpower to push her away and step back, and I'd tried the night before to get rid of my weakness by myself, jacking off until my cock ached and I felt like a guilty teenager again. It hadn't helped, and the next day, my desire had returned in full strength, fueled even more by the outfit she'd worn, her legs amazing in those tiny little shorts. I couldn't trust myself, being constantly distracted, and I knew I acted like a total asshole, barely talking at all through most of the day until we were both relieved when Julius showed up again, right on time to do his night shift. So I found myself at the Starlight Club, one of my suits on like a suit of armor more than a layer of blended wool. If I couldn't be the man who could resist Adriana, then come hell or high water, I could remember that I was a Bertoli man, one of the

best fucking Bertoli men there was. And Bertoli men were allowed—in fact, sometimes even encouraged—to do what I was about to do. I looked up at the sign and figured it was worth a try. The Starlight Club was pretty quiet, but it was a Monday night, and there were only perhaps a dozen patrons inside, their sweaty faces looking slack and simian under the dim lights. “Welcome, sir,” the manager said, coming out from behind the bar to shake my hand. We'd known each other for a while, since I was the man most often tasked with the pickups at the club. The manager always had his payment on time and ready to go in a simple white envelope, and we'd enjoyed a couple of conversations in the spare time I had. “Business or pleasure?” “Both,” I said, distracted. When he gave me a concerned look, I waved it off. His cash was secure for tonight. “Not that type of business. Tell me, is there a girl named Carmen working tonight?” “Yeah, she's scheduled for a dance in five,” the manager said, relaxing. This sort of business he had no problems discussing. “She said you looked interested last time you were here.” “I am,” I said, reaching into my coat and taking out two hundred-dollar bills folded together. I held them out, raising an eyebrow. “Think you might be able to reschedule the dance, let me have some private time with her?” “What type of private time?” he asked while still making the money disappear. While ninety-nine percent of the customers probably suspected it, only the select few like me were permitted access to the other services the Starlight Club offered. “Carmen's one of my best. She's pretty pricey. She’s selective as to who she gives private time to.” “I bet,” I said, reaching back inside and showing the wad of cash I had with me. Bertoli rewarded his men handsomely, and I lived a frugal lifestyle. “Tell her if she's worth it, she's not going to need to dance for a month afterward if she wants.” “And what do I get? Sorry, business and all.” I raised an eyebrow at him, and he quavered a bit. He knew what I could do, and he'd be lucky that I didn't just destroy the entire club. I unbuttoned my coat, showing him the Beretta in a holster under my left arm, then reached into the pocket next to it and pulled out another hundred-dollar bill. “That's three, plus a bonus for you personally if Carmen's worth my time and money. Good enough?” “Yes, sir,” the manager stammered, stepping back. He reacquired his smile quickly though, and swept his arm to his left. “If you'll just follow me, I'll make sure you're

comfortable before getting Carmen.” I shook my head, pushing past him. “I know where to go. Get Carmen and send up some bottle service. The good stuff, none of that fake label shit you pass off on the mooks.” I went into the VIP room and hung up my jacket, sitting on the reclining couch. I'd had my choice of places to go. Don Bertoli controlled most of the places like this in the Seattle-Tacoma area, but I didn't need whips, chains, or anything kinky. Not that I had anything against it, but my cock was more than enough for the women I dealt with. Carmen was quick, coming in like a little pixie in her green silk robe and no heels. She was tiny, maybe five feet tall if you were being generous, with long, thick black hair and large doe eyes that I bet made most men think she was performing just for them when she was on stage or in a private dance. Her blindingly white teeth were perfectly even, and I wondered how a girl so pretty wasn't trying to make a living doing something else. But hell, I’m the last man who should judge anyone. Besides, I didn’t know her or her circumstances. “Hey, Papi,” Carmen said, sauntering her way across the room and sitting next to me, placing a hand on my thigh where it lay light and warm, enticing. “When Terry came in and said you were out here, I was so excited I had to get here as quick as I could. I hope you don't mind that I forgot my heels.” I knew she was lying—it was part of her appeal, I was sure. On stage, the high heels added to the act, but in private, she could be the naughty young girl much more easily. “I bet. So I guess you've been thinking about me?” “You have no idea,” she said, turning more toward me and rubbing her tiny little hand over my chest through my shirt. “I haven’t been able to keep you out of my mind all week. In fact, I've done some naughty things while thinking about you.” I chuckled, trying to relax into the lying fantasy. With some of the women I’d been with, lies were necessary, and I certainly didn't want to know the truth in a lot of cases anyway. “So how about after the bottles get here, you and I talk about those naughty things some more?” Carmen pouted, and I had to admit she could pull off the hurt, innocent look very well. “I'd like to show you if you'd let me.” I nodded and reached for the knot on her robe. “Perfect. But I have to warn you, Carmen. I'm not an easy man to please.” She let me undo the bow, leaving her robe held closed just by the simple crossing of her belt, a bit more of her cleavage becoming visible in the extra slack. “I know all about you. Two of the girls in the back tonight are hatin' on me right now. You're a

legend, both for your generosity and your . . .” The bottles arrived, and while it wasn't Dom Perignon, it wasn't cheap trash either. I let her pop the first cork and pour us both a glass, trying to grin as she let a little bit 'accidentally' splash on her robe, the thin fabric sticking to her skin. “Oops.” I waved it off and took a fifty-dollar bill out of my shirt pocket, where I'd transferred my stash for the night. “Here, you might need to have that dry cleaned.” “Mmm, you’re generous. The girls said you'll ruin me, but as generous as you are, I may just have to risk it. You mind if I dance some for you?” “Of course not,” I said, gesturing with my glass toward the tiny little dance area in the middle of the room. “But start with the robe on. It looks sexy on you.” She smiled at my compliment as she walked out, her ass swishing from side to side as she did. She went over to the sound system and punched in a song. The room's soundproofing took care of eliminating the crappy pop and bass-heavy hip-hop the main room had and replaced it with smooth, sexy Spanish-influenced cool jazz. I was surprised. “Not what I expected, but nice.” “The average jackass out there can't appreciate the finer things like you do,” Carmen said, letting her body sway side to side as the music filled the room. She danced well, letting her clothes come off at a slow enough pace that she wasn't just peeling them off to get down to business. Still, the whole time she danced, my eyes were glued more to the green of her robe than the ripe swell of her breasts, and to the red of her lipstick. The green was so much like Adriana's eyes, the lipstick so much like her hair. My cock twitched, starting to swell in my pants, but not because of the hot girl in front of me. Shit. I blinked my eyes, throwing back the rest of my glass and grabbing the bottle by the neck, sucking deep from the green glass. Carmen smiled, a naughty angel smile as she saw my reaction, thinking it was because of her dance and her seduction skills. Bringing herself closer, she pulled off her bra, leaving her in a tissue paper-thick G-string and some little rhinestones that she'd attached around her right eye with spirit gum for decoration. “Mmm, I can't resist anymore,” she said, climbing into my lap and grinding on my lap. “Isn’t this where we were last time before we got so sadly interrupted?” “Someplace like that,” I said, reaching around and grabbing a handful of her ass in a last desperate attempt to put my focus on where it needed it to be, and not on the Italian-Scotch woman who was in the forefront of my mind. “Much better music, though.” “One thing,” Carmen said, lifting her breast to my mouth. I sucked, letting my

tongue flicker over her coffee-colored nipple, which hardened almost immediately in my mouth, and she threw her head back, moaning. “Oh shiiiit . . . but the rules.” “And the rules are?” I asked, letting go. My cock was hard, but I just wasn't into it, and the break in the flow wasn't helping. I’d hoped to let my instincts take over. After all, pussy is pussy. But her words irritated me. She noticed and gave me her best attempt at a heart-stopping smile. “Nothing bad, Papi. Just we have to have protection. Do you have your own, or should I get some from my robe?” “Of course. I have my own,” I said, not minding the rule. I may have been with a few women, but I wasn’t stupid. I always used protection. “That's fine. And nothing kinky. Not tonight.” “Mmm, you’re too good to be true,” Carmen said, rubbing back and forth. She kissed my nose, then around to my neck, licking and sucking while she dryhumped me. I closed my eyes, trying to lose myself in the feeling of this spicy little sexual nymphet on my lap, but I couldn't get Adriana's face out of my mind. Groaning, I threw my head back, pushing Carmen away. “This just isn’t going to work. Get off.” “But, why?” she whined, still climbing off. She knelt in front of me, reaching out and cupping my cock through my pants. “Your big friend here says he wants me, and he's bigger than I've ever had. Please, Papi? You've got me so hot. I need it. A real man, for once in my life.” Carmen lowered her eyes and leaned forward, kissing the crotch of my pants. She was moaning, and I could tell she was serious about it. She would have fucked me even for no money by that point, but I couldn't. For the first time in my life, I had a willing, desperate woman there, ready for me to fuck her, and I couldn't do it. “No, Carmen. Go away.” “Come on, I need you,” she said, reaching for my belt. Her hand froze and her eyes jerked up when she heard the click of the hammer on my Beretta. “I said go, Carmen,” I said evenly, with no inflection in my voice. It was my enforcer voice, the one that made men a lot more hardened than Carmen piss their pants in terror. The barrel pointed between her eyes, an inch from her forehead, probably looking like a cannon from her perspective. “Get the fuck out.” She whined in fear as she scooted back and ran from the room, not screaming but clearly scared out of her mind. I stared at the fucking gun in my hand and shuddered, lowering the hammer carefully before putting it on safe and placing it back in my holster. Had I really just done that? I must’ve been fucking losing it. I grabbed my coat and put it on, not caring about if my tie was screwed up or not.

Walking out, the manager looked at me with fear in his eyes, and I knew Carmen had told him what just happened. “For your troubles,” I said, pulling out the rest of the bills I'd brought and handing them to him. “Tell Carmen . . . tell her I'm sorry.” His fingers shook as he took the pile from me, and he didn't even count it as he tucked it in his shirt. “Yes, sir,” he stammered. “But sir—” “You take five hundred for the trouble and half a bottle drunk, and give her the rest. Fair enough?” He nodded, his eyes still wide in fear, and I left the club, stalking out into the night. I climbed into my BMW and started the engine, leaving twenty feet of black rubber on the pavement as I peeled out of the parking lot. What the fuck had I been thinking? Pulling my pistol just because a girl wanted to suck my cock? The worst part was, I was ready to pull the trigger. All because it was Carmen who was on her knees and not who I needed. Fuck, it wasn't even that I wanted her anymore. I needed her. I needed Adriana. And I couldn't tell Don Bertoli. If I went to him and told him that I couldn't continue to protect his niece because I wanted to fuck her more than anything else in the world, I wouldn't even be able to get the sentence all the way out of my mouth before my corpse hit the floor. I couldn't quit. “You're in deep shit,” I whispered to my reflection in the rearview mirror as I drove. “Deep shit indeed.”

CHAPTER 7

ADRIANA

excited to be waiting in the parking circle of the house Wednesday when I was the long, black Cadillac pulled into the driveway and Uncle Carlo's driver got

out, going around to the back and opening the door for him. Carlo had been out of town for nearly a week, soon after assigning Daniel to be my bodyguard, and I was glad to see him. “Uncle Carlo!” “Bella!” he replied, letting me give him a big hug. “How is my little one?” “Class today was a total bitch, but that's all over now,” I said, smiling. He laughed and wiped at my hair with a chuckle. “I can see that. Are you choosing to color parts of your hair green now, or is that just the result of your hard work?” he asked. He reached into the back of the Caddy and pulled out his personal bag, a habit he'd always had. The driver and staff might be permitted to handle his suitcases, but Carlo always kept certain personal effects in a tan leather bag that he carried with him nearly everywhere outside the house. “By the way, I got you something.” “Really? Cool!” I replied, immediately transported back to my teenage years. “What?” “Well, a friend of mine knows of your appreciation for fine art, so he sent this along with me,” he said, taking out a metal tube about two inches wide and just over a foot long. “He said this was the best way to transport them for you.” I popped the cap on the canister and carefully took out the lithographs, amazed by the photographic images. The first was a black and white photo of a mostly nude woman with her arms around her knees, hiding her body and looking at the camera with such pain in her eyes it was hard not to want to reach out and comfort her. The second was the same woman, this time from the collarbones up, her face turned to the sky and wearing such an expression of joy that you knew she was having the best moment of her life. “This is amazing.” “If you look on the back, all of them are signed by the artist,” Carlo said. “I thought

you'd appreciate that.” “I do. Thank you, Uncle,” I said, not pausing to look through the rest of the images at the moment. “So you're back in town for a while?” “I have nothing for at least the rest of the month,” he replied. “But the first thing I want to do before I go into the office tomorrow and find out that the clerks have robbed me blind and left me penniless, is to have dinner with my favorite niece. Tell me you can spare the time tonight.” “Of course,” I said, laughing. “I was planning on staying the night here in the mansion, actually. The apartment's nice and all, but it doesn't have the aura of family, you know?” “I do, and like Judy Garland said long before even I was born, there's no place like home. Come, let's have dinner.” DINNER WAS ACTUALLY LIGHT, SOME PANZANELLA AND SALMON WITH VEGETABLES THAT HAD ME LOOKING at Uncle Carlo in surprise. “Did you see your doctor recently or something?” He laughed and cut into his salmon with his knife. “No, Bella. But as I've gotten older, I've learned a few things about my body. After flying, I've come to understand that my stomach takes a while to settle down and can’t handle the oregano, tomatoes and other things I normally enjoy. But I can at least still have my olive oil.” I laughed and took a bite of my salad, crunching on the crispy pieces of bread that had been sautéed in olive oil. “Food of the gods there—as you've told me my entire life.” “I spoke with your mother while I was on the plane. She says your readjustment has gone well?” “It has. Thank you.” “And your classes? I hope they’re teaching more than how to mix paint and slap it on some canvas.” “Oh no, they've done a little more than that,” I teased, a glint in my eye. “They've taught us how to use our fingers to smear it on walls and paper, too. You should see your study; I've done some redecorating for you.” He laughed and took a careful bite of his fish. “Sorry, I went in there earlier before dinner or you might have gotten me. But seriously, Bella, how are your classes?” “Pretty good. Actually, I'm signed up for a few business courses this semester,” I said. “I put them off for a while, but the university thinks that it is important for us

artists to have some business knowledge. So I'm taking a digital marketing course as well as business math this semester.” “That's good. Too many artists end up starving, not due to lack of talent, but lack of the ability to keep two pennies in their pocket,” Carlo said. “Listen, I wanted to ask . . . have you been contacted again by that freak, Drake?” It was one of the gray clouds hanging in the sky of my time, and one I wanted to be gone more than anything else. So far, the police hadn't found a single clue as to the whereabouts of Vincent Drake. “Not so far. The police detective in charge of the investigation called me yesterday and said that they are doing their best to find him. They think he might have fled the country, but he wouldn’t say why they think that.” “There’s a chance of that,” Uncle Carlo said. He sighed and set his silverware down. “I've had some of my people looking into his background. It was surprising, considering your description of him, but he’s a scary man.” “Besides being a psychopath? He's a fifty-year-old man with a tub gut and bad taste in clothing and music. What else is there to worry about now that you’re on to him?” Uncle Carlo shook his head, sighing. “Vincent Drake is more than that, sadly enough, and he's fifty-three. I'm not surprised the police didn’t tell you, or perhaps the fucking morons don't know yet, but Vincent Drake is former military. His public service record is fairly tame. He was in the Army for eight years, getting out just after the first Iraq War. According to the public record, he was a Public Relations Specialist, and reached the rank of Staff Sergeant before an honorable discharge.” “You say that like he’s more than just a former journalist,” I said, my mouth going a bit dry. I took a sip of my water, trying to clear the knot in my throat. “What is it?” “The posts that he was assigned—they don't have media specialists,” Carlo said simply. “My sources dug some more, and found that Vincent Drake was more than that. He was in the Psychological Warfare division and was involved in the capture and interrogation of Noriega back in the Panama invasion. He was Special Operations, Bella. We don't know exactly what training he went through, or what it did to him, but the man is not some artsy palooka who just went off his rocker.” I shuddered, my appetite suddenly lost. “That’s not good news, but I’m confident Daniel will keep me safe.” Uncle Carlo nodded, taking another bite of his fish. “Your mother and I talked about this yesterday on the phone. She told me how highly you spoke about Daniel, and she was a bit worried. After a phone call I got this morning, I am too.”

“Why are you worried?” I asked. “I mean, me being at odds with Daniel would only make things more difficult.” “Getting along is good, but you sounded to your mother like a girl with the beginnings of a crush,” he said. “I have to caution you on that.” “Uncle,” I said, trying not to whine. I took a deep breath. “Okay, I'll admit, Daniel’s a handsome man. But I don't have a crush on him. Even if I did, is that really a bad thing? You said yourself that he is a man of honor, and I could probably do a lot worse.” Uncle Carlo sighed and rested his forehead in his hands, shaking his head back and forth. “Bella, I know what you’re saying, but Daniel, at least when it comes to ladies, is not to be trusted. And even if that wasn’t the case, it won’t change what he does for a living . . .” I sat there, fuming, feeling like I was being talked down to, and not liking it too much. Godfather or not, leader of the Sea-Tac families or not, I was a twentythree-year-old woman, not a twelve-year-old-girl saying she had a crush on some television heartthrob. “Well, maybe he can change. And he doesn’t have to do that for the rest of his life . . .” He shook his head. “If it was anyone other than Daniel, I'd have pulled him from the job already. But with what I’ve learned about the man who’s stalking you, I can’t afford to have anyone other than the best of my men protecting you. In terms of doing his duty to protect you, I can trust him, and his honor will make sure that he does the right thing. But outside of that, Adriana, he knows the rules. No man under Bertoli family employ is to touch you. They do, and they will pay with their lives, very simply. I won't compromise on this, nor will I listen to any arguments otherwise. Now, I would like to finish my dinner. Is this conversation finished?” “Yes, Uncle,” I said, staring a hole in my fish. I waited for him to finish his, then wiped my mouth with my napkin. “May I be excused?” He gave me a long look, then nodded. “I’m sorry that I have to be so strict on this, Bella, but it is for your own good. Thank you for the meal.” IN MY ROOM, I LAY ON MY BED, STARING AT THE CEILING. IT WAS TOO EARLY TO THINK ABOUT GOING TO sleep, barely past eight in the evening, but I didn't know what else to do. I didn't want to go to the family room. There was nothing I wanted to watch on TV, and the odds were that either Uncle Carlo or Mom would be there. After what Carlo said, I didn't want to talk to either of them, not with the way they were trying to run my life. I wasn't in the mood to work out, either, as just the thought of the gym sent memories of Daniel's body in his tight workout gear through my mind, and I was aroused enough around him as it was.

Was I really developing a crush on Daniel? I wondered. We'd known each other for most of our lives, and I knew as kids we'd played together. In a house with a lot of Italian men with a slightly skewed view on social rules, he was one of the few kids in the house. He'd been the kid who'd helped me learn how to ride a bike for the first time, and he'd even shown me how to shoot a basketball. Sure, after we hit our teens, we'd drifted apart, but it wasn't like he was a stranger. But I couldn’t deny that even thinking about him was making my body yearn for things, sensual things that made me want to touch my body. I knew it could put us both in danger, him more so than me, but I couldn’t help myself. Maybe it was selfish, but the urge was strong. My hands took on a life of their own as I imagined Daniel, his muscles hard under my hands, his sensuous lips tasting my skin, kissing down my neck to my breasts. I could hear the muffled gasps and moans of our passion as if it were real, stifled only because we knew the risk we were taking but didn't care. His fire for me was too much, unable to be denied, and it fueled us both, driving us crazy with lust. I let my fingers run down my neck to the V of my shirt, stroking the suddenly hypersensitive erogenous zones and adding to the heat burning inside me. In a semi-trance, I lifted my shirt and bra up, cupping my right breast in my hand and rubbing the stiff nipple until I was moaning, unable to stop the deep cry in my throat. I wanted him so badly, I wanted to feel what it was that made his name a whispered legend. “Daniel . . .” I whispered as my right hand stroked down my stomach to creep inside my pants. “Oh yes . . .” My panties were soaked, and I shivered as my questing fingers rubbed over my wet lips, the friction sending sparks of heat up and down my legs. It had been months since the last time I'd had sex, a side effect of the creepy behavior from Vincent, and I needed a man, a man like Daniel so badly that I could taste it. Daniel was all that and more, and the thought of him left my head spinning. Pushing my panties to the side, I imagined Daniel’s cock, how hard and huge it must have been when he got aroused. I imagined holding it in my hand, the warmth and steel rigidity as we would kiss, his strong hands crushing me to him as he held me tight, whispering in my ear that he's always there to protect me and to take care of me. My legs parted as I fantasized that it was for him that I was opening myself. Fear and desire mixed as my mind's eye imagined the intimidating presence of his manhood, but I needed it so badly. My finger was a poor substitute, I knew, but still, the feeling of penetration knocked all the breath out of my body. My hips lifted to meet my middle finger and I stroked in and out, the heel of my hand rubbing against my clit in slow circles. My finger pumped in and out, now rubbing over the tip of my clit, soaked in my own juices and reducing the friction to an amazing lightness that made me bite my lip. It felt so good. I shuddered, imagining Daniel's hard stomach dragging over my clit

as he pulled out, teasing me momentarily before he lowered his head to between my legs. He had such a sensuous tongue, I was sure it would feel amazing on my skin, and the image of his mouth fastened over my pussy drove me the rest of the way up. My mind went into rapid-fire slide-show fantasy mode, and images of Daniel naked, fucking me in every position imaginable, using his tongue, his hands, his amazing cock everywhere he could flashed through my mind as I trembled on the edge of coming. Then, in a voice so clear I swore it was the real thing and not just my imagination, I heard Daniel whisper in my ear, “Come for me, Ade. Come for me.” I clenched, my pussy clamping around my finger as my hand ground against my clit, gritting my teeth as I rode out my orgasm. Daniel's blue eyes were in my mind the whole time, his little cocky smile that promised me more pleasure than I'd ever felt in my life, and as my hips slowly sank back into the bed, I knew that I was in trouble. Crush or not, I knew I wanted Daniel, and bad. I lay there for a while, the smell of my sex heavy in the air, wishing it was more than just the solitary musk of my masturbation. I wanted to smell the salty sweet tang of a man's body with mine, and I knew there was only one man whose aroma I wanted to smell. Sighing, I looked over at my clock. Eight forty-five. Still far too early to go to sleep. I decided to get out of bed and try and do some homework. I had some marketing homework I could prep for, even if the class was pretty much a cakewalk. I opened my laptop, pulling up my school email. There were three messages, the first two normal class notes and announcements that I quickly read and noted in my mental itinerary. The third was a personal message, supposedly from another student at the university, a Mike Rutherford. The title was “Strength in your time of sadness.” Curious, I opened it. The screen of my laptop flashed, and the normal desktop was replaced by a slide show of some kind. Music started, and I immediately started backing away as Phil Collins' voice started. It was the song “In Too Deep.” The slide show changed from the lyrics of the song to images from my apartment, of Angela being stabbed, and her blood being smeared on the walls. I screamed, hysteria taking over for me as Phil's voice launched into the chorus of the song. I screamed again, and suddenly, Uncle Carlo was at my side, with Mom next to him, holding me and rocking me gently. He looked at the computer, which was looping around to the chorus again with its grisly imagery, and he slammed the lid shut. Still, the song wouldn't stop, still audible through the built-in speakers, and I sobbed, panic stricken and desperate. He pulled the plug out of the wall and flipped the computer over, picking it up. He held it over his head for a moment, and I could

read in his body language the desire to smash the offending chunk of metal and plastic down on my desk, but in the end, he set it down, savagely flipping the tabs that let him yank the battery out. Once all power had been cut, the computer shut down, and the three of us looked at the laptop, my sobs still racking my body while Mom held me. “It was him,” I wailed, pointing at the computer. “Vincent. He's still out there!” “Not for long,” Uncle Carlo said. He picked up my laptop and put it under his arm. “I’m sorry, Bella, but I'm going to have to take this. Is there any information you need for your classes?” “Carlo, she's hysterical,” Mom said, stroking my hair. “Ask her in an hour.” He looked at Mom, his eyes flashing in anger, then nodded, agreeing. “You’re right, of course, Margaret. Still, I will make calls. When the expert gets here, he's going to start going through it. In the meantime, I have another call to make.” “Who?” I asked, sniffling. With the music gone, I could at least focus some, and I was recovering from my scare. “Daniel,” Uncle Carlo said. “He needs to know. And I’m going to make sure he doesn’t leave your side.”

CHAPTER 8

DANIEL

Carlo, Margaret, and Adriana in the main living room. I was still in my I found exercise gear, coming straight from the dojo where I'd been trying to relieve

my stress and tension via sparring. I think a few of the guys were glad that I'd gotten the phone call. I'd already put two guys down in the time we'd been at it, one with a leg that was already turning purple from my kicks, and another with a concussion.

“What happened?” I asked, seeing Adriana's still frightened face. I realized how I'd spoken, and I quickly took a deep breath, reasserting control of myself. “Apologies. How can I help?” “Adriana was in her room, trying to do some homework or something, when she got an email from that piece of shit, Drake,” Don Bertoli said, seething. I'd seen him pissed off before, but never to this degree. He almost never cursed in front of Adriana or Margaret that I'd seen. “I need your services, of course.” I nodded, looking straight at Adriana, who still was huddled on the couch, her arms wrapped around her knees and her eyes haunted. “Whatever you need, sir.” He took a deep breath, regaining some of his famous self-control. “First, go by her apartment and sweep it. I want to know if that asshole has found her new place. Second, clear out Adriana's things. She's moving back here until he’s caught and dealt with.” I licked my lips, working up the courage to do something I'd never done before as an idea rushed through my mind. “No offense, sir, but I think my skills could be used better in another pursuit.” “Explain yourself,” Margaret said, her voice calm and perceptive. “It’s not often that people contradict Carlo.” “Apologies, Mrs. Bertoli, but I only speak because I want to ensure your daughter's safety,” I said, intentionally keeping any comments I made directed not at Adriana. With the way that the Don was about Adriana, I had to show that I was emotionally

detached, professional. “It is just that while I can do the things that Don Bertoli asks, I think I’d be much more useful in trying to find this Drake.” Carlo relaxed, and I was glad he wasn’t offended. “What do you have in mind?” he asked. “I can possibly track back how Drake was able to send his message,” I said, wanting to sit down and show how on a piece of paper, but staying on my feet. I hadn't been invited to sit, after all. Actually, at the moment, the one thing I wanted to do most was hold Adriana and run my fingers through her beautiful flame-red hair, reassuring her that it was okay and that she'd be safe. But I couldn't, that was for sure. “If so, I can start to hunt this man down.” “He’s more dangerous than we first believed, Daniel,” Don Bertoli said, gesturing to the chair on his left. I took a seat, making sure to not let my sweat-soaked shirt touch the leather. “He has military training. Special Operations training. He might be more than you can handle.” “With all due respect, even a psychopath with military training is within my capabilities,” I said. “Especially if he doesn’t know that I am hunting him. He probably expects a bodyguard, if he's seen Adriana since the murder, not a man of my talents. It is more difficult to defend against an enemy that you don’t know is coming.” “You want the stalker to become the stalked,” Margaret said, her voice bloodthirsty. “And if you find him?” “I have some things I’d like to do, but that would be at your discretion. First, though, I have to find him.” Carlo considered the idea, then nodded. “Agreed. First, I’ll let you look at Adriana's computer. It’s in my study. Second, tomorrow morning, you will go to the school and start your hunt. Adriana's security here isn’t a problem.” “Actually, first, I think Daniel needs to take a shower and get dressed,” Margaret said with a small laugh. “He looks like hell. What were you doing, getting into fights?” “Actually, that is exactly what I was doing,” I said, rubbing at the pink spot on my arm where I'd blocked a kick. “Sparring practice. But I'd like to look at the computer first and find out what I can. Then I’ll speak with some of my contacts, men who I can trust to go and get the information we need. Thank you.” I DIDN'T HAVE A SUIT OR ANYTHING AT THE BERTOLI HOUSE, SO I HAD TO DRIVE BACK TO MY APARTMENT, leaving the computer for later analysis. My mind whirled as I thought about how incompetent and stupid the police and school administration had been. Seriously,

online harassment is both pernicious but also relatively easy to stop. The key is changing things. Changing email addresses, IP addresses, and other things can be a pain in the ass, but it stops most electronic harassment. In Drake's case, I wasn't sure, but considering the look I'd seen on Adriana's face, I was filled with anger. It was Adriana who had me the angriest. The look in her eyes, like the entire world was unsafe and that she was just a little hunted animal angered me. That any man, even a psycho like Vincent Drake, would want to drive a young woman to such a state was despicable. I'd killed people, I admit. I'd told Adriana as much. But I'd never intentionally tried to terrorize or harm an innocent person. The closest I'd come was the night before, with Carmen at the Starlight Club, and I apologized for that one. The fact was, Drake and Adriana were both getting to me. I could take care of both by finding Drake. After that, I'd talk with Don Bertoli. As much as it pained me, I couldn’t work with Adriana again, not without breaking his rules. Maybe the Don had connections out of the Seattle-Tacoma area that I could work with. Maybe there was a way I could keep my honor and my life intact at the same time. First, though, I had to track down Vincent Drake. Of course, I'd tell Carlo that he had first choice on killing Drake, but if the opportunity presented itself, I was going to put a pistol to that bastard's head and pull the trigger until the hammer dryclicked a few times. I got to my apartment, still trying to figure out what to do. An idea popped into my mind while I scrubbed the sweat off my body, and I felt a bit of lightness coming to my mood for the first time in a while. “Adam. He can help.” Adam Kane was someone I'd met through a job that Don Bertoli had given to me. Not in the employ of the Don, he was a freelance private investigator whose morals were reasonably flexible enough that he didn't mind it when I would sometimes come to him with Bertoli business—somewhat of a moral anarchist, if you will. He was loyal to an employer, though, and good at what he did. Grabbing my phone, I called up Adam. “Yo, Kane.” “Daniel, it's good to hear your voice,” Adam answered in his normal high-pitched whine. It wasn't his most endearing feature. In fact, Adam was the sort of guy who probably didn't get a woman in bed unless he paid for it handsomely first. Short, dumpy-looking, with a good case of acne scars and the tendency to collect blackheads that could have starred on YouTube videos, he was still a smart guy with a good sense of humor and loyal to those he cared about. A lot of women could do worse than him. “What can I do for you?” “I've got a situation that could use your services,” I said. “I hope you aren't busy.” “Nah, just your standard following cheating husband cases,” Adam said with a

chuckle. “Nothing I can't pass off to my assistant. Considering you always bring me interesting things, I can clear my schedule. When would you like to meet?” “Meet me at midnight at the boat ramp on 14th Street,” I said. “Bring your computer gear.” I hung up my phone and looked in my closet. The relatively empty space was divided into two sections. On the right, I had my normal clothes, suits that Don Bertoli would approve of. On the left, my casual stuff that Adriana requested I wear. All of them were hung up on wooden hangers—which prevent lines from developing in the shoulders of your coats or shirts—or clipped at the waist on pants hangers. I reached for one of my suits, then stopped. This job had gotten personal, whether I wanted it to or not. In fact, the more I tried to avoid it, the more mistakes I made. I should have anticipated the emails. I should have seen it coming. Instead, I was so caught up in trying not to break down and take her to bed that I was making stupid mistakes and overlooking things. “Fuck it,” I said, my hand drifting to a sport coat that I had hanging to the right of my closet. I hadn't worn it in a while—before I'd really started doing heavy work for the Don and had been trying to scrape together whatever I could. I pulled it off its hanger and gave it a sniff, happy that it still smelled all right. I grabbed my Beretta, this time choosing a belt holster that wouldn't imprint too much under the sport coat, and pulled the coat on. Checking myself in the mirror, I thought I looked good. I met Adam at five after twelve, having to wait the five minutes for him before he approached me. He’s good at private investigation, but not so much with keeping time. “Good to see you, Daniel. Couldn't you have picked a more picturesque location?” “It's the middle of the night, Adam,” I said, gesturing around us. “Did you really think we could meet up in a fashionable nightspot or something?” “Well, I figured that with who you work for and what you do, you'd at least be able to get me drinks and maybe a pretty girl to look at after we finish business,” Adam said with a chuckle. A notorious horndog, I wondered just how many gigabytes of porn was saved on his computer at home. In a moment of reflection, I realized that Carmen at the Starlight Club would have been right down his alley. “Not tonight, Adam. No offense, but I need you focused on the job right away. Your perks can come later.” Adam spread his hands and cracked his knuckles. “Whatcha need, D-man?” “I hate when you call me that,” I remarked for what was perhaps the hundredth time in our working relationship. Like Don Bertoli, I rarely allowed people to talk to

me in a disrespectful manner, but Adam was competent and professional in most other ways. I could use his skills. Besides, he did have a disarming charm to go along with his sense of humor, and I liked the man despite his perpetual tardiness and screwing around with my name. “I know. But seriously, man, you're looking and sounding like you've got a bug up your ass the size of a football. Does this have anything to do with the Bertoli girl?” In an instant, I had him by his shirt, shoving him against my car. “What do you know, Adam?” “Whoa, Daniel, chill,” he said, lifting his hands. “The case has been in the news for over a week now, remember? Pretty college co-ed, a pair of murder scenes that looked like they were straight out of The Silence of the Lambs, a crazy exprofessor? Come on, even with the details the media is keeping silent, the whole thing is capturing people's attention. Once I heard the name Adriana Bertoli in one of the news reports, well . . . people talk. Some of your normal pickups have noticed you aren't the one doing the weekly cash rounds right now. I'm just putting two and two together. That's all.” I let him go, dusting off his shirt. “Sorry. Just, the police are about as worthless as a box of dildos to me right now, and I'm not able to put my full skills toward finding this asshole. Either I take the time to protect Adriana, or I take the time to find and hunt this asshole. I don't have the time to do both.” “Which is why you gave me a call,” he said. “What do you need?” “I want you to find Vincent Drake for me,” I said. “Don Bertoli told me that he's former Special Operations. He obviously knows how to do at least basic computer hacking or something. His most recent harassing message was in an email, sent in the name of Mike Rutherford.” “And should I know who Mike Rutherford is?” Adam asked. Considering I had to look it up, I wasn't offended. “He's one of the key members of the band, Genesis,” I answered for him. “Plays guitar. This Drake character happens to have a major affinity for the band.” “Gotcha,” Adam said. I reached into my coat and pulled out a thumb drive, which I passed over to him. “What's this?” “A copy of the email, along with what I know about Vincent Drake. Bertoli's men don't operate in the same digital world you do, so it's only a simple text file.” “It's enough to get started,” he said, taking the drive and making it disappear into his pants pocket. “You got a timeline on this?” “Make it your primary case until this asshole is in my hands. If you find him, let me

know immediately. This guy . . . he's mine.” He lifted his eyebrow, giving me a long look. “You’re not turning him over to the cops? You know that girl’s family is going to want justice.” “They'll learn about it,” I said quietly. “But this fucker belongs to me.” “What about your boss? He's not going to like that.” I sighed, knowing I'd fucked up again. My private thoughts might be different, but I had to make sure my public face was constant. “Of course, he belongs to the Don. But I'm the one to hand him over.” Adam nodded. “Deal. Consider this a favor though, Daniel. You've brought me enough money that I'm grateful, and this case . . . it's the sort of thing you don't chase down for money. You do it because it's the right thing to do. Even men like me know there are some basic rights and wrongs the world's gotta follow.” He turned and walked off into the darkness. Just as I was about to get back into my BMW, and he was nothing more than a black shape against the slightly less dark of the surrounding area, he turned back. “Hey, D-man?” “Yeah?” “I like the new look. Makes you look less stuffy, more like a badass. I bet the ladies like it too.” “Fuck off, Adam,” I said with a good-natured wave. “Now excuse me. I have to get to work myself.”

CHAPTER 9

ADRIANA

recovered from my scare, but I was going stir-crazy. The college I 'd administration, still more worried about covering their asses than trying to

stop Vincent from harassing me, wasn't very helpful when Mom went in to talk to them the day after the threatening email. They said that without direct evidence that the message was sent by Vincent, there was little they could do. Mom at least got them to agree to let me take the rest of the week off, forwarding my assignments to my school email. Since I didn't have any tests for the next two weeks, I was okay there at least. Still, being kept in the house, even one as luxurious as the Bertoli mansion, was driving me nuts. Everywhere I looked, I saw the same faces, the same people, the same things that I'd seen a million times before in my life. To make it worse, Uncle Carlo took away my phone and computer, telling me that Daniel would now have screening of my communication added to his duties. So I was stuck watching daytime TV, reading books in the library, and trying not to be bored out of my mind. I wasn't even allowed outside, except to the small garden that was built into a section of the mansion that was surrounded by other buildings. I was being kept a prisoner for my own damn protection. Friday, though, Daniel was back, and after a long, private conversation with Uncle Carlo, he found me in the gym. “Well, it looks like you're giving it a bit more effort than you were the last time I saw you in here,” he said as I heaved my way through another set of chest presses. “Trying to beef up on me?” “More like I'm bored and pissed, and this is the best way to work it off,” I said, pushing. The handles of the machine moved away from my chest for a second before pausing, stuck at the halfway-point. I gritted my teeth and grunted, very unladylike and totally unavoidable, but I couldn't complete the motion. The handles crashed back to the stop point as gravity won out over my muscles, and I hissed in frustration. “Shit.” “Listen, I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry about yesterday. I'm back to sticking by your side now, but you're not going to like one thing.”

“What's that?” I said, rolling my shoulders. I didn't lift very often, and I knew I'd be sore the next day because of it, but I didn't really care. It was better than being bored out of my skull. Actually, just having Daniel nearby helped. “Carlo told me that you’re to live in the house. So starting next week, when you go back to classes, we're going to have to leave earlier to make it on time.” “What about you?” I asked. “It’s going to be even more of a pain in the ass for you.” Daniel shook his head. “Actually, I'll be getting a bit more sleep, since I'm going to be staying here too. The housekeeper’s making up my old room.” “That thing? It's the size of a broom closet!” I protested. “Seriously, the pantry is bigger than that!” Daniel shrugged it off. “I don't need it for much more than a mattress and to store a few clothes. We've got a shower over here, after all. Speaking of which, if you just happen to wander down here at six fifteen in the morning and hear the hot water running, feel free to join whoever is in there.” “Yeah, right. Knowing my luck, it'd be the gardener. No thanks.” Daniel laughed and turned to go, when I stopped him. “Dan?” “Yeah, Ade?” “Are you busy tonight? I'm going batshit crazy around here, there's far too many men in dark suits, and I need a break from all this heaviness.” Daniel sighed and turned back. “We're here to protect you, Ade. He could never get in this place.” “Still, I need to get out of here, even if it’s just for a few hours. Think of it as mental therapy,” I said. I went over to my next machine and adjusted the seat and pins, readying myself. “Come on, don't make me order you.” Daniel chuckled. “I think you'd prefer me ordering you around. But I have to say no either way. Your mother wants me to do something. Also, I have some restitution to take care of. I don't like saying it, but I didn't exactly behave well the last time I stopped by the Starlight Club.” I was surprised at the flare of anger and jealousy at the mention of the Starlight Club. I knew what sort of business that was, and I didn't like the idea of Daniel going there, regardless of whether it was his job. “You should frequent a better class of business, Daniel.” “It's my job, Ade. In either case, I'm going to be leaving around six and won't be back until after midnight.”

“Fine. Then tomorrow night, you're protecting me while I go out to dinner and a movie. I need a few hours to feel like a normal girl, and not a fucking victim.” I sat down at the machine and started, pulling the handles this time instead of pushing them. “Got a problem with that?” I think it was the first time I'd seen Daniel uncomfortable in a long time. Sure, he'd been hesitant in the graveyard, but not uncomfortable. He wanted to say no, but another part of him wanted to say yes. “Fine. What time?” “I'll tell you tomorrow,” I said with a smile. “It'll be fun.” I don't think he knew that I heard his next comment. He was trying to keep it under his breath, but it still made me smile, knowing I was affecting him the same way he was affecting me. “It'll be my fucking funeral, more like it.” MOM AND UNCLE CARLO WEREN'T HAPPY ABOUT IT, BUT THEY UNDERSTOOD AFTER ENOUGH CONVINCING on my part. So, at six thirty Saturday night, I was dressed in my best jeans and tshirt, freshly scrubbed. I'd taken the time to make sure that I didn't have any paint on my clothes or in my hair, even though I'd spent four hours that afternoon painting in the library, letting my stress out through the use of oils. The painting was shit, dark and violent and not at all like what I preferred to do, but it helped. It let me pour out my emotions in a safe and familiar way. At least Vincent’s fuckery hadn't robbed me of one of my primary joys. Daniel met me in the foyer, looking for all the world like some of the guys who'd come to pick me up for dates back in high school. Well, except for the small bulge on his left side where he had his pistol under his shirt. “You ready?” “Of course,” I said, trying not to skip down the steps. Mom stood there watching, her eyes filled with concern. “I'll be back by eleven.” She looked at me, then at Daniel, and gestured with her head. Daniel nodded silently and stepped outside, his keys in his hand. Mom used the opportunity to lean in close. “You behave yourself, young lady. Do you understand?” “I'll be fine,” I said, giving her my best innocent smile. “It's not a date. I doubt you’d want me to go alone—not that I’d want to—but I need to get out.” “It had better not be, for both of your sakes,” Mom whispered. “Be careful.” I kissed her on the cheek and gave her a hug, patting her back. “I will. Thanks, Mom.” Daniel was already outside, standing next to his car, holding the passenger door open for me. “Should I ask what she said?” “You're smart enough to know,” I replied with a smile, sliding into the passenger

seat. We drove, heading out of town. I'd chosen a mall outside of Seattle, purely for the fact that we'd never been there before. As we drove, Daniel relaxed bit by bit as we put miles between us and the house. “Dan?” “Yeah, Ade?” he asked. He reached out with a thumb, jabbing the power button on his car stereo, and I was surprised as relaxing, mellow instrumental music, not jazz but something else, filled the car. “Just downloaded it today. Thought you could use the relaxation.” “Thanks,” I said, leaning back into the leather seats. “I just wanted to let you know, this dinner is for you too. I know you've been doing your best, and you've been showing a few signs of stress too. Also, I shouldn’t have snapped at you about the Starlight Club. I know it’s part of your job.” “Thanks, but you didn't need to,” Daniel replied. “Last night was purely business. I met my private eye there. He's helping me with tracking down Drake.” “No more on Vincent tonight, please? For the next four and a half hours, I don't want to hear or even think about that man.” “Deal,” Daniel said. “Just dinner and a movie for a stressed out girl. Too much cobalt blue and titanium white or something.” I laughed. “Something like that. Although after today's painting, I think I need a few more tubes of black and gray.” I was surprised when he nodded. “I saw. I liked it.” “Really? I thought it was terrible,” I said. “Not realistic at all—too dark, just . . . not me.” “Maybe not, but it's got a lot of intensity. You really poured a lot of yourself into it, and I guess it speaks to me that way.” “Then it's yours,” I said immediately. “The best way to get through to an artist is to say you like their work, even if the she hates it herself.” The restaurant lived up to the reviews, with some of the best burgers I'd had in a long time. Daniel enjoyed as well, and ended up licking the barbecue sauce from his bacon barbecue burger off his fingertips, something I'd never seen him do before. At home, he'd always been the epitome of decorum, wiping his hands and mouth with his napkin even if everyone else was nearly under the table drunk. “Worth the thirty-minute drive, that's for sure,” he said. “What did you think?” “Great. You know the only downer in this?” “What's that?”

I took a sip of my soda and set my glass down. “You and I were good friends for about five years there, after I came to Uncle Carlo's house. But then we were kept apart.” “For good reason, Ade. I haven't been the type of man who’s supposed to be friends with a classy girl like you.” “I think I'm old enough now to pick who my friends are and who I want to spend time with,” I said simply, but I was touched by his compliment. “I guess what I'm saying is, when this is finished, I don't want you to drift away again. I know Uncle Carlo doesn't like it, but I want to talk to him about it later.” “You can talk all you want, but he’s not going to listen. I'm not worthy of you in his eyes.” Daniel lowered his eyes to the table, and I could tell he wished it weren’t the case. “And what do you think?” I asked, then shook my head. “Nevermind. That's an unfair question. Come on, let's see the movie. After all the terror of the past week, I need some fictional scares to put all of it in perspective.” The movie was a remake of a Japanese horror flick, The Ring vs. The Grudge, and had plenty of creepy atmosphere. Sure, it was an amalgamation of two pretty worn out movies, but it was still fun. As the tension built, I pulled my legs up underneath me, my eyes wide and staring at the screen. The first time the ghost popped out to scare the first victim to death, I'll admit I jumped, a little bit of popcorn bouncing out of my tub to rain down on my lap, some of it falling onto Daniel's lap as well. “Thanks,” he said blithely, picking up a kernel and tossing it into his mouth. “You okay?” “Yeah,” I whispered back. “It's why we came anyway. It's therapeutic.” When the next scare happened, I shrieked loud enough for those around me to jump too. Daniel put his arm around my shoulder, not saying a word. I fidgeted some, the hard plastic of the arm rest in my ribs preventing me from getting comfortable before I realized that the arm rest lifted. Scooting to the side, I pulled it up and out of the way, snuggling back in closer to Daniel, who rested his arm on my shoulder for the rest of the movie. With his strong arm holding me lightly, I didn't have to jump for the rest of the movie, but I certainly enjoyed some of the scares that were left, and by the end, I was laughing at some of the cheesiness of the two ghostly characters and the idiotic people caught between them. As the credits rolled and the lights rose, I reached up and gave Daniel's hand a squeeze. “Thanks, I needed that.” “No problem,” he said, removing his arm, “but I think you and I need to set some

ground rules. For our safety, especially mine.” I nodded, reality poking its ugly head in, and sighed. “I guess so, but can we at least save it until we get to the car?” Daniel looked like he was about to protest, then just nodded. He reached over and took my hand, entwining our fingers. “Let's go.” The three hundred and twenty-three steps from the theater to Daniel's car were the best part of the evening, as for the first time in nearly a year, I felt totally like a normal girl, free from all the stress and worry of what I'd been through. I imagined that it was like what girls who weren't Mafia princesses felt like most Saturday nights when they were out with a cute guy. Daniel held my door open and got in afterward, sticking his key in the ignition. “Did you enjoy yourself?” “I did,” I said with a smile. “You know, Daniel, when you want to be, you're a pretty decent guy.” “Don't let the secret out,” he said with a chuckle. “But Ade, we're pushing a very dangerous line, one that I don’t think we should cross.” “I know,” I said, sighing and looking out the windshield. “The problem is, I like spending time with you. Beyond what that could mean, I'm just saying that going out with you is a lot of fun. Even when we've been bumming around campus, just you taking me to classes and stuff, I've enjoyed myself. I keep wishing you were an actual student.” Daniel's short laugh and nod told me both that he agreed but also felt it was impossible. “Ade, I don't even know my real last name. The Social Security number I used to get my concealed carry permit is invalid, connected to a man who died a decade ago overseas in Zimbabwe and therefore cannot for certain be declared dead. Besides, while I learn what your uncle asks me to, I’m more of a hands-on type of man. But yes, I've enjoyed my duty for the past two weeks.” “Has it been just duty?” I asked quietly, stopping him. Daniel stared at me, his mouth working silently for a moment, and I could see the answer in his eyes. “That's what I thought. Your duty and honor is stopping you . . . stopping us.” “It is what it is. We can enjoy this time, the times when we can be friends . . . but nothing more,” Daniel said, the last words said between tightly-clenched teeth. He started his car and put it in reverse. “If it means anything, I wish things were different.” “Yeah . . .” I replied, looking out the passenger window so he couldn't see me cry. “Me too.”

CHAPTER 10

DANIEL

Adriana back to classes, the two of us leaving early enough that we got to I took her first class twenty minutes early. I went inside and did a security check of

the room while she sat quietly in her spot next to the emergency exit. The professor, a bespectacled woman who looked like she probably worshiped Annie Leibowitz, looked on with mixed emotions. She wanted to support Adriana as a female and a victim of violence, but at the same time, she didn't like that I was there. “Young man,” she said as I checked under her podium for any listening devices, “I don't think that—”

“That's exactly your and everyone else's problem at this school,” I said quietly, low enough that Adriana couldn't hear me. “You don't think. You're more worried about your political leanings, your bureaucracy, and covering your asses, and you've forgotten that there is a very scared, very threatened young woman involved in all of this. But I haven't. I've pledged to keep her safe, and lady, if I were you, I wouldn’t get in my way.” She blanched, then nodded. “Just be quick about it, okay?” “I'll be done by the time your class starts,” I replied, continuing my search. When I sat down next to Adriana, she looked at me questioningly. “Just a disagreement about Picasso's Blue Period.” “Uh-huh. And that's why she's staring at you in abject fear right now?” she asked, amused. I shrugged. “I have that kind of an effect on people sometimes.” The class started, and it was one of Adriana's more boring classes really, a lecture class that only went to labs and actual production during the last few sessions of the semester. Until then, the teacher wanted the students to supposedly focus, to draw inspiration from the life around them. In my opinion, it was all bullshit. You want inspiration? Look around you. The world is a beautiful and fucked up place. Inspiration existed in almost every moment of

every day. You didn't need to focus to find an inspiration. As an example, I did my first hit for Don Bertoli when I was nineteen, soon after I'd completed high school. The guy I was to take out was a piece of shit meth dealer who'd not only stiffed Don Bertoli on his payments, but had also been caught more than once dealing bad shit, which could cause the police to poke around more than normal. Nobody wants that, and so I was sent in. I found the dealer in the parking lot of a Pizza Hut that he used for a lot of his business. I was wearing all black and a face mask, but still in my suit. I was supposed to make sure a message was sent. I'd been training for years already, a decade spent preparing myself, knowing that the day would come that Don Bertoli would ask me to start repaying the generosity he'd heaped upon me for taking care of me all those years. Walking across the parking lot, the throwaway S&W 9mm I was going to use felt heavy in my hand, when suddenly, things started to go wrong. The target, supposedly a tweaker who never carried anything on him, spun at the sound of my approaching footsteps. Seeing the suit, he knew exactly who I worked for, and instead of running like I'd suspected he'd do, he reached for a pistol in the waistband of his pants. I barely got my gun up in time before he squeezed off a round, which ricocheted off the pavement, nicking my right leg as it whined by. I pulled the trigger, and his chest nearly exploded, blood bursting from his back in a massive spray that painted the side of the Pizza Hut in a crimson Rorschach diagram. The next day, after getting my leg bandaged up, was the most beautiful day I’d ever had. Each bite of my breakfast was the greatest meal I'd ever feasted upon, and each breath was sweet and perfect in my lungs. You want inspiration? I had inspiration, forty-five caliber inspiration that came in semi-automatic. When the lecture was over, Adriana had an hour to wait before her next class, a painting lab that almost always left her covered in enough paint that I thought she looked like she was trying out for a clown spot in the local circus. We hung out in the university library, where we could at least grab a quiet corner and I could keep an eye on the comings and goings. Adriana picked out a romance novel, of all things, and sat down reading. “Really?” I asked, seeing the illustration on the cover. “I figured you for a better quality of literature than that.” “Don't knock it until you try it,” Adriana said. “Besides, at least it lets me live vicariously.” I didn't know if her comment was aimed at me or just a general complaint about the situation she was in, so I didn't reply. Instead, I looked at my phone, wishing Adam would call. He was normally much more involved in keeping me updated, but other than the once-daily messages that boiled down to 'no news yet,' I'd gotten

nothing. “Hey, Dan?” Adriana asked, shaking me from my thoughts and focusing my attention back on her. “Sorry.” “Don't worry about it,” I said. “Is there something you need?” “I know you're screening my emails, so can you pull up my system and see if I got any new ones? I'm expecting a message from my marketing professor on an assignment he gave while I was at home.” Nodding, I took the laptop, a brand new one that was scrubbed of any viruses that Vincent Drake's last message could have downloaded. The new one ran every email in a virtual box setup that was supposedly foolproof, although I bet that Adam could get past it if we had enough time. I pulled up the email client, which downloaded three messages. “Let's see—one from a Dr. Roberts, that's the one you want, I assume, a message from the university saying that if you want tickets to the next home football game you need to turn in your request for student section tickets by Friday, and . . . shit.” “What?” “Peter Gabriel,” I said. “Do I even need to tell you who that is?” Adriana shook her head. She knew the members and former members of Genesis even better than I did by now, and turned pointedly away from me, picking up her book from her lap and pretending to read. I stuck a headphone into the sound jack and opened the mail in the virtual box, hoping the system would hold. I didn't want to have to tell Carlo that we had to buy another new computer. The music was unfamiliar, and I'd spent the time over the past week listening to most of Genesis's famous songs. This one was different. The sound was more classic rock than what I'd expected, and the lead singer certainly wasn't Phil Collins. I assumed it was Peter Gabriel—I wasn't sure. The song was hacked and cut, the lyrics blended from different parts of the same song with a clumsy homemade transition, probably put together quickly on a laptop. It took me a second with how the lyrics were jumbled, but then it came to me. It was of course a song from Genesis — called “Am I Very Wrong.” The images were like before, shots of the lyrics crawling by karaoke style with stills of Drake's crimes in between, but this time, interspersed with the blood-soaked shots of Angela's murder, were photos of Adriana herself, taken within the past two weeks around campus. I knew that for sure, because I saw myself in three of them and knew exactly when they'd been taken. The last slide of the show wasn't a picture, but a single normal PowerPoint-type slide that read,

“I do hope the new beefcake doesn't mean I'm not number one in your heart, my Adriana. I'd hate to have to hurt him.” The son of a bitch had been on campus. He must’ve been good to be coming around campus and have no one notice him. Closing the virtual box, I shut the computer down and took a deep breath. My job just became a lot harder, and I wasn't sure what I could do about it, not until Adam or one of the Don's men got me some information to work with. Until then, the only thing I could do would be to stay by Adriana's side and make sure that if Drake did go all the way over the edge and into direct attack, he'd never get within twenty feet of her. “Wait right here. I'm going to the edge of the room to make a phone call,” I told Adriana, who nodded without a word. I walked the ten feet away to give me enough privacy so that she couldn't overhear, and dialed Don Bertoli. “Hello, Daniel,” he said, his voice mellow and cultured like he'd been expecting my call. I could hear a bit of the background noise and knew he was at the office, dealing with the legal side of his empire. “Is there anything I can do for you?” “Yes, sir. Adriana received another email from Vincent Drake. If you have your men access the email, it's in a message supposedly from Peter Gabriel.” “Peter Gabriel?” Don Bertoli said, sounding surprised. In the past two weeks, we'd all become at least passably acquainted with the discography of the group, although the Don himself and Margaret had admitted that at one point, they’d liked them when they were younger. I doubted either of them would be buying tickets to a reunion tour any time soon, not that it was the actual group’s fault. “Anything of particular interest to report?” “Yes, sir,” I said, lowering my voice. “Sir, I suspect that Drake has been on campus. There were pictures of Adriana and myself on campus going to classes, taken within the past two weeks. While they’re telephoto, they are also clear enough that he was most likely within a couple of hundred yards.” The silence on the other end told me everything I needed to know. “Okay, Daniel. When you bring Adriana home tonight, make sure your car is clean, and I’ll have someone standing by to install some new security measures on it overnight. Anything else?” “No, sir. I need to get Adriana to her next class now.” “We’ll talk when you get home. Goodbye.” I hung up my phone and walked back over to Adriana, who was still staring at her book but hadn't turned a page yet. Kneeling down, I looked her in the eyes. “Are you okay?”

She blinked, her eyes wide and frightened, and shook her head softly. “I just want this to end.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “Let's go now. I don’t want to go to my next class.” AFTER DINNER, WHICH I ATE BY MYSELF IN THE KITCHEN WHILE ADRIANA ATE WITH HER FAMILY, I WENT out to meet with Adam, this time at the Starlight Club. The manager, cued in to my coming, met me at the door. “Sir, it is good to see you.” “Bullshit,” I said with a small chuckle and an apologetic shrug. “You're just worried that I'm going to do something stupid again.” I took off my coat and unbuttoned my shirt, showing him I wasn't carrying a pistol. I'd left it locked inside the borrowed Lexus that I was driving while Don Bertoli's expert worked on my car. They'd already gone over it in the few hours we'd been home and assured me that nobody had left anything inside, but after they were done, anyone even touching my car would end up recorded, and I'd get a message about it. The manager of the Starlight Club looked me over, then nodded. “I'll be honest, you had us scared last time.” “Yeah, me too,” I said, thinking back to the lack of control I'd shown. That might work for your average street gangster, but not for one of Don Bertoli's men. “Is Carmen okay?” “She took a few days off, but she's back to work,” the man said. “In fact, she's working tonight. Would you like to say hello? No private rooms though.” “Not right now,” I replied, taking out a small pack of hundred-dollar bills. “Actually, I have a friend coming. He's doing some work for me, and I'd like to reward him with a little private dance from Carmen. She's just his type. After I leave, of course. Think she could schedule him in?” He looked at the bills, greed flaring in his eyes. In the world of the Starlight Club, sex and money ruled everything. “I think that could be arranged. Your friend knows how to follow the rules?” “He's much better behaved than I am. Let me grab a table, and I'll call you over when he arrives.” He nodded, and I found a table in the quietest corner of the club. The bouncer, a big moose of a guy named Shawn, who I knew was more look and aura than actual ability, kept his eye on me, but I just gave him a nod of understanding. I was there to stay under control and get some business done. Adam showed up, amazingly, right on time, his face flushed as he walked in the

door. On stage, a rather flexible, surgically enhanced blonde by the name of Tammy Twister was showing the crowd exactly how she'd earned her stage name. “God damn, you think I'm going to be able to focus with that going on in the background?” Adam said as he sat down. His eyes were so fixed on Tammy that he nearly missed the chair before finding his seat. “If you can focus, there's a certain young lady I'd like to introduce you to later,” I said by way of enticement. “I must say, though, that I've been a little disturbed by your lack of progress.” He pulled his eyes away from the stage as Tammy's music ended and she collected her few articles of clothing and left the stage with a little wave of her fingers to the crowd. Reflecting on what I'd just said, he shrugged. “What can I say, man? You're right. This Drake character has got some skills that go beyond the normal level of scum that you and I have dealt with.” “No shit,” I said, reaching into my coat and pulling out another thumb drive. “He sent this today, complete with photos taken within the past two weeks—close enough to easily be within rifle shot. Those shots are at ground level too. It's not like he was on top of a building or in a hotel across the street or anything.” Adam nodded and put the thumb drive into his shirt pocket. He pulled out another drive, the same one I'd given him before, and handed it to me. “That jives with what little I've been able to find out. I copied what I could find, but most of it is just background.” “Give me the run down, so I can tell Carlo when I get back. I can look over the details later.” Adam gestured to the waitress, ordering a Jack and Coke. I asked for just mineral water. I didn't want any issues with alcohol right then. The waitress walked off, her ass swaying side to side, Adam getting himself an eye full before turning back to me. “This guy is scary, Daniel. I can't get the exact operational details, but I was able to find some people who were willing to talk generalities with me. After enlisting, he specialized in what some people would call enhanced interrogation techniques, teaching some of those skills to groups who later on were accused of human rights violations and were taken before international courts.” “Shit,” I commented, nodding to the waitress when she gave us our drinks. I took a sip of my mineral water, wishing for a moment I'd asked for a whiskey instead—I could've used it. “So how'd this fucker get a job teaching sculpting at a major art college?” “Apparently, Drake took a little vacation from reality right after the first Gulf War,” Adam said. “The military, of course, kept it hush-hush. It isn't good for a Spec Ops guy who was just teaching at the School of the Americas only six months prior to go

off his nut. From the one source that was able to talk to me, the hospital they sent him to used a lot of—get this—artistic therapy. Knowing they'd never let him back into service, the military rehabbed him and even paid for him to attend college, where of course, he became an artist. Financially, he did pretty well too, which is probably why he got the job he did. Looking over who bought his pieces, though, a trend emerged.” “What?” Adam took a drink of his Jack and coke and sat back. “The only people who bought his shit were government sources or military contractors. I saw a picture of a statue he did for Fort Drum, up in New York. I think my little cousin did better last month with his fucking Play-Doh.” I sighed, shaking my head. “And the military never thought to check up to see if their little wind-up toy stayed repaired?” “Hey, it'd been twenty-two years since he got out of the hospital,” Adam said. “Guess they figured they'd done their bit for him, and that whatever was fixed would stay fixed. Most of the people who felt they owed him a debt of gratitude were either retired or dead, and the new generation of brass just wants to forget the bad side of it all. Besides, who the fuck knew he was breaking down again until he snapped? The first sign was the sexual harassment claim by Adriana, and a lot of people hadn't believed her, dismissing it as an oversensitive college girl's whine.” “And now everyone who caused this asshole to become what he became is just hoping he gets himself captured or killed before he gives the military a black eye,” I finished. “Is there even an investigation?” Adam shook his head. “Doubt it. They might be providing some background support to the Seattle police, but with only two murders, graphic as they are, there's no real cause for the FBI or anyone else with the Feds to try and step in. There's no Colonel Trautman coming to try and pull this Rambo out of the woods this time. This is in the hands of the locals.” “Who can't even stop a rampaging preschooler on a sugar rush,” I replied with no amusement. “And your efforts to find him?” “He's picked up some computer skills somewhere. That first email that you handed to me, I dissected the code. It had some decent work involved. He knows well enough how to use the Deep Web and mask his steps, at least. Combine that with his military skill at blending in, and he's going to be tough to track. He's going to have to make a mistake, I think.” “I can't stay by Adriana's side forever,” I said, though I wished I could. “I don't think Mr. Bertoli would like it if we spent the rest of her life attached at the hip.”

“Bet you would, though,” Adam said, setting his drink down when I shot him a dirty look. “What? She's a beautiful girl.” “Still, don't even joke that way,” I warned him. I finished off my drink, then sighed. “All right, well, I still want you on this. He's got to have made a mistake somewhere.” “I'll do my best,” Adam said, polishing off his Jack and Coke. “Daniel, I know this one's important to you. I'm serious that I'm going to do my best.” I nodded, then rubbed my hands together, trying to relieve my tension. It was time for me to get back to where I wanted to be, next to Adriana, making sure she was safe. “And I appreciate it. In fact, I thought I'd give you a little preview of my appreciation. Wait right here.” I signaled to the manager, who nodded in understanding and disappeared to the back while I went up to the bar. Carmen came out a minute later, a professional smile on her face but still a hint of concern on her face. “Hi, Carmen.” “I heard you wanted me to spend some time with a friend of yours?” she said, leaning against the bar. I didn't think she was trying to give me a preview of her boobs, but with my height and her clothes, that was what happened. This time, though, she was professional, not seductive. “That him over there?” “That he is,” I said. “I just wanted to say I'm sorry about last time.” She shrugged it off, a true pro. “I've been doing this for three years. I've seen stressed out men before. You did scare the hell out of me, but you seem like a decent guy.” “People keep telling me that recently, for some fucking reason,” I replied, getting her to smile a little bit. Leaning in, keeping my elbows and hands on the bar and clear of Carmen so as not to scare her, I lowered my voice. “Be nice, okay? Don't play him and milk him for everything he's got.” I motioned over to Adam. “Come with me.” We walked over, and Adam's eyes nearly bugged out of his skull when the little Latina came around in front of him, her hair pulled back into hasty pigtails and her outfit actually helping with the look. “Adam, this is Carmen, a friend of mine. Carmen, this is Adam. I have to go, but you two have fun.” “Th . . . thanks,” he said, his eyes fixed not on Carmen's chest, but on her face. She did have a pretty face, I had to agree, but still, she was taken aback to the point that she blushed a little and gave a genuine smile. She was probably used to her customers never looking higher than her breasts. “Hi. Would you like to sit down?” I turned and left, waving the manager over. “Make sure they both have a good time, okay? Call me if there's a problem later.”

“Okay, sir. And thank you.” “Don't mention it.” Driving back to the Bertoli estate, I had to smile as I thought of the look that passed between Carmen and Adam. I didn't know much about the girl, to be honest, but she seemed okay—just doing what she needed to do to survive. When I got back, I was shocked to find Margaret Bertoli standing in the foyer, concern written on her face. “Mrs. Bertoli, what's wrong?” “Adriana,” she said, her eyes filled with worry. “She's been trying to go to sleep, but she's woken up twice now in the past hour, panicked and screaming. Daniel, I know you're trying, but you need to deal with this man who’s doing this to her.” I nodded and took the thumb drive Adam had given me out of my jacket. “I got this tonight. Later on, I'll give it to Mr. Bertoli. It's more background information on Vincent Drake. I'll take a look at it after I talk to Adriana.” “Daniel . . .” she said, then nodded. “Fine. See if you can assure her that she's safe. Carlo and I certainly can't right now, it seems.” I rushed over to Adriana's bedroom, finding her sitting up in bed, her eyes haunted and her hands in her lap. “Dan . . . where were you?” “Talking to my private investigator,” I said. “Don't worry, I'm back.” “I'm having problems going to sleep,” she said. “You're scared,” I said simply. Margaret was still in the room with us, so instead of taking her hand, I simply knelt down on the floor next to her bed. “Ade, you don't have to worry. I'm going to make sure you're safe.” “How? He got close enough to take those photos,” Adriana said, revealing that she'd seen the email. I cursed under my breath at whatever dumb fuck had let her see them, then nodded. “I know. But he won't get anywhere near you here, especially since I'm going to stay right here, sitting in a chair outside your room all night. Nobody's going to get by me.” Adriana nodded, her eyes filled with trust. “Daniel . . . thank you.” “Get some sleep, Ade. You've got that math class tomorrow, remember? Don't worry.” Margaret spoke with her daughter for a little while as I went down the hall and grabbed a chair from the library, arranging it and my laptop next to Adriana's door. I was just sitting down when Mrs. Bertoli came out. “Do you really plan on staying here all night?”

“Yes,” I said simply. “If she calls out, I'll be there before she can even fully wake up.” She looked at me for a moment, then patted my shoulder. “Thank you, Daniel. After this . . . you and I should have a talk.” “About what, ma'am?” She smiled. “About my brother-in-law's rules, and how sometimes they need to be changed. Good night, Daniel.” “Good night, Mrs. Bertoli. Sleep well.” She went down the hallway, and I looked to my left and right. Adriana's temporary room was buried in the interior of the house, with no windows to the outside, on the first floor in a relatively unused part of the guest wing. The house was quiet, and I sighed. Opening my laptop, I fired it up and decided that I could do a little bit of reading up on the information Adam had given me before I closed my eyes.

CHAPTER 11

ADRIANA

there was one thing that was supposed to be a benefit of the new threat from I fVincent, it was that the university's IT department finally agreed to change my

student email. With how persistent he was, I don't know how much it would help, but it certainly wouldn't hurt. Walking out of the IT building that afternoon with Daniel next to me, I smiled and stretched my arms over my head. The weather was great, and it was just one of those days where it was hard to feel bad, regardless of what was going on. “Well, score one for the good guys.” “If we're the good guys, that is,” Daniel said with a smirk. “I don't think I make anyone's list of good guys.”

“We can call you the anti-hero then,” I replied with a punch to the shoulder. “You know, the bad guy with a giant redemptive streak.” “I can live with that,” Daniel said, then shook his head a moment later. “Check that. I guess I've gotten used to people calling me at least decent over the past few days. It feels a bit strange. I'm used to being called a heartless bastard, or a similar sentiment.” “Okay, how about the good guy who sometimes does the hard thing?” I said instead as we walked down the stone steps and out into the quad. “I think that's a pretty good guy, actually, a lot better than most of the so-called good guys out there who aren't strong enough to stand up for what they believe in. And there's no way you could be called a heartless bastard.” “Much better. So what do you want to do between now and your last class? Which, by the way, I hate. The professor keeps staring at me while you guys fuck around on your computers doing Photoshop or whatever.” I laughed, realizing that Daniel didn't understand. “Dan, Professor Wilson's gay. He probably thinks you're hot. Or haven't you noticed that you have an effect on quite a few members of the student body?”

“Not concerned in how the rest of the student body reacts to me,” Daniel said. He was scanning the quad again in his Terminator mode, more personable than he'd been the first day, but still focused on his job above all else. “I'm worried about you.” I knew what he was saying, but I blushed anyway. It had been touching that morning to find Daniel, still in his suit from the night before, sitting in the chair outside my room, his eyes open and looking to me when I cracked my door open. Now, after a morning class and going to the administration office, he looked more than slightly worn out. He may be the Terminator, but he wasn't quite Superman. “Tell you what, let's go over to the student union and get you some coffee. It's not the best, but you need a shot of caffeine or something, and the place is busy enough that Drake wouldn't dare show his face. You can slack off for an hour while I keep my eyes open. We can even sit with my back to the wall.” Daniel smiled, then yawned. “Is it that obvious?” “My math class is boring, but I've never seen your head droop before today,” I said. I stepped in front of him and put my hand on his chest, stopping him. “You're an amazing guy who's busted your ass for the past few weeks, but you're not invincible. You need sleep, too.” “I'll take twenty-four hours to do nothing but sleep after I ensure that Drake is in the ground,” Daniel replied. I knew for sure he was exhausted. He hadn't even made a sexual joke about taking me to bed with him. I was starting to miss the little game we played, even though neither of us ever acted on it. I patted his chest and turned around. “Come on, Dan. For the next sixty minutes, you're on break. I'll buy you the coffee after you close your eyes for a while. Trust me, I know exactly where to go.” The student union of my university has some pretty cool little areas, one of which was the so-called Student Performance Center on the second floor. Created and funded by a grant from one of the local tech giants, it had a lot of stuff that was supposed to help students relax, study, or just get their minds together better. A lot of it was junk, in my opinion, but there was one that would be useful at the moment. “What's this?” Daniel asked as I led him inside, bouncing on the slightly squishy padding on the floor. “I'm tired, not insane. I don't need a padded room.” “It's a sensory isolation room,” I said with a laugh, closing the door and locking it. “It's not totally secure. The staff can unlock the door from outside, but it cuts off the outside noise, and the floor is pretty comfortable. Oh, also about the staff— they have a video camera that was installed after these places got a reputation as a hook up spot. They get involved if any clothes come off.”

“Hope they scrubbed the mats down then,” Daniel said with a chuckle and set his bag down. He took a seat on the cushion and sighed, stretching out his legs. “It is pretty soft, though. I could see why people would want to have sex in a spot like this. Plenty comfortable standing, sitting, or laying down, I bet.” “It's comfortable enough that you can get a nap,” I replied, ignoring the images that flashed through my mind of Daniel wearing a lot fewer clothes. “Go ahead. I'll be fine.” Daniel nodded gratefully and closed his eyes, leaning his head against the corner of the room. Within a minute, he was breathing deeply, and within five minutes, he was snoring lightly, his mouth open and his face looking calm and innocent. If Daniel was handsome when he was awake, asleep, he was absolutely stunning. Shaking my head at the injustice that a man so rough could have such delicate eyelashes, I pulled out my math book, hoping to get a jump on my study for the test I had coming up the next week. Thankfully, the concepts were pretty straightforward. Business mathematics is almost all basic algebra, just applied in specific situations, and I thought I had a good grasp of things. I was just working through how to do inventory depreciation calculations when I heard Daniel rearrange himself, moving into a more comfortable position. I looked over and smiled at the position he'd taken, stretching out almost the entire length of the small booth, his head pillowed against his bicep. His snoring stopped, and he breathed slowly and steadily. I wanted to stretch out next to him, to feel at least for a moment what it was like to be next to him like that, but I knew it was a bad idea. “Ade . . .” Daniel mumbled in his sleep, his face relaxing even as I saw the quick flutter of his eyes behind his eyelids that told me he was in deep REM sleep, dreaming. “My Ade . . .” I felt guilty, like I was spying on him in his most intimate moments, and I closed my book. I wanted to reach over and wake him, but I also knew that REM sleep is the type of sleep that the brain needs most. Instead, I put my book away and moved to the far side of the booth, trying to think of a way to distract myself without prying into his dreams. Daniel mumbled again, this time unintelligible. His eyes were tight, and his free hand clenched at his chest. “. . . love you . . .” His words sent a lightning bolt through my body, and I knew I was blushing. In the course of my life, I'd had men tell me they loved me before, and I'd said the same to them, but never had I heard such a heartfelt cry, and not from a man who didn't even know he was saying it. It was honestly the most romantic thing I'd ever felt in my entire life. I still felt like I was prying, but I also knew I'd promised him that I would stay in the

room until his nap was finished. If he woke up and I wasn't there, he'd be worried sick and I'd never be able to explain myself. Instead, I sat back and pulled out my phone. The deprivation rooms were built with a sort of mesh in them that stopped cell and Wi-Fi signals, but that didn't mean I couldn't set my alarm. I sat back and closed my eyes, not really needing to go to sleep, but a little nap never hurt. I must have dozed, however, because the next thing I knew, I heard Daniel squirming on the floor, a weird sound coming from him. I opened my eyes and saw that his dream must've changed into a nightmare. His face was drawn and shocked, his eyes now open but unseeing, not realizing what was going on. He was locked in his mind, caught up in the trap of his own dreams. “No . . . no!” Daniel's eyes widened again, and he scrambled to his feet, blinking and gasping as he was startled awake. “What the hell happened?” “You had a bad dream, I think. Do you remember what it was?” Daniel's mouth opened, then closed, and he shook his head. “No, not really. Uh, did I say anything while I was asleep?” I shook my head. He didn't need to know, and I didn't need to tell him. My alarm went off, and I picked up my phone, shutting it off. “Well, if you're going to have a bad dream, at least you had good timing with it,” I said, chuckling. “Come on, we've got just enough time for us to grab some coffee before my next class.” “I don't know if I should. If I look awake and perky, your professor might just eye fuck me for the entire period. If I look sleepy and surly, maybe he'll leave me alone,” Daniel grumped, then he shook his head and dragged his hand through his hair. “Oh well, fuck it. Let him stare.” I smiled. “Good decision. Come on, let's get that coffee.” Class went well, and Daniel and I were in a good mood when we got back to the house, even though it was Julius's turn to take over for a few hours. “Sorry, the nap was nice, but I need more if I'm going to be good for tonight,” Daniel said as he stood at the base of the stairs. “Sure you'll be okay?” “We'll be fine, won't we, Julius?” I asked, grinning at the older enforcer. “You can help me with mixing my paints for my project I'm working on.” DANIEL SLEPT FROM SIX UNTIL TEN, WAKING UP A BIT AFTER MOM AND UNCLE CARLO GOT HOME. “Well, I'm glad he'll be up in time for the night watch,” Mom said, giving me a meaningful look. “And how are you feeling?”

“The new email is good, even though I know it's kind of a bit of window dressing,” I said. “And I know things are at a standstill on other fronts, but I'm taking progress where I can.” Mom gave me a look. “Is your good mood from the email, or from something else? Someone else?” “Mom, let's not go there,” I said. “Not now. Not yet.” “All right, dear. I just want you to know, I was thinking of talking with Carlo after all this mess is done. I'd like you to have a little freedom to make your own choices, Adriana.” “Thank you, Mom. I appreciate it, no matter how futile your speaking to Carlo is. But for now, I think I'm going to go to bed.” Mom nodded, looking at the doorway where Julius was sitting in the other room, slightly sprawled in his chair and reading a Sports Illustrated. “Okay. You aren't going to stay awake until Daniel can sit outside the door?” “I guess,” I said, grinning. “Think you might want to catch some TV with me to kill some time?” We had just gotten to the TV room when my phone buzzed in my pocket and I pulled it out. It was a text message, and I pulled it up. There must be some misunderstanding. - You Know Who “Damn, not again,” I whispered under my breath. It's like he knew exactly when Daniel didn't have my phone. “What is it, honey?” Mom asked, turning white when she saw the text. “Are you okay?” “I'm not going to let him terrorize me,” I said. “He's twisted up my life, made me a prisoner in my own home, and I need to be babysat everywhere. I'm going to set this aside. We can tell Uncle Carlo and Daniel about it later, but for the next hour or so, let's just watch some TV.” I thought I had put it out of my mind, even casually mentioning it to Daniel when he woke up and met Mom and me in the living room. Going to bed in my room, I even closed my eyes with a smile, thinking not only of what Mom had told me, but the little smile of approval she gave me as Daniel escorted me to my room. Everything changed as I slept, and the fear I'd been repressing slipped out from under the tight control I'd been keeping myself in. I don't know what had caused it —perhaps it was seeing Daniel frightened earlier, maybe it was Vincent's text

message, but most likely, it was the combination of the two. In my dream, I was in Daniel's car with him, the two of us pulling into the parking lot at school. As Daniel was coming around to let me out, suddenly, something burst out of the bushes, tackling him from behind and driving him to the ground. I couldn't see exactly what happened, except for the gout of blood that geysered up into the air, in the sort of dream-state unimaginable amount that looked like it was a foot wide and spewing in gallons per second. I screamed in my dream, ripping open the door to the car and running. “Mama, come here, mama,” whoever was chasing me said in Vincent Drake's voice. “Come and feel my invisible touch.” I tried to run faster, but of course, as this was a dream, I was going nowhere. Instead, I could feel him gaining on me, his stench filling the air with the reek of blood and death. My feet tangled up, sending me tumbling to the turf. I screamed, certain that I was going to die, when I was jostled awake, finding Daniel staring at me. “Shh, Ade, shh . . .” Daniel whispered, holding me close. I could hear the hammering of his heart in my ear as he hugged me against his chest. “It's just a dream, I'm right here, it's just a dream.” “He got you,” I whispered, watching as the door to my room finished closing from the momentum of Daniel's throwing it open to come in my room. “He killed you, then was going to kill me.” “I'm still here,” Daniel promised me. “And I won't die without knowing you're safe.” I clung to him, his strength and now familiar scent giving me comfort. My terror changed, my desire for comfort becoming an overwhelming desire for reassurance, for human contact. Nuzzling against him, I lifted my lips up, brushing them over the warm skin of his throat. “Ade.” “Shut up,” I said, tasting his skin for the first time. “I need a man tonight, not a bodyguard.” He stiffened for a moment, then pushed me back, the hunger in his eyes matching the fire that was building inside me. For so long, we'd flirted with each other, both aware of the other but not doing anything about it other than some words, and we were at the point of no return. He pushed me onto my back, pausing above to look at me with an expression on his face I'd never seen a man give me before. It was like he knew what he was about to do was suicide, but he didn't care. I needed him, he needed me, and the rest of the world didn't matter. His lips were soft but strong as we kissed for the first time, our tongues

immediately coming into contact and tasting each other. I'd never been kissed with such fierce passion before, all consuming and powerful. His tongue caressed mine as his hands found the hem of my t-shirt, pushing it up and grabbing my breast, his fingers squeezing and kneading the skin until I was gasping. My nipple was teased and tweaked with every movement of his hand, and he let go of my lips to run the tip of his tongue around the curve of my ear and inside, sending sparks of pleasure down my body. “Daniel . . .” He stopped for a second to look me in my eyes. “Don't worry, I won't hurt you.” “I want you to hurt me. Hurt me in a good way.” Reaching down, I ran my left hand over the bulge in his pants, and it was intimidating. “Ade.” “I know,” I said simply, looking him in the eye. “I didn't tell you before, but you talked in your sleep during your nap.” He nodded, accepting my statement, and reached into the pocket of his pants. He took out his wallet and set it on the nightstand next to me. Climbing off, he opened up the billfold and took out a foil packet. “For later,” he said, showing me the condom. I was shocked. The diameter was huge. “Safety first.” Daniel's grin broadened, and he peeled off his shirt. He folded it up carefully, setting in on the floor before pushing his shoes off with his toes and taking off his pants. I wasn't sure what to think. I just lay there with a sense of destiny as I undid the drawstring on my pajamas and pushed them down my hips. I still had my panties on when Daniel reached forward, taking my wrists in his iron grip, and froze me. “What?” “Not so fast. I want to take those off myself.” He climbed onto the bed, still wearing his boxer briefs that bulged out obscenely, barely hiding what was contained inside. His chest was chiseled in the dim light of the bedside lamp he'd flipped on when he came in to comfort me, and I reached forward, tracing the muscles under my fingertips. “You're amazing.” “No,” he replied, kissing me again before working his way down, his mouth finding my nipple and sucking on it strongly. “You're amazing.” He kissed his way down to the waistband of my panties, and with agonizing slowness, started rolling them down. I could feel the anticipation build as he kissed each fraction of an inch of freshly exposed skin, smiling all the while. I reached down and ran my hand over his scalp, lifting my hips slightly to let him finish pulling my panties off, where he set them down on the mattress next to my hip. I was nearly begging him to use that amazing tongue on me, and he hadn't even touched me yet.

Daniel grinned up at me as he opened his mouth and let his tongue hang out wolfishly. “You're never going to be the same.” “Good,” I whispered back. “I don't want to be.” He lowered his tongue, and the first trace of him up the lips of my pussy left me paralyzed in pure pleasure. I'd never felt anything like it before, like every nerve in my body was lit up at the same time, all of them screaming in joy. When he reached the top, Daniel looked in my face and smiled, this time not with arrogance but with happiness. “I think you like it.” “More. Please, more.” I couldn't help it. Normally, I was the forceful one in bed, but Daniel had me asking and practically begging. He smiled at me, lowering his head once again. All thought other than pleasure was driven from my mind by the first touch of his tongue on my pussy again. Energy and light flooded my body, my thighs trembling and wanting more of his amazing, electric tongue. My spine shivered as he kept going, my hips quivering as I started to grind upward into his hungry mouth and tongue, unable to control myself. I'd never felt this much pleasure before, such a pure ball of sexual excitement building within me, and I wanted more and more. Dimly, in the back of my mind, I was aware that Daniel had slipped his fingers inside me, working them back and forth both to open me up for his cock and to add to whatever voodoo his tongue was doing to me. All I knew was that I was in heaven and that I didn't think it would ever stop. Suddenly, his tongue moved directly to my clit, and what I thought was heaven before increased tenfold. I clutched at my sheets, balling them in my hands as something exploded inside me, silent and joyful and amazing all at the same time. My heels drummed into his strong back, uncontrolled and desperate. Daniel held my hips tight, pushing with his hand on my pussy as I rode whatever the hell it was out, until I collapsed into the bed, spent. “What the hell was that?” “Don't tell me you've never had an orgasm before,” Daniel said in disbelief as he crawled up between my legs, kissing my lips. The musk of my juices stained his mouth, and I loved it. It meant nothing would ever be the same between us again, and I was glad for it. “Of course, dummy. But nothing like that before,” I said, thinking back. After experiencing that, no wonder some women became nymphomaniacs. “Never in my life.” “It gets better,” he promised, kissing me softly. “Want to help me with the condom?” “What I want is to forget the damn thing and totally feel you inside me,” I said

while reaching over to grab the packet. He got to his knees and pulled down his shorts. His cock jumped out, bobbing in the soft light, and I gasped at its perfection. Long, thick, with a flared head that I knew would thrill every nerve inside me. I was suddenly struck with the urge to bend over and suck it, even though I had my doubts I could even get it all the way into my mouth. He was power and sex personified, a deity in the flesh. Hesitantly, I reached out with my hand, wrapping it around his shaft, or at least trying to. It was hot, steely hard but silky, like he knew the impressive tool was too much for a lot of women to accept, so it did its best to ease the penetration. And that is what this was for, there was no doubt. Daniel, from his bubble butt to his ripped abs to the thick cock, was a man built for sex. “Dan . . .” “I know,” he reassured me. “Don't worry.” I looked up at him, and suddenly I didn't. I trusted him with my life, and I was ready to trust him with more. Instead, I gently stroked his cock and handed him the condom packet. “Take it out, and I'll put it on.” Even with the obvious larger size, Daniel's cock was nearly too large for the condom, and he grimaced slightly as I rolled it down to the base. I gasped, kissing his chest and nuzzling under his jawline. He ran his hands up and down my back and kissed my neck. We were on our knees, his cock trapped between us, hot and throbbing and demanding my attention. I adjusted myself and laid back, spreading my legs as far as I could, accepting him in between and on top of me. “Change me. Make me yours.” There was a moment of fear as his cock slid inside me, spreading me open. I thought he was in, but I felt myself being opened wider, wider than I'd ever thought I could be, and still I didn't think the head of his cock was fully inside me. My body rebelled, pushing back at the too-large intruder, when somehow, he slipped inside, all the resistance disappearing in a rush of fullness. “Just know one thing, Ade.” “What?” Daniel paused his hips and looked me in the eye. “I've wanted this my whole life.” I pulled him to me, our lips meeting to seal our bond. I moaned into his mouth as he began thrusting, filling me slowly, making me his. I realized the truth as he filled me more and more, that his words were absolutely true. He may have been with other women, he may have fucked them raw and left them begging for more, but I was the one he really wanted. I cried out when Daniel's hips met mine for the first time, and he grimaced, his face

tight. “No!” he whispered urgently, bringing his fingers to my lips and shushing me. “Your uncle is sleeping upstairs, remember?” “I can't help it,” I groaned as he pulled back, biting my lip as he pushed forward again. I tried with all my might, but I cried out again, a little less loudly this time, but still loud enough that Daniel looked away, panicked. Not wanting to lose him, to lose the moment, I looked wildly to my left and right, seeing my night shirt still on the bed. I grabbed it. “Here. Use this.” Daniel considered it for a moment, then nodded. “Only if I have to.” Lowering his lips to mine, he kissed me again while he thrust, his mouth swallowing my moans and adding to the sensation. I'd never been stretched this way, and I wanted it again and again. My hips tried to rise up to meet his thrusts as his cock slid in and out, but he was so powerful, I was hammered down to the mattress even before I had a chance to move. I held on desperately, my body racked with feeling as Daniel pounded me. I knew he was unleashing years, perhaps even as he said, a lifetime's worth of pent up passion and desire, and I wanted it all. I wanted to be his, to give myself to him every night of my life, if only he'd make me feel this way again. “Daniel . . .” I groaned in his ear. “I'm going to come.” “Me too,” he grunted back, taking the wadded up cotton of my shirt and shoving it in my mouth. He had to, pulling back so that he could get the great gulps of air he needed to thrust into me, his body shimmering in sweat and his face intent on mine. His arms were planted in my pillow on each side of my head, and he stared into my eyes as we crashed over the edge. I had thought the sensation of his tongue had been the most ecstasy a woman could feel and not die, but I was wrong. My second climax crushed the first like it was just a small tickle, my scream muffled by the cotton I bit down on even as my hands clawed at his back. I felt his flesh give way under my short fingernails, and I watched as he shuddered, his cock expanding before twitching, his climax crashing over him and leaving me feeling more of a woman than ever. I had caused this wonderful man to lose that much control. I had drawn it out of him, and I was proud of the fact. Daniel took the cloth from my mouth, kissing me tenderly, completing the act of making love. What we'd done left one thought in my mind as I was chased down into my sleep and my dreams. “I'm yours . . . be mine . . .”

CHAPTER 12

DANIEL

after my doze with my damnation in my arms, and for the moment, I I awoke couldn't have been happier. If I was to be damned, there were a lot worse ways

to go than to wake up with Adriana Bertoli nestled in my arms, her fiery hair cascading over my left arm and chest, the soft weight of her right breast resting in my palm, her hips snuggled up against me. In the soft glow of her bedside lamp, she was an angel, even with her eyes closed.

I sighed and kissed her forehead, knowing how much had changed for me, even with just that one time. First, I was damned, a dead man walking. The reason was simple. There was no way in the world I could even think of not wanting her again. Her final whispered words as she fell asleep captured me more than her body had, as perfect as it was. If I couldn't resist her, then I knew it was only a matter of time before Don Bertoli found out. We could be together on only the third Tuesday of each month in a random hotel a thousand miles from Seattle, and still, somehow, he would find out. That's just the way things happened with him, and part of the reason he was such a good boss. And once the Don found out I'd been with Adriana, regardless of whether Margaret approved of it, I'd be found dead within twenty-four hours. The second thing that surprised me as I held her in the quiet hours of the night was that I didn't feel the immediate need to wake her for another round. My cock wanted it. I could feel it hardening against her ass. It was rip, roaring, and ready to go. It wanted this moment for as long as I could remember, and just once wouldn't do. Even still, I didn't feel the emotional need. Normally, I was a sexual-timed allyou-can-eat buffet, seeing just how much I could get done in the amount of time before the woman's body gave out into utter exhaustion. With Adriana, though, I felt differently. Let her rest, my heart said. She's special. There will be more to come. With a start, I wondered what time it was. Twisting my neck painfully to look behind me, I saw that it was nearly three thirty in the morning. I'd been out for a while. The staff would start to wake in an hour or so, but more importantly to me

was that the outdoor patrols hadn't come back in yet. They were under strict orders. Once the doors were locked and the security system was armed, nobody went in or came out until the morning staff went on duty at five. There were even outdoor bathrooms if someone had to take a piss. Still, I couldn't be sure someone didn't have a case of insomnia. With regret, I eased myself away from Adriana, my heart breaking when she mumbled in her sleep. “No . . .” “Shh, I'm just going to stretch a bit,” I whispered softly, kissing her hair. I found the edge of the blanket and folded it over her, confident that nobody would disturb her sleep and find her gloriously naked underneath the blanket. Easing my way around the room, I was glad I'd taken the time to fold up my clothes neatly, even finding my socks still stuffed inside my shoes. I looked around after I finished dressing and nearly smacked my head as I saw two pieces of incriminating evidence: the condom wrapper and the condom itself. I gathered both of them and reminded myself to dispose of them. Slipping out of Adriana's room, I paused at the door, sparing a look back at her sleeping figure on the bed. Memories flashed through my head, and I couldn't help but smile. I heard footsteps coming down the corridor, and I nearly jumped out of the room, closing her door behind me. I had only a second to slide down into the chair when one of the morning staff, a cook named Kathy who I'd once hooked up with, came down the hallway. “Good morning, Daniel. Still awake?” “Of course,” I said, pulling my laptop in front of me and hoping she didn't notice I was just turning it on now. “What's got you up so early? Trying to get a sunrise yoga session in or something?” “Indigestion, actually,” she said. “Since all this stuff kicked off with Princess Firecrotch in there, I can't get a full night's sleep. Someone told me you were staying outside in the hall recently, and I was thinking that seeing if you were up would be a better use of my time than tossing back and forth, debating if I wanted to try and chew on a Rolaid before faking another hour and a half of sleep or not.” Kathy's mouth was one of the main reasons I'd both fucked her and hated dealing with her. While she was a talented cook, she was disrespectful of nearly everyone else besides the Don, especially Adriana. She never missed an opportunity to talk down about her, with a list of nicknames that ranged from merely disrespectful to downright disgusting. Princess Firecrotch was one of the milder ones. “Kathy, you know I hate it when you disrespect the Bertolis,” I admonished. “Seriously.” I figured she wasn't as careless with her tongue around anyone else, and that she thought since I slept with her in the past, I could be trusted.

“Well, what does she have that I don't have, besides a last name and some bigger tits?” Kathy said with a sneer. “She's an art student with some double Ds. At least I went to culinary school before going to work.” I didn't want to be drawn into an argument. My lovemaking with Adriana was so near at hand that I wasn't sure I'd maintain my objectivity. “Kathy, I know your feelings. But I'm a Bertoli man, you know that. I'm asking you to cut the comments around me. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some work to do.” She crossed her arms and gave me a dirty look. “She's got you whipped, and she hasn't even given you any pussy yet. And to think, you could have been having me this whole time.” “I've had better,” I said evenly, looking her in the eye. “Much better. Is there anything else?” “Fuck off, Oliver,” Kathy hissed back, turning and stomping away. I chuckled under my breath and wondered if she knew that her attempt at giving me a nickname hadn't gone over my head. While I had stopped at a high school education, I'd read Oliver Twist back when I was in junior high. I mean, come on, orphan boy gets involved with criminals before making good? What kid in my position in life wouldn't want to read it? Between that and Great Expectations, I was fully educated in Dickenson’s ideas on what could happen to orphans. So far, reality was far different from fiction. I shook my head, thanking my luck that I had gotten out of Adriana's room when I did, and turned my attention to the laptop. I hadn't been totally lying. I did want to complete some work, mainly on analysis of the photos that Vincent Drake had sent in his most recent harassing email. There was something about them that tickled my brain, and I wanted to see if my sleep-induced theory was right. Pulling up the message, I made sure my volume was turned off and started to dissect the email. The slide show had been pretty basic, what you could put together with a typical office suite program, and by doing a little splicing of code, I was able to pull out the actual slide show itself from the surrounding programming. It surprised me somewhat that a man who had the programming skills to do a desktop hack would be so lazy as to use just an office suite for the video itself, but it was a bit of good luck for me. Perhaps he wasn't as skilled as I thought, but just knew how to use ready-made code you could pull off the right websites if you knew what they were. Once I had the slides isolated, I took a look at the pictures that were taken with me in them. I soon saw that all of them were taken from the same area of the campus, although they'd been taken on different days. With that hint, I looked at Google Maps, using the satellite overhead shot to identify the areas of campus that he had most likely taken the photographs from. I hoped that it would be something easy,

like a single apartment building or something equally stupid. In fact, the most likely area was a narrow band of woods that bordered one edge of campus, planted about forty years ago to help separate the campus from the busy street on the other side. It stretched for nearly a half-mile, and on the other side was a major street. While it helped me in that it eased my fears of Drake bringing a rifle to the same spot in order to take a shot, I still wasn't totally at ease. I shrugged and sent the information to Adam in an email. He said in his last message that he had some feelers out on Drake's cyber trail, going through the photography equipment he'd used. Apparently, the market for such items is pretty small, and Adam had some ideas. The gray light of pre-dawn started lighting up the sky, and I sighed, stretching in my chair. There were still at least two hours before I had to wake Adriana up, and until then, I couldn't even go get coffee, which I desperately needed. Sure, I was damned, but even the damned could protect an angel, and that was what I was going to do.

CHAPTER 13

ADRIANA

up in the morning, immediately feeling like I was missing something. I I woke reached out with my arm, pushing the blanket on top of me aside, and realized

what it was. Daniel. Where was he?

“Daniel?” I said, keeping my voice down to avoid being overheard. I opened my eyes and looked around, trying not to be sad but failing when I found that I was alone. Had it all been a dream, a morphing of my nightmare into a fantasy? I closed my eyes and knew by the pleasant ache down below that it couldn't have been. Even the smell in the air of the small room wasn't that of a wet dream or a masturbatory fantasy. There was the distinct smell of male sweat and sex in the air, and I knew it had all been real. The kiss, the tasting, the mind blowing sex, all of it. Getting out of bed, I found my pajamas still lying where I'd left them, except for my t-shirt, of course, and I picked everything up and put it in my laundry bag. The motion must have created some noise outside the door, because seconds later, I heard a knock. “Adriana?” It was Daniel. “Daniel?” “Are you dressed?” he asked, his voice professional and lacking any of the passion or tenderness he'd shown me last night. Swallowing my sudden tears, I grabbed my bathrobe off the hook next to the door and pulled it on, belting it quickly. “I am now. Come in.” He opened the door, looking in with the friendly but not enamored look that he'd had the night before. “Hey, glad you're up. We're running a bit late this morning, so I asked one of the other guys to take you to breakfast while I run and grab a shower and change. I'll see you in the car.” “Dan . . .” I started, but his eyes silenced me, and he gave me a shake of his head that could have been measured in millimeters. “Later.” “At school,” he said and turned, leaving. Julius waited for me in the hallway,

looking tired but not overly concerned. He'd been on outdoor patrol and probably had a very boring night. “Good morning, Julius. Shouldn't you be heading home now?” “Eh, I'll do that in about a half-hour or so. Just going to take you to breakfast, then grab my things and go. How'd you sleep?” “It was . . . different,” I said, sighing. There was no other way to describe it without giving myself away. “Anyway, let me grab my shower and then you can take me to breakfast. Give me ten minutes?” “No problem.” The entire drive to school, Daniel was reluctant to talk, at least about what I wanted to talk about. Instead, he insisted on talking about the weather, the people driving by, the song on the radio, the normal chit-chat that I thought we'd worked past. When we pulled into the parking lot at school, I didn't even give him a chance to open my door before I was out and slamming it, nearly catching his fingers in the process. “Can we talk now?” I seethed, angry but not really knowing why. “Or do you want to discuss if Icon for Hire is going to be putting out another new single in the next few weeks or not?” Daniel glanced at his watch, a cheap little G-shock knockoff that he'd picked up from the campus bookstore, then pointed at the student union. “Study booth,” he said, his voice both soft and hard at the same time. He could tell I was pissed, but there was no room for argument in his voice. It wasn't a request. It was a command. “We've got ten, fifteen minutes at most.” Thankfully, the early morning meant few people were using the booths, and as Daniel closed the door and locked it behind him, I turned, trying not to yell. “What the hell? I knew you were the type for casual sex, but I hoped after what you said last night . . . I didn't think that's all it was. I hoped . . .” Daniel cut my words off, pulling me to him and kissing me hard, his hands crushing our bodies together as he pushed me against the wall. His tongue was electric, leaving my lips to trace around my ear again, lighting me up in ways that, until the night before, I didn't even know existed. In fewer than ten seconds, I'd gone from pissed to so aroused that I'd have had sex with him right there, regardless of the fact that I knew the booths were monitored by security cameras for preventing that exact thing. “Dan . . .” I sighed, wrapping my arms around his neck and holding him gently as he let me go, his hands still resting on my hips, his eyes full of tenderness. “Why?” “Why did I kiss you right now, or why did I leave you this morning to wake up

alone?” he asked softly, his eyes warm and his voice tender. “How about both?” I replied, enjoying the feeling of being forehead to forehead like this, like a couple dancing without moving. “You pissed me off.” “I know, and I'm sorry about that. It wasn't my intention,” he said, his fingers tracing patterns on my lower back. “But I kissed you because I didn't want you going off in a rant that I knew I could explain if you just gave me a chance. I kissed you because for the past two hours, it's been the only thing I've wanted to do, ever since opening the door to your room and seeing you in that bathrobe, looking lost and scared. I wanted to tell you that you're different, that I don't want this to be only one night. But that's also why I didn't say anything at the house, and why I had to leave your room at the same time.” “Uncle Carlo,” I said, realizing. “The rules.” Daniel nodded, sadness in his eyes. “Ade, last night I wrote my own death warrant, and I don't regret it. Even though I was nearly caught sneaking out of your room, I don't regret it. The only regret I have is that the chances of us having real happiness, the future that I can see in your eyes and in the way you talked last night . . . the odds of that are slim to none. I'm Neiman, no man, an orphan with no family. No name, nothing but my wits, a decent gun, and what Carlo Bertoli has given me. You're his niece, the only child of his murdered brother. You're more precious to him than a daughter, Adriana. And Carlo has told me twice now, if I ever did what happened this morning, I was a dead man. Do you know your uncle to be a man who’s willing to compromise?” I blinked, tears in my eyes. “No,” I whispered. “But Daniel . . . maybe it can still happen. Mom said she'd talk to him. Her and I together, maybe?” He kissed me again, his lips soft and silencing. When we parted, he smiled. “I doubt it. It's okay though. You're worth it. You know, my only worry as I sat out there in the hallway was that I know if we keep doing this, doing what I have so wanted to do for years, that I'd be breaking your heart? Not because I'll leave you on my own, but because you're going to have to bury me.” “Not going to happen,” I replied, my anger coming back but not directed at him. “You've spent weeks protecting me, and I know you'll give Vincent what he deserves. I need you to put some faith in me, too.” “How so?” he asked, a smile on his face even as uncertainty flashed in his eyes. “Let me protect you. You keep me safe from Drake, and I'll keep you safe from Uncle Carlo.” Daniel's eyes were still concerned, but he nodded. “Okay. But we do have to have rules. Rule one is, no expressions of affection or our new situation in public. Not

even here at the university.” “And this study room?” I asked, pulling him closer this time. “Please tell me I can spend at least my study time in this sort of room with you, kissing those bewitching, seductive lips if nothing else?” He took his hand off my hip long enough to glance at his watch, then nodded. “For another two minutes at least. Then we might have to take a break until after your second class of the day. You've got that meeting with your Renaissance professor at three this afternoon. That's a gap of nearly two hours.” I pulled his head down, my lips hungry and eager for one last kiss. “Two hours . . . I can make do with that.” GETTING HOME THAT NIGHT, I WAS HAPPIER THAN I'D EVER BEEN BEFORE. THE TWO HOURS WITH DANIEL hadn't happened in a study booth. Those had all been taken up when we got back to the student union after my second class, but instead, in a little used section of the library, where we kissed and made out like teenagers in between stacks of musty books that I doubted had been taken off the shelves in years. I'd actually been two minutes late for my meeting with my professor, apologizing but not overly concerned. Artists normally have a reputation for not being on time anyway. At dinner, even Uncle Carlo noticed my newfound happiness. “You look better than you have in weeks, Bella,” he remarked as he sipped at his wine. “What's going on?” “Just classes went well, Uncle,” I said, not liking lying to him but knowing how important it was. “And I had a good meeting with a professor. Besides, the weather today was great, and just before dinner, I had a nice session in the pool. How could I not feel better?” He nodded and took another drink. “I understand. I'm glad to see that you are adapting well. You know, I had a period, before you were born, when I had to go everywhere with a bodyguard as well.” “Really?” I asked, intrigued. “What happened?” “Eh, this was back in the late eighties, when the Japanese were trying to buy up Seattle,” Carlo said, reminiscing. “Your father was in charge then, but I was the one in charge of talking with some Japanese who came in from Osaka, wanting to muscle in on our turf. They thought they could go through the port without cooperating with the local groups. In negotiations between us and them, things quickly broke down as they thought they could bring in some Yakuza muscle and just take what they wanted without providing the proper respect. Things got quite heated for a little while, and there was a month or so in the middle when Johnny and I both went around with bodyguards.”

It was rare that he talked about my father, and even less often that he used Dad's name. Gianni “Johnny” Bertoli had been his closest friend and protector growing up, and it was nice to hear Uncle Carlo talk about him. “How'd it get resolved?” “In ways that are not for the dinner table discussion,” Uncle Carlo said with a cryptic smile. AFTER DINNER, I WORKED ON MY PAINTING FOR THE NIGHT. DANIEL WOKE FROM HIS NAP IN TIME TO WATCH me finish. “It's changing,” he remarked. “It's not as dark as it was before.” “I've got reasons to feel more positive about the world,” I said, carefully avoiding saying what I meant. “Still, it is pretty dark for me.” I washed up, changing into my pajamas and going to my bedroom, where Daniel's chair and new side table for his computer were already waiting for him. I paused at the door, turning around. “Come tuck me in?” I whispered, leaning in close. “Or maybe check under my bed for monsters?” “If I do that, the only monster will be in your bed,” he growled sexily in reply, his breath tickling my ear. “Are you sure you want that?” “More than anything,” I replied. Disregarding the risk, I leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. “Maybe later, when everyone is asleep.” I heard footsteps in the hallway and pulled back just as Kathy walked by, her clogs squeaking on the hallway tile. “Well, good night, Daniel. I hope you can get your work done,” I said, maybe a touch too loudly. Kathy disappeared around the corner, and I blushed. “Sorry.” “My fault,” Daniel whispered, his eyes flicking left and right before focusing on me, their icy blueness softening to angelic warmth. “Good night, beautiful lady.”

CHAPTER 14

DANIEL

hree days later, I was still walking in heaven, but I was also seriously pissed T off. I was in heaven because I'd never had such a sensual, exciting time before in

my life. Every moment with Adriana was pure, agonizing bliss. We found little ways to sneak in shared contact and moments, like her resting her hand on the console of my car while I drove her anywhere. When I could, I'd reach over and lay my right hand on hers, just resting there until I had to make a turn. Adriana started coming to the house gym not once or twice a week, but each of the past three days. It was motivating and sexy to work out in front of her, something I'd never experienced before. Exercise was for fitness and performance, not foreplay. At least, that's what I'd thought until Adriana started doing hip bridges in short, tight shorts—supposedly to tighten her backside, but in the meantime, giving me one hell of a show. Mostly though, we found private places around campus in the form of closed classrooms or private nooks in the library where we could hold each other. In those spaces, there was no Bertoli or Neiman, and there was no danger. It was our own private little world, where I was able to feast on her kisses, to run my fingers through her hair, and even when we were feeling super frisky, caress the soft weight of her breast through her shirt while she cupped my balls through my shorts. Teenager stuff, but I was still enthralled. The second night I'd gone into Adriana's room, just after two in the morning, I found her sitting up, nervous. “I was afraid you wouldn't come,” she whispered, climbing out of bed and walking over to me. “I was going crazy in here.” We didn't just fuck, but instead we made love, even if it was hasty. Each night, Adriana gave herself to me while I taught her what her body was really capable of feeling. “I'm drunk from our time together, and I want to explore more with you.” I was drunk too, knowing the risks each night when I opened her door, and each night, not caring as she kissed me for the first time. I needed Adriana like I needed

air and water. I couldn't stop. I was happy in a way I'd never felt before. But, three days later, I was seriously pissed off. Not at Adriana, but at Adam. He hadn't messaged me in two days, not even his normal message of 'nothing new.' With Drake still out there, I was getting annoyed. That morning, as we drove to school, Adriana noticed. “What's wrong?” she asked, her hand resting on mine. While we couldn't be sure my car wasn't bugged by Don Bertoli himself—after all, it had been his men who'd secured my car—we could still talk about other things. “You're looking more tense than normal today.” “Haven't heard from Adam in a few days. I hope he isn't slacking off,” I growled, pulling my hand away to make a right turn. “I need his help.” “I'm sure he's doing his best,” she replied, trying to reassure me. “Have you tried calling his office?” I shook my head. “He's kind of a one-man operation. He says he has assistants, but what he means is that he has people he sometimes shops out work to. Your case, though, he was handling personally. And the only contacts I have for him are his cellphone and email.” “Well then, have you tried calling him?” Adriana asked with a chuckle. “I mean, that's what I'd do.” “Of course, but he's not picking up. I left him a message. I was going to give some other people a call this afternoon and see if he'd been by. He was giving the girl at that Starlight Club quite the look when I last saw him. Knowing Adam, he's gone back at least once.” “She's that hot, huh?” “Men will do stupid and dangerous things for women they're attracted to,” I replied, giving her a meaningful look, which she returned with a smile. It was the closest we came to saying how we felt in the car. “So I'll wait until the club is open, then give them a call.” After lunch, I did just that, sitting next to Adriana in the cafeteria while I dialed. The phone rang a few times, and I was just getting ready to leave a message when Terry, the manager, picked up, sounding out of breath. “Starlight Club, what can I do for you?” “Terry, it's Daniel Neiman,” I said, giving him a second to adjust. “How's it going?” As usual, Terry semi-freaked out when he heard my voice. I didn't know why. Other than the incident with Carmen, I'd never even had to threaten the man. He was

always on time with his payments and had never given the Bertolis any reason to be concerned about him. He even threw in some free extras to Bertoli men from time to time, but he still acted like we were about to burn the place down whenever we even talked. “Good afternoon, sir. What can I do for you today, sir?” I rolled my eyes, letting Adriana listen in some, and she covered her mouth, laughing silently at the overabundance of the word sir. “Terry, I'm calling for some information, nothing more. My friend I brought by the other night, Adam . . . has he come by the club again recently? I'm trying to get a hold of him.” “He was here last night, actually,” Terry said, relief in his voice. “Uhm, I don't know if you would approve sir, but he and Carmen left the club. I think they may have gone on a date.” I nearly dropped my phone, I was so surprised. “A date? No offense, but doesn't that break the rules?” “It does, but Carmen is quite taken with him for some reason. I don't have any leverage on her. She's clean and sober, totally debt free. She dances by choice. And from what she told me, Adam doesn't have a problem if she continues to dance. There's little I can do to stop them.” “Never mind. Good for Adam,” I said, dismissing it with a small laugh. “Listen, can you please give Carmen a call? I doubt you want to give me her number, but just tell her that if she's in contact with Adam, I need to speak to him immediately. Think you can do that?” “Of course, sir. However, Carmen should be in at three o'clock today, if that's okay.” “Okay, but please call me back no later than five. Thanks, Terry.” “It is no problem, sir. Uhm, one thing though.” “What's that?” I asked. Adriana sat back, and I pulled the phone to my ear. “About the first meeting between the two and the matter of the bill. It isn't much, only a thousand, but I was wondering when we might be able to settle it?” I chuckled and looked at Adriana, who gave me an innocent look. Now that we were together, if you could even call it that, it seemed that she wasn't as upset about the other side of my work any longer. “I can stop by this evening, say around nine or so. If Carmen is around then, I need to talk with her. Professionally. Maybe backstage?” “A VIP would be better, sir. The other girls will be preparing for work, and your reputation precedes you. But I'll let her know.” “Thank you, Terry. Goodbye.”

I hung up my phone and noticed Adriana's look, a small, affectionate smile of amusement. “What?” “You asked a dynamite stripper to wear clothes for a conversation,” she said with a proud little smirk. “I guess I am having an effect on you.” THE VIP LOUNGE WAS QUIET. I'D TURNED ON SOME SAMUEL BARBER MUSIC TO DROWN OUT THE OUTSIDE noise when Carmen came in, looking totally different than I'd ever seen her before. Out of her stripper clothes, she looked like one of the girls I'd seen running around the college campus the past few weeks—or even younger. When she noticed that I was looking at her strangely, she blushed and looked down. “What, Papi?” “Just . . . I know this sounds strange, but you look a lot different, Carmen. Better, if you can dig it.” “I can,” she said, even sounding different from the Latina seductress I'd known her as. “And thank you. Most of the guys I dance for seem to only think of me in that short skirt with my boobs hanging out. I doubt any of them give a damn otherwise.” “Except it seems Adam does,” I said, using her comment to broach the subject of my visit. “Can I ask?” Carmen laughed, giving me a genuine smile. “Well, he definitely was disarmingly charming—not like the type that usually comes in here. So when he asked if he could see me again, I said yes, and without him asking, I gave him my phone number. I figured he'd never call, but he did, and we've been out twice since. Breakfast both times—we tend to work hours that preclude romantic dinners and such.” “That's kind of what I wanted to ask you about,” I said. “I'm sure you know I work for Don Bertoli.” “Of course I know. Everyone does,” Carmen said, her voice serious. Carlo Bertoli was not a man most people wanted to joke about. “Honestly, it's why you scared me so much that night you lost control. You're the sort of man who could blow my brains out and not face any repercussions.” “I don't know about that, but I’m still sorry about that. You didn't deserve what I did, that's for sure. You were a bit . . . how shall we put it?” Carmen laughed. “Let's just put that behind us—how about that? So what's your question?” “Recently, the Bertoli family has been threatened. I've been assigned as bodyguard to his niece, and I asked Adam to look into the person coming after her. He was

giving me daily updates until two days ago. Do you know what happened?” Carmen thought, then blushed slightly. “I know what happened two nights ago,” she said with a smile. “Well, that explains that night,” I said, “but what happened since?” “I don't know. I haven't heard from him, and it seemed like he really liked me.” I thought for a moment, perplexed. She must've really put him off his game. I wanted him to have fun, but I didn't want it interfering with his work. I waved it off and finished my drink. “Okay. Thanks, Carmen. Look, if you hear from Adam, tell him I need to talk to him immediately. Let me ask—how much would you make if you worked the rest of your shift?” She sat back and thought, tapping at her lip with her perfectly sculpted gel nail. “Easy. Tonight's a Thursday, so we'd only get some of the early college boy crowd and the diehards. Not too good, honestly. Maybe three or four hundred at most?” I pulled out my billfold and took out five hundred. “Here. Take the rest of the night off, and after my current duties with the Bertoli family are wrapped up, let me talk to the Don. He's always looking for smart people who can do more than just shake their ass in sweaty guys’ faces." Carmen smiled. “You know, even girls like me have dreams.” “What's that” Carmen sighed and looked down at her feet. “I want to open my own dance studio. I went to the International Dance Academy for ten years until my father died and I had to give it up. I don't have the turnout to be a professional ballerina either way, but I would still love to teach.” “Who knows? Maybe that can still happen,” I said. I opened the door to the VIP room and turned back. “Recently, I've had changes in my life's outlook too.” Leaving her behind, I went to the bar and offered Terry a hundred-dollar bill. “Thanks, and Carmen's taking the rest of the night off,” I said. “Okay, sir,” the manager said. I barely heard him, leaving the bar and heading off into the night. Where the hell was Adam? I had more questions than answers when I got back to the Bertoli estate and was surprised to find Adriana still up and in the living room. “Can't sleep?” “Remember, we start late tomorrow. I was just enjoying time with Mom and Uncle Carlo,” Adriana said, stretching out on the sofa, knowing exactly what the look of her legs was doing to me. “Have a nice trip to the strip club?” “Very funny. It was just business,” I replied. “Still, questions abound, and I'm not

pleased about it.” “Oh, tell me,” she said, pointing at the chair next to her. It was still close enough that we could easily see each other without sharing the same seat. It was safe. I told her about my conversation with Carmen. Her eyes twinkled when I got to the part about Carmen and Adam seeing each other, as if she actually knew them and was happy. “Seriously? That's awesome!” “Ade, you don't even know them,” I reminded her. “Why would you even care?” “Guess I'm just feeling romantic,” Adriana said with a smile. “And besides, why can't I cheer for people I don't know?” I was about to answer when my phone rang, and I pulled it out of my pocket. “Speak of the devil,” I said in a pleasantly good mood. I was planning to only curse him out a little bit when I saw that the call was a video call. “Hmm, this is new.” I hit the button, and the first image was of a plastic-tiled ceiling. The panels and grate on top were only slightly identifiable. There was a glaring light off to the upper left corner of the screen, and I could hear someone breathing. “Adam, tilt the camera, man,” I said with a laugh. “You can't video call for shit.” The breathing intensified, and I grew worried. That didn't sound like him at all. “Beefcake. Hard to see you at this angle, but I wanted to keep the surprise going a while longer.” I looked at Adriana, who had dropped her feet over the side of the couch, her face turning pasty white. “Drake,” she whispered. “I'd know that voice anywhere.” “What do you want, Vincent? And how'd you get this phone?” I asked, not letting on that Adriana was in the room. “I know it's you.” The camera angle spun and twisted nauseatingly, and suddenly, I saw him. By now, I was familiar with his image. I'd studied the photographs I could find of him extensively, and I could see where Adriana was right. He looked the part of a loser. The scary thing was that his face looked like that of an accountant who had gone insane. There was a baleful glint to his eyes, a certain shine that I'd seen before in Bertoli men who had gotten a little too close to the line in terms of committing crimes and killing others. I killed because I had to; men like Drake killed because they liked to. “Ah, there we are. I assume you know what I look like, Beefcake. You probably know a lot about me.” “I know a little bit, Staff Sergeant Vincent Drake. I know you're a fucking psycho who got his rocks off raping and murdering an innocent girl. They didn't put that in the papers, but I know the truth. You tried, didn't you?” “Did more than try, dumb shit,” Drake said. “Say hello, baby. I can see that red hair

of yours on the side of the screen. Don't be shy; you've got your big strong protector right there next to you.” I glanced at Adriana, who shook her head. “No way. Fuck this guy.” “But that's all you had to do,” he said with a maniacal giggle. “I told you, you and I are meant to be together forever.” “So you kill and terrorize, and do it all to Genesis lyrics?” I yelled, barely controlling my voice. “I swear, I'll tear your heart from your fucking chest if you ever come near her.” “I doubt that very much, beefcake. You're just some stupid mob muscle. I'd wear your guts for a belt and not even break a sweat,” Drake said. I heard another sound, something muffled in the background. “What is that? You can cut the corny movie bad guy lines now.” Drake giggled again and smiled into the camera. “Just a warning, or maybe a preview of what's coming to you, beefcake. Or should I say, D-man?” “Are you going to show me, or are you going to bullshit some more?” “You mean like this?” he asked, turning the phone around. I could see more of the room. It looked like he was in some sort of meat locker, but from the lack of frost and other things, one that had long been unused except for the single hook in the middle. Hanging from the hook, his ankles tied together and his arms tied underneath him to what looked like some big gym-style dumbbells, was Adam, his eyes wide and his mouth covered with duct tape. “Shit,” I whispered softly, disgusted. I knew exactly why he'd been hung that way. By turning him upside down, all the blood was rushing to his head, keeping him conscious longer during torture. The plates would pull on his shoulders and ankles, adding to the pain he was feeling. It was like being racked, except that the pain was longer, less traumatic. The torture was more mental and exhausting. “You son of a bitch.” “Oh, you should see what comes next,” Drake laughed, the camera jostling as he positioned it somewhere. “Excuse the angle. I don't have a tripod for this, after all. It's not like the phone's mine.” “Turn away,” I said to Adriana, whose eyes were fixed on the image on the screen. “You don't need to see this.” Drake knelt and ripped the tape off Adam's mouth, balling it up and tossing it aside. “Howdy, Mr. Private Dick! You can say something to the camera if you want.” “Fuck you,” Adam gasped dryly, his face etched in agony. “I'm not going to beg for you. Fuck you.”

“What, you don't want to say hello to D-man?” Drake said with a laugh. “Why not?” “I said everything I needed to say to him in my last email. He's going to hunt you down. He'll find you, and you'll get what you deserve. That's what he does. That's who he is.” Adam's eyes were wide with pain, but still, I could see what he was trying to tell me. I promised myself that I would remember his courage and conviction. Even facing his death, he was trying to nail the bastard who'd gotten to him. Without another word, Drake walked to the camera and cut the call. I set my phone down with shaking hands and turned to Adriana. I'd expected her to be nearly catatonic. After all, the man had been mentally torturing her for months. Instead, she was lucid, aware, and looking me in the eyes with newfound strength. “You're going to take him down,” she said. I nodded. “I need to wake up your mother and uncle,” I said. “I need to get to Adam's apartment before Drake does.” “Why?” Adriana said, standing up. She was a bit shaky and her face was pale, but she was still there. “Adam was trying to tell me something. I think he had some more information he was going to send me on his computer. We tended to exchange thumb drives, not emails. After all, the NSA can't tap a thumb drive. But if Drake was paying attention, he's going to want that computer too.” Adriana nodded, then kissed me on the cheek. “I'll go to my mother's room and wake her up. You go and get that information. And be careful.” “I will,” I said, turning to go. At the door, she called my name one more time, and I stopped, turning back. “Yes?” “Be careful,” she said. "I will. I'll be back before you know it.”

CHAPTER 15

ADRIANA

still awake when Daniel came back with a computer tower under his arm. I was “I grabbed this and ran. There was no thumb drive that I could find. Glad I

remembered how to pick locks. I didn't have time to get his spare key.”

Uncle Carlo, who was sitting up with me in the living room along with Mom, gave the computer a measured look. “Daniel, I applaud your bravery, but what good is just the computer base?” Daniel took a deep breath, knowing he needed to make sure he was being respectful without being condescending. Carlo was what some liked to call 'computer illiterate'. “I can plug everything else I need into it and use it just fine. To be honest, all I really need is the hard drive inside.” “I must be getting too old," my mom interjected. "Just do what you need to do, Daniel.” “If we could get everything set up, I can do it right outside Adriana's room while she tries to get some sleep.” “Sleep? What the hell do you mean, sleep?” I asked, slightly outraged. “Do you really think that after that call, I'm even thinking of going in to class tomorrow?” “Well, you would be safer here, but at the same time, we don't want to let him run your life," I responded. “I can stay here, work on my painting, and still get plenty of things done." I stopped and took a deep breath. “Sorry, I didn't mean to snap like that. I just want to know and be involved in what's going on.” “No apology necessary, Ade. I know you want him caught.” I quickly wiped away the smile that came with Daniel's words and looked at Mom. “Well, Mom, think you can get him set up?” As a matter of fact, we did have a desktop computer, an older one that Mom used to

have for her personal usage. She still had it taking up a corner of her room, and with my help, the two of us dragged it down to the hallway in front of my room. “Forgot how heavy all this stuff is,” Mom griped as she lugged the monitor and keyboard. “Would you believe that they used to be bigger?” “Mom, I do happen to remember the old style computer monitors, you know,” I said with a laugh. “The ones that were about the size of a microwave?” “Even bigger,” she said. We reached Daniel's table, and Mom set down the flat panel monitor, looking at the tiny card table. “Sure this will be big enough?” “He'll make it work,” I replied. I watched for a few minutes as Daniel took apart Adam's computer, removing the hard drive. Mom watched in concern, then shook her head in acceptance. “I guess I shouldn't be surprised. I'm going to go back to bed. Good night.” “See you in the morning, Mom,” I said, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks.” “It's nothing, honey. Sleep well.” Once she left, I checked up and down the hallway, and seeing that we were alone, leaned over and kissed Daniel's cheek. I smiled and ran my hand through his hair, relishing the feeling. “I enjoy that you care so much and that you know me so well. Think you can finish your work in time for a little bit of time with me?” “We shouldn't,” Daniel whispered back, clearly reluctant. “It's already after midnight, and I can't expect Carlo or your mother to not wake up and check on us. Also, I'm a bit worried about that cook, Kathy. She suspects something. I'm sure of it. It's just too risky. I'm sorry.” “You're probably right,” I said. “Tomorrow night then. It'll be Friday, and a lot of the staff have the next day off so they go out or sleep late, and we can make love over and over . . .” “Shh,” Daniel said, reaching up and taking my hand in his. He brought my fingers to his lips and kissed them, then let go. “You keep talking like that, and I'm going to be sitting out here with an erection all night.” “Now that would be noticeable,” I chuckled, pleased. “All right, I'll try and get some sleep. Good night.” “Good night, Adriana.” It wasn't what I wanted, but it was enough to know he was nearby, and I slept through the night without any bad dreams. The next morning, I found Daniel still

hard at work, typing away at Mom's computer. “Good morning,” I greeted him, resisting the urge to kiss him on the cheek again. “Still working?” “Trying to process all the information now,” Daniel said, giving me a little smile. “You slept well.” “No dreams,” I replied, “so I'll take that as a good thing. Tell me what's going on.” “Adam had just gotten an information dump, so I don't think he'd even begun to do his own analysis. I'll turn a copy of this over to your uncle. What's on your agenda today?” “IHOP, actually,” I said with a chuckle. “Think you can handle some pancakes?” “Of course. But we'll need to hurry if you're going to make the first class.” “Give me ten minutes. Think you can be ready by then?” Daniel sniffed at his armpits and looked at his shirt. “What the hell, I'm supposed to be copying a college student. Might as well do the two-day dress job too. Give me five and I'll be good.” Daniel got up and stretched, then gave a huge yawn. “Okay, I'll meet you in the foyer in ten minutes.” I showered quickly. Daniel wasn't the only one who was willing to do the college slum-bum act for a day, and we left after saying goodbye to Mom, who'd gotten up early and looked impeccable in her business suit. She even gave us a little wistful smile as we left. “Think she knows there's something going on between us?” Daniel whispered as we approached his car. “She's got good intuition,” I replied. “But I think she's fine with it.” We ate a relaxed breakfast, Daniel still scanning the restaurant the entire time. “You know, this is the third time we've been out to eat together,” he said with a chuckle in between bites of bacon maple pancakes. “When can we just admit that we're going on dates?” “I'd say this is our second,” I replied, licking whipped cream off my spoon. I'd indulged and gotten the whipped cream and chocolate sauce. “The burger joint was our first, and I'd say I did a halfway decent job of bullshitting Uncle Carlo and Mom about it.” “Hmm, if you say so,” Daniel replied with a smirk. “Didn't fool me though. Not that I didn't enjoy it. In fact, if we can ever get out of the shadows with this, I'm planning on doing that again.” I chuckled and sat back. “Tell me, Daniel, what sort of dates did you go on with other women?”

“Dates?” he asked incredulously. “I didn't go on dates. I haven't been on a real 'date' since I was a high school junior. Until you.” “Then what'd you do?” I asked, curious. “I think you're smart enough that I don't need to spell it out for you. I like to think it was easy because of my looks, but I think who I work for helps.” I reached over and took his hand, squeezing it. “We're both totally screwed up in the head, you know that?” “I do,” he replied, before seeing his watch. “We need to get going. Thanks for the idea. I enjoyed this.” THAT NIGHT, AFTER EVERYONE ELSE HAD GONE TO SLEEP, I GOT OUT OF BED, NOT WILLING TO WAIT anymore. I needed him, even if people suspected. I crept to my door and quietly opened it, seeing him looking at his laptop. “Daniel.” He heard the desire and need in my voice and closed his computer without even looking back, standing up quietly to come into my room. As soon as the door was closed, I was in his arms, pulling him toward the bed. “This is so dangerous,” Daniel whispered, his hands still coming up to start unbuttoning my pajama top. “We're going to get caught.” “I need you,” I said, shrugging off my top. I turned him around and pushed him to sit on the bed, reaching for his pants. “I need this.” Freeing his cock, I knelt, looking him in the eyes. “Another new thing for me,” I teased, leaning forward and licking the silky-soft head. It was delicious and wonderful, and I was even more aroused by the look on his face as I sucked the head of his cock into my mouth, my tongue running around the ridges and tracing the blunt arrowhead. Fueled by another fantasy of mine, I lifted my boobs, wrapping them around his cock and massaging them back and forth. Daniel opened his mouth to say something when the door to my room burst open and two people came storming in. One was Julius Forze, and the other was Pietro Marconi, Uncle Carlo's second in command. I turned around, the question out of my mouth even as I knew the answer. “What the fuck?” “Don't move, Daniel,” Pietro said, temporarily ignoring me. “Adriana, cover yourself.” I barely had time to get my top on before Uncle Carlo came into the room, his face a mix of rage and sadness. “Adriana . . . my Bella . . . why?” “Uncle . . .” I said, before finding my strength. I stood and crossed the room to look him in the eyes. “I'm twenty-three, and I can choose who I fall in love with. I'm

not one of your men. You can't command me.” Carlo's eyes flared, and he lifted his hand to slap me, but I didn't move and didn't flinch away. His hand froze, and I stared him in the eyes, daring him to do it. If his men hadn't been there, I would have said something too. But I still loved my uncle, even if I was pissed at him and outraged that he would violate my privacy. I didn't need to return the humiliation. Carlo's hand trembled, and he lowered it slowly. “Because you are my blood, I will forgive that disrespect,” he hissed. “And because you supposedly love him, I won't kill him. Now leave and go to your mother's room. I will speak with you both later.” In the hallway, I saw Kathy, who I'd seen going by my room frequently over the past few days. She had a smug look on her face, and I knew who’d sold us out. Saying nothing, knowing my time would come, I left, sparing a look back at Daniel. He was still on the bed, his pants pulled up. His face was filled with shame, concern, and pain. I turned to go back and he shook his head slowly, pointing with his nose. I understood and left the room, hating myself every step of the way.

CHAPTER 16

DANIEL

grateful to Mr. Bertoli for at least letting me pull my pants up before he I was had Julius and Pietro lead me from Adriana's bedroom. He looked to see if I

was going to fight, but when I stood without argument, he turned his attention to Pietro. “Take him to the garage. I'll speak with Margaret and my niece first.” “Yes, Godfather,” Pietro said. A long time Bertoli man, Pietro Marconi was a second-generation member of the Bertoli crime family and was as tough as nails. Another man I'd looked up to when I was growing up, he'd also moved from an enforcer role to something else, but I knew his skills were still sharp. There was no way I could get the drop on him, even if I wanted to. Carlo looked at me for a moment. The anger he'd kept under control while Adriana was in the room broke free as he crossed the room, and his fist caught me straight in the nose. My head rocked back and blood flowed, but I could tell it wasn't broken. Carlo is great at what he does, but he's not a fighter. “You betraying piece of shit,” he literally spat into my face. “I loved you like one of my own sons.” Carlo whirled and left the room, leaving me with Julius and Pietro, both of them still holding their guns trained on me. The room was suddenly quiet, and Pietro took the time to finally say something. “Are you going to come easily, Daniel?” “I won't fight you,” I said simply, my heart breaking. I knew I'd betrayed Carlo's trust even as I opened my heart to Adriana. In the Mafia, there is room for only one true love, and I had let someone else take the place of my Godfather. “Can I ask a favor though, even though I don't deserve it?” “You can ask,” Pietro said. “Doesn't mean I am going do anything about it.” “Can you have someone just pack my backpack and have the keys by the door? If Don Bertoli is going to let me live, I'd like to leave without the shame of rooting for my fucking keys.” “If you still have that BMW afterward,” Pietro said. “Come on.” Julius led the way out, with me in the middle while Pietro pulled up the rear. In the

hallway, I saw Kathy leaning against the wall with a triumphant smirk on her face. “Guess you won't be fucking Firecrotch anymore.” “Fuck you, Kathy,” I replied evenly. “She's a better class of woman than you will ever be, you miserable bitch.” “Come on,” Pietro said, poking me in the back with his pistol before Kathy could say anything back. We went to the garage, where Pietro tied my hands together. He tossed the other end of the rope over an overhanging beam and started to pull it tight. I thought back to the image of Adam. “Not overhead.” Pietro nodded and pulled the rope down. Instead, he tied the rope to the support column, then stepped back. “Just to let you know,” he said as he assumed his position by the door, “Kathy is gone, as of the morning. Nobody talks about the Bertoli family like that.” I nodded in gratitude and stood quietly, waiting for Carlo. Even though the weather was still warm, a hint of chill was in the night air, and I shivered. Julius, who wasn't as disciplined as Pietro, looked me over, even stepping closer to talk. “Why, Daniel?” I stood straight and tall and looked Julius in the eye. “We've always been attracted to each other. Being with her so much, we were destined to fail. She said we were in love, and maybe we were, but it was too soon to know for sure.” Julius looked at me with newfound respect, and even Pietro's stance softened. Julius stepped back, and we waited in silence until Carlo came in with two more of his men, thick-muscled moose whom I knew more for their brawn than their brains. He didn't even greet me, and gone was the cultured, slightly affable middle-aged man who charmed as much as he analyzed. Instead, I was facing Cutthroat Carlo Bertoli, the man who'd started as one of the most cold-blooded men in the entire Bertoli family. “You motherfucker,” he nearly screamed, storming across the floor of the garage and backhanding me. One of the moose, a thickly muscled guy named Lorenzo, noticed that I wasn't trussed up overhead and opened his mouth, but he closed it when Pietro gave him a look. He knew that Pietro was nearly as merciless as Carlo was. “You seducing son of a bitch!” Carlo's next strike was a kick to my nuts, which I didn't have to fake being doubled over by. Pain radiated sickly up my body from my offended testicles, and I had to force myself to keep my eyes open as he started kicking me over and over. I curled into a ball, silent. My silence seemed to infuriate him more. “Why? Why won't you scream and cry?”

He paused, shaking out his aching leg. I used the opportunity to get back to my knees, but nothing more. Instead, I kept my silence as Carlo crossed the room, rooting around in a closet that I knew contained gardening equipment before finding what he wanted, coming out with a gardening shovel. “Lorenzo, make sure he feels it, but no edges, and nothing to the head,” Carlo said, handing the moose the shovel. “And make sure he can walk.” You don't really know pain until you get beaten with the flat head of a garden shovel, I learned, as Lorenzo started tooling off on me. The first shot was to my chest, right in the middle between my pectoral muscles. I was barely able to jerk my head to the side in time to avoid catching the handle in the mouth. The second shot was to my back, driving me back down to the floor. As he began systematically beating me, Carlo yelled. “Daniel, I raised you! I gave you a home, a family, and a life! I didn't ask too much, just that you be an honorable man, and I don't have too many rules, do I? No. But you had to go and break the one that was closest to my heart. Stealing from me, lying to me, those I can understand, and maybe even forgive, can't I, Pietro?” “Yes, Don Bertoli,” Pietro said immediately, his gun now put away and his hands clasped in front of him like he was having a prayer in church or something. “Very forgiving, sir.” “Damn right,” Carlo said, turning back to me. “So why did this piece of trash have to go and break the one rule I hold sacrosanct? You're lucky that I love my niece, Daniel. I promised her upstairs that you'd live and that you'd walk out of here tonight. It was a moment of weakness on my part, because I love her so much. But I swear this to you. If you ever, and I mean ever, set foot in Seattle again, I'm going to make sure your cock is fed to Pietro's dogs while it's still attached to your body.” He knelt and spit in my face, then got up and turned away. “Tune him up some more, Lorenzo. But remember what I said—he walks out tonight.” Carlo left the garage, and I turned my face to look at Lorenzo, who set the shovel aside with a grin. “Don Bertoli said you have to walk out,” he growled, cracking the ham hocks he called knuckles. “He didn't say anything about you having to look good doing it.” I don't know how long the beating went on, as Lorenzo's second hit rocked my head pretty hard and things went kind of swimmy for a while. I do know that the entire time, I didn't say a word, except for the times his knee caught me in the stomach and I grunted as the air was forced from my lungs. In the end, I was bleeding from quite a few places, and while I had all my teeth, I was pretty sure my nose was broken. “Lorenzo,” Pietro, who'd stayed behind the whole time to watch the beating, said after I coughed up some blood onto the floor, “that's enough.”

Lorenzo, who'd worked up a pretty good sweat in the course of kicking my ass, stepped back, panting slightly. “Okay, Mr. Marconi. I think I need a drink of water anyway.” He left, and it was just me and Pietro in the garage. I struggled back to my knees and tried to get to my feet, but failed, losing my balance. Before I could hit the concrete again, Pietro was there, holding me and helping me up. “That took a lot of balls, kid,” he said in a low voice as he cut the now bloodstained ropes that held my hands together. “Why'd you not say anything?” “I deserved it,” I mumbled, my lips swollen but still understandable. “I betrayed the man who was like a father to me.” He nodded, then slung my arm around his shoulder. “All right. I had Julius put your bag on the front steps. There's no way you're walking through the house right now. I'll get you outside, then you get the hell out of here. You're lucky. I hope you realize that.” “I know,” I whispered, feeling something pull in my ribs. “Can you give me an hour to get some shit from my apartment before the boys come to make sure I followed orders?” “You've got until the morning shift gets here,” he said, glancing at his watch. “That gives you about ninety minutes. Then you’d better be on the fucking road out of here.” “I will,” I groaned, wincing as we left the garage by the side door and he helped me to the front steps. I found the backpack that Adriana insisted I buy to blend in with the college crowd, my computer inside along with a few of my clothes, the keys to my BMW sitting beside it. Lifting the bag and picking up the keys was the most painful exercise I'd ever done. “Pietro, you know that—” “I don't want to know anything, Daniel,” he said gruffly. “Now go, before my soft side gives way to the rest of me.”

CHAPTER 17

ADRIANA

in Mom's bedroom, trying not to cry. “It's not fucking right,” I mumbled I sat under my breath, looking out of Mom's window to the parking lot of the

house. I watched as Daniel limped to his car, sitting inside for long minutes before he got it started, backed out wobbly, and drove away. “It's not right.” “Adriana, right now, I don't think your Uncle is concerned about your opinion of right and wrong,” Mom said, trying to keep her voice under control. “To be honest, neither am I.” “Mom, I was just . . .” “You were having sex with one of Carlo's men in his own house!” Mom yelled, something she hadn't done to me since I had broken the Ming vase Dad had given her when I was eight. “Jesus Christ, Adriana, could you not have controlled your hormones long enough to at least wait until after this Vincent Drake asshole was in the ground?” I was stunned. Like I said, Mom almost never yelled at me, and she rarely cursed. Uncle Carlo was one thing, but Mom was something completely different. Instead of standing up to her, I just looked down, trying not to cry. I felt like my life was falling apart, and it was all my fault. She stood where she was, and I was sure she was staring at me for a bit, then she sighed. “Adriana, I'm sorry I yelled. Just . . . sweetie, what a mess this is.” “Like I planned on falling in love with him?” I pleaded, looking up at Mom. “Like I planned on needing him so badly that I seduced him? That's right, Mom. I was the one who invited him into my room tonight, not the other way around!” She took a deep breath, then sat on the bed. “I guess I'm mostly upset because I saw how you two were together. I knew there was something there, but I kept hoping this issue with Drake would get resolved soon. I thought that you two could at least wait that long, and that you definitely wouldn't be so bold as to do anything here . . .”

I didn't have a reply, except the truth. “Mom, I realized something over the past few weeks. Daniel and I, we've been trying to deny this for a long time. We just didn't know it.” She slid back, still in her pajamas, and leaned against the pillows. It was the same king sized bed she and Dad shared when he was alive, and to be honest, she looked tiny and out of place on it. “I can't be too angry with you,” she finally said, lying back. “It was the same with me and Johnny. Oh, by the time you were born, you didn't know it, but your grandfather was so opposed to his Italian son dating a Scotch-Irish girl that he threw fits that shook the walls of this place.” She managed to get a chuckle out of me, and I looked around the room. The Bertoli mansion had been in the family for two generations now. Grandpa bought it in the economic crunch of the nineteen seventies from a former shipbuilding magnate of the early twentieth century. We'd kept it updated, but there was still a lot of history in the house. “Grandpa never did have a problem saying his piece.” “True, but Johnny held his ground,” Mom said, smiling wistfully. “He was so strong, your daddy. A lot calmer than your grandfather, too. Eventually, the old man relented when he saw that Johnny and I were willing to run off if he wouldn't grant his blessing. There was no way that old man was going to let his Vegas buddies have leverage on him with that one, and while I wasn't thrilled that his blessing was due to Mafia business more than true acceptance, it got the job done. Of course, as soon as the old man saw you, he was head over heels about you. You came out with that thick mane of bright red hair, looking the way you did, and you were his little princess right away.” “I'm kind of glad my hair darkened up some though,” I laughed, thinking back to some of my childhood photos. “I looked like Pippie Longstocking when I was four.” “I'm glad too,” Mom said. “I don't know what you're going to need to do next. I assume you're being honest when you say you love Daniel, or at least you genuinely think you do. And when I think about it, you've had a lot worse quality boyfriends. Regardless of his misgivings, he's a capable man. And I guess I'd be the world's biggest hypocrite to say that you shouldn't fall in love with a Bertoli man.” “Considering you've adapted to the life quite well, yeah,” I replied. “You know, since you work with Carlo now and all.” Mom sat up and gave me a look, then lay back with a sigh. “I do. And I honestly don't regret it, adopting this lifestyle. Sure, it was the Mafia life that took Johnny from me, but without it, I'd probably never have had him at all. The fifteen years we had together . . . I'd take that over a millennium without him.” I was about to reply when Carlo knocked on the door frame, changed out of his pajamas and in his business suit. “May I come in?”

“Come in,” Mom said, sitting up. “What do you want?” “I came to talk to Adriana about what's going to happen now,” he said, his voice stern but calm. “As I'm sure you saw, I kept my promise. Daniel left the house under his own power, and I have only banished him from Seattle.” “A city of a million people, and you get to decide who can live where?” I said, getting out of my chair. “Who gave you that power?” Carlo's eyes flashed, but he kept his calm. “I have that power because I'm the only one who is willing to use it. Now, as for you, young lady, you will be escorted to campus today by Julius. Tomorrow, I'll have a more permanent solution, but you will go to class and you will continue your studies. I will not have you dropping out because of that bastard.” “You'd know something about that word, wouldn't you, Carlo?” I said, turning my back to him. “Go to hell.” “Young lady, I've given you a lot of slack because you're my niece, but I will not tolerate anymore disrespect,” Carlo warned, his voice dropping to deadly dangerous levels. I turned and glared at him, but stopped when I saw that he meant business. If I said one more word of how I felt, I'd find myself over Julius's shoulder. My lips tight, I nodded. “Fine. I'll go get dressed, or would you like to have someone make sure I do that too?” Carlo shook his head. “Of course not. But Adriana?” “Yes?” Carlo stroked his chin and fixed me with a level gaze. “Yes, what?” I blinked, shocked, but a little shake of the head from Mom in the corner of my vision told me not to push the issue. “Yes . . . Uncle Carlo.” “Much better, Bella. We'll discuss this more when you get back from class this afternoon. Have a good day.” I controlled my walk out of the room, although by the time I was halfway down the hall, I heard him and Mom yelling at each other, even though I'd closed the door behind me as I left. As I walked, a crazy plan crept into my mind, one that required a little bit of luck, a lot of guts, and the willingness to abandon everything just to follow my heart. However, by the time I reached my room, I knew I had to do it. The only question was a matter of exactly how and when the opportunity would present itself.

IT TOOK ME FIVE DAYS TO PUT MY PLAN INTO ACTION. THE FIRST DAY WAS FRIDAY, AND I ONLY HAD ONE class, with Julius escorting me tightly the whole time. There was no chance to do anything, and when I tried to say that I wanted to go to the library, he shook his head. “I'm sorry, Adriana, but your uncle gave me specific instructions. To class, and back home. If you need something, you can either get it another time or someone will get it for you.” Saturday and Sunday, I was practically a prisoner within my own home, as I wasn't left alone at any time other than to use the shower or the toilet. I spent a lot of time in my room with someone outside my door at all times, mainly because I couldn't deal with Carlo's bullshit any longer. Even eating meals with him was a chore as I mechanically chewed forkful after forkful of food. I was at least partially reassured when Pietro came to me Saturday morning, after breakfast, and quietly informed me that Kathy had been fired. It wasn't until Monday that I had the best opportunity to try and implement my plan. Julius had been replaced with Roberto Ciampa, the youngest of Carlo's men who could call himself a full enforcer. He was still pretty raw, and I knew he didn't have the training or skills that Daniel had. After my second class, I had two hours until the next one, a time that until then, Daniel and I had often spent having lunch, talking, and of course, once we caved in to our desires and took that first step, spent most of the time sharing intimate moments. Roberto, however, wasn't clued in to the routine, a point I hoped to take advantage of. After class, I pulled my backpack over my shoulders and gave him a half-bored look. “You ready?” “For what?” Roberto asked, confused. “Isn't it lunch time?” “It is, but first I need to use the ladies' room,” I said. “Let's go to the student union. They've got toilets there.” What Roberto didn't know was how crowded the student union cafeteria got during the lunch rush. When I saw the line outside, I started squirming from side to side, faking that I was about to pee my pants. “I'll go around the corner and use the ones in the fitness center,” I quickly said, heading for the door. “Come on!” Roberto followed until he hit the door that separated the ladies' locker room from the hallway. “Hurry, at least,” he griped, looking at the sign. “I can't believe this shit.” “Don't worry, this is usually much faster,” I said, darting inside. Quickly heading to the back, I used my knowledge of the locker room and launched my plan. The locker rooms in the school fitness center had two sets of doors. The outer set

was connected to the hallway where Roberto was standing, while another set led to the inside of the fitness center. But, the fitness center had more doors than that leading in and out. I cinched my backpack straps and walked quickly, avoiding the looks of the people working out while I boogied past in jeans and a t-shirt, pulling my hair back into a quick ponytail. I wished I had a ball cap to jam on my head, but I knew that would have looked suspicious since I almost never wear them. I figured I had three minutes, five at most, before Roberto said screw the rules and found out that I wasn't in the locker room. Rushing down the stairs, I started jogging when I got outside, hoping that I looked like a student who was late for a class or an appointment and not a girl running for her freedom. The next ten minutes were some of the most stressful of my life to that point. Every time I turned a corner, I was expecting Roberto to be standing there, or to hear him call out my name as he rushed to catch up to me. Luckily, I got away from campus and onto a city bus without incident, not even caring where it was headed. I just needed to put distance between him and myself. It took me about two hours to get to where I needed, a shopping center with a big box retailer. In that amount of time, my phone had already rung five times before I just shut the thing off and pulled the battery, hoping that Carlo hadn't called the phone company to track the device. It took me thirty precious minutes to get what I needed, grabbing clothes off the shelves and tossing them in my basket, not even worrying about the sizes other than eyeballing them. Swinging through the adjacent electronics store, I grabbed two pre-paid phone kits and checked out, heading into the large bathroom near the food court and using the handicap stall inside to change everything I was wearing, even my underwear. I put everything in the shopping bag, which I chucked into the dumpster behind the shopping center, amused that I'd just thrown away three times the amount of money than what I was wearing. Looking down at my jeans, t-shirt with Tweety Bird on it, and white shoes along with a brand new green nylon backpack, I figured I was ready to put the rest of my plan into action. Pulling out one of the prepaid cell kits, I slipped the SIM card in, confident that the free one hundred minutes of talk time would be enough. The other I left in my bag, hoping I'd never have to use it. Taking a deep breath, I dialed Daniel's phone number from memory and said a quick prayer that he'd pick up. The phone rang four times, and on the fifth, someone picked up. “Hello?” I let my breath out in a rush, tears springing to my eyes as I heard the voice that I'd missed for the past five days. “Daniel, it's me.” “Ade?” the surprised voice came back over the line. “What the hell are you doing

calling me? You know your uncle will find out!” “I need to see you, Dan. Please. Where are you? I . . . let's go away together.” There was silence on the other end of the line, and I wondered if Daniel was going to hang up. “I'll come to you. Where are you?” “I'm at the Westwood Village Shopping Center. Do you know it?” “Yes, I'm nearby. I can be there in twenty minutes. Ade, do you realize how insanely dangerous this is?” I laughed, nodding even as I looked around. “Love is insane. Don't you know that?” “I'll be there in twenty. Stay inside. I'll call you when I get there.” I was inside the shopping center's McDonald's, holding my lunch in its takeout bag when he called, my cheap phone buzzing in my hand. “Where are you?” “McDonald’s. I'll step outside.” It took us a minute to find each other, both because I looked so different than normal and because Daniel wasn't driving his BMW. Instead, he pulled up in a used white Ford, wearing loose sweatpants, a button down shirt and a ball cap. “Get in.” As soon as I was in the passenger seat, Daniel hit the accelerator, the Ford groaning as he asked the engine to do things it wasn't used to. He made a right turn, and once he was certain we weren't being followed, he looked over at me. “I missed you.” I grimaced. I couldn't help it. Daniel looked like he'd gone ten rounds with one of the Klitschko brothers with his arms tied behind his back. His face was still puffy, the areas under his eyes were black, and he had a bandage across his nose, where it looked like it had been set after being broken. “You look like hell. But I missed you too. Where'd you get the car?” “You'll see. Let's just say this is a very strange setup I've got right now. We'll be at the house in ten minutes. Try to relax. This is a world you've never really seen before.” “What does that mean?” I asked, confused and elated at the same time. Daniel reached over and put his hand on my thigh, his hand warm and comforting. “Adriana, this car, the house . . . well, to put it simply, I'm living with a stripper.”

CHAPTER 18

DANIEL

here was, of course, some natural suspicion and discomfort at first when T Adriana and Carmen met each other. It wasn't that Carmen and I had anything

going on, but I literally had no one to turn to. The Bertoli family and the business was the only life that I'd known. I was lucky Carmen agreed to help me out after I’d pulled a gun on her. “Hello. I'm Carmen Esperanza,” she said, her voice only slightly stiff as she offered her hand to Adriana. I was struck by just how tiny the girl was, as Adriana almost towered over her, and Ade was only five foot eight. “Welcome.” “Thank you,” Adriana replied, looking around. Carmen's place was, quite frankly, a dump, but a well cared-for dump. Situated fewer than three hundred yards from the edge of the airport's property, it was in the sort of neighborhood where even Don Bertoli's men didn't come unless they had to. “I appreciate your hospitality.” Carmen's place was a little jewel in the midst of the decaying, high-crime area that she lived. Of course, even a high crime area in Seattle is better off than a lot of neighborhoods in Los Angeles, New York, or other big cities. Still, Carmen saved her money and decorated her little apartment tastefully. Along the windowsill in the kitchen, little flowers potted in cut down milk cartons nestled next to herbs given the same treatment, lending the whole place a pleasant aroma. She'd also decorated the windows with yellow curtains made from old bed sheets, brightening the whole affair. Carmen gave Adriana a hesitant smile and stepped back. “Daniel asked for my help —I couldn't say no.” “And just what did Daniel ask you to help him with?” Adriana asked with a small smile, cutting her eyes to the side. “Do I need to kick his ass?” Her joke broke the tension, and Carmen laughed. “Honey, you should see his torso. That skin of his is still darker than mine in most places.” Adriana eyes widened, and she turned to me. I thought she'd be angry that Carmen

had seen me with my shirt off—she'd helped me wrap my ribs after I spent the first eighteen hours after getting to her place unconscious on her sofa—but instead, she pointed at my shirt. “Let me see.” “Well, that's foreplay for you,” I joked, but neither of them laughed. Carmen knew the pain I was in. Adriana didn't, but she was concerned. When my joke fell flat, I sighed and started unbuttoning my shirt. When it was fully undone, I looked at them. “A little help?” Carmen knew what I wanted, and instead of helping me off with my long-sleeved shirt, she took the two tails and tucked them up into the collar, a rather strange configuration but one that allowed Adriana to see the mottled flesh of my chest and back, which I thought had mellowed quite a bit in the five days since the beating in the garage. “My God, and I thought your face looked like hell.” “I think he kind of looks like he's a walking camo pattern myself,” Carmen said. “But I'm glad that you're here. You can help him with the Epsom salt baths. My abuela always said that when it comes to bruising, nothing is better than Epsom salts. I guess we should get this out of the way too—he even soaks in the bathtub wearing swim trunks.” Adriana nodded thankfully to her, then stepped up to me, taking my face in her hands. Standing on her tiptoes, she kissed me, carefully avoiding making contact with my nose. Still, her lips were as soft and wonderful as ever, perhaps even more so since it had been five long, torturous days since I'd felt them. “You wonderful, wonderful man,” she whispered. “I wish I could've been here sooner.” I carefully hugged Adriana back, conscious of the pain still in my chest and back, and our kiss deepened until Carmen coughed discreetly. “Excuse me, guys, but we have a lot to talk about, don't you think? Besides, I don't think Daniel is ready for what you two are obviously heading toward.” Adriana stepped back, blushing. “Is it that obvious?” “Honey, I know all about seduction,” Carmen said with a laugh. We found seats around the living area, Adriana helping me to sit down on the sofa. She took the other end of the sofa while Carmen grabbed a chair from her dining area and sat down. “First off, Adriana, no offense, but what is a Mafia princess doing in this part of town anyway?” Carmen asked, not aggressively but still concerned. “Am I going to have some of your uncle's men kicking in the door any time soon?” “Maybe,” Adriana said. “I'm not here wearing this discount store crap with his blessing. I ditched my bodyguard and ran like hell.” “So what's with the clothes though?” Carmen asked, curious. “I mean, Daniel's

gone on and on about you, and he said you weren't stuck up, but that stuff is right off the shelf. You missed a tag on the jeans, by the way.” Adriana looked down, noticing the little tag on the cuff of the jeans, and pulled it off. “I didn't know if Carlo had put any sort of GPS tracker in my stuff. The only things I still have are my laptop and my cellphone, and I pulled the battery from both of those until I figure out what to do with them.” I gave Adriana a surprised look, which she returned with a raised eyebrow. “What? I've grown up in a Mafia family my entire life. While I may have been somewhat insulated from all of the icky details, I did learn a few things. Just like I know that you and I can't stay here forever, regardless of how nice Carmen is being. And Carmen, thank you. Dan's a handful, even when he isn't being beaten up.” “He is, but he's promised to make things right,” Carmen answered. “I've been trying to analyze the data from Adam's computer when I'm awake,” I said, pointing to my laptop. “Thankfully, I copied the whole damn bunch of files onto my computer before we got caught.” Adriana reached out and touched my leg, her eyes swimming with tears. “Even when you were thrown out, I knew you'd stay to protect me. I don't know why, but I just knew it.” “Well, regardless of what you knew, it's time for Daniel's medicine, and then a nap,” Carmen said, standing up and brushing off her pants. “And before you give me any more of that macho shit, remember that the doctor at the clinic I dragged you to told me you should be in a hospital. How you even got off the sofa to drive to pick Adriana up, and then made it up the stairs without screaming, I'll never know.” I WAS IN AND OUT OF CONSCIOUSNESS FOR THE NEXT TWENTY-FOUR HOURS AS THEY INSISTED THAT I FINISH up the last of the pain pills that the doctor had given me. I was pretty out of it when Adriana helped me to the bathtub for my soak, the warm water, aftereffects of the drugs, and my still exhausted state leaving me only semi-conscious. “How'd you stay awake long enough to come get me?” Adriana asked me as she helped lower me into the water. “Seriously.” “You caught me at just the right time,” I mumbled, sighing as the water started to work its magic. I don't know if the myth about the Epsom salts is true, but I was more comfortable in the water than out. Probably because it took at least some of the weight off my aching body. “I was about fifteen minutes from my next pill when you called.” “I'm glad I did,” Adriana said, helping me lie back. She rolled up a hand towel and

placed it behind my head, the extra comfort helping. “Think you can stay awake enough that you don't drown?” “I'm good,” I said, waving. “But why don't you want to stay?” “Dan, you still look like a poster child for getting your ass beat, and I know you're in pain, but it's been five days since I last touched you. I don't want to hurt you.” “Mmm, later then,” I replied with a little smile. “A little TLC would help all my aches go away. Besides, I need to start stretching things out. I lay around much longer, and Carmen's going to start vacuuming me like part of the rug.” Adriana smiled and kissed my hand, then got up, leaving the bathroom but leaving the door open in case I needed help. I lay back, trying to clear my thoughts, when I heard the two of them talking. “So you're an art student?” “Yeah, it's a lot of fun. And you're a dancer at the Starlight Club, right?” Carmen's reply sounded like she was a little ashamed, which I didn't understand. Like Terry said, she didn't have any hang-ups, and she was good at what she did. “I . . . I've been doing it for two years now.” “Why turn red? You put money on your table, you've got a nice place, and you look like a girl who's not planning on doing it forever.” “And the bonus clients?” Carmen asked, causing Adriana to go silent. “Yeah, that's what I thought. Not too many good men out there want to spend their life with a whore. Not that I do it by choice—some of the men there, you don't say no to, so I pretend to enjoy it.” I was surprised at the heat I heard in Adriana's reply. “So you do what you have to do. I'm not one to judge—I grew up in the fucking Mafia. I'm in love with a man who's killed people, my uncle is the Godfather of the whole Sea-Tac area, and my mother is one of his key lieutenants. My entire art school education has been paid for by money made from the family business, which includes who knows how many thousands taken from the Starlight Club over the past ten years. So who needs to apologize to whom? My family made money off your ass. Literally.” I could hear Carmen thinking about it for a while, then she laughed. “I guess nobody here is all that innocent.” Adriana's laughter made me smile, and I was glad to hear the two women start to bond. I let my mind drift, looking at the little yellow ducks that were part of the bathroom tile—a horrendous look, if you ask me—when I heard the two of them laugh again. Carmen took a deep breath, recovering before speaking. “He did?” “Yep,” Adriana replied, laughing. “Seriously, who carries a pistol into the changing

room at Nordstrom's?” “I'm not surprised. I was actually surprised when he showed up at my doorstep without a gun. He carried that fucking Beretta like it was a teddy bear every time I saw him.” “I know. By the way, he told me about the time he lost his shit with you. I'm glad you forgave him. By the way, how'd he end up here?” “I was at the Starlight Club, getting ready to go home after a night of work when he staggered in the door, looking like he'd been hit by a truck and then run over. Terry, the manager, was about to throw him out before he realized who it was, and I came up front.” “And what made you help him?” “If it wasn't for him, I would've never met Adam. He treated me like any other girl —something I've longed for. But I'm guessing that's done now, isn't it?” “It's my fault, Carmen. I'm sorry I brought this monster into all your lives.” “It's not your fault, Adriana. No one would ever bring someone like that in their life on purpose. I'd like to continue this sometime, but I've got to get ready for work,” Carmen said, and I heard her getting up. “You two relax, and I'll see you in the morning.” After helping me out of the tub and cooking a light dinner, Adriana and I finally had a chance to talk amongst ourselves. “So what now?” Setting my fork aside, I wiped my mouth and leaned back into the sofa. “That depends on you, Ade.” “How so?” she asked, setting her fork aside. Neither of us had eaten too much, as her cooking skills weren't really all that great. “Sorry about the sauce. Guess I grew up a little too pampered.” “Don't worry, I'll teach you if you want,” I replied. “But as for how so, well, you have a choice. On one hand, we can run. I know some people—independent operators who can get us a fake ID for the right price. We take off, get the hell out of here. Other side of the country, Canada, Mexico, wherever. For me, it's no problem. I have IDs already lined up. You try to buy a plane ticket or cross the border as Adriana Bertoli, and we'll find your uncle waiting for us wherever we go. So a fake ID is vital. That's option one.” “And option two?” Adriana asked, placing her hands on the table. “We stay,” I said quietly. “Drake made this personal for both of us. I don't have too many friends, Adriana. I had Bertoli men who were coworkers, and that is about it except for Adam. To top it off, he's threatened you. I want this guy's head on a

plate. And with the data that I got from Adam's computer, I think I can get him. There are some clues that I can follow up on once I'm healed up, and I get myself another weapon.” Adriana thought about it, then shook her head in refusal. “Option one, we run. And we spend the rest of our lives running, both from Drake until he gets caught, and from Uncle Carlo. But if we do option two, we run the risk of being caught by either group, as well as placing Carmen at risk. We can't just keep crashing here, as I'm sure you know. If anything, the manager at the Starlight is going to tell the next guy Carlo sends to pick up his money, and they'll ask her. She doesn't need to be caught in a lie to Carlo.” I nodded. “I know. I was thinking of finding a place we can crash as soon as I'm mobile. Ade, I promised myself as I drove that I'd protect you regardless of the risk.” She blushed and looked down, then a moment later looked in my eyes, a hunger in there that wouldn't be sated by ramen with burned corn. “Then I choose option three.” “Which is?” I asked, turning slightly as she got up off the floor and climbed onto the couch in my lap. “If this is option three, I'm liking it so far.” “Option three is that first, I make love to you until all of the soreness is gone from your body and is replaced by a different kind of sore,” Adriana cooed, running her hands through my hair. “Then, we find and kill this asshole, Drake. Finally, I send a message to Mom, telling her I'm leaving. We start a new life, maybe in Tahiti or something.” “I don't have enough saved up to spend the rest of our lives in Tahiti,” I replied with a soft groan as Adriana began rubbing my chest through my shirt, “but I'm pretty sure we can figure out something.” Working slowly, she started unbuttoning my shirt, kissing my skin as she exposed it, nibbling under my jawline as I leaned my head back, my hands stroking her arms. “Ade . . .” “This time, let me take the lead,” Adriana whispered, finishing opening my shirt. “I know you're not able to pound me the way we both love it—and yes, I do love it when you put my ankles by my head and slam that huge cock of yours into me over and over until I'm coming and crying because it feels so good. You like it too, don't you?” “Fuck yes,” I moaned, my mind flaring with memories that, combined with the feeling of Adriana on top of me, had me hard as a rock. “Good, because tonight, I'm going to ride this cowboy hard,” she whispered,

kissing down my neck until she found my nipples. I'd never had a woman lick my nipples before, but it sent little tingles through me that I was happy to feel. I groaned softly, and she looked up, smiling. I moaned as she found the waistband of my pants and pulled them down, freeing my cock. “Sorry, forgot my underpants.” “Forgot . . . right,” she said with an ironic laugh. “It's okay though. I'm glad— makes it easier for me.” She leaned down and licked my cock, sending chills up my spine. “Someday I'm going to suck this until you give me a creamy treat. But right now, I need it somewhere else. Hope you don't mind.” Adriana scooted back, pulling her t-shirt and bra off, then quickly shucking her loose jeans and panties. Standing there before me in all her nude glory, I was breathless. In all the other times we'd made love, the lights had been dimmed in her temporary room at the Bertoli mansion, where we barely had enough light to see each other. I'd never seen a more beautiful sight in my life. Her flame red hair cascaded down her back and over her shoulders, ending in the front just at the top swell of her generous breasts, which were creamy and flawless, capped with soft bubblegum pink nipples that were already crinkling with arousal. Her stomach wasn't super lean, but lithe and smooth, with just a hint of red under her belly button from a missed spot the last time she'd trimmed. The ghostly trail continued to the cleft between her legs, framed by auburn red hair that was just a little darker than her head, beautiful and perfect as her hips flared out before curving back into long, wonderful legs that I thought were the sexiest I'd ever seen. My cock twitched despite itself, and I was left speechless. “Guess you like the way I look in the light,” Adriana said with a chuckle as she climbed back on the couch. She helped me scoot down some, then swung her leg over, taking my cock and aligning it with her warm entrance. “Ade . . . wait,” I said, trying to twist to the side and failing as a spear of pain shot up my lower back. “No protection.” She ignored me, lowering herself an inch onto my cock. Both of us stopped, and my eyes opened wide at the feeling. She paused, her eyes closed and her head thrown back, biting her lower lip and smiling. I'd never seen a more beautiful sight in all my life, and my heart melted again at the sight of her. “Oh God, that's good.” Opening her eyes as she sank down, she saw the expression on my face. “Daniel Neiman, don't tell me this is a first for you too?” I nodded, still unable to speak. It felt so good, and she leaned forward to kiss me.

“Well then, I'm glad it's me who gets to give you a first for once,” she said, allowing her hips to settle against mine. She rose, her pussy gripping my cock and massaging it wonderfully before she lowered herself back down, both of us shaking at the pleasure. “I love you.” “I love you too. Now, hold on,” Adriana said, planting her hands on either side of my head, grabbing the side of the couch. With a seductive, sexy grin, she started to ride my cock, her pussy gripping me perfectly, my cock caressed as it had never been before. I brought my arm up. The muscles ached, but the pain was dulled by the passion and pleasure of our lovemaking. I lifted the supple warmth of her breast to my lips, sucking on the hard pebble of her nipple. I love tasting her skin. The way it feels in my mouth is unlike anything I've ever felt before. I nibbled and sucked on the tenderness as she rode me, loving me with all the strength our bodies had. Pure happiness and pleasure radiated from my cock as Adriana started moving faster and faster, letting herself go and feeling the rise of orgasm inside her. Freeing her nipple, I looked up at her. Her mouth opened slightly in a sort of oval shape and her eyes dilated. “That's it, my love. Don't hold back.” She heard my words but didn't respond, her hips moving faster and faster. Sweat broke out on her forehead as she plunged herself over and over onto me. I tried to help, but my arms were still too damaged and weak to do much more than encourage her—but it didn't matter. I could feel my own orgasm rising within me, my balls tightening and swelling as I rushed toward my climax. “I'm going to . . .” I grunted, my hips moving out of my control. Adriana nodded, pushing herself harder and faster before freezing, her head thrown back and her hair like fire, a long wail building deep within her chest that peeled out of her mouth with the passion of untold depths. Her pussy clamped down on my cock, and I pushed one last time as my own body pushed over the edge and I held on as best I could. Adriana's legs gave out, and her body sank the last fraction of an inch onto my cock as I tumbled over the edge, claiming her as mine. We lay, both of us panting at the effort of our lovemaking. “I love you,” Adriana whispered. “Forever.” “Ade,” I whispered, kissing her hair. “You've made a true man out of me. Before, I was just a boy in an adult body, not ready to commit to any woman. But now that you're in my life, I feel complete and truly a man.” She smiled and snuggled into my chest. “Good, because I'm not letting go of you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” I stroked her back and kissed her cheek. “Me too. Adriana, will you marry me?”

She froze for a second, then relaxed, sighing against my cheek. “Of course I will. I hope you don't mind a long engagement, though. I'd like to wait a little while, to see if we can reconcile with my mom, if nobody else. She deserves to see me get married. Besides, it'd give us more time to go on real dates, kind of do the whole regular relationship thing for a while at least.” “I can do that,” I said. “Make you safe, reconcile with your family, and then get married. Sounds easy enough when you put it that way.”

CHAPTER 19

ADRIANA

took Daniel nearly a week to recover from the majority of his bruises and I twounds, during which time he and I spent most of our time in Carmen's

apartment. She and I quickly bonded as friends, and I found the spicy, seductive, diminutive Latina a great match. Her life experiences were vastly different from mine, and she was more than willing to open up to me. "You're up early, aren't you?” Carmen said. I looked over at the clock and saw that it was nearing nine in the morning. “If you can say that. What are you doing awake? I figured you'd sleep until noon at least.” She shrugged and changed the channel. “Tomorrow I probably will. But I never sleep all that much, although I'll probably try and take a nap before heading in today. She flipped channels again, settling on a game show on some cable channel and setting the remote down next to her. “You know, Adriana, you certainly don't fit the image I had of you.” “You don't fit the image of a stripper either. Well, I mean, except for the bangin' bod.” She patted her overdeveloped chest and laughed. “The best money can buy." I couldn't help but laugh. “Carmen, I've thanked you a lot over the past few days, but I wanted to ask you something.” “Sure. Go ahead.” "If things work out the way Daniel and I are planning, what's on your agenda after this?” She shrugged. “Daniel talked to me about maybe getting out of the stripping game, and I told him about my dream of opening my own dance school, but I don't know now. I'm just happy that I'm helping some worthwhile people. Lucky for me, the Bertolis aren't scheduled for another pickup from the Club for another week. Already, word on the street is that the Godfather's losing his shit looking for you.”

“I guess he would be.” I sighed, feeling a bit of homesickness, but not regret. “Then again, he shouldn't have had Daniel beaten with a garden shovel either.” “Were you really giving him a boob job when they kicked in the door?” Carmen asked suddenly with a laugh. “Damn, that's pretty low, interrupting one of those. And what a mood killer.” “Especially since I was just figuring out how to do it,” I added. We were both laughing when Daniel came in to interrupt. “By the way, we need to start planning on getting your fake ID. And we'll need to go to campus.” “What for?” I asked, then slapped my head. “The registrar's.” Daniel nodded. “If you don't go in, they'll void all your credits. If you want even a prayer of returning to your normal life, you're going to need to go in and fill out the paperwork for a sabbatical.” I closed my eyes and rubbed at my temples, torn by indecision. “Daniel, if we go there, we've got a higher chance of running into Carlo's men. Besides, if we're going to restart our lives under new identities, who the hell cares if I'm listed as on sabbatical or dropped out anyway?” Daniel reached across the table and took my hands, gently squeezing my fingers. “Ade, I care. I never went to college, and let's be honest, I'll never get the chance, as we explained. For those few weeks that I was taking you around campus, though, you let me get a glimpse at that world, and I saw what it could do for a quality person like yourself. If there is any chance of you going back to school and finishing your degree, I want you to do it. It's that important to me.” I looked into his eyes, moved by his vehemence. I realized that for so long, years even, I'd underestimated him, lumping him in with so many of the other men in the Bertoli organization. Men who not only didn't care about college, but would never have fit in either. In Daniel, I saw the shining example that some of my more liberal classmates tried to hold up as a reason for their pie-in-the-sky schemes, the diamond in the rough who had been denied his maximum potential simply due to bad luck. At least in Daniel, he'd overcome most of it, in my opinion. “Okay,” I said, taking a deep breath and giving him my best smile. “We go in. What's the deadline?” “We need to go in by Wednesday, I think,” he said, tapping his chin. “But we should probably get a Wi-Fi connection. Have you logged onto your school email and sent in the preliminary stuff? There will be some risk with it, especially if your uncle has hired people to put tracers on your email system, but we can work around that.” “How so?” I asked.

“Simple,” Daniel said with a laugh. “We go to a coffee shop. This is Seattle, after all. What else are young hipsters supposed to do but go to coffee shops and cruise the net?” I laughed and picked up his hands, kissing the fingers. “Daniel, you can be almost anything you want to be. But you, my love, are never going to be a hipster.” We took thirty minutes to drive to a coffee shop, making sure we were as far from Carmen's Georgetown apartment as we could get. We drove south until we found a Wi-Fi spot—not a coffee shop, but a truck stop, of all places. I turned on my computer, taking a moment to realize that I hadn't even opened the lid since the morning I'd run from campus. I had seen Daniel using his, processing and gathering more information on Vincent Drake. I'd seen him tapping at his cellphone occasionally too, more than likely trading messages with his contacts, and occasionally with Drake himself, if I read his expressions properly. “This is going to take a while. The connection here is slow,” I said as the little task bar started loading. “I wonder how many messages I've gotten.” Unfortunately, I was wrong. I had over fifty messages on my email. “Should have remembered that Mom and Carlo are trying to contact me too,” I muttered. “Glad we're in a truck stop and not a coffee house.” “Oh, we've still got plenty of money,” Daniel said, sipping. “I've been frugal over the past few years. I saved a lot of what I earned.” “How much?” I asked, curious. “I mean, not that it matters, but I'm technically destitute at this point. And you did say we didn't have enough to live in Tahiti.” Daniel leaned in, and I shivered as his warm breath tickled my ear. “Right now? About three million dollars.” I nearly spit out my coffee and looked at him blankly. “What?” “Uh-huh,” Daniel whispered. “Like I said, I saved a lot of what Carlo paid me. When I said not Tahiti, it was because I don't have enough for us to live in style in Tahiti. Not that we can't take a vacation.” I looked through the messages, which were mostly the same, namely Carlo or Mom asking where I was and to contact them. It wasn't until the end and a new message came from Mom that I really felt it. Dear Adriana, it began, different from the others, which normally started with just my name or Bella, I have prayed for the past few days that you are actually reading this, and are not captured or dead somewhere. No mother, regardless of her lifestyle, wants to go through that. So I pray that you are reading this, and that you are safe. I understand why

you did what you did, and I hope that you are with the man whom you love. I can't say I wasn't angry at first. I know that you tried to tell me. You tried to explain to me or convince me how much Daniel means to you. I should have been more understanding. You were guided by your heart, which is the same thing I did in marrying your father. If I hadn't, if he hadn't, we'd never have been blessed with you. So I can't be angry with you anymore. I'm sad, however. I miss my daughter, and want to give her a hug again, or to talk about television, or any of a hundred other things we used to do together. Adriana, if you can at least trust me enough to not try and use this to track you down, can you spare your mother a few words? Just tell me that you're safe, that you're pursuing your dreams . . . and some day, maybe, that we'll see each other again. I love you. You'll always be my little girl. Your mother, Margaret It took me ten minutes to stop crying from the simple message. Daniel put his arm around my shoulders, letting me have my tears. When they were gone, I sniffled and wiped my nose. “We're going in tomorrow,” I said softly. “No matter what, Daniel, I want to be able to see my mom again.” “I agree,” Daniel replied. “In fact, send her a reply. Let her know you're safe. Then send the message to the registrar's. We can go in tomorrow to sign the paperwork.” When we got back to the apartment, Carmen wasn't as enthusiastic about our plan. “Are you two loco?” she asked, her eyes wide. “Seriously, you're going to intentionally go to the one place where everyone knows you in order to fill out a single piece of paperwork?” “It's something I have to do,” I said, sighing. I'd come to recognize that while Carmen rarely spoke with as heavy a Hispanic accent as she put on for work, she did let it slip a bit when she was emotional. “A sense of completion.” “Oh, you're going to be complete, all right. Completely underground and buried,” she groaned, storming back and forth in the living room. “I can't believe you two! Seriously, what sort of Mafioso are you?” “Two Mafioso who don't want that in their life anymore,” Daniel said quietly, and I jerked my head toward him, surprised. He looked at me and shrugged. “I kind of came to that realization over the past few days. Sorry if I didn't mention it to you yet. I guess it was going to be sort of an organic decision.” I thought about it, then nodded. “So you don't want to be an enforcer anymore?” “No,” Daniel said simply. “I want to be your husband.”

Carmen stopped her pacing and stared at Daniel, then at me. When I didn't say anything, she shook her head. “Well?” “Well what?” I asked, then realized we hadn't told her about that either. “Sorry, he asked me a few days ago when you were at work. We're planning on a long engagement though. Think you'd like to be one of the bridesmaids?” Carmen threw her hands up and walked away, muttering loudly to herself in Spanish, only to come back a moment later, still muttering before pointing at me. “You are absolutely insane. You decided you want to get married to a renegade Mafia enforcer, and now you ask a stripper to be one of your bridesmaids?” “I asked a beautiful girl who's a good friend and a good person to be my bridesmaid,” I replied evenly. “Think about it.” “Oh, I don't even need to. I'm in. Now, I've got two hours before I have to go in to work. Please talk me through your crazy plan so I don't have to think about it all night and can have some peace of mind. The boobies bounce much better when I have peace of mind.”

CHAPTER 20

ADRIANA

ur plan was simple, but still dangerous for a couple of reasons. First, we had to O take Daniel's BMW. While the ghost gray car was known to both Vincent Drake and

Uncle Carlo, since the rise in school shootings, campus security had been very strict on traffic control onto and off campus. We'd already had Daniel's BMW checked in, and he had a campus ID sticker in his front windshield. Carmen's Ford didn't, and if we tried to use that, we'd have to spend another ten to thirty minutes at the campus police station, time that we just didn't want to spend on campus. So Daniel's car it was. Still, we dressed as inconspicuously as possible, with my red hair pulled back into a ponytail and tucked into a ball cap while Daniel looked as much like a bum as I'd ever seen him, in paint splattered jeans, an oversized longsleeved rugby shirt, and his Jordans, which we'd scuffed and abraded to make them look used. Between the two of us, we looked like totally different people. Pulling up in the parking lot closest to the front of the registrar's office, Daniel put the car in park and shut off the engine. “You ready?” “Yeah,” I nodded, grabbing my backpack. It was the same backpack I'd picked up in my initial run from home, although with Carmen's help, I'd bought some clothes that fit a little bit better. There was being inconspicuous, and being too inconspicuous. “Come on, this shouldn't take too long.” Part of going on sabbatical involved talking to a guidance counselor, so Daniel and I sat around in the office, waiting for one of them to become available. Finally, just as I was about to lose my mind at the intolerable waiting, one of the counselors came out of their office. “Miss Bertoli? Hi, I'm Tim Drucker. If you can step into my office, please.” Daniel and I got up, and Drucker looked uncomfortable. “Miss Bertoli, it's normal procedure that these meetings are—” “Are done one on one,” I completed for him. “Mr. Drucker, Daniel has been with me on campus for weeks, and is part of the reason that I came in today. He stays by my side.”

Drucker nodded, still unconvinced, but the three of us went into his office. The counselors' offices on campus were tiny, practically cubicles with slightly thicker walls. I understood though. The number of students had skyrocketed over the past few years, meaning the administration had to hire more staff. More staff meant more offices, but buildings don't expand at the same rate as enrollment. Still, I did feel a bit cramped as Drucker and I took seats while Daniel remained standing. There wasn't a chair for him. “Would you like to grab a chair from outside, Mr. . . .?” “Neiman. Daniel Neiman,” Daniel answered, his voice flat and robbed of all inflection. It was his Terminator voice, and I had to swallow a smile as Drucker went slightly pale. “And no, I would prefer to stand.” “Oh . . . okay then,” Drucker stammered, then turned his attention to me. “Well, Miss Bertoli, I understand from your paperwork that you want to take a one semester to one year sabbatical, is that correct?” “Yes,” I said, putting on my most charming smile. Daniel's intimidating presence urged some things along, but it was the time to gather flies with honey and not vinegar. “After the past couple of weeks, it's just not the right time for me to continue with my studies.” “I see,” Drucker said, clearly not understanding. “Miss Bertoli, it's highly irregular for an upperclassman like yourself to take such a long sabbatical. In all honesty, most who do never come back and lose their place in our arts program.” “I understand that, but I feel it's necessary,” I said. “No offense, Mr. Drucker, but when this college can't even stop a psycho killer like Vincent Drake from harassing me through the official email channels, I'm having trouble putting my focus where I should have it. Drake violated my safe space, and the college has not done a lot to help restore that. Until he's caught, I'd prefer to not put myself under that sort of unwanted pressure. It triggers me too much.” I couldn't believe the sort of bullshit streaming out of my mouth, and even Daniel's lips twitched in a fraction of a smile before he reassumed his stoic demeanor. I mean, I'm the daughter of a Mafia family, and here I was talking about triggers and safe spaces? What next, a little diatribe about micro aggressions? Still, it was the language that these type of people spoke, and it got through to him with the minimum of explanation. “I see,” Drucker repeated. He sighed and turned to his computer. “Well, it says here that your tuition is fully self-funded—no significant scholarships or grants that require you to do extra paperwork—so this shouldn't take too long. Let me print out the proper forms for your signature, and we should have you on your way. Just a minute.” Drucker tapped at his keyboard, then got up. He had to squeeze past Daniel, who

scooted over to let him by, closing the door behind him. As soon as we were alone, Daniel broke down, chuckling under his breath. “Safe spaces? Triggers?” I smiled back. “Hey, not everyone can pull off the intimidating badass look and get things done like you can. I try it, and I just come off as a bitch that people don't want to work with. No thanks.” Drucker came back a few seconds later with a small stack of papers in his hands, which he quickly stapled together. I couldn't help but reflect humorously on the fact that he had a red Swingline stapler on his desk. It's the sort of little thing that makes me laugh. “Okay, Miss Bertoli, I'm going to need you to sign in three places,” Drucker said, taking a pen out of his desk and starting to point at the front page of the documents. “This one says that . . .” “Mr. Drucker, can we speed this up?” I said, pretending to be scared. It wasn't that hard, once I tried. “The more time I'm on campus, the less safe I feel.” He chewed his lip for a second, then nodded. He flipped to the third page. “Okay. This one says you understand you are taking time off, and that you will get no credit for the classes you are dropping this semester.” I signed, and he flipped more. “This one says that you understand that when you come back, you will have retained your credits, but nothing more. You will have to start right back where you were at the beginning of this semester. Miss Bertoli, again, are you sure? Picking up again when your courses are going this fast and furious is very difficult.” “I'm sure,” I said, signing the next page. “What's next?” He flipped to the last page, and pointed. “This one says that you would lose any scholarships or time dependent grants under this decision, but since you're selfpaying anyway, it's just boilerplate.” I signed, and Drucker took the documents and put them in a manila folder. “Okay, Miss Bertoli. I do hope that you feel safe enough to rejoin us soon. The deadline for telling us about winter semester is Thanksgiving. You can do that via email if you wish.” “Thank you, Mr. Drucker,” I said, standing. I slipped my backpack on and offered my hand. “I'll be in touch.” Heading downstairs from his office, I glanced over at Daniel. Reaching over, I took his hand, which I had to admit gave me a thrill. It was the first time in public that I'd taken his hand as his girlfriend. “See? Don't worry, we're doing just fine.” “Still have a hundred meters to go,” Daniel said. He paused just inside the doors to the outside and pulled me tight for an embrace. “But I do feel better.”

We left the building, the bright sunshine dazzling us for a moment, and started across the small grassy area that led to the parking lot. Suddenly, Daniel grabbed my hand, pulling me to a stop. “Damn.” “What?” I asked before I saw it too. Coming toward us, looking as out of place as I would at a Black Panther rally, were two of my uncle's men. Both of them were trying to be quiet about it, but they knew they'd been spotted. “What do we do?” “Run!” Daniel said, pulling me off to the right. We took off down the sidewalk and away from the two men, one of whom yelled as they took off after us. We rounded the corner, heading deeper into campus, where I hoped that our greater knowledge of the layout would help us lose them. Unfortunately, our appearance had been anticipated, and I saw another man closing in from the far side of the quad, dressed like a college jock. As he got closer, I saw that it was Roberto. “Fuck!” “Yeah,” Daniel grunted, pain in his voice. He'd just started to get over his beating, and his body wasn't ready for this sort of stress. “Cut left!” We tore across the grassy area into a tunnel that, if we continued on, would lead to the campus athletic grounds. “Here,” Daniel said, reaching down to his pants and pulling out his keys. “When we reach the end, Roberto will most likely be there. You cut left, I go right. Circle around, get to the car, and get back to Carmen's place. If they're still on your tail when you leave campus, get on the Interstate and head north. When you're safe, call me. I'll come to you.” “Dan . . .” I gasped, the air hot in my lungs. “But—” “They want to kick my ass more than they want you,” Daniel said, slowing. He came to a stop and turned to me. “Ade, these idiots still don't understand how strong you are. They think that if they get me, you'll just come back home with your tail between your legs and be the pretty little princess all those idiots think you are. I know, because even I underestimated you. So go, I'll be okay. Come on, three guys? I've dealt with worse than that.” Daniel leaned in quickly and gave me a kiss and a smile. “Now go!” I could see in his face that he wasn't sure about this plan, but I obeyed anyway. At the end of the tunnel, I sprinted left as hard as I could, heading toward the wooded area that ringed that part of campus. I heard Daniel yell out behind me, and Roberto replied, but that was it as I went hell-bent for leather to the trees. I didn't slow down until I was within the shadows, surrounded by the pines and bushes. Panting, I leaned against the trunk of one of the bigger pines and looked back, wishing I could see Daniel. Unfortunately, the entire scene in front of me was more or less peaceful. There were students heading to class, a few still looking

around, wondering what the hell had just happened, but no sign of any Bertoli men. I walked quickly through the trees, keeping to the edge of campus as I brought my breathing and heart back under control. Still, I was sweating profusely as I came around to the far side of the parking lot, where I saw Daniel's car. The BMW looked ignored, so I got ready for one last dash. Fifty yards, no more, and then I would be able to get out of there. I was so focused on the BMW that I didn't hear the footsteps behind me until a fraction of a second before wiry arms, pipe cleaner scrawny but with the strength of the insane, dropped around my waist. “Hello, baby,” a reedy, whiny voice that I had dreaded ever hearing again whispered in my ear. “Good to see you again.” I fought against Vincent's grip as hard as I could, but before I could even scream, something was jammed over my mouth and nose. The pungent, almost alcoholic scent hit my brain for a moment, then everything started to go dark. I tried to fight, kicking my legs back, but they were only talking to my brain long-distance, and the force wasn't enough to hurt a fly. “That's it, mama,” Drake said again from the end of the tunnel that was my hearing. “Just sleep. We'll talk after you have a nap.” Darkness followed me next, inky and endless. In it, I could hear laughter, screaming, and in the background . . . Genesis.

Daniel

I HADN'T LIED WHEN I TOLD ADRIANA THAT I COULD HANDLE THREE MEN. EVEN A WEEK AFTER CATCHING A hellacious beating, I was confident about that. Especially since I didn't need to actually fight them, just evade them. Roberto was the fittest of the three, and I knew that I could outrun him, even as worn out as I was. What I hadn't anticipated was a fourth. I had literally just stepped onto the sidewalk that bordered the campus when something that felt like a truck blindsided me. Considering that I played football in high school—all conference linebacker, in fact—I knew what happened, but knowledge didn't make the pain of being tackled to the sidewalk any easier. The wind was driven out of me, and I felt my ribs, which had just started to let me breathe without pain again, groan warningly while my nose thudded sickly at the jarring, even if it didn't get hit at all. I wasn't sure if something was broken anew or not, but I certainly wasn't wanting to find out. “Sorry, Daniel,” Julius grunted as he flipped me over. Taking my stunned arm, he yanked my wrist back, and I felt something being slipped over my hand before the

zipping sound of the quick-tie told me what was happening. Another yank and another zip, and I was handcuffed just as effectively as if I'd been wearing metal. A van pulled up, the door opened, and Julius got me to my feet and threw me inside headfirst. I ducked my chin in enough time to take most of the impact on my shoulder and back, but my neck caught some of it, and I was woozy for the next few minutes. When I could focus, I saw that Roberto had joined us in the back of the van. “Where are you taking me?” “You fucked up, Daniel, you know that?” Roberto said, giving me an incredulous look. “Bringing her back to campus? Seriously, what the fuck were you thinking?” “About the value of higher education,” I replied, leaning my head back against the bare metal of the van. “Not that you'd understand.” “Not trying to. Now lie there and shut the fuck up. I don't want to have to knock you out,” Roberto replied. He didn't say anything the rest of the trip, which through the little I could see in the window, led not toward the Bertoli mansion, but toward the docks. That worried me. The Port of Seattle isn't the largest port on the West Coast—far from it. Los Angeles, San Francisco, and Portland all have serious ports too, and problems back with the labor movement back in the thirties had shunted a lot of the surface tonnage away from Seattle. Still, it was quite a port and handled a lot of stuff that came into the Pacific Northwest. And of course, ports need longshoremen, and since time immemorial, longshoremen meant Mafia involvement. Carlo Bertoli controlled the longshoremen of Seattle and even owned a couple of warehouses out on the edges of the port, places where he could do some of the more unsavory parts of his business. I'd only had to come here a few times, and each of them hadn't ended well for the person in the position I was now in. The van pulled into one of the warehouses, and the driver turned off the engine. “Let's go.” Roberto looked over at me. “You gonna walk, or are Julius and I gonna have to drag you out? Makes no difference to me.” “Does it matter?” I asked, then shook my head. “Fuck it, I'll walk.” Roberto nodded and opened the door. Julius, who'd been sitting up front in the shotgun seat, came around, his beagle eyes full of sadness. Roberto, on the other hand, looked happy. I could understand. He was the guy in the Bertoli enforcer group who was closest to my age. With me out of the way, he had the best chance of advancing, of making a bigger impact. Of course, what Roberto didn't realize is that the biggest thing holding him back was that he was pretty much an idiot. Carlo

Bertoli was a loyal boss, but he didn't suffer fools lightly. It was why Roberto was kept on the low-level operations and stuff. He just didn't have the brains for more. Carlo was waiting for me deeper in the warehouse, wearing his work suit and sitting in a hastily positioned office chair with a side table sitting next to it that looked like it had once been a TV tray. He was calm, the sort of calm that I knew meant he was highly pissed on the inside. “Free his hands, then tie them overhead.” I started to struggle until Julius caught me with a knee to the gut that drove the wind out of me while at the same time made my hurt ribs scream in pain. Not a sound other than the explosion of air left my mouth, though, and I was quickly tied up. “Now, I'm going to ask you some questions, Daniel, and you're going to answer them,” Carlo said when I was fully trussed. “I don't think you want to refuse answering, do you?” I stared at Carlo, then shook my head. “You stupid, stupid man, Carlo. What does it benefit you to beat me some more?” “Where is Adriana?” Carlo screamed, jumping up and kicking me in the thigh. The heel of his shoe dug into the big muscle in my quad, turning it to wood, and I groaned, not worrying about saying what needed to be said. Carlo Bertoli and I had needed to talk for a long time. “I don't know,” I answered when I could talk again. “Why, is she not coming home immediately like you expected?” Carlo stopped and nodded to Julius, who pulled out an expandable baton. It was one of those nasty ones too, with a body that is mostly a tightly wound spring with a bit of weight at the end. Swing that thing right, and the whole baton flexes, whipping into the body at point of impact. And, the flexed metal leaves a nasty fucking welt. I knew that from personal experience using one, but this was the first time to be on the receiving end. Julius knew just where to hit me too, a full-on shot to my back that mostly hammered into the big muscles of my lats and mid-back. It wouldn't break anything . . . not yet. “You know, Daniel, I thought you were a smart boy,” Carlo continued as if nothing had happened. “You took your first whipping like a man, and according to what Pietro told me afterward, you left like a man as well. I hoped that you would obey the rules and get out of town. Even when whispers came that you were staying with that stripper from the Starlight Club, I let them go. After all, you needed time to rest up, and I'm not one to hold that against a man. “But when Adriana ran and has done nothing to answer her phone or her email, drops off the face of the fucking planet, only to find out this morning from her own mother than she had run to you? Of all the people in the world, she ran to her lover who left her for a fucking stripper? Oh no, that's too far. Now, one more time, where is Adriana?”

“I . . . don't . . . know!” I replied, smiling. My smile was cut short when Julius caught me with a hook punch that loosened two of my molars, and I spit them out, my grin coming back bloody. At least he hadn't hit my nose, although that too was throbbing. “You can punch me all you want. The answer's going to be the same. I don't know where Adriana is.” “You LIE!” Carlo yelled, picking up a .45 from the table and pointing it in my face. “Tell me!” I gathered up all my energy and spat, splattering Carlo's face in blood and spit. “Fuck you, Carlo! For fuck's sake, all she wanted to do was have her own life! We fell in love, that's it! I asked her to marry me, you stupid, arrogant wop, and you and your pride are the only things stopping her from still being a part of your life! If YOU hadn't butted your nose into things, I'd still be out there protecting her. If you had just let your fucking pride go and seen that Adriana might actually love someone who is just another one of your Mafia thugs like myself, then maybe we wouldn't be having this fucking conversation!” The look on Carlo's face pierced through my anger, and I saw his gun waver. “Wait . . . where is she?” I could see the barrel of Carlo's gun tremble some more and the doubt creep into the man's eyes. “We . . . I don't know,” Carlo said, dropping the gun to his side. “One of my men, they figured that your plan would have you circle around to your BMW, but he's had eyes on the thing from inside the nearest building the entire time, and nobody has approached.” Fear crawled down my spine, and my mouth dropped open, panic starting to grip my insides. “No . . . no, she's supposed to be at Carmen's or heading down the Interstate right now.” Carlo looked at me, and I saw the family man that I'd come to know for the past few years. He set the pistol down and slumped into his chair. “I sent men to the apartment as well, as soon as Julius and Roberto and the others started chasing you. Other than a very pissed off Latina, they found nothing. They're waiting too, and they haven't heard or reported a thing.” I thought and put myself into Adriana's shoes. Cutting left, she would have paralleled the athletic grounds for a while, then come up to the . . . “Oh no.” My tiny whisper got through to Carlo, who looked up. “What?” “Drake,” I whispered, cursing my damn decisions. “The pictures he took of us. He took them from the trees that ring that end of campus. When she cut left, she could have come close to him without knowing it.” Carlo considered my words, then nodded. “Cut him loose.”

Julius pulled a knife from his pocket and sawed away at my bonds. When I was free, I still staggered, going to a knee as my leg seized up again. “Let me find her. I know Drake better than anyone else, Carlo. I've been studying him nonstop since I left your house. If anyone can save her, it's me.” Carlo got out of his chair and came over. When I looked up, he had his hand extended, offering me assistance to my feet, which I gladly took. I swayed on my feet, and Carlo looked me in the eye, for the first time in his life not as Don Bertoli, the Godfather of Seattle and Tacoma, but man to man. “You save my Bella, and everything is forgiven. Maybe, just maybe, we'll discuss your relationship.” I nodded. “What changed your mind?” “Nobody, not even Margaret, has cursed at me in years,” he said with a small chuckle. “And nobody has called me a stupid wop since Gianni. You've got balls, kid, and heart. I'm sorry I didn't see that earlier. Find Adriana, Daniel. I need her as much as you do.” “I will . . . Godfather.” Twenty minutes later, I was back in the van, this time seated with Julius in the back. Roberto was driving up front, while the other man, the first driver, had stayed behind to help with the cleanup. Julius looked at me, somewhat in awe. “I ain't ever seen that in all my days.” “What's that, Julius?” I asked, rubbing at my jaw. The adrenalin was wearing off, and the pain of my missing teeth was starting to come through. My jaw was starting to swell too, and I doubted I'd be able to speak much in the next ten minutes or so unless I got some sort of ice on it. Actually, I could use some ice and some pain reliever on a few different areas of my body. “I ain't never seen anyone stand up to the Godfather and live to see the end of the hour,” Julius said, still in awe. “The funny part was, even when you were cursin' him, you were always in control of yourself.” “Glad I came off that way,” I mumbled, my jaw getting stiffer by the second. “Gonna need a dentist after this.” “I wouldn't worry about that. If you don't find Adriana, you're going to need a fucking undertaker,” Roberto shot back from up front. “Keep that in mind, lover boy.” Julius shot Roberto a dirty look and leaned in close. “You know how it is. Listen, most of us are rootin' for you to find her, and quick-like. You need any help, just ask me.” “Thanks,” I mumbled. “Two things. One, I need my laptop from my BMW.”

“Easy. I'll make the call now. And second?” “An ice pack. And some fucking Advil.”

CHAPTER 21

ADRIANA

back to consciousness slowly, with a splitting headache that threatened I came to turn my brain into scrambled eggs. My throat ached and my nostrils were

raw, but at least I was lying down.

“Dan? Babe? I just had the worst dream . . .” I mumbled, trying to get up off the sofa. It wasn't until I was stopped three times that I realized that I wasn't on the sofa at Carmen's, nor was I free to go. “What the hell?” I whispered, looking down. Across my chest, just under my boobs, and over each of my thighs, right above my knees, were what looked like cargo straps, the kind that you might use to make sure a load in the back of a truck didn't fall off or something. About an inch and half or so wide and nylon, they were bright orange, and despite my best efforts, I couldn't move them. I tried reaching with my hands, but I couldn't find anything to adjust or move. “Help! HELP!” “Oh my dear, I held the book so tightly. I saw your picture, I heard you call my name . . .” a nightmarish voice said in the dim light of wherever the hell I was, and I paled. “Vincent?” “Glad to see you remember me, my love,” Vincent said, stepping into my field of view for the first time. “Like the bed I have prepared for you? I had to work hard to make it. It took all sorts of effort to prepare it for you.” “Vincent . . . let me go,” I said, trying to be calm. “Let me go, and I won't tell anyone about this. Not even my family.” Vincent giggled, his suit coat taken off and his tie dangling from around his neck, half removed. “Talk to me, baby. You never talk to me.” Great. Fucking Genesis. I decided to roll with it in a language he might understand. “I'm here now, Vincent. Talk to me now, Vincent.” “Why would you listen now, Domino?” Vincent asked, his voice grim and sad. I

racked my mind, trying to figure out what the hell he was talking about, until it hit me. Domino, Parts 1 & 2, was a pair of songs from their 1986 album, Invisible Touch. In Part one, the lyrics are plaintive, as the lead singer seems to sing about an unnamed woman—presumably, in Vincent's madness, Domino—and a one-night stand that changed his heart and his soul forever. Part two, however, took on a much darker overtone, especially when filtered through Vincent's madness. Lots of lyrics about blood and some pretty apocalyptic stuff, but nothing more than standard Phil Collins's singing about social change. “Vincent, it's me, Adriana. I'm not Domino,” I tried to reply, using my most soothing voice. “You taught me sculpture, remember?” Vincent giggled, high and manic, and I saw him reach next to him. “Of course I do, baby. That was where you showed me your heart, and where I realized the truth. You were the one meant for me, not that stupid bitch that I called my wife.” “She was with you for over twenty years, Vincent. How can you say she wasn't for you?” He backed up and did a twirling, stuttering dance, laughing and singing the song “Cause Jesus He Knows Me.” I wanted to scream, to let my mind descend into the panic and madness that was nibbling at the edges of my consciousness. I was at the mercy of a madman. Instead, I clamped down with everything I could think of. I thought of a trick Angela had taught me, back when I was having problems focusing on my art. “Find your itten,” she had told me, as we sat around the apartment. “Then you'll be fine.” She told me that it meant ‘one point’, and it's used in a lot of different ways. Her grandmother used it as a way to say to find that one important thing in your life, the hypothetical thing that if you stripped away all the other things around your life, if you cut away all the bullshit, the thing that comes to you then. Her words from two years ago came to me now, and I knew the answer immediately. “Daniel,” I mouthed, thinking of his strong face with his eyes that took me in with acceptance, humor, and unmatched passion. “Please, I need you.” I kept up my silent prayer the entire time that Vincent had his back turned to me, closing my mouth and putting on an attentive face when he turned around. I had read the crime scene report from both Angela's and Vincent's wife's murders numerous times. Not only was he a cutter, but he was a rapist as well—no doubt two skills that he had developed in his time doing 'enhanced interrogations' in Central America. “Oh we're going to have such fun,” he said when he came back. “You want me to

show you some of the games I prepared?” “I'd like to talk more first,” I said, trying to get his mind on his mouth and off my body. “Tell me about your art, Vincent. Please?” “My art? My art is not something you really want to explore.” Vincent howled, like I'd just told the funniest joke in the world. “You think my art is that stuff that I showed you in class, made of clay and metal and wood? Oh, sweetie, you have no clue at all. But I tell you what, let me show you some of my art.” He came over to the side of my bed and touched some sort of floor control, and my bed started to tilt until I was in a semi-reclining position. I could see a television on a cheap table, and with my new angle, I could see some more of the room. It looked like I was in a hotel room, but one that hadn't been updated since about the time I was born. Vincent turned on the television, the screen lighting up and giving me more light to see with. I honestly wished I didn't, as the room looked like a dump other than my bed/table and the television. Vincent picked up a remote control and stepped back to my side. “Some of these pictures are a little old, so forgive the eighties hair and fashion, but I think it adds to the art, in my opinion.” He had turned on a DVD player, I soon figured out, with a disc full of pictures in the tray. “Here's my first efforts, and while I was happy at the time, as I look back, I realize that I was so sloppy. My use of color and spirit just lacked cohesion.” The picture came up, and I couldn't help myself—I screamed. The image in front of me showed a man, but I couldn't tell much more than that. His face had been disfigured, and it was horrifying to look at. “I had the same reaction,” Vincent said conversationally, as if he were critiquing a bad piece of art. “Far too much emphasis on trying to be complex, to not let the art speak for itself. But I got better.” “It wasn't until my time with the military was done and I had my chance to go to the hospital that I realized what was lacking wasn't my skill,” Vincent said, tapping his chin with the remote. “After all, if you gave Leonardo da Vinci a pile of PlayDoh, he wasn't going to be able to create great works of art with it. What was lacking was in my materials. I'd been bottom feeding, just using the scraps that were given to me to demonstrate or to work from so I could advance someone else's corporate shell game. But in the hospital, I was exposed to the idea that if you start with good quality supplies, you have a much better chance of creating good quality work. So, I invested a little bit of money, got some better tools, and upgraded my work materials. It took longer that way, but the results were worth it.” I couldn't help it. It was either cry out or pass out from the horror. I screamed, and Vincent smiled. “And the best part is, my sweet, you're going to help me create my

masterpiece.”

CHAPTER 22

DANIEL

back at the Bertoli mansion, sitting in the dining room, ice packs wrapped I was to four different places on my body, staring at my computer. I'd been at it for

over nine hours, and I was getting pissed. I knew so much about Drake except the one thing I needed most. I needed to know where the hell the bastard was keeping Adriana.

For example, I knew that he was more than just a guy who flipped his lid once and killed two women. While his outburst was greater this time, I suspected that he'd been involved with at least a dozen other murders, stretching back nearly twentyfive years, and that was just in his time after he got out of the military. In each town that he lived in, including Seattle, there was a noticeable uptick in disappearances of young women, with bodies being found months or even years later. While the autopsies normally said that the women had died of exposure, accidentally, or due to some other natural cause, and that any disfigurement to the corpses came from normal decomposition or from small scavengers eating the body, I could tell from the way there were angles and symmetry that those wounds were intentionally inflicted. If I could tell that, any detective worth their salt could too—they must have been trying to not incite panic. I knew that Drake favored using tools from a company called Sculpture Hut, and that he ordered a lot of it online now that the company had gone to a Web-based presence. I even knew his fucking credit card that he used for placing his orders. What I didn't know was where in the hell he was right that second. Seattle's a big city, land-wise, and had done a lot of expansion and contraction over the years. Surrounded by the Pacific Northwest, it doesn't take a lot to disappear in Seattle. I needed something to point me in the right direction. Unfortunately, the pain in my body, combined with the lack of information, was driving me nuts. After looking at the same information for the third time without making any progress, I slammed my fist on the table, rattling the tea cup that was on the other side and sending it tumbling to the floor, where it shattered in a bomb-like explosion.

“I never liked that tea cup anyway,” a voice said behind me, and I turned my head, instantly regretting it as my sore neck twinged. Margaret Bertoli stood in the doorway, her hair and face so similar to Adriana's that I nearly cried. She stepped in closer, seeing the pain in my face, and came around to sit down on the chair nearby. “Sorry, I forgot about your neck.” “Not your fault,” I replied, rubbing at the sore area. “It'll feel better soon enough.” “You're a pretty horrible liar for a Mafia man,” Margaret said with a chuckle. “Besides, I know that jaw has to still be killing you.” “I put some Orajel on it,” I mumbled, aware again of the sick throb on the left side of my face. “After I find Adriana, I can go to the dentist and get some nice, shiny porcelain replacements put in.” “How goes the search?” she asked. “Carlo told me he has every man in our employ out combing the city. Still, it's a big damn city.” “With a lot of places someone with military training could hide,” I finished. “And this guy—he's good. I've gotten to know more about him than perhaps even the cops they have on his ass, and he scares me. One on one, I'd have his ass for breakfast, but right now, he has the advantage. I have to find him, not wait for him to come to me.” Margaret nodded. “If you were him, what would you do?” I blanked for a second, then sighed. “I don't know. I'm not a psycho. I'm not like him.” She shook her head and put her hand on mine. “Don't limit yourself. Being married to Johnny, I saw both the wonderful man and the dark side of him over the fifteen years we were married. I came to understand it, and it's why, even after his death, I stay with the Bertoli family. It's more honest than the lie the rest of the world tells itself sometimes. Turn on the TV and listen to what normal people tell themselves. They hear about crimes, the horrible things that monsters like Drake do, and they tell themselves that they can never understand them. They say that they could never do the same, and that only someone aberrant would do such things. But the truth is different. We all have that monster inside us, the voices inside our heads. Most of the people out there refuse to accept it. They refuse to accept that your ancestors were the same people who perpetrated the Holocaust, while ancestors of the Bertolis thought that crucifixion was quite a normal way to treat undesirable people. The Irish and Scots . . . we engaged in the wholesale slaughter of each other, uniting only when we hated the English more than other clans. This idea that we call civilized culture is a relatively new thing, overall. Within the Bertoli organization, we accept that dark animal side, and by accepting it, we've been able to have greater strength and control over ourselves. So don't deny that side of you. Accept it, knowing that when you are done with it, you can put it away.”

I thought about it, then nodded slowly. “I'll try.” “In the meantime, though, can you answer another question for me?” she asked, her voice different. She sounded both concerned and happy at the same time. “Sure. Whatever you need.” “Were you two going to invite me to the wedding?” she asked lightly. “Or was I going to find out through email?” I smiled and let my head hang. “We were going to wait on the wedding,” I said softly. “She wanted to try and reconcile enough that you'd be able to come.” Margaret smiled and leaned over, kissing me on the cheek. “Thank you . . . son. Now, when you find her, we can have the wedding here, and not at some cheesy hotel.” I chuckled, then stopped, a lightning bolt of inspiration flashing through my mind. “Hotel. Hotel . . . shit!” “What?” Margaret said, excitement dawning in her face from the sound of my voice. “What did you think of?” “Adam did a complete background on Drake, and he was going to check out everything, but outside of his house, there wasn't anything. But his wife . . . there!” “The Vista Pine Motel,” Margaret said, reading over my shoulder. “What is it?” “An old motel on Route 99, south of SeaTac,” I said. “It's in his wife's name. It's been sitting in probate the whole time. The cops went through right after the murder and didn't find anything, but if I were to try and kidnap someone . . .” “Let's go,” Margaret said, standing up and offering me a hand. “I’ll drive. You armed?” “No,” I replied. “Carlo's men did a smart job of that.” Margaret nodded, then shrugged. “There's always some guns somewhere in this house. We can get you something from the kitchen safe.” I took her offered hand and lurched to my feet. Going to the kitchen, she opened the safe there and pulled out two pistols. “Which do you prefer, 9mm or .45?” “Forty-five,” I answered. “Beretta.” “Always buy Italian, Daniel. Don't you know that? Here.” She handed me the fortyfive handle first, and I took it. It was nice, one of the newer pistols from Beretta's Cougar line, not my preferred model, but still damn good. “Good enough?” “Good,” I said, checking the magazine. I had eight rounds of gleaming brass inside, with hollow point rounds. If I put one of these into him, the fight would be over.

“Come on. What are we driving?” “The Gran Turismo,” Margaret said, pointing. I was impressed. She normally drove much more conservative cars, but the Maserati Gran Turismo Stradale was different. Sleek, powerful, with feminine lines and that touch that just differentiated it from its competitors. “Need help into the passenger seat?” “No, I'll make it,” I said, limping over and ungainly dropping into the passenger seat. “See?” She started the engine up, and I couldn't help but grin at the rumbling power under the hood. This was one sexy car. “Think you can peel this thing out?” I asked, buckling in. “I can navigate.” “Watch me,” she said, slamming the gear stick forward and jamming her foot to the floor. “Johnny took me on a couple of trips to Europe. I got to drive cars like this on the Autobahn. Hold on—we're going to break some traffic laws.” According to what I checked out later, the distance from the Bertoli mansion to the Vista Pine Motel was thirty-seven miles. If you follow the traffic laws, driving that would take you between forty-five minutes and an hour. For Margaret Bertoli, driving to find her daughter behind the wheel of a car with four hundred and sixty horsepower, racing suspension and near super-car status, she nearly ripped street signs off in her wake as she tore down Interstate 5. I wanted to navigate, but I was so focused on trying to just hold on as she took curves and corners at nearly suicidal speeds that I barely had the presence of mind to call Pietro. “Pietro? Yeah, it's me. Mrs. Bertoli and I are checking out a lead. The Vista Pine Motel, it's a closed down motel near SeaTac. Yeah, I'll send you the address. Get some men over there before us if you can. What? FUCK!” “What is it?” Margaret said through clenched teeth as we passed a semi before quickly cutting back in to swerve around a minivan in the passing line. “Pietro says they don't have anyone near SeaTac right now,” I said. “Everyone is in the downtown and University areas. They figured that he'd keep her close by, as much as he was able to get onto campus.” “Then we get there first,” Margaret said. “You take the lead.” I stopped, then turned to her, surprised. “You're going in with me?” “That's my daughter,” she said, her voice filled with steel. “There's no way I'm not going in after her. Besides, I know how to handle a gun, Daniel.” I said nothing, my thoughts my own as she jerked the steering wheel to the right, this time into the breakdown lane, to go around a pair of cars in the two lanes before cutting back over. “You do realize we just passed a cop.”

“By the time he gets that piece of junk up to speed, we're going to be off the Interstate,” Margaret replied through clenched teeth as we approached the off ramp. “Hold on, this'll be fast.” My ribs groaned as I was thrown against the side door as we took the right turn getting off the Interstate at seventy, sliding part of the turn like a drift racer. “You should be a pro at this,” I hissed as I tried to find a comfortable position again. “And get a five-point harness system.” “Don't worry,” Margaret said. “Only a mile to go. Get ready.” We pulled up into the parking lot, which was weedy and cracked, one of the few eyesores in an area that looked like it had been undergoing rejuvenation for a while. Heading to the back, I saw a van and held up my hand. “Stop here.” “Why?” She said, but still doing what I asked. “Because if that is Drake, and he's got Ade . . . if he sees a vehicle, he may kill her before we're even out of our seats. We go in on foot.” My cellphone rang, and I picked it up. “Yeah, Pietro?” “We have men coming. They'll be there in ten minutes,” Pietro said, his voice calm and composed. “What is your status?” “We're at the motel,” I replied. “I'm going in.” “No, Daniel. Hold for backup,” Pietro said. “This Drake is to be taken alive.” I took the phone away from my ear and hung it up. “Pietro says wait. I'm not going to disobey him directly by saying no, so if anyone asks, my phone lost reception.” She nodded and took the phone from me, putting it in her purse. “You ready?” “Just a second,” I said, and winced. When Margaret leaned over to see if I was okay, I chopped her in the back of the neck, knocking her out. She sagged against the door, and I swallowed my disgust at my actions. “I'm sorry, but I'm not going to risk you just to get a little backup. I need to do this one alone.” I got out of the car, closing the door softly behind me, and raised the pistol next to my head. I was sore, hurt, stiff, and barely functioning after being without sleep for so long. Good enough. I went in.

CHAPTER 23

ADRIANA

y mind was numb, horror struck as Vincent's mental torture wore me down. I M was tired, the sun had set hours ago, and the only light that filled the room came from the television, which had shifted from Vincent's gory slide show to an equally macabre scene, which my mind only compensated for by calling it Home Movies from Hell. After getting bored with just his still photographs, Vincent had turned to videotaping as well, a process he explained to me that involved wearing a small camera on his head while he did his deeds. “GoPro has been my friend, although I've found that there are better options,” he explained as he started the video. For hours now, I'd been terrified over and over as I was forced to watch. I was beyond caring anymore. My mind was too horrified by it all. Instead, I let loose the truth that had been boiling inside me, figuring I had nothing to lose. “You . . . you're a sick son of a bitch, Vincent. Not an artist, but a sadistic rapist psychopath.” “And Van Gogh cut off his own ear as a present,” Vincent retorted. He sighed deeply and paused the video. “I had such high hopes for you, Adriana. After seeing your work, I hoped that you could be the woman who would understand me, be my partner and join me in making such art that the world would always remember our names. I see you're just like all the others, though. Well, if you can't be a partner, you can at least be a fine set of materials to create my latest masterpiece.” I struggled, but the straps holding me to the table had absolutely no give to them, and Vincent knew exactly how to tie me down. He didn't even need to tie my arms —he was that confident. “There's no way you're going to get those free.” “Come close enough, and I won't need to,” I hissed. “I'm going to tear off your balls. Then I'll let my family do what they do best.” Vincent laughed, leaning his head back. “You mean your uncle, the Godfather of Seattle? Please. That pudgy old fuck couldn't save you even if he tried. I spent nearly two months right under his nose—hours a day—within rifle shot of you, and

the best you could do was to have some dumb lunk of a bodyguard hang around with you.” I laughed, hilarity replacing my horror. “I'm going to enjoy watching Daniel give you the ending you deserve.” “Maybe from heaven,” Vincent said, finding the adjustment switches on the bed again. He flipped a switch, and the bed flattened out and lowered slightly. “Just the right height.” Vincent walked over to the DVD player, taking out his disc of horrors and putting in another. He hit play, and I winced as Genesis began playing at nearly deafening levels. “Greatest hits!” Vincent yelled, turning to me. “Ain't it great?” He pulled off his shirt, revealing his toaster rack chest and pot belly before shucking his pants. How a man so out of shape had the strength to do everything he'd done still surprised me. There must have been some truth to the idea of 'crazy strength.' Nude, Vincent knelt once again, picking up a bag that looked like a soft sided carpenter's tool kit. “Can't forget my tools.” I figured I was getting ready to die, and if I was, I wanted to do it on my terms. “That's your main tool? I've seen bigger on Michelangelo statues,” I said, looking between his legs. I wanted him angry. I wanted him pissed off. If I was going to check out of the world, then damn it, I was going to do it my way. He turned red, and I laughed harder. “Shut up!” Vincent screamed, reaching to his side and grabbing a pistol. “You can't laugh at me! You can't!” I opened my mouth to bray laughter into his face when the door to the room blasted open and a miracle burst into the room. Daniel had his weapon drawn, but he was pointed the wrong direction as he stumbled into the room. Vincent had a second to react, and he did, squeezing a shot off that clipped Daniel between his shoulder and his neck. Daniel dropped to the floor, out of my line of vision, and I screamed in fright and in hope. “Daniel!”

CHAPTER 24

DANIEL

bad about knocking Margaret out, but as I tried to make my way quietly I felt down the row of rooms in the motel, I put my regret aside. While she had guts

and a lot of reasons to want to put a bullet into Vincent Drake, she also didn't have any training that I knew of. Since I'd known the woman for twenty years, that meant quite a lot. And Drake was trained, no doubt about it. I had seen the man's work, and while it seemed that he favored knives and other sorts of slicing weapons, he used guns too. I didn't need to worry about Margaret's life while trying to save Adriana. As I approached the room closest to the van parked near the end of the building, I heard music. While I wasn't quite sure, as I got closer, I heard the unmistakable sound of Phil Collins's singing and knew I had the right place. I checked the safety on the Beretta and got ready. I tried to look in the window of the unit, but it had been boarded up, probably to reduce the noise that leaked from the building. I knew for sure that inside, the sound of the music would be deafening, which I took as a measure in my favor. I quickly went over my mental checklist of how to bust down a door and sweep a room, and I took a deep breath.

Now, normally, if you're going to kick down the door on a room with a known armed occupant, you want two people, one to check each direction, especially if the asshole inside knows that you're coming. I put my ear to the door, trying to hear something but the music was just too loud. “Shut up!” I heard Vincent scream, clearly on the edge of losing control. “You can't laugh at me! You can't!” I used the scream to time my kick, driving with as much force as my right leg could muster. Unfortunately for me, my thigh muscle was still more cramp and knotted tissue than actual effective muscle, so a kick that should have shattered the door barely broke the lock, and I had to lower my shoulder to charge the rest of the way through, stumbling as I did.

This meant that when I went through the door, I had my gun down and I was looking to my left. I started to bring my gun up when I heard Adriana gasp, and I started to turn. I heard an explosion, and my neck was suddenly on fire and my right arm turned to lead. Instead of continuing the turn and staying in the line of fire, I rolled with my stumble, hoping to get the hell out of the way. I got to a knee and pointed my pistol back the other way, but some sort of table was in the way, and I couldn't see Drake at all. Instead, I could see a cascade of red hair draped over the side of the obstruction, and at least I knew where Adriana was. A sound to my left caught my attention as a door slammed, and I staggered to my feet. Adriana was strapped to the table, and I didn't see anyone else. “Where is he?” “He went toward that door,” Adriana said, her voice quavering. “Daniel . . .” “I'll live,” I said, even as I felt the blood start to soak my shirt and drip down my chest. I saw that Adriana was held to the table by some cargo straps, and I didn't have the time to try and work the catch, which was most likely on the underside of the table. Instead, I grabbed a knife out of the toolkit that Drake had left on the table and handed it to her. “Here. Can you cut yourself free?” “Yeah,” she said. “But Dan . . .” “It ends tonight,” I said, starting out the door Drake had gone through. I had to be careful. He knew this property much better than I did. Still, at least Adriana was now behind me and Drake in front of me. Much better than it had been. The blood was rushing through my ears as I stepped into the dark hallway, seeing the open door to the outside. I guessed that the door was a late addition, or perhaps the room wasn't a guest room but instead a manager's quarters back when the motel had been in operation. It didn't really matter, as I had my pistol in front of me. My right arm was heavy, the shock of being shot still blasting the nerves, so I used two hands, my left hand steadying my right as I worked my way down the hallway, not rushing but not being overly cautious. I knew that if he was going to try and ambush me again, he'd do it when I came out of the room. I saw him as soon as I came out, his nude body nearly glowing in the moonlight. “Drake! Vincent Drake!” I yelled, leveling my pistol at him. “Stop where you are!” I would have squeezed a shot off at him, but he was already just beyond the maximum range I'd trust for making an open shot with a pistol at night, and I was wounded and using an unfamiliar Beretta. I didn't want to give it away. He turned, his face sweaty and glistening in the pale white light, madness clear even at the distance he was. “Well, hero, you got me,” he said, laughing. “Whatcha gonna do about it?”

He whipped his pistol up, faster than I thought a man his age could move, and I barely dove out of the way as he fired two shots that bounced off the concrete behind where'd I'd been just an instant earlier. I fired into the air, not caring if I actually hit him but just trying to give him a reason to give up his relatively stable position. Hitting the ground hard, I rolled as best I could to my belly, my arms up and looking for a firing angle. He was already on the move, charging at me with his pistol outstretched, his grin nearly stretching from ear to ear. “Yeah! Hooo-raaa!” he hollered as he ran, squeezing the trigger. His first shot hit the asphalt inches from my head, and I knew I had only one chance. “Die!” “You first,” I whispered, squeezing my trigger. The Beretta kicked in my hand, harder than I'd expected, and I realized that my arm was really losing sensation, the forty-five feeling like I was firing a shotgun pistol or something. Thankfully, my shot took him high in his chest, right below his collarbone area, and he stopped, dumbfounded. He coughed, then sank to his knees. The hollow point round had done a number on him. He realized he was dying, and he looked up at me. “Nice shot.” I squeezed the trigger again. I sagged as his body collapsed, the pain, shock and blood loss finally overcoming me, and darkness crept across my vision. At least Adriana was safe. I CAME TO WHEN I FELT A PAIR OF HANDS TUGGING AT MY SHIRT. “COME ON, I CAN'T GET YOU UP ON MY own.” I blinked, trying to figure out where that voice was coming from. It sounded like it was on a long distance line a million miles away, but it was familiar. “Adriana?” “Yeah, you big, stupid, brave, wonderful lunk,” she said, pulling on my left arm. “Come on, we've gotta get out of here.” “So tired . . .” I said, not knowing what was going on. “Just wanna sleep . . .” “Yeah, yeah, you can sleep at home. In fact, you can sleep in my bed if you want, but we've gotta get out of here. Come on!” I staggered to my feet, still not sure what was going on, but tried to lean on Adriana as she started walking. Unfortunately, I was too heavy, and she was also staggering, bumping into the door frame and hissing in pain. “Dan, I need your help.” “I've got him,” another voice said, and I had to blink. I had two angels with me, it seemed, two Adrianas, who each took a side of me and helped me through the room and out the door. I was glad for the wonderful silence. The music had been splitting

my head, it was so horrible. I was never going to listen to Genesis again, that was for sure. “Mom, when did you get here?” Adriana asked as the three of us made our way toward Margaret's car. The walking was clearing my head, or perhaps just that Margaret's pulling on my right side was jostling my bullet wound, and the pain was waking me up. “She drove,” I said, not walking much better but at least able to focus. “I kinda knocked her out before coming in to get you.” “You hit my mother?” Adriana asked. We reached the car, and Adriana pulled open the back door, sliding me into the seat. “Why?” “Didn't want to get her killed,” I whispered as Margaret closed the door and went around to the driver's seat. I was glad that the GT had a back seat. I'd have never been able to sit in the front seat with my bullet wound. “Sorry. Guess the whole mother-in-law, son-in-law thing is off to a bad start, huh?” “You told them?” Adriana asked, and Margaret chuckled. “Honey, it was what got your uncle to not shoot him in the head,” Margaret laughed. “Now hold on, we're getting out of here. This may not be the best part of Seattle, but still, the cops should be here soon enough. I'd prefer not to answer questions. Pietro will have men here in a minute to torch the place.” I nodded, suddenly tired again. “Okay.” “We'll get you to the hospital soon,” Adriana said, and I shook my head. “What?” “No hospital. Home,” I replied, drifting off. “I can get patched up there. Take . . . take me home.”

CHAPTER 25

ADRIANA

atched up wasn't the word to describe what we ended up having to do with P Daniel. In the end, Uncle Carlo called in a doctor—one who made house calls, took

cash, and kept his mouth shut—to seal the hole. “He took it in his trapezius muscle,” the doctor said as he washed his hands afterward in the kitchen. “It was a through-and-through. He's lucky though. Another inch or so toward the neck, and he'd have gotten his carotid or jugular cut. He'd never have gotten off the floor.” “Thank you, Doctor,” Carlo said, giving the man a thick envelope. “Your services are, as always, appreciated.” “No thanks necessary, Godfather,” the doctor replied. “It's an honor to be at your service. Now, make sure that wound stays bandaged, and leave the IV in for the rest of the night. Then, for the next five days, give him those antibiotic pills I gave you. He's going to need to sleep a lot. He's been through hell. And not just from the gunshot either.” “Yes, well, that's a family matter,” Carlo said. “Thank you. He'll get the best care we can provide.” The doctor left, leaving Carlo, Mom and me alone in Daniel's bedroom. He was lying on his bed, his neck and shoulder wrapped, his eyes closed. The doctor had given him a shot to let him sleep, to let his body recover. I sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at his bruised but peaceful face. “He fought with honor,” Carlo said, standing next to the bed. His voice was soft, almost in awe as he looked down at Daniel. “He's as Italian as you or me,” I said softly, tracing his eyebrows and feeling the tears coming to my eyes. “Maybe not by blood, but he's been part of our family since he was a baby. He's a good man.” Carlo hummed and turned his eyes to me. “I owe you an apology.” I turned my head and looked at him, nodding slightly. “You do. I owe you one as well, though.”

It was the most compromise I was willing to offer. Sure, I had been wrong to ditch his bodyguard, but Carlo had been much further in the wrong having had Daniel beaten and turned into the walking bruise that I saw days later in Carmen's apartment. Still, families were brought together and relationships were mended by forgiveness, even if I wouldn't forget. I got off the bed. “Uncle, I'm sorry that I wasn't up front with my relationship with Daniel and that I ran away from home. Please forgive me.” Carlo gulped and looked to the sky, then back at me with tears in his eyes. “Oh, Bella, there is nothing I need to forgive. It is I who begs your forgiveness. I tried to run your life as if you were still a little girl, and not the beautiful, wonderful young woman you have become. I insulted you, I insulted the man you love, and in the process, I nearly lost the most important thing in my life. I am so sorry, and I promise that no matter what, I will support you and your decisions from now on.” I felt tears in my eyes too as I came around the bed and embraced my uncle, hugging him tightly. We stayed that way for a moment before releasing each other. I blinked and wiped at my eyes. “I forgive you. But there's someone else who must forgive you too— Daniel. He's going to be part of my life, and unless he's willing to accept your apology, we can't be part of this life anymore.” Carlo opened his mouth to protest, then nodded. “You are right, of course. When he wakes up, let me know. I will come and speak with him, man to man.” He turned and left the bedroom, leaving me and Mom. She'd been silent since the doctor finished his stitching, standing with her back against the wall, a growing bruise forming on the side of her neck. “You doing okay, Mom?” She stood there for a moment, then smiled, laughing until she was nearly crying. I understood and went to her, where we held each other for a long time, crying and laughing and holding each other. “Adriana, oh, my baby.” “I'm okay,” I said, still crying and laughing. “How's your neck?” Mom let go of me and chuckled, rubbing her neck. “He knows exactly where to put someone down, that's for sure. Considering he's knocked me out and called Carlo an arrogant wop, I'd say he's got more guts than anyone else I've ever known.” “He called Uncle Carlo an arrogant wop?” I asked, amazed. “And he didn't get shot over it?” “He was about two seconds from it, according to what I heard,” Mom told me. “When he wakes up, maybe he can tell you the story.” “I'd like that,” I said, looking back at him. “If you don't mind, I think I'm going to sleep here tonight. Not with him—he needs his rest—but on the floor next to him.

He protected me for so long. He beat back the demons that threatened me. I think it's my turn to protect him for a while.” “I agree, honey,” Mom said. “But first, let him sleep, and you and I will get some dinner. I think there are some leftovers in the fridge.” “As long as we eat here,” I said, indicating the space in front of Daniel's bed. “He even had a TV in here. What a wonderfully luxurious living situation.” Mom looked around the tiny broom closet-sized space and chuckled. “I think you might be marrying a monk.” “Yeah, of the Shaolin variety,” I joked back. “Come on, let's get some food. I bet there will be a report on the fire at the motel on the super early morning news, and I'd like to watch.” IN FACT, THE NEWS REPORTS WERE ALREADY ON THE CABLE NETWORKS, AS IT HAD BEEN A RELATIVELY SLOW news day otherwise. While I ate some leftover pizza and Mom ate some lasagna, we got to watch as the fire department struggled with two pumper trucks to get the blaze under control. “Wow,” I commented, munching on a piece of bell pepper, “Pietro really outdid himself with the pyrotechnics.” “He was rushed. Better to do too much than not enough,” Mom replied. “He probably had to focus on the bed you were kept and the room itself. That's a lot of accelerant in a really short amount of time.” Daniel stirred behind us, mumbling in his sleep, and we both turned to check on him. He quieted after a moment, and we watched the news story continue. “In another shocking development, police found the body of a nude man outside the hotel as well. Reports are still preliminary, but sources are telling us that the police suspect that the body might be that of Vincent Drake, the suspect in two recent murders. Please note—these reports are preliminary, and the police are not confirming or denying anything at this time.” “Guess we're going to have to get the lawyers on this one,” Mom said, taking the last bite of her food. “I'm pretty sure the cops are going to want you to make a statement. You might want to start going over the particulars now. A lot of stuff has gone on, and not everyone is going to be willing to keep their mouths shut. The university, for one. The cops are going to want to know why you took a sabbatical, all that kind of thing.” “Uncle Carlo can't get this all swept under the rug?” I asked, curious but unafraid. Mom shook her head. “The police won't be chasing this too hard. Drake was a murdering psychopath, but they will still want to make sure all their paperwork is

done right. Drake had military connections and who knows what else. The people who made this monster are going to want to make sure their asses are covered, so as long as they know they won't have someone chasing them down and that Drake is well and good in the ground, they'll keep their noses out of it. Still, they will have questions.” “And I don't want to give them a reason to keep poking around Bertoli business,” I said. “That's a lot of stress.” “Which I am sure you will handle well,” Mom said, relaxed. “You're a Bertoli, and less than an hour ago, you got the Godfather of this entire area to tearfully apologize to you. I'd say you've got the nerve.” MOM WAS RIGHT. THE NEXT DAY, AFTER I HAD CRASHED FOR SIX HOURS FROM SUNRISE UNTIL NOON, I WAS invited down to police headquarters to make a statement on Vincent Drake's death. Daniel was still sleeping, but Mom promised me that she would stay by his side, so I changed into my best clothes and went down with Uncle Carlo and his lawyer, a guy named Dominic Petruzelli, whom I'd met occasionally but never had the chance to seriously talk to. As Uncle drove—something totally unlike him—Dominic briefed me in the back of the car. “Miss Bertoli, I strongly stress that you only answer questions related directly to Vincent Drake's murder. The police have no reason to ask you about why you went on sabbatical or your rather—ahem—public display of running away from your uncle's employees.” “So what am I supposed to do? Plead the Fifth?” I asked, incredulous. “Won't that just make me look guiltier?” “The law is not about what people know, but what they can prove,” Dominic replied. “The Seattle police, I am sure, know more about your uncle than they will ever tell us. They are probably also quite sure that someone affiliated with your uncle was involved in killing Drake. However, what they suspect, what they know, and what they can prove in a court of law are three entirely different things.” Carlo chuckled up front. “Listen to him, Bella. The man knows what he is talking about.” The interview was conducted by two detectives, Fritz and Taguchi, who obviously knew who I was. However, they weren't the cops I'd met before who worked Angela's murder case. “Hello, Miss Bertoli. Would you like a coffee?” “No thanks,” I said. I took a chair while Dominic sat down next to me. “I did ask Mr. Petruzelli to join us today, guys, just to make sure things are on the up and up. What can I do for you?”

“Why would you have a lawyer if we just asked you to come down so we can clear up some details about Vincent Drake's death?” Taguchi asked. He had a sort of faux hawk look, with the sides of his head nearly shaved while the top was about two inches long. To me, he kind of looked like a rooster. “That makes no sense to me.” “It makes no sense to me that a man who killed two people, looked like Mr. Potato Head, and was on the wall in every police station from here to Sacramento was able to get within two hundred yards of me on a regular basis and was killed at an abandoned motel less than a mile from a police station,” I replied evenly. I nodded to Dominic, who reached into his briefcase and took out a digital recorder, which he placed on the table and turned on. “Now, I'm not interested in pursuing the Seattle PD for being incompetent, or for putting my personal safety at risk. I just want to make sure I'm not turned into some sort of scapegoat by someone looking to cover his own ass. That's all.” Fritz and Taguchi exchanged a look, and I knew that I'd won. Despite what they'd said, they were hoping to use the investigation to get something, some sort of angle that they could use to pry at the Bertoli family. They weren't going to get that from me. Fritz sighed and opened his case file. “All right then, Miss Bertoli, can you tell me . . .” The interview took two hours, and at the end, I could see that both cops were cracking. Each time they strayed from anything other than the time surrounding when Vincent was killed, Dominic was there, shutting them down. They tried tricking me. They tried cajoling. In the end, they were both nearly crying, they were so frustrated. I realized that Dominic was right. Fritz and Taguchi knew what had happened. They knew that Mom had driven her Maserati in the area of the fire. They didn't have a shot of the license plate though, because of a supposed weird trick of light that didn't allow the traffic cameras to get a clear image. They knew that a Beretta had been used to shoot Drake. They knew that Drake had also fired his own pistol, having dug a bullet out of the burned wall. They knew that someone had been strapped to a table. They were sure I'd been kidnapped, and they were sure of so many things. They knew. They knew. But they couldn't prove a damn thing. Maybe in the future, if Daniel's DNA was ever logged, they'd be able to fix him to the crime scene. Maybe, if some cop wanted to track it down and some prosecutor was willing to run the risk of taking a man who killed a multiple murderer to trial. But until then . . . they could prove nothing. The afternoon sun was low in the sky, the day still bright and clear when I walked out of police headquarters with Dominic. Uncle Carlo dropped us off to head to work, promising that he'd send a car if we wanted it afterward. “You handled yourself like a pro in there, Miss Bertoli. Sure you haven't done this before?”

I smiled and looked at Dominic out of the corner of my eyes. “Now, Dominic, after all that talk you gave me about suspecting, knowing, and proving, are you really going to ask me to confirm something to you?” He chuckled and shook his head. “No, not at all. But if I may say, Miss Bertoli, you have the guts and brains of your father and uncle. If your cousins don't want to take over the family business, you might entertain the idea of doing so yourself.” I shook my head, still smiling. “No thanks. I'm perfectly happy being a budding artist. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to take the public transportation back home. It's been a long time since I felt safe doing that, and I'm going to enjoy the experience.”

CHAPTER 26

ADRIANA

out of place wearing the blue cocktail dress. It had been so long. “Mom, I I felt wish we could skip this,” I muttered as she fussed with my hair. “It's a family

dinner, not a dinner with the President.”

“It's your engagement dinner, sweetie. Besides, Carlo's boys came back from college for this. And you might as well humor Carlo. I know he's been looking forward to this part of your life for years. I bet he already has a speech all prepared for your reception.” Mom was wearing a nearly identical dress in deep wine red with her best heels. “To tell you the truth, I've been looking forward to it too. Actually, if I remember right, Carlo now owes me a dollar, too.” “Oh, why's that?” Mom blushed, then laughed. “When Tomasso was born, you were still only two, so you probably don't remember, but Johnny and Carlo, they made a bet as to which of their children would get married first. With Tommy and Angelo growing up so handsome, and you being not so much a social butterfly as just independent, I was wondering for a while.” “Tommy and Angelo aren't social butterflies, Mom,” I replied with a laugh. “They're players, maybe even more than Daniel was.” “And look how that turned out,” Mom reminded me. “You have to admit that it kind of caught all of us, you included, by surprise.” “Surprise? Sure,” I said, picking the string of pearls up from my changing table and putting them on. It felt nice to be back in my old room, and not the interior safe room I had been using. For one, I had windows and light. “But in a lot of ways, it kinda feels like fate, if you know what I mean.” “I do,” Mom said. “You two were good friends when you were little. Even back then, he looked out for you when other people might try and tease or make fun of you. I guess in that way, things never changed.” We left my room and went downstairs to the grand dining room. It wasn't used

often. After all, the table could hold twenty-four, but with Carlo, Mom, Tommy, Angelo, Daniel and myself, it was more than the normal dining room table could hold too. “You know, Mom, we need to get a smaller table, or maybe something we could do outside. Say, something for twelve or so?” “Why?” Mom said with a grin. “Give it a few years, and there'll be enough for more of the table to be filled. What with Tommy and Angelo eventually finding girlfriends, and then your . . .” “Whoa Mom, talking children already?” I asked, flabbergasted. “A little early to be talking about that, isn't it?” “It kind of happens when you get married, especially as amorous as you two are,” Mom replied, her smile widening until it was nearly laughter. “But I'm not trying to pressure you. Just saying.” “We can discuss that later, Mom. Let's get me through college first.” I took my seat at the table, second from the right side. We were following a pretty formal arrangement, with Carlo and Mom at the head of the table. Daniel would be to the immediate right, next to Carlo, while I would sit beside him. Tomasso and Angelo would sit across from us, Tomasso closest to the corner. All the men were wearing suits, and I had to remind myself that I was in company because Daniel looked so handsome. The bruises had faded, the bandages had come off, and while he was sporting an impressive new scar on his shoulder, he was back to his normal self. “You look beautiful,” he whispered to me as I took my seat, causing me to blush slightly. “The sentiment's returned,” I whispered back, and cleared my throat, looking at Uncle Carlo. “Sorry.” “No reason to apologize, Bella,” Carlo said. “Before we sit, I'd like to offer a toast to you and Daniel. Despite the roadblocks, most of which I will admit I was more than responsible for, you two found love. Bella, for years I wanted you to find the perfect man, when I never realized that he was already right in our house. Salud.” Everyone raised their glasses, and we took a sip. Carlo continued. “Daniel, I already apologized to you in private, but I think that deserves a repeating here and now. You came to my house, and you have lived your entire life as an honorable man— even when I didn't realize it. You fought for, you bled for, and more importantly, you have loved this family. It is my honor, and I most humbly request that you accept my blessing on the engagement between you and Bella, and I offer you a place in our family.” “It is my honor to accept, Godfather,” Daniel replied, his face shining. “If Mrs.

Bertoli also offers me the same, of course. No offense, but it's her daughter, after all.” We all laughed as Mom raised her glass and the toasts were complete. We took a seat, and Carlo lifted the lid on the serving platter, a beautiful roast that was certainly not in the Italian tradition. “What's this?” I asked, surprised. “I'd expected something more . . . Italian.” Tommy laughed and set his wine glass down. He looked a lot like Dad did when he was young, with thick, lustrous brown hair that had just a hint of wave, hazel eyes, and a thick build that reminded me a little bit of a wrestler or bodybuilder. He didn't have Dad's height, though, topping out at only five foot ten. Still, his good looks and natural charm let him be quite the ladies' man. “We can enjoy some sophistication from the other cultures that are going to make up our family, can we not?” he asked in his accentless voice. While Carlo had hung onto his Italian accent, Tommy's only came out when he spoke Italian. “Of course, I tried to convince Papa here to do haggis and sauerkraut, but that was a no go.” “That's good, Tommy. I'd hate to drink you under the table again,” Daniel teased back, smiling. “Remember that trip to Vancouver?” Tommy's smile disappeared, and he set his glass down. Mom laughed. “It's going to take some getting used to, Daniel being able to talk back to you two. I'm actually glad. Gives you someone your age who won't care about telling you when you two get out of line.” Angelo nodded, not happy but accepting it. He'd always been the baby of the family, and at nineteen, was just coming into his adult body. “Honestly though, it is surprising that you'd be the first of us to settle down, Daniel. Not that you aren't a great guy, but just . . . you were pretty one-track minded. Well, two tracks I guess.” “I still am,” Daniel replied. “Actually, I'll whittle it down more now. I'm one-track minded. What can I do to make and keep Adriana happy?” “And that is a mantra that I think you should live by the rest of your days,” Uncle Carlo said, taking the carving knife and slicing up the roast. “In fact, Daniel, I also wanted to tell you something else tonight. I thought I'd save it for after dinner, but why not now?” “What is it, sir?” Daniel asked, a bit concerned. I shot Mom a questioning glance, and she returned it with a shrug. She had no idea what was going on. “Daniel, I ask much of my men, especially my enforcers. And while you obviously proved your dedication and courage with rescuing Bella, you still showed a rather disturbing streak of not obeying orders. And that, I can't have. So . . . you're fired.”

“What?” Daniel, Mom, and I all said at nearly the same time. I added, despite the fact that Daniel and I had talked about this exact subject with Carmen in her apartment, “Uncle Carlo, that's not fair!” Carlo held up his hands until we quieted down. “Will you let me finish? Daniel, you're fired as an enforcer. However, I did have a discussion with Pietro, and he thought of a new way that the Bertoli family could expand our enterprises without running afoul of the law. So, we're going to look at starting a private security firm. Of course, it's going to start relatively small—bodyguards, security escorts, stuff like that. But, I think with the right man in charge of the company, it could grow to be quite profitable. Daniel, can you think of anyone who might be good at this?” “It might need a team, sir,” Daniel said, his smile returning. “After all, someone would need to stay behind and run the office side of things while others are running all over the place pretending to be Kevin Costner.” “God, that movie sucked,” Angelo grumped, then took a bite of his roast. “At least the roast is good.” Carlo ignored his youngest son and nodded in agreement with Daniel. “Oh, of course. I was thinking . . . maybe a staff of two or three to start? President, secretary, and then the field operatives? Also, I wouldn't want to risk the money all myself, of course. I was thinking a man who might be willing to buy in fifty-fifty with me? That'd make him co-owner and managing partner, of course.” Daniel chewed his roast and nodded. “I can think of some names. Let's talk after dinner.” “Tomorrow,” I interjected. “You two can talk business tomorrow. Tonight, it's all about family, remember?” AFTER A LATE DESSERT, DANIEL AND I WENT BACK TO THE DINING ROOM ARM IN ARM WHILE THE REST OF my family scattered to their own bedrooms. “You know, I nearly punched Angelo when he said he and Tommy decided to hire Genesis to sing at our wedding,” I said, causing Daniel to laugh. “Well, I was going to.” “I know you were,” he replied, patting my hand which was entwined in his arm. “I'm still not sure if he knows you aren't really going to castrate him.” “He'd make a good castrata,” I said with a giggle. “He's got such a good singing voice. You know, he's used that at least once to get into a girl's pants.” “Hmm, maybe I should try that,” Daniel said, stopping. He shook his head and turned me to face him. “Adriana, would you give me the honor of a dance?” “Here?” I asked, surprised. “It's the middle of the dining room.”

He went over to the recessed nook where a stereo system had been installed. It was a bit older. It used CDs for the most part, but it had good quality, and when I heard the beautiful strains of Puccini, my heart melted. “How'd you know?” I asked as he crossed the floor to me. “I've always loved Puccini at the balls.” “We were meant to be together. All those little things you mentioned, I never forgot them, even when I pretended to everyone that I had,” Daniel said, taking me in his arms. “Sometimes, I even believed that lie. But the little things, like Puccini, or that you prefer to sleep on your left side, I never really forgot. Now I don't need to tell myself to forget anymore. I can just love you.” We started moving slowly in a dance that wasn't classical in the strict sense. Of course, I'd had lessons. I knew how to waltz and tango and foxtrot and all that other stuff. But Daniel hadn't, and instead he moved with a natural, flowing grace, the two of us making it up as we went along. My feet felt light on the floor, and I glided across the polished wood, and when I saw Mom stick her head in about halfway through some music from La Boehme, she smiled and closed the door behind her, turning the lock and making sure we were undisturbed. I leaned in closer to Daniel, letting my head rest on his chest. “Daniel?” “Yes, Ade?” “Take me . . .” Daniel surprised and thrilled me by spinning me around and picking me up, carrying me over to the table before setting me down. “Daniel!” “We had dinner here. I think this is a great place for a real dessert too,” he growled, his hands running over the satin of my dress and cupping my ass. “You don't know how sexy you look in this damn thing.” His hands were insistent, caressing my body even as he started to peel my dress off, his mouth claiming mine in a fierce, possessive kiss that left me breathless. “Whew, am I going to get this every time we have to take a few days off from sex?” I teased when I could breathe again. I slid my hands inside his suit jacket and slid it off his broad shoulders, starting to undress him as he was undressing me. “If so, I'm going to have to call a one-week pause right before our honeymoon.” “Why?” “So you can rock my world.” I laughed, grabbing hold of the two halves of his shirt and yanking. Buttons flew off, clattering across the table to drop to the floor, and I darted my head forward, kissing and licking the skin of his chest. It'd been over a week since we had a chance to make love, first with recovery from his injuries, then dealing with the cops, before finally just getting caught up in everything, including

my cousins coming back from college to visit. I was hungry, and not for gelato. Daniel ripped his tie off, leaving him in just his suit pants as he hiked my dress up, lifting it above my waist as our fiery passion overcame our hesitancy and desire to hold back and make it last. There would be time for that later. Pushing away from Daniel, I gave him my sexiest look and slid off the table, turning around and bending over. “Take me.” I trembled as he lifted my dress all the way up again, exposing my ass to the night air. The weather was starting to cool off some, fall was coming, and I felt goosebumps break out on my skin, delicious and sensitive. “Sexy.” I felt heat rising to my face, and I looked back at Daniel's appreciative gaze. “I was kinda hoping I'd get lucky tonight.” “Grab the table and don't turn around,” he replied, his blue eyes blazing with desire, “and you'll get lucky for sure.” I did as he said, trying to grip what I could on the table as I felt him run his hands over the exposed curves of my hips and ass, shifting around until I felt his warm breath on my skin. He lifted my panties out of the way, and before I could take a breath, his tongue darted in between my pussy lips, quick and rapier-like, stabbing me open and thrilling me. His nimble tongue snaked deep inside, licking my inner folds and setting my nerves on fire with pleasure. I was vulnerable, with his hands pressing my thighs into the table and his weight behind me, but I didn't want to move. I was secure and safe with him, protected. The aroma of my arousal came to my nose, and I trembled, feeling my orgasm building inside me. I pushed back, burying my ass into his face as he licked and tasted me, desperate for more. “Dan . . . oh Dan . . . fuck me baby. Make me come.” I couldn't make out his mumbled reply, but he brought his right hand between my legs, gathering some of my moisture before finding the hard nub of my clit and rubbing it in a feather-light stroke. My eyes flew open, and it felt so good I felt like my heart would explode. My fingers clawed at the table as I trembled on the edge of coming, but he kept me frozen there, caught in agonizing ecstasy, until I couldn't take it any longer. “Please . . ." “As you wish,” I think he said, his tongue leaving my pussy to quickly stroke against my clit, the sensation pushing me over the edge. My feet curled up off the ground and my body convulsed, thick, guttural moans ripping from my chest as I came. I can't say it was the biggest orgasm I'd ever had, because each time Daniel and I made love, each orgasm felt like the biggest, and each one was completely different. This was almost relaxing, forcing me to let go and give in to him and to

our love. I was just starting to come down to earth again when I felt him behind me, and the sound of him opening his zipper came through over the sound of Puccini that was still playing on the stereo. It had nearly filtered out of my consciousness when he was feasting on me, but now, with the head of his cock pressing against me, I was aware of everything, from the sound of the violins and horns to the weave of the tablecloth underneath me, but most of all, the blunt tip of his massive cock at my entrance. “Give yourself to me, Adriana. Show me what you want.” I lowered my feet back down, happy for the high heels, which let my legs stretch up enough that I could push back, impaling myself on him and filling my heart with happiness. I kept pushing, not caring if I was being stretched or about the slight edge of pain that came from having him so deep inside me again after such a long time without him, just knowing that I needed that connection, that completion. I whimpered when I felt my ass tickled by the soft tuft of trimmed hair at the base of his cock, and I wept softly in joy. “That . . . that's what I want.” He took my waist in his hands and pulled back, pausing for a moment, only the head of his cock inside me before thrusting back in, driving me against the table with his force and passion. He had gone without sex for that time too, and he was on the edge of losing control. I had never felt sexier, knowing that it was me who was making this wonderful man overcome with lust. Daniel pounded into me, my hips pressed into the hundred-year-old oak of the table as Puccini's music sang about love and romance and the mysteries of the world. The impact of each thrust shook the table, and I was swept away on the wave of his desire. Throwing my head back, I cried out, tears of happiness trickling down my face as he grabbed a handful of my hair and kept going, his breath huffing in and out of his chest. He let go of my waist, and suddenly, a small crack filled the air as he smacked my ass, the heat and sting mixing with the heady explosions of pleasure inside me, driving me insensate and wild. I was overloaded, my body clenching and pulsing with wave after wave of pleasure as Daniel's cock filled me over and over. Another orgasm built within me, and I threw my all back into him, trying to match him thrust for thrust until we were overwhelmed. I was coming, so hard I couldn't even make a noise, and my breath was locked in my chest as my entire body rushed higher and higher, until I was almost certain that I would die due to being unable to breathe. I didn't care—it felt so great, and I was almost disappointed when air flooded back into my lungs and time returned to the world. I was drained, my legs shaky and my throat raw from crying out, even though I didn't know I had been doing it. I sagged against the table, sweat making my dress stick to me and my chest heaving in long, shuddering gasps. “Tell me it feels better

the more we do this.” “I don't know,” Daniel asked, “but we have the rest of our lives to find out. Shall we?” “Let's.”

EPILOGUE ADRIANA - ONE YEAR LATER

“Y ou're working for whom?”

Daniel checked his Beretta and shrugged, making sure his suit was ready for work. “Come on, honey. Just because we don't like his music, it's not his fault. That would be like blaming Gaga for Tommy's drunken dancing at our reception. You didn't seem to get mad at her though. In fact, if I remember right, you were pretty buzzed when she went to Carlo's house for dinner with the family.” I had to admit, going to the family manor to have dinner with a Grammy award winner was a pretty cool experience, especially coupled with the fact that she had raved about my artwork. Now, I was only six months from graduation and I already had five orders for pieces. “Still . . . Phil Collins?” Daniel laughed and pulled his jacket on. “Sweetheart, it's for one night only. He's flying in town for the environmental awards dinner the governor is holding and flying out immediately afterward. It's an easy five grand. He's just making a speech and then glad-handing.” I grumbled, but nodded. “Okay, okay. At least he's not singing, and you did get me a seat at the table.” “Exactly,” Daniel said with a smile. “Just think—how many millions of dollars will be surrounding you, all, I'm sure, eager to meet the artist who is catching the attention of the entertainment set? Why, if you play this right, you might end up meeting Banksy.” “Ha ha ha,” I replied, wincing afterward. “Ouch, kiddo, hold on there.” Daniel came over and ran his hand over my now noticeable baby bump, his face in a sort of soft awe. “He's getting big.” “He's going to be like his daddy, I'm sure of it,” I said, feeling the baby inside my womb shift again before settling down in a comfortable position. “Mom says she hopes he has my hair though. I think she just wants the redhead gene to get passed down another generation.”

“I was thinking maybe this one could be blond, and then our second can be a redhead. A girl, with beautiful green eyes like her mother,” Daniel said softly, wrapping his arms around me and hugging me carefully. We still made love often. The doctor had very clearly said it wouldn't hurt the baby. We just had to be more creative with how we did it. “You are the most romantic man in the world, you know that?” I replied, kissing his nose, then his lips. Our kiss deepened, until we let go, both of us sighing, and Daniel discreetly reached down to readjust himself in his pants. It was those little things—I don't even know if he did them consciously—that helped me still feel beautiful even as my body changed. “It's easy when I'm married to the world's most beautiful woman,” he said, his eyes open and honest. That, more than anything else, helped me. In the nearly eight months since opening Neiman Security Consultants, he'd been able to be bodyguard or consultant to some of the world's most famous. He'd guarded pop stars, media personalities, models, politicians and businessmen all over the Pacific Northwest, and still, I could see in his eyes that none of the women he met measured up to me. The one-time player and enforcer for the Bertoli Crime Family had become the most dedicated husband in the world, and I couldn't be happier. “So what are you going to do in between now and when Carlo comes around to take you to the benefit?” I chuckled and stepped back, straightening his tie. He was in his blue suit, with a black tie and white shirt—very conservative, but very imposing. He knew with that look, his Terminator act was easy to do, and that was half the job. “Carmen's going to come over about three o'clock and help me with a bath and massage. She says she's got a new oil that's guaranteed to not give me stretch marks when our little one gets bigger. I don't know if I believe it, but it can't hurt.” “How is school going for her, anyway?” Daniel asked, sitting down and putting on his shoes. She'd recently gone back to dance school, and was working part-time as a massage therapist in a rehabilitation clinic Uncle Carlo was invested in. “Well, I hope?” “She's doing great, she says. And she's happy that Carlo is sponsoring her while she works part-time at the clinic. She didn't think he was being serious.” “You know him. If he says something, he usually means it,” Daniel said, finishing his left shoe and going to his right. “Especially since the clinic lets his men do rehabilitation and other things for free. No hanky-panky though.” “Still, I bet the boys love getting a back rub from her,” I said with a laugh. “She's got good hands. Among other things men like.” Daniel finished his shoes and got up, coming over and kissing me again. “Well, tell her that I think she's doing an amazing job so far and wish her the best.”

“I love you.” “I love you too. Unfortunately, gotta go.” I nodded and kissed his nose again. “Say hello to Phil for me, and that I'm looking forward to tonight. If anything, you've got some interesting stories you can tell him about us and his music.” Daniel laughed and walked to the door of our house. It wasn't anywhere near the size of the Bertoli estate, but it was our own. He walked out, closing the door behind him. The early fall day was brisk, but he showed no signs as he got into his brand new work Mercedes sedan and started it up. He waved, and I waved back. “I love you. Both of us," I whispered to myself. Daniel drove off, and I watched him go before walking back to my studio in the back of the house. Carmen was due in an hour or so, and in the meantime, there was painting I wanted to do. A painting full of light. And joy. And most of all, love.

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Don’t forget to join my mailing list and receive 4 FREE ebooks! You’ll also be the first to know of new releases, sales, and giveaways. Read on for the Bonus Novel Off Limits. Also, at the end, you get a preview of the first couple chapters of Reckless, Book 2 of the Bertoli Crime Family Trilogy.

BONUS: OFF LIMITS A BAD BOY ROMANCE BY LAUREN LANDISH

She’s Daddy's little girl, but I’ll make her a rebel. They call me a killer — a felon. I spent five years in a medium security sh*thole. I swore I'd stay out of trouble, but when I met Abby Rawlings, all bets were off. From the moment I laid eyes on her, I knew I had to have her. But Daddy dearest is standing in my way. He thinks I'm no good for her, and he's declared her Off Limits. Well, I don't give a damn. In the end, I'll make her mine...

Chapter 1 Abby

"AND SO, AS OUR COUNTRY FACES THE CHALLENGES OF A NEW GENERATION, IT’S STILL IMPORTANT FOR US to remember the values that brought us here. Hard work. Family. And most of all, our faith, both in each other and in God." I tried not to sigh too much. I knew that it wasn't what Daddy would want. I hated this sort of political stuff, especially since I thought that the man speaking had absolutely no idea how to lead a dog pound, let alone a higher office. Still, my sigh caught Brittany's attention. She leaned over to whisper in my ear. "Abigail, come now. Try not to fidget so much." "Brittany, nobody's paying attention to me. Everyone's paying attention to Greg," I replied, also keeping my voice low. I may not have wanted to be there, but I still was

doing my best to respect Daddy's wishes. "He's the man of the hour." "Still, people are going to look. And I've asked you before; in public, please call me Mother," Brittany said. Actually, she wasn't my real mother. Brittany Worthington-Rawlings had married my father when I was thirteen years old. After his first marriage was cut short by a traffic accident that took both my mother and my older sister's lives when I was three, Patrick Rawlings had raised me by himself for nearly eight years before marrying again—this time not so much for love, but for what could best be termed advantage. Tired of working so hard and still being stiffed by those in established families with society connections, Daddy married Brittany Worthington. From one of the long-established families in Atlanta, she'd fallen on hard times financially when her first husband had been convicted of insider trading and sentenced to five years in jail. She hadn't signed any sort of prenuptial, so their bank accounts and estate were considered one by the IRS and the SEC, which cleaned her and her family's hundred-year-old fortune out to the tune of tens of millions of dollars. She hadn't exactly been living on the streets. People from Brittany's roots don't end up on the streets, but she had been forced into societal situations that she didn't want to be in, such as not going to the Master's Gold Tournament because she couldn’t afford to be even a basic patron. For both of them, the marriage had been advantageous. At first, I'd been quietly opposed, because my daddy shouldn’t marry for anything but the most noble of intentions. I'd held my tongue, however, and I had to admit that as the years went on, they did seem to care for each other, even if there was never quite the amount of tenderness and affection I had seen in the old home videos of Daddy and Mom. Of course, both also got what they wanted, too. Daddy got access to the society connections that had eluded him for years, and Brittany got access to Daddy's bank account, free and clear of the government. But, it never really seemed like she wanted to be the mother to a nearly teenage girl, and for that, she and I didn't really get along all that well. She never went to any of my school events, parent teacher conferences or anything of the sort. The only time my presence was really important was when she wanted me to grow into a young society woman that she could mold into the image she wanted. It was the last thing I wanted, but there wasn't much I could do about it. Around the house, at least, we could avoid each other as we were three people living in a house that had five bedrooms along with ten acres of property. As long as we weren't in public, that suited both of us just fine. On the positive side, though, Daddy still kept a bit of his blue collar roots, and at least at home, he didn't mind if I acted like a bit of a tomboy. I could wear shorts and t-shirts and go hang out in the back yard however I wanted. On the weekends or when he had free time, Daddy and I would go riding our ATV's, go fishing at the river that ran through the back of the

property, and all sorts of things that we both enjoyed. In public, though, he let Brittany have a much freer hand in her critiques of how I acted. "Honey, I spent too many years breaking my back because too many people around these here parts still think who you know is more important than what you know. They'd let me build their houses, their office buildings, hell, even their country clubs, and they never let me inside, no matter how much money I had. These people have ways of doing things that I don't know, or perhaps I do, but I know that there's no way I could get through those ways on my own. Brittany does know, and she can get through, and I want you to learn from her. Because I’ll be damned if I'm going to let my daughter scrap and scrape the way I had to before you were born." Regardless of the reason for his thoughts, Daddy didn't say anything as Brittany corrected me for the tenth time that night. At least I didn't have a stepbrother or stepsister to go along with the whole deal, a sibling who would know all of the rules that I didn't—or did know but didn't want to follow. There was nobody my age, at least, to give me the hairy eyeball. That would have been too much. "Abigail, you must learn the most basic lesson. In public, you’re always being watched, and you must always be watching as well," Brittany whispered, continuing her lesson. "For example, did you notice that Henrietta DeKalb has already drunk four glasses of wine during her husband's speech?" Henrietta DeKalb, wife of Gregory DeKalb, was one of Brittany's frequent points of observation. There seemed to be some sort of long-term animosity between the women, but I never quite understood what it was. For all I knew, it stretched back generations. That was the way things ran in this level of society. Still, for all of Brittany's pointed commentary, I didn't really care if Henrietta was sucking down Old English Malt Liquor straight from the bottle, or if she was primly sipping Darjeeling from a china cup. I just didn't want to be there. Unfortunately for me, Daddy's desire to be accepted into the upper crust of central Georgia society meant I had to endure such events on a much more frequent basis than I'd have liked. This night, we got to listen as Greg DeKalb gave a campaign speech in front of the *ahem* fraternal club that both he and Daddy now belonged to. Daddy had been accepted only after his marriage to Brittany. Greg was running for Governor in the next election, and he was certainly hitting up his cronies at the club for funds. While I saw nothing wrong with trying to get money from his friends, the dog and pony show that was this speech and dinner just dragged on my nerves. Seriously, why not just go around the golf course while shooting a round and ask for support? At least then I wouldn't have to sit through it. Thankfully, Greg's speech went on for just another few minutes before he wrapped it up, and the two hundred dollar per plate dinner started. I glanced at the ornate grandfather clock against the wall near where we were sitting, stifling a curse that

certainly would have earned another rebuke from Brittany. Once the lights rose, I turned to Daddy, pointedly ignoring her. "Daddy, I understand that this is something you wanted to do, but would you mind if I go?" "Go where, honey?" Daddy asked, reaching for his knife. Two hundred dollars was a lot of money for a steak dinner, and inwardly, I was thinking that for the price of just one of the three plates Daddy had paid for, he and I could have had a lot more fun doing something else. "Dinner just started, and if you go now, you'll miss dessert. It's supposed to be the famous bourbon vanilla pudding. Since you're over twenty-one now, I don't think it'd be too bad if you had some." I looked down at my steak, which despite the price tag looked like something I could have gotten at Outback, and tried not to push it away. It's not that I have anything against a good steak. In fact, I'll eat just about any meat you put in front of me, but that night, I didn't want to even touch it. What I wanted to do was get out of that club. Daddy's marriage to Brittany had certainly solved some problems for him, and I gave him credit. He didn't let it change who he was at the core. But there were still issues that I didn't like. First of all, it made Daddy even more desperate to be accepted in this upper class of Atlanta society, and as anyone who's been to high school in the past generation can tell you, the worst way to be accepted was to act desperate for acceptance. The society types begrudged Daddy a seat at their table, partly because of Brittany's connections but also because of his money. He'd built so many houses and owned enough housing subdivisions that he could have ignored them, but he didn't, probably because of his roots in the working class. He wanted to show them up and at the same time force them to accept him after they'd ignored him for so long. But, the biggest problem I had with Daddy's marriage to Brittany was that it made his overprotective streak even more stifling. When Mom and my sister, Connie, had been killed, Daddy and I only had each other. For eight years, Daddy protected and cared for me, and I was the only girl in his life. I was all he needed, and he was all I needed. We took care of each other, like the times I'd make Kraft mac & cheese with cubed ham on the nights that he had to be at the job site late. He'd come home to a warm meal, and I'd already fed myself and cleaned up everything but his bowl, and if I was awake, I'd be either doing my homework or watching a bit of TV like a good girl should. When Brittany came along, though, Daddy had gone from merely making sure I didn't get hurt, to letting Brittany set all sorts of rules about where I could go, what places were good enough for me, and worst of all, which people I could and could not see. She wanted me to carry on the society connections that she had given Daddy access to, including making sure I met up with the right kind of boys. Most of them were snobbish losers, and more than a few I felt even I could kick their

asses. It was the biggest source of conflict within my family, and now that I was nearly twenty-three, I was sick of it. "Daddy, one of the girls from my European history class invited me to an art exhibition, and I told her I’d go. I didn't know at the time about tonight. But if I leave now, I can meet up with her in time for the opening event," I said, trying not to put a hint of whine into my voice. I was a senior at Georgia Tech, for God's sake! "I don't know, honey," Daddy said, looking at me worriedly. "Who is it?" "The artist? I'm not really sure. I think it's someone from Germany," I said, blatantly avoiding the question since I already knew the reaction. I'd known Brittany long enough to practically read her mind on this subject. "I think what Patrick wants to know is, which friend are we talking about?" Brittany asked. I didn't really like Brittany, but I didn't hate her either. She thought she was doing the right thing for me, even if she did treat it more as a duty than as a relationship. I could respect that, even if I didn't like it. I’d promised myself when I was younger that when or if I had a little girl, I would be more emotionally involved in her life than Brittany was in mine. "Is it Arianna?" "No," I grumbled, not lying. I was raised better than that, and even if I was upset with Brittany or didn't like what she sometimes said, I wasn't going to lie, especially in front of Daddy. "Who is it, Abby?" He asked, slicing through his steak. He dipped it in his little cup of sauce, chewing happily. Ever since his cardiac incident a few years prior, he'd been warned by his doctor to limit his red meat intake, and while he did his best, he relished opportunities like this to cut loose a little bit. "Shawnie," I answered. Before Brittany could object, I started in on my defense. “She's really doing well, and her grades are good. We both graduate this year, and she's looking at going to grad school far away. So this may be one of the last chances the two of us have to do a social event together. Besides, the exhibition is near the bus stop, and I know that I can . . .” "No," Brittany said, cutting me off. "Not with that girl. And certainly not after sunset. Do you know what sort of places girls like that go to?" For the first time, my feelings drifted from annoyance toward anger. Brittany had never given Shawnie a chance for quite a few reasons. First of all, Shawnie was from the wrong part of the country, an out-of-state girl from the Sand Hill section of South Carolina. She'd grown up not just blue collar, but no collar at all, raised by her grandmother in Section Eight housing after her mother had abandoned her and her father went to jail. Second of all, Shawnie was independent, and fiercely so. She'd earned a full ride scholarship to Georgia Tech and was majoring in aeronautical engineering. It was only because she still had to take some core classes

that we'd met at all, first by chance in a freshman English class, where we'd clicked despite the differences in our backgrounds, and then this year by design in European history, a core course that we'd both put off for far too long. "Brittany, Shawnie's a good girl," I repeated, doing my best to keep calm. At least being angry took the whine out of my voice. "She's never been in trouble, and she's as smart as can be. A lot smarter than some of the people in this room, in my opinion. Besides, this exhibition is at The High. It's a high-class sort of event, it's close to campus, and it's going to be attended by a lot of the influential people." "I'm sure Shawnie is a fine girl," Daddy said, trying to prevent a public argument between his wife and his daughter, "but your mother is right, honey. It's already after dark, and The High is in Midtown, where a lot of unsavory types go. Georgia Tech is a great school, and I'm proud that you're going there, but you have to admit that Midtown gets a little rowdy after dark. I'm sure that Shawnie wouldn't try to get you in trouble, but trouble could just find you in that part of town. I'm sorry, but the answer's no. Maybe next time." "I'm twenty-two years old," I said, trying not to raise my voice. "I have to grow and get out on my own sometime. And I'll be with a friend. It's not like I'm saying I want to go to a frat party at Morehouse or something," I added, looking pointedly at Brittany. "Not that I couldn't be safe there as well." "My answer's no, Abigail," Daddy said, setting his fork down and looking at me evenly. "Now sit down, and I don't want to hear about this anymore. You can go with your friend to this exhibition over the weekend or something. During the day." Daddy never used my full name unless he was putting his foot down, and I could count on one hand the number of times he'd had to use that tone with me over the past year. Most of the time, I was Honey or Sweetie or Abby. When he called me Abigail, however, I knew not to try and change his mind anymore. He was decided. In normal instances, I would have just picked up my knife and fork and started eating my steak, trying to not gnaw at it in frustration. This time, something was different. Perhaps it was that I was a senior. Maybe it was because I knew that my best friend had invited me, knowing that this could be the last time the two of us really had one of the social events she liked to call "opening our eyes to new possibilities." Hell, maybe it was Greg DeKalb's speech, which was so much the antithesis of what I personally believed that I couldn't stand it. In the end, I didn't know what came over me, but suddenly, I was on my feet, my purse in my hand. "No, not this time, Daddy. Shawnie's a good friend, and I’m going. Don't worry, I'll be home by eleven." I stormed away from the table, hoping that Brittany's society training and Daddy's desire to fit in with the one percent crowd would keep them from coming after me.

After all, regardless of how angry I was at them, I didn't want to hurt either of them. Still, I was going, and it would take someone physically restraining me to stop me. I may not stand up to Daddy often, but I’d inherited his stubborn streak along with his ears. In fact, he was just about the only person who could make me back down. As upset as I was, I didn't cry. I was proud of that fact, at least, as I left the club and walked down the street. Despite being called a fraternal club, the club didn't have much fraternity to it at all, and in fact, the nearest university was over two miles away, quite a feat in a city with over thirty campuses in the area. In another place, or if it had been founded later, it might have just been called a club or a society, but since it had been founded when that sort of term mattered, fraternal club it was, and fraternal club it remained, along with a separate women's auxiliary that did teas and raised funds for charities and sharpened the knives they stuck in each other's back when the other wasn't looking. Why these people didn't just ditch the club for membership at a country club where they could at least do some drinking or horseback riding or something to go along with their schmoozing, I never understood. Then again, most of them already belonged to at least one country club, so I guess it was a moot point. I'm in school to get my degree in biology and hopefully become a research nutritionist, not psychology. I didn't cry, but that didn't mean I was thinking clearly about what I was doing. Walking south, I thought I was headed for the nearest MARTA rail station, but I somehow got turned around, totally missing it. Looking around, I had no idea where I was, except that I was in an area I'd never seen before. "Great, just great," I said, muttering to myself. "Now what?" I reached into my purse, cursing when I remembered that I'd brought my tiny purse to the country club, the one that I never carried my smartphone in. It was the most socially acceptable of my handbags, which ranged from that up to the ubiquitous college student backpack that I preferred most of the time. I admit, I'm a bit of a tech geek, and the idea of playing with a six-and-a-half-inch screen just was too much fun to pass up. Unfortunately for me, my purse that had been deemed acceptable for the country club was much smaller, and I just never carried my phone in it. So instead of being able to call Shawnie or a cab or even check where the hell I was with my phone's GPS app, I was standing around in a dress, four-inch-high heels, and a purse that contained my driver's license, my GT student ID, a Rawlings Construction credit card that I was authorized to use, and thirty-eight dollars in cash. No change, of course, since ladies do not jingle. Sighing, I looked around and could see the Midtown skyline to my right. "Well, you haven't been doing all those spin classes for nothing," I said to myself, turning and

walking that way. "You can make it a couple of miles, even if you are in those sexy yet sensible high heels that you just had to wear because you were hoping against the odds to meet a cute guy tonight. Although the cutest guy you've seen so far tonight is Jason Lindbergh. Ugh." I'll admit, I have a bad habit of talking to myself when flustered, and had in fact been warned by teachers in school as I babbled answers to my tests out loud during tough finals. I'd even had to re-take my organic chemistry final in my professor's office because she said I gave half of the first section of the test away as I talked. I couldn't seem to stop it, though, and I knew that if I ever got what I wanted in life —a research lab of my own—my assistants would most likely have to wear earplugs most of the time. Maybe I'd equip them with little buzzers that I could use when I wanted their attention, although that seemed a little Pavlovian to me. About a mile into my walk, I was more lost than ever, still not sure at all where I was, or even all that certain if I was headed in the right direction. Midtown is one of the most identifiable parts of Atlanta, but that doesn't mean the massively decentralized city doesn't have areas that make you wonder who the hell laid out the map. My ankles were starting to ache a little too, not being used to high heels. Like I said earlier, I'm a bit of a tomboy, and if that means that I go around campus at GT wearing some New Balance running shoes instead of high heels like a lot of the Southern Belles do, too bad. I still somehow seemed to attract my fair share of attention from guys, even though I wasn't all that interested in any recently. Or, to put it more precisely, I hadn't found any that were all that interesting. In fact, it had been a while since I'd had a real date. My reputation had gotten around campus, and the fact that my father was Patrick Rawlings didn't help. I'll admit that Daddy was a bit overprotective, but he loves me, and I love him. He just had a bad habit of intimidating any of the potential boyfriends I brought home. At six foot two and still a solid two hundred and ten pounds, even in his late forties, with a work-weathered face and hands that were just as comfortable swinging a hammer as they were typing on a laptop or playing Barbie with his daughter, he scared a lot of guys off. I was thinking too much and not really looking where I was going, but I saw Piedmont Park up ahead. Grinning, I picked up the pace despite the pain in my feet. I knew that if I made it to the park, finding The High was easy. I knew the running tracks and the sports facility layout pretty well and could easily get through the park and onto one of the major streets that would take me to The High. So I entered the park and looked for the running path, which could steer me directly to the right exit. Unfortunately, being so focused on getting through the park, I forgot the number one rule of living in a city after dark: always keep aware of your surroundings. To hell with Brittany's rules. She'd never been downtown after dark without a security

escort in her entire life. I was halfway through the park, near a little cove of trees, when two guys approached me. Both of them looked like trouble. "Well, well, look what we've got here," one said. He was wearing Jordans and basketball gear, looking like he'd just come off the court or something, except for his bandana that was tied around his head, hiding his hair. "Hey, baby, you thinking you might need an escort through the park? It ain't safe after the sun goes down, you know." "No, thanks. I'm fine," I said, trying to play it cool. Don't show fear, don't show fear. They react to fear, I kept repeating to myself. "But have a good evening anyway." "Hey now, sweet thang," the other guy said, making me grimace at his horrible 'Dirty South' accent. "I don't think you have an option." "I would prefer not to have your company—no offense," I repeated. I turned around and walked away from them, trying not to run. At least, not until they came after me, but they were in regular shoes, while I was wearing unfamiliar high heels and a dress. They caught up with me before I could even scream properly, pushing me off the running path and into the grove of trees nearby. As I stumbled to the ground, my left ankle twisted, and I winced even as I hit the grass. "Get the fuck off me!" I grunted, trying not to let them get on top. One of them was trying to pin me, while the other was coming around and scanning the area to make sure we wouldn’t be interrupted. I tried to scream, but the one on top of me smacked me with his right hand, rocketing my head back and bouncing it off the turf. It wasn't all that hard, but it was hard enough to momentarily stun me. The next thing I knew, I felt his hands pushing my skirt up, and fear stabbed icily into my heart. I'd heard the statistics—most women my age have. Supposedly, one in four women my age doesn’t finish college without being sexually assaulted. I'd taken all the precautions, of course: not accepting drinks from guys I didn't trust, always going buddy system to the few parties I'd attended, and stuff like that. Still, the thought that I could be one of those four never crossed my mind until that instant, and I tried to fight harder, even though I knew it was useless. The guy outweighed me by at least forty pounds and already had me pretty well pinned. In that moment, though, just when I thought I couldn't do anything but give a good showing for myself before I was certainly beaten, most likely raped, and then killed, another man came out of the darkness, surprising the one playing lookout. I couldn't see his face very clearly. He was wearing a light hood despite the spring warmth, but I could see that he was pretty tall, and while not huge, he wasn't skinny either. He shoved the lookout into a nearby tree headfirst, his head bouncing off the tree with a rather hollow thunking sound, where he collapsed to the ground without even a struggle.

My near-rapist saw what happened to his companion and sprang up off me, his hands already up and swinging. He may have been skinny, but the guy was fast. He caught my unknown protector in the face with a decent punch that glanced off, following it with a kick while his back was turned. It sounded like he was wearing steel-toed boots, but the hooded man shrugged it off and kicked back with his foot, catching the guy squarely between the legs. He grabbed his very offended balls and dropped to his knees, his head thrown back and his throat making a sound something like the cross between a foghorn and a piccolo. My protector turned around and brought his right knee up in a hard arc, snapping the guy’s head back and flattening him out on the ground. The whole fight lasted fewer than ten seconds, during which I should have been scrambling to my feet and fleeing for my life. Instead, I found myself still lying on my back, my head reeling from the whole thing, stunned not only by my attackers but by the speed of the sudden turn of events. A strange, peaceful silence dropped over the whole area, and my savior stood looking down at the body under him. Turning to me, he held out his hand. "Do you need help getting to your feet? We should go and get you looked at." "No, I'm fine," I said, taking his hand and letting him help me up. He was strong, and he helped me up as lightly as if I'd been a small child. "Who are you?" "Dane. Dane Bell."

Chapter 2 Dane DESPITE THE FACT THAT IT WAS LATE SPRING, I WAS WEARING A HOODED SHIRT AS I WALKED THE STREETS. Walking the streets seemed to be the best way I'd found to deal with the stress and uncertainty of freedom. At Leavenworth, I'd spent too much time cooped up, being told what to do, and exactly how to do it. Why was I in prison? There was a simple answer: fuck the why. Why existed for people better than me. I was a prisoner. I didn't deserve a why. So now, freed from the confines of military prison, I walked, often for hours, starting each evening as the sun went down and sometimes lasting until midnight. As I walked, my mind would replay the frustrations of the day, driving my feet forward like an invisible mental lash. I could see in my mind the faces each time I handed my resume or application over to someone, the tightness that would come behind their eyes when they saw that I'd checked 'yes' on the box that asked if I'd ever been convicted of a felony, and the combination of fear and finality that would then come when they saw what I wrote on the line after that. That's one of the challenges of being convicted by court-martial. If I'd been

convicted of the same crime by the State of Georgia, I'd have gotten a parole officer, and the resources of said office. Now, I know it doesn't sound like much, but most parole officers know someone who knows someone who can get you a job. It may have been shoveling shit at some pig farm, but it’d be an actual job. The state system wants to at least make some sort of effort to rehabilitate its prisoners. It helps with keeping the streets safer—in theory, at least. And there's nothing wrong with shoveling shit. Someone has to do it, and I've done far worse in my years on this Earth. A lot worse. The military justice system doesn't have that sort of backup. Once your sentence is finished and you're discharged—with, of course, the mandatory DISHONORABLE DISCHARGE stamped at the top to hang around your neck like a scarlet letter for the rest of your life—you're on your own. It was like one of the other prisoners, a former aviation captain who'd been busted for sneaking in trophies from Afghanistan and was doing a two-year stretch once told me while we played cards one afternoon: "Uncle Sam, he's all about taking care of you when you're doing exactly what he wants you to do. Note, I didn't say do what the rules say to do, or do the right thing, but what Sam wants you do to. But as soon as you don't, Uncle Sam turns into Uncle Scrooge, and he doesn't give a fuck about you. Hell, look at the VA system. They fuck the guys who actually did good over so bad it's a fucking crime. How does that bode for us, the rejected stepchildren of Sam's brood? Bell, most of us? We've got no chance. No chance in hell once we get outside. That is, unless you want to be a mercenary. There's always someone out there with money and a need for those." I knew all I wanted was a chance, and I didn't want to be a hired gun either. Open the door a crack, and I'd kick it in the rest of the way and show whoever gave me that chance what I could do. Hell, I was at the point where I'd take anything. Garbage man, toilet scrubber, dishwasher, greeter at Wal-Mart, anything. Still, nearly three months after being released, all I had was a growing list of rejections. I can't even say rejection letters. I didn't warrant one of those. Just rejections, usually by silence. Those were the more polite ones. There were a few who sent me on my way with choice words. So I walked. It was cheap, and it helped the tension flow out until I could manage it enough to go back to the apartment and go to sleep, at least semi-fitfully, until five in the morning, when the dreams and nightmares would drive me out of bed, shivering and sweating despite the air conditioning that I kept cranked up to nearly frigid levels. Forty-five minutes of calisthenics and a shower before six thirty, and at seven o'clock I'd start the whole damn thing over, seven days a week. Well, except on Sundays. A lot of businesses didn't open early on Sundays, so I started my job hunting at ten in the morning instead. I wore a hood whenever I wasn't job hunting because, despite the fact that the

headlines had faded away and the chances were small, Atlanta was a militaryfriendly city in a military-friendly part of the country. Trainees coming to and leaving Fort Benning came in and out of Atlanta-Hartsfield airport nearly every day, escorted by their drill sergeants, some of whom were my age. These kids would get a day or two of leave if they could, and a lot of the other military members in the area would also come to Atlanta whenever they could. It made sense for a solider. Sure, Benning had a fine military town surrounding it, and for your average run of the mill distraction, that was fine, but Atlanta was the big city, with lots to do. So between that and the former military population of the city, there were enough people. The chances of my being recognized were just too damn high. I didn't need that sort of trouble. If I'd had another option, I would have lived someplace else, but my only lifeline was in Atlanta, so I stayed and looked for work. Still, I wore a hood until my hair grew out long enough that I didn't look ex-military. Unfortunately for me, my hair grows pretty slowly, and after three months, I still looked a lot like a soldier. As for my walking, I liked walking through Piedmont Park for a couple of reasons. Primarily, because it's green. Between the nearly uniform brown of Iraq and the gray of Leavenworth, I hadn't seen enough green in the past five years, and Piedmont gave me a chance to catch up. The lakes, the wide open grassy areas—all of it was comfortably far from my past. Secondly, Piedmont was conveniently less than a half-mile from the apartment I was using. I could use it day or night—until eleven PM, at least—rain or shine. The one day I'd taken to relax, I could even use a fishing pole I'd found in the apartment and go fishing in the lake there. I'd caught two largemouth bass before noon and ate like a king. The night that changed my life, though, I was walking through Piedmont Park because I was, quite frankly, despondent as all hell. I'd reached a milestone that day . . . rejection number two hundred. A perfect score. Two hundred applications, two hundred rejections. That's not even counting the people who didn't reply when I put in applications online. I'd lost count of those long ago. But two hundred times, I'd walked into an office, a store, or somewhere else with my head held high, trying to ask for a chance, and two hundred times, I'd been told no. About the only option left was to go to the Day Labor office, or maybe sit outside Home Depot with the homeless and illegal aliens who depended on under the table work to make it day to day. At least I wasn't homeless yet, I thought as I walked. Christopher Lake may have been an asshole, like a lot of people I knew from the military, but he was still my friend. The best friend I had, in fact. More importantly in the immediate sense, Chris was willing to let me crash at his apartment until he got back into town in a week. He'd even left me some money to help me get by and a fully stocked set of cupboards in the apartment. It had saved me more than once. I owed him everything and would always be grateful for that. Still, he was coming back from

Europe in a week, and I was living in a studio apartment. What I was going to do after he got back, I had no fucking idea. Concerns about my potential future homelessness vanished when I saw the two men dragging the girl into the tree line. Piedmont Park is dotted all over the place with these little mini groups of trees, not enough during the day to really hide what you're doing, but a good place to sit down and have a picnic or get out of the sun if you wanted to. At night, however, they provided just enough cover for all sorts of nefarious activities. My time in Leavenworth had made me pretty laissez-faire about the whole thing, but when I saw that, I reacted. Memories started to flash through my brain about what had gotten me into the mess I was in, and my hands balled into fists. Not again, I said to myself. Thankfully, the skills I'd learned in the military hadn't faded during my years in Leavenworth. If anything, they were sharper than ever, as some of the most skilled combatants I met had a problem following orders once off the battlefield. We'd shared ideas and sometimes even trained in the dim lights and the scattered moments when the guards weren't watching us. I was able to sneak up on the first attacker while both of them were distracted by the girl, who I had to give credit for fighting hard, despite the obvious bad odds she faced. Her hands were hooked into claws, and she was trying to fend off the guy on top of her by threatening to claw out his eyes. He backhanded her, her head bouncing off the turf just as I got close. Even the best fighter sometimes has luck on his side, and in my case, it was the fact that the angle I hit the first guy at sent him headfirst into the trunk of a tree. He dropped, and I started to turn to the other guy, but he was quick, quicker than I thought he'd be. His fist caught me in the mouth just as I was turning, jerking my head to the side. There was a momentary flash of white-hot pain, and I was pretty sure he'd cut me, probably on the ring he was wearing on his right hand. I rolled with the punch, however, and didn't take too much damage. He followed up the punch with a halfway decent kick that had a good amount of its power taken away by the fact that his pants were sagging damn near down around his knees. His pants bound up the extension of his hip so that all he did was turn me a bit more to the side. I went with it, kicking backward with a hard kick I'd been taught first from la savate, the French kicking martial art. It caught the guy square in his family jewels, dropping him before I followed up with a knee that put him to sleep. The first rule you learn in street combat is that there are no concepts of fairness or sportsmanship. The guy who goes into a street fight with codes such as chivalry or fair play will usually end up bleeding and possibly dying in the middle of the street, honorable or not. Besides, the guy had been trying to rape a girl and was wearing a metal ring, so it's not like he was deserving of a fair fight or mercy. As I stood above his laid out body, I was breathing hard, not from the exertion, but from the rush. It had been a long time since I'd tasted combat again, and I had to

admit the taste was sweeter than I wanted it to be. I'd lost myself in the haze of combat before, and I was surely damned if I did it again. And I didn't mean figuratively, either. I turned to the girl, who was still lying on the ground. She'd taken a pretty hard shot from the guy when they were struggling on the ground, and I wasn't surprised she was still a bit dazed. It takes longer than a lot of people think to recover from a hit to the head. Reaching out to her, I tried to keep my voice calm. I didn't tell her the bigger reason I wanted to get out of there was that I didn't want the cops involved, at least not with me around. If I could get the young woman up and out of the park, maybe she'd go to the cops on her own without dragging me into it. I didn't like my chances with the Atlanta police, regardless of whether I had the woman's statement to back me up. I just didn't trust them. "No, I'm fine," she said, taking my hand. Her skin was smooth and flawless, and a long-repressed part of me flared at the electric tingle of her fingers in my hand. I think she felt it too, because when she spoke again, her eyes were wide and her voice had the faintest hint of a tremor, although perhaps I'd imagined it. "Who are you?" "Dane. Dane Bell." The words were out of my mouth before I'd even thought about them, and inwardly, I started cursing myself for being a damn fool. The lights were dim. I still had my hood up. I doubted she had gotten a halfway decent look at my face. If I'd lied or just not answered, I could have disappeared into the night. But that touch . . . there was no way I'd have been able to resist that touch, even if it was just her hand in mine. It was like her fingertips cut through any defenses I had and left me totally defenseless. "Abby Rawlings. Uh, pleased to meet you." Her voice was like honey and magnolias, the sort of Southern lilt that would’ve turned my knees weak even before I'd spent five years in the exclusive company of men. I'd been a sucker for it ever since the first time I heard it. I came from South Dakota, where there was plenty of accent, but nothing like a Southern girl, and especially not Abby. It was the educated type of Southern, not backwoods cracker barrel that mangled grammar to the point of incomprehension, but instead just added a velvet touch to the vowels and polished the ends of certain words. I took my hand back and stepped back, ready to run, when she reached out again for me. "Stop, please." "I really should go," I said, looking around. I wasn't sure what scared me more: the fact that I'd just assaulted two men, or the fact that even in the deep shadows, this woman was affecting me in ways I wasn't sure I was ready for yet. I hadn't tested myself in that regard yet since being freed, and I wasn't sure if I could behave the way I needed to. "I . . . I really should." "Please, Dane. Walk me out at least. My . . . my ankle's a bit twisted, and my feet

are killing me," Abby said. The way she said ‘please’ was irresistible, a magnet that pulled me closer to her, unable to stop myself. "And . . . I’d feel safer too." "You don't even know me," I replied, but my feet couldn't seem to listen to my brain. Instead of turning and taking off like a bat out of hell, I stayed where I was while she found her purse and picked it up. We walked slowly back out onto the path, looking for all the world like two people taking a pleasant evening stroll and not a potential rape victim and the man who'd just beat the hell out of her attackers. "I'm not a very good man." "You just did the most noble thing I've ever seen someone do," Abby said simply. As I listened, I realized she was more than just a wilting flower Southern belle. This girl had some strength within her, although I suspected that she didn't know just how strong she was. There was a sort of uncertainty about it, like it was just starting to come out, or she was at least unfamiliar with speaking with men like me. "You've probably got your flaws. I know I do, but for that, I feel safe enough for you to . . . what happened to your face?" I stopped, realizing that the light from the lamp up ahead was allowing her to see what I looked like for the first time. I reached up with my fingers and felt my face, stopping when my fingers made my right cheek sting. I'd forgotten that the guy wore a ring on his hand. "Oh. I forgot the second guy must have been wearing a ring or something. It caught my face just right. It doesn't feel like much. I'm sure it'll clean up easily enough." "You're bleeding like a stuck pig," Abby objected, her face full of concern. "We need to get you patched up, take you to a hospital." "I . . . I don't need a hospital. Really. I'm sure it looks a lot worse than it really is," I said. A hospital was the last place I wanted to go. A hospital would mean an explanation, and an explanation could mean involving the cops. "I'll just wash it off when I get back to the apartment. It's not that far. A little hydrogen peroxide, maybe a little bit of gauze, and I'll be fine. I promise." "No way, mister," Abby said, sudden strength and confidence blooming in her voice. If I'd thought she had hidden strength before, I'd seriously underestimated her. "That needs to be washed out better than what you can do yourself in the mirror. You sure you won't go to the hospital?" "I'm sure," I said. "I . . . I’ve got my reasons." She tilted her head, giving me a questioning expression, but she nodded after a moment. "Fine. Then take me back to your place and let me clean you up. It's the least I can do." Again, the logical side of me, the side that reminded me that I was a dishonorably discharged former soldier with a felony on my rap sheet, screamed at me to refuse

her offer. But the same light that let Abby see my face, let me see her for the first time, and that logical side kept getting drowned out more and more by the voice that told me this was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen in my entire life. Long, dark blonde hair framed a face that looked like it was carved by the gods. Abby was stunning, with dark blue eyes that looked like flawless sapphires sparkling in the street light that seemed to bore straight into my soul. I couldn't resist those eyes and that face even if I wanted to. "All right," I said. "Uh, the place I'm staying is only a little way away. Are you sure you don't want me to call you a cab or something?" Don't say yes, don't say yes, the voice in my head that was talking not with logic but with fiery emotion pleaded. When Abby shook her head and instead reached out and took my hand again, it let loose a cheer loud enough that I was sure she could hear it, even if it was invisible and inside my skull. "Are you all right, really?" she asked as we walked. "You winced a bit there." "Just an unpleasant thought," I said, deflecting my real thoughts. I felt like I was back in junior high school or something, and the cute girl I'd just asked to dance had actually said yes, and I was holding her hand for the very first time. "I guess the cut stings a bit more than I thought it would." The rest of our walk seemed to nearly float by. I barely noticed when we reached the edge of Piedmont Park and turned north toward my apartment. "You know, you really handled yourself well," Abby said as we walked. "Where'd you learn all that?" "I was in the Army for a while," I said, trying to think of some other way to answer it. "I guess it was just one of those things you learn after a while." "Really? How long have you been out?" she asked, giving me a dazzling smile. My heart did a few lurches, along with another part of my body that was also saying it had been a long damn time since he'd had any female attention either. It was so dazzled, in fact, that I barely even noticed the alternative meaning of her question. "I mean, you're rocking two days of beard, so I guessed you’re not in service anymore." "I'm not," I quickly said. "I was discharged three months ago." I regained my composure with the answer, and knew I didn't want her to probe there anymore. In hoping she wouldn’t talk about my military history any longer, I changed the subject. "What about you? What do you do?" "Oh, I'm a senior at Georgia Tech," she said, as if being a student at such a good school was nothing at all. "I'm studying biology and hoping to get into a good grad school program this fall. I'd like to go into nutrition research and food science. So I

guess you're not in school, then?" "Uh, not right at the moment," I answered, slightly ashamed. After high school, I'd messed around, mostly screwing off in college until enlisting, and had never gotten any formal degree after high school. It took my going to Leavenworth to understand the value of learning. "Oh, here we are." The Mayfair Tower is one of the best high-rise apartment complexes in Midtown Atlanta, and the look in Abby's eye as I led her inside sent chills up and down my spine. "Wow, this place is amazing. You really live here?" "For now," I said, unwilling to say that I was merely house sitting. I wasn't an official resident, just a guest, which is why I didn't avail myself of most of the facilities in the building. The most I'd done was sneak in a couple of workouts in the fitness center during the dead of night when no one else was around to wonder who the tattooed stranger was. I would sometimes also go down and grab the newspaper from the front desk when it was a day old, looking for the classified section. In a high rise where most of the cars were under two years old, and most of the residents I'd seen had the appearance of wearing suits that probably cost more money than I'd seen in years, it was the better choice. The less I stuck out around the place, the better, I thought. "Here, let's take the elevator." There was a comfortable silence as we took the elevator up, and I could sense a growing tension between us. It might have been a long time since I'd seen the look, but I recognized it in Abby's eyes. She thought I was attractive, and I think she also recognized that I found her stunning as well. Still, her dress, her shoes, even her purse and the way she wore her hair screamed high class and money to me. I may have been just out of jail and I may have been growing increasingly horny, but there was no way that a girl like that ended up with a guy like me. Not long-term, at least. She might want me to give it to her one time, just so she could say she’d fucked a bad boy, but that’s it. If there was one thing that my time in the Army and my time in Leavenworth had tried to drill into me, it was that for guys like me, there were no happily ever afters. I'd been born to a hard working miner who'd tried to raise me and two siblings on just what he could dig out of the ground. And while I'd not always been the best son in the world, I'd done my best to try and make myself better. But guys like me don't get a happily ever after. We get an hourly job that breaks our back while we dream of having a bigger television to take up the corner space in the double-wide trailer that's busting our checking account every month. That was a lucky ending for guys like me. Girls like Abby Rawlings never figured into our fates. Still, I couldn't repress the little ember of hope that was burning in my chest. It was why I didn't stop, and with the way Abby looked at me, I couldn't stop either way. "Here we are," I said when the elevator stopped. I led her down the short hallway to the door, unlocking it and holding it open for her. "It's really not much, just a

studio, but it's good for me." I knew I was downplaying things, but I didn't know what else to say. The floor plan was called a Stratford, and for the Mayfair Tower, it actually was the least expensive and smallest of the apartments or condos in the place. Who knew what the hell Chris Lake paid in yearly fees? Still, compared to the cell I'd had in Leavenworth, which I shared with another man, the condo still seemed immense to me. "It's more than good. This is really something else,” Abby said as she looked around. "What's that, a sixty-inch TV?" "I'm not sure. I don't watch it all that much," I said. In Leavenworth, TV was one of the few means to pass the time when you were indoors, and I'd had more than my fill of it. Reading, on the other hand, I couldn't get enough of. I'd come to value the knowledge contained in books, and I found them infinitely more interesting than watching reruns of cable programs—at least those the guards thought we were cleared to view. I wished that I’d been that way back in school. “I think so though." "Daddy and I . . .” Abby started before pausing, something causing her to grow quiet. I heard the way she said the word Daddy, and knew that whatever her strength was, she was still at least a bit of a daddy's girl. I just hoped that didn't come with daddy issues as well. I couldn't handle that. "It doesn't matter. Come on, let's get that cut cleaned up." "And while we’re at it, let’s take a look at that ankle,” I said. I watched her limp when we walked, and while it wasn't bad, I didn't want her to keep putting pressure on it. "You've been hiding it pretty well, but you were limping across the lobby. I could hear it in the sound of your high heels on the tile." Abby smiled shyly and nodded. "Okay. Do you mind if I take them off here? I'm more comfortable barefoot anyway." "Mi casa es su casa," I said, trying to force casualness. I hoped that it would calm the raging inferno that was building inside me, growing larger and larger each second I saw her in the full light of the apartment. If I thought she was stunning in the park, in the apartment, fully illuminated in the tastefully recessed track lighting LEDs that cast a glow around the room, she was ethereal. I'd never seen a more beautiful woman in my life. Barefoot, she came up to just below my chin, and her figure still concealed underneath her dress was the sort of thing artists dreamed of. She didn't seem to notice my growing desire, however, and glanced toward the back of the studio. "I assume your stuff is in the bathroom," Abby said, looking around, her hair tossing lightly side to side. I knew instantly that when she wasn't dressed up, she was the sort of girl who liked to keep it in a ponytail. Unfortunately for me, ponytails are a major turn on, and the idea of wrapping that spun gold hair around my fingers caused my cock to surge in my pants to nearly bursting. "Or do you want

me to play hide and go seek?" I noticed that her skin was slightly flushed, and her joke was as forced as my casualness, but still, both of us smiled and I shook my head. Maybe she was feeling it as much as I was? Fresh hope flared in my chest. "Come on." The bathroom was just after the kitchen in the L-shaped design of the studio apartment, and I found a bottle of antiseptic spray inside the medicine cabinet after rooting around for a few seconds. "Here," I said, handing it to her. "No peroxide, but this should do." "All right then, off with your hood," Abby said. She grinned at the slightly macabre joke, her lips curling up in the most enchanting bow I could imagine. "You're already bleeding onto it, and you need to get some cold water on that fabric or else it’s going to be ruined." An electric thrill ran through me as I let her peel my shirt up and over my head, leaving me in just my jeans and boots. Abby had turned to toss my shirt through the open door to the laundry room beyond the bathroom, so when she turned back, her startled pause when she saw my upper body for the first time actually caused me to blush. She reached toward me before pulling her hand back, suddenly realizing that she hadn't asked permission. "Wow." I tried not to let it show that I was pleased with her unexpected compliment, but I couldn't help it. Abby blinked and shook her head, tearing her eyes from my torso to look up at my face and taking the bottle of antiseptic in her hand. "Okay, hold still," she said, moving close enough that I could almost feel the heat of her presence against the skin of my upper body. "I'll try and be gentle." Unfortunately for Abby, the button she'd originally taken to be a weak spray turned out to be much stronger than either of us anticipated, and the resultant shot of mist not only got my cut, but also my left eye. "Ow, shit!" I gasped, immediately closing my eye and turning around. I planted my hands on the countertop, my fingers digging into the curve made by the marble of the sink. "Fuck!" "I . . . I’m sorry!" Abby said, her voice apologetic. I was blind and in pain, but she sounded just as hurt as I was. "God, I'm so sorry!" "No . . . it's okay," I said, tears running down my face. "You didn't mean to, and I should’ve closed my eye." "Hold still," she said, putting her hands on my shoulders. I stilled, a blissful calm almost coursing from her touch into my body, as if she were some sort of magical being. "Keep your eyes closed." I heard the water in the sink turn on, and a minute later, the cool bliss of a wet

washcloth pressed against my injured eye. "Here," I heard Abby say as she gently wiped my eye and down my cheek. "I'm so sorry, Dane. You go and save my life, and I try and repay you by blinding you." "You didn't mean to, and you don't need to repay me," I said. The pain was lessening. I turned away from the sink and reached up, putting my hand over hers to hold the compress against my eye. Her hand didn't move though, and I could feel how close she was to me. "Just let it flush out a bit, and I'll be fine. You just surprised me, that's all." In the silence that followed, which was now tense not because we wanted to be apart, but instead because of the unspoken desire to be closer, I could hear her breath quicken. In the reddish darkness of my still tightly shut eyes, I almost thought I could hear her heartbeat. "Dane?" "Yes?" "What are those tattoos for?" she asked, her free hand coming up to rest on the ink that adorned my chest and arms. "There are quite a few of them." " I got most of them in the Army," I said, trying to remember in my mind's eye what her fingers were touching. The truth was, some of them were from before the Army, a few were in service, but a lot of the others were from my time at Leavenworth. Every prisoner has their own little way of telling the administration to fuck off, and for me, it was ink. There had been a Specialist from the 10th Mountain division locked up with me who was quite the amateur artist, even though he didn't always have access to the best supplies. "I think that one is my jump wings. The parachute, right?" "Yeah," her voice, thick and a bit deeper, said. She was feeling it too, and I was quickly losing any resistance to wanting to pull her closer. She may have been untouchable. She may have been a bit younger than me and most likely the worst mistake since I'd permanently fucked my life up with a single act in Iraq, but if I was going to be damned, there were a lot of worse ways to go than what I wanted at that moment. "What about the others?" I took the compress away from my eye, blinking as light returned. The first thing I saw was Abby's beautiful face, and without an instant's hesitation or reconsideration, I knew that I was going to fuck her. I pulled her closer to me, my hand coming to her waist, our lips coming together, and I happily fell into damnation again.

Chapter 3 Abby

WHEN I FIRST SAW DANE IN THE STREET LIGHT, IT WAS HARD TO PUT MY FINGER ON WHAT EXACTLY WAS SO fascinating about him. Obviously, I’d been impressed that he’d come to my aid and how he'd beaten up my attackers so easily. Two-on-one fights usually end up with the one getting his ass kicked. But when the light from the streetlamp let me get more of a look under his hood, there was something more about the way he looked that excited me. Dane was certainly handsome, but it was a dark, brooding handsomeness that I wasn't used to seeing. I'd gotten used to well-groomed, slickly laid back guys who looked like they'd never really worked a hard day's labor in their lives. They were basically weak, pretty boys, and Dane was different. Black eyebrows shaded gray eyes that looked like they could either be expressive and clear or stormy and intimidating. His face was lean, with a steely tension to his features that spoke of great strength, but his mouth was large and sensual, and even with the furrow on his cheek pulling up at one corner, expressive. His short beard made him look just a bit scruffy, but in not a bad way. He looked like the sort of man who was made for a motorcycle. "I'm not a very good man," Dane said, and in that moment, I saw something even more appealing than his dark handsomeness. I saw introspection, and yes, a bit of a haunted soul. I'll admit, I'm a lucky girl when it came to the looks department. A lot of it came from Mom, who I wish I had gotten to know better before she died. In looking at the old pictures of her, though, her high school and college graduation photos that Daddy still kept in the family room of the house, I looked a lot like her once you account for the change in hairstyles and fashion. My hair was a shade darker though, probably because of Daddy's influence, although I'd gotten a bit of his height too. While I'm no starter for the basketball team, Mom was so short that she was nearly a gymnast. So with my looks, even as intimidating as Daddy is, I'd had guys compliment me. The biggest problem most of them had was that they were insecure and tried to hide it by being cocky as all get out. I'd had guys try to strut past me with their chests puffed out or try to show off their clothes or their cars like peacocks at the zoo. One look in their eyes, however, told me that they were insecure little boys trying to mask imperfection behind a cocky strut of perfection. Dane wasn't like that at all. He was up front with his flaws, and in his eyes I saw that he was, despite his protests, more of a man than anyone I'd ever met at Georgia Tech. When we got back to his place, though, I was floored. Sure, it was a studio, but the Mayfair Tower was one of those types of places that a guy around my age would be bragging about. It was furnished tastefully, though it looked like he'd recently done a major change in decor—something about the way the furniture was arranged in the living area and the way the couch didn't quite jive with the

impression I got of Dane on the way from the park, I think. It was like there was the real Dane, and one that maybe he'd recently left behind or something. Most of it was the contrast between his belongings. For example, the couch that he used to separate the living room area from the bed area of the studio was real leather, and while I didn't know the designer, it looked like one of those sofas that got used in photo spreads for magazines and had price tags in the thousands of dollars. On the other hand, Dane's jeans were off the rack Old Navy, and his boots I couldn't even identify. I wondered if perhaps Dane had fallen on some hard times, or if maybe he'd come into a windfall, and that was why he hadn't bragged about his living accommodations. He led me into the bathroom, and it didn't really matter. I focused instead on the task at hand, cleaning his cheek. "All right, off with your hood," I told him as I looked at the antiseptic spray bottle. It had a lot of hype text on it, but the important part was the 99.9% printed on the side. If something had gotten into Dane's cut that this thing couldn't kill, I would be surprised. I wasn't really paying attention as I took his shirt and tossed it into the laundry room, but when I turned around, I couldn't help but shudder at the flush of heat that ran through me at seeing his torso. The tan that highlighted his firm muscles wasn't a frat boy tan or the tan of a guy who laid out in the sun, but the tan of a man who spent plenty of time outdoors doing labor. His muscles were the real thing, not some gym rack set built with curls and pump sets, but steely cords that knew how to do real work. And of course, there were his tattoos. I've always had a secret attraction to good body ink, though I didn't have any myself. Daddy would have had a heart attack if I did, even a little rose or butterfly on an ankle. But Dane's body was beautiful, with complex, intertwining designs that covered most of his chest and around to his shoulders, going nearly halfway down his left forearm. Whoever had done the work was talented, because even though I could see that there were different pieces from different times in his life, they all wove together in a tapestry that flowed and looked harmoniously joined, like a visual representation of his life so far. It was the tattoos and the impressive definition of his upper body that distracted me when I triggered the spray bottle. In hindsight, I should’ve sprayed the gauze pad in the first aid kit and then wiped his cut, but I wasn't thinking all that clearly. I'd meant to push the plunger slowly, giving just a little squirt of liquid onto his cheek. Instead, I pushed too hard, sending a mist of the alcohol-based cleaner right into his eye. He jerked his head back, hissing in pain. "Ow, shit!" he said as he turned around. "Fuck!" "I . . . I’m sorry!" I replied, horrified. Here he was, being a total gentleman, and I'd nearly blinded him. I felt like crying. "God, I'm so sorry!"

He squeezed his eyes shut for a minute, his face turning red as the first tears of pain trickled out of his eyes and started to make their way down his face. Still, he maintained his composure and there wasn't a hint of anger in his words. "No . . . it's okay. You didn't know, and I should’ve closed my eye." "Hold still. Keep your eyes closed." Grabbing a washcloth from the towel bar next to the sink, I quickly wet it until it was soaking. "Here," I said, pressing it against his face and taking the opportunity to apologize. "I'm so sorry, Dane. You go and save my life, and I try and repay you by blinding you." "You didn't mean to, and you don't need to repay me," he replied, a delicious tension in his voice. His hand came up to cover mine, and my body reacted again to his presence. His touch was just as strong as it had been the first time, and my heart sped up. I didn't even realize it as I stepped closer, until I was barely a hand's breadth away from him, close enough to smell him. He smelled like a man, clean sweat and a hint of some sort of aftershave, not the fruity type either, but a real scent. "Just let it flush out a bit and I'll be fine. You just surprised me, that's all." I tried to keep myself under control, but it was hard with him so close. I wanted to run my hand over his chest to feel the strength in his arms and his body. Even more, I wanted to feel his hands on me, and not just covering mine. I took a deep breath to try and control myself and forced my one-track mind to think of something to say. "Dane?" "Yes?" "What are the tattoos for?" I asked, giving in to the temptation and tracing some of his ink. I could see that not all of it was finely done. There were a few that looked a bit amateurish, but still the work of a talented amateur. I wondered where he got them. I saw a symbol I thought I knew, a set of wings coming out from a parachute on his right shoulder. "There are quite a few of them." " I got most of them in the Army. I think that one is my jump wings. The parachute, right?" "Yeah. What about the others?" I rasped, unable to resist it any longer. I wanted him. Right or wrong, one-night stand or forever and a day, at that moment, the thing I needed most was his touch, his caress. I wanted to taste his skin and run my tongue along the intertwining lines of his ink. When he opened his eyes and looked down into my eyes, I knew that he wanted it too. His hands pulled on the backs of my arms, and I wouldn’t have been able to resist even if I wanted to as he brought my lips to his. His mouth was as supple and amazing as I'd been imagining, his lips sending shivers down my spine even before his tongue came out to trace my neck. Groaning in desire, I threw my arms around

his neck, heat flooding my body when he pulled me tighter. "Dane . . .” I whispered, relishing the sound on my lips. He responded by pulling me into him even more, wrapping his arms around my waist and crushing my body against him. Even through the silk of my dress, I could feel the warm heat of his skin with the light dusting of dark hairs on his stomach prickling against my body. I gave in to my desire, pulling myself up higher and lifting my leg to put my left knee on the countertop, letting me kiss him more easily. Dane's right hand let go of my back to cup my leg, his work-roughened hand sliding from my knee to the hem of my dress before stopping. He was strong, but still almost gentlemanly as his thumb pushed the hemline of my dress up until his hand found the silk of my bikini briefs. He stopped kissing to smile at me in joy. "You're so smooth." The gleeful, slightly dangerous glint in his eyes made my knees even weaker than they already were, and I nodded, enjoying the seduction game we were playing. Dane licked his lips, lifting me up by the hand that was cupping my ass and spinning us both around. In an instant, he had me propped up on the countertop, his hands at the hem of my dress, lifting it up. He stopped when the hem bunched up against the marble, stepping back. "Wait." "What?" I asked, my heart hammering and my chest heaving. My nipples ached inside my dress, and I was sure I was showing through. I could barely contain myself, and now he wanted to stop? Was he having some last second surge of timidity, or was some other reason stopping him? "What's wrong?" "I . . . It's been a while for me," Dane admitted without a hint of shame. He said it matter-of-factly, as if he were saying the sun is hot, water is wet, or that he was sexy as hell. "I forgot that it's probably better to lift your hem up a bit before you sit down on the dress." I laughed as I realized what he was talking about, even more enchanted and turned on by his honesty. "Well then," I said, sliding off the counter and taking the hem of my dress in hand, “there we go.” The look in Dane's eyes and the little twist of his lips set me on fire even more. The cut on his cheek had stopped bleeding, but it still added a rakish sexiness to his appearance, like he was carrying his battle scars and would keep them as a reminder of what he'd done to gain my attention. I was kind of glad I'd worn one of my sexier sets of lingerie that night, mostly because it fit well under my dress, but the nearly sheer bra cups and silk panties certainly had the right effect on Dane. Looking down, my throat went slightly dry looking at the bulge in his jeans. He wasn't wearing any sort of overly tight skinny jeans either. He had to be big. Blinking, I looked up at Dane and bit my lip. "Better?"

"Much," he said, his voice as hoarse as mine felt. Grabbing my hand, he pulled me into a warm and powerful embrace again, this time lifting me in his arms and carrying me to the bed in the back of the loft room. The bed was a queen size, but that was more than big enough for the two of us as we tumbled to the mattress. His lips found mine once more, this time his tongue wrapping around mine as he pulled me on top of him, my legs automatically parting to each side of him. I gasped when my panties came into contact with the bulge in his jeans, which already felt hot and delicious. "Oh, God . . .” Dane pulled back to look in my face, worried for an instant. It touched me that such a powerful man could be both demanding and respectful at the same time. He studied me for a second before grinning, reading my expression. "It's been a while for you too?" I nodded, suddenly shy. "Sorry." He shook his head, his hand coursing up and down my backbone. "Abs, there’s no need to feel ashamed of that. I'm honored, actually." Nobody had called me Abs before, not even my friends, and to hear the word on his lips sent ripples through me. I enjoyed the name and mouthed it silently as he kissed my throat and along my pulse line. Abs. It would be my special name from Dane, and one nobody else would ever use. He stopped his hands on my bra strap, and without too much fumbling undid the clasp at the back. Bringing his hands around to my sides, he slid my bra off until the only thing keeping it on was that it was sandwiched between us. Grinning, he pushed me back and let it fall off, where I tossed it off the side of the bed. My breasts hung in front of him while I ground over the bulge in his jeans, and by the look in his eyes, I'd never felt more beautiful in my entire life. Hot sparks shot through me when he cupped my breast and ran his thumbs over my nipple. I couldn't resist, and I started riding his bulge in my panties, the friction mixing with the electricity in my breasts to render me senseless. The whole time, his eyes bored into mine, but this time the gray wasn't brooding or dark, but instead wise and comforting. They were eyes that captured my attention, along with the growing confident smile on his face. It may have been a long time for him, but like riding a bicycle, he quickly remembered exactly what he was doing. When Dane pulled me down to him, replacing his hands with his mouth on my nipple, I whimpered. It felt so good. His tongue found all the little spots that left me mewling and gasping. My hips sped up, and I nearly cried out in frustration when he rolled me off him and turned both of us onto our sides. "Why'd you stop?" I whined, unable to help myself. "I was nearly there." "And so was I," he said with a little laugh. "Don't worry, I'll take care of you."

It was something in the way he said it that opened up more than my libido and cracked through the defenses around my heart that every girl builds up. It was like he was saying not just that he'd take care of me sexually that night, but that somehow, without even knowing if I'd see him the next morning, he'd take care of me the rest of my life. All I could do was nod as he laid me on the bed and propped himself up on his left elbow. "Now here’s something I enjoy," he said, bringing his right hand down to the damp heat between my legs. His fingers were strong and confident as he rubbed me, my eyes fluttering closed because it felt so good. I forced my eyes open to look into his, letting them drive a wedge into my mind as his fingers stroked magically. The silk of my panties aided his touch, adding just the right texture to his caress. When he brought a single finger up and across my clit, I cried out, unable to help it. My orgasm rolled through me, sorely missed. It’d been too long, even by my own hand, and never had anyone made me feel so good. "This is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life," he whispered softly as I clenched, my mouth open and my eyes staring into his. "I don't ever want it to end." Neither did I. I'd never felt anything like it as the waves and warm pleasure rolled through me, my body fluttering under his fingers. I could have spent the rest of my life frozen in that moment. Still, the moment did eventually end, leaving me trembling and sweating as I collapsed back onto the bed. "That . . . that was amazing. Tell me you’re not done.” "I hope not,” he teased, his confident smile mixing with the tender look in his eyes. "On one condition." "What's that?" a new, delicious tremble ran through me at the promise in his look. Dane reached up to stroke my cheek, soft and comforting. “You take those off.” I shivered at the implication and nodded. “Deal. As long as you join me.” He blinked and looked down, realizing he was still in his jeans. I hooked my thumbs in the side bands of my panties, and I couldn’t believe what I was doing. A quick hook-up or one-night stand wasn’t my style. I wondered for a second if I was only doing this out of rebellion against my over-protective father, or if I was letting my guard down because he’d saved me. I pushed it away as soon as it entered my mind, returning to my anticipation of what was to come. I rolled my now-wet panties down my hips, pausing just before I exposed myself while he finished his boots and socks. His eyes had never left me, drinking me in and making me feel wanted, beautiful, even a touch exotic. Standing up, he unbuttoned his jeans, holding the flaps closed with his right hand. "Together?"

"That's only fair," I said. "One . . . Two . . .” "Three," Dane said, pushing his jeans down at the same time I pushed my panties all the way off. I had to pull my knees up to do it, which took my eyes off him for a moment, but when I saw him standing there, I was driven breathless. If Dane had been handsome before with his shirt off, he was god-like nude. The light dusting of hair that I'd seen on his washboard stomach continued down. He had a fine amount of wiry black hair that extended down his hips and to his thighs, slightly curly and well-kept. It made him even more masculine, totally and incontrovertibly. I glanced down and I shivered, this time with a touch of fear when I saw him. Dane, for his part, saw my trepidation. He looked at his cock and back up at me, understanding. “I’ll be careful." His words reassured me, and my knees parted without any difficulty when he climbed on the bed, his cock huge and pointing at my entrance. I was glad he'd brought me to an orgasm already. My body needed all the lubrication it could make to handle such a humongous man. Even still, he was tender and real, thrilling me with his gentleness. "Please . . . just go slow?" Dane smiled tenderly and nodded. He'd obviously had this sort of reaction before and knew what he was doing. "I promise, Abs. No pain, and I'll do my best to bring you pleasure." I held my breath, certain he was going to spear me with his cock, but instead Dane leaned down and kissed me again, the softest and most tender kiss we'd yet shared. His hands stroked the hair out of my face as he held himself poised above me, just looking into my eyes and caressing me. He reached over in the night stand to grab a condom, and I watched him as he slid it on. It only took a few seconds, but I was so full of desire that it seemed to take him an eternity. Finally, he moved into me, and I felt the head of his cock start to spread me open. We looked in each other's eyes as he moved, slowly as he promised, rocking in and out so that the stretching feeling I felt melted into indescribable pleasure. He increased his depth in such tiny increments that it didn't even feel like he was going deeper with each thrust until I realized he was halfway inside me and still had more to go. Best of all, my body wanted more, and with all the desire built up in me, I knew I could accept everything he had. Smiling as I opened myself to him, we kissed again, this time more forcefully. I was pinned beneath him, his body holding me in position as he filled me. In one back stroke he paused, taking a deep breath. I nodded, knowing what was coming. “I can take it.”

The next thrust seemed to stretch on forever, and nerves I'd never even known I had set into rapturous tremors. Dane didn't stop, though, with each thrust coming harder and faster. I didn't know how many times he stroked in and out. All I knew was that my body was alive in a way it had never been before. Pleasure and joy flooded every inch of me, from my toes all the way to the top of my head, and every time his hips slapped into mine, the level increased impossibly. Infinity squared, cubed upon itself as he filled me over and over, claiming me as his with not just his cock, but his eyes and his lips. I moaned his name in time with each of his thrusts, wanting not just sex but to give myself to this man, the greatest example of manhood I'd ever known in my twenty-two years on this planet. How long we stayed there, my hands clutching at his back while he thrust into me over and over again, I’ll never know. Time lost all meaning except in measurements of gasps, moans and heartbeats. I wasn’t even sure if I’d survive; the intensity building within me felt so powerful. But I couldn't stop, and I begged for more even as my head tossed from side to side. "D—Dane!" "Abs!” Dane growled deeply and protectively, his neck arching as he came. My body responded, clenching and exploding as well, both of us crying out as we came together. Blackness rushed up to greet me, and I embraced it, knowing that when I awoke, Dane would still be there, and I would still be safe and secure in his arms. Chapter 4 Dane After we’d fucked, both Abby and I passed out from exhaustion. I don't think it was long—maybe just ten or twenty minutes—but enough for our bodies to recuperate from the tremendous outpouring of energy we'd just had. When I finally opened my eyes, I was sure I'd died and gone to heaven. Or maybe I was actually back in Leavenworth after getting hit on the head from behind and hallucinating. Then she sighed and turned in her sleep, and I knew it was real. Abby had turned into me, her head nestled on my bicep and against my chest, her left leg in between mine. I held her gently, afraid that if I did anything, she'd wake up and the fantasy of what I'd just been through would be broken. Instead, I thought about what we'd just done. I hadn't been lying to her when I said it had been a long time for me. It had been over five years since I'd been with a woman. During my deployment to Iraq, I had the chance with a female aviation captain, but she was married, and despite the fact that she would have been willing to do just about anything, I didn’t go there. I’ve done some terrible things, but relationships are sacrosanct for me. At the same time, while a couple of the guys I knew tried to get with some of the locals, I didn't want some poor Iraqi girl getting into trouble and possibly stoned to death because she and I had gotten frisky.

Then, of course, there was prison, which had plenty of its own challenges. There were ways to set it up if you really wanted some action, but it would cost you. I spent the entire time in prison with nothing but my hand to help me. Well, that, a decent memory, and a good imagination. In the three months since I'd gotten out, I thought about going out and cruising bars or clubs. There were plenty of clubs that I could walk in, practically snap my fingers, and walk out with my choice of girls for the night. But prison had changed me. I wasn't a player anymore. I was looking for something more. "Face it, dumbass, you were looking for something like this," I whispered to myself, freezing when Abby stirred in my arms. I meant to think it, not actually say it. "You're hardly a dumbass," she whispered, nuzzling up against my chest. If I didn’t feel like a dumbass before, I sure did now. Abby laughed softly and scooted higher, kissing my chin. “That was the most amazing experience of my life." I didn't really know what to say. I knew the dangers of what I was feeling, and I knew that there were plenty of dangers in leading Abby on. She was obviously a good girl, maybe even the type that would think she was in love afterward. In any case, I could tell from her clothes, her speech—everything—that she was from class. Hell, even her lingerie looked expensive, something far nicer than I'd ever taken off a woman before. She didn’t seem the type to have casual sex and take off, so I wasn’t sure how to react. I decided to just play it safe. "Thank you. I seem to have worked up quite an appetite. Would you like something to eat?" She smiled that angel's smile that was impossible to resist. "I could do with some food, but nothing too big." I shook my head. "Honestly, all I've got that's quick is some Ritz and cheese. I hope you don't mind." "Sounds delicious. Let me put some clothes on so I don't get crumbs stuck in areas I don't need crumbs, okay?" "Deal," I replied. "I should too." We continued to lie there in bed, arm in arm, until Abby grinned. "You're not getting up. I thought you were hungry." I smiled back, realizing I’d been lost in thought and hadn’t moved. "I don't want to let you go. I'm afraid if I do, you're going to disappear and this will have all been a dream."

"What if I promise I'm not going anywhere, at least until you get me some food? Or better yet, until I give you my phone number?" While another time with Abby sounded amazing, I had a feeling that anything between us would be doomed from the start. A girl like her would take off running after she learned who I really was. Even still, I was willing to take a chance. “You want to go out on an actual date?” I asked, wondering if she meant that or simply a booty call. Honestly, I was down for either. "I don't know how you go about things, but this is unusual for me. In fact, I rarely sleep with men in general, not until there's a relationship involved." "Me either," I replied, cracking a smile. "In fact, I never sleep with men." "You've got a sense of humor to go with the rest of that package? I'm definitely saying yes if you ask me out on a date." “Good to know,” I said. "But what about work or school?” "Oh, I'm not working at the moment," Abby replied with a small shrug. "Just classes. That way I can catch up and finish quickly. I kind of lost a year right after high school." "What happened?" I asked, thinking back to my post high school days. I'd done quite a bit of partying, some motorcycle riding, and had gotten myself into a bit of trouble before the Army became a way to start to get myself on the right path. Or at least I thought it would be. She shifted in my arms, unconsciously putting the soft weight of her right breast in my hand, where I cupped it without thinking, not squeezing, but just marveling at the texture of her skin. It was flawless, soft and unbelievably silky. "Actually, I was sent to a finishing school, if you can believe it. My stepmother felt that it was important before I went off to college. I think at the time, she wanted to push me into a school like Vassar or maybe Ole Miss if I insisted on getting a real degree. You know, one of those schools where young girls are turned into attractive, pretty little arm ornaments for their husbands." "Not your style, I take it," I chuckled. It was now confirmed. She came from money, but the fact that she had rebelled enough to pick her own university told me something, too. "What made you go to Georgia Tech?" "It's close to home," she said, "and it's got one of the best hard science reputations in the South. Georgia Tech produces graduates that do things, not graduates that just talk about things. That's the sort of people I like. What about you? Where'd you go to college?" I laughed. "I've got a BTM from HKU."

"A what?" she asked, twisting around to look at me again. My hand was temporarily upset with the now-missing weight of her breast until she was all the way turned over, pressing herself against me and making sure my chest was now ecstatic. "Black Top Masters from Hard Knocks University," I expanded. “The only education I've gotten past high school was courtesy of the Army. I started college but left before I completed my degree. Financial issues mostly, though I did get in trouble too. I wasn't a very good student." "You mentioned jump wings in the bathroom. How long were you in?" she asked, moving closer to me. We were both feeling it now, but were taking our time, exploring each other's mind as well as our bodies. Still, there were so many ways to answer her question, and few that I was comfortable doing. "I enlisted when I was about twenty-one, a few years after I finished high school," I said instead. "After doing my training at Fort Benning, I was in the infantry for the rest of the time." "Really? So you're a real soldier then, not one of those armchair paraders," Abby said in a way that told me she was impressed not so much that I had been a soldier, but that I was the sort of person who wasn't afraid of hard work. "You don't seem too banged up to me." “Looks can be deceiving," I replied. "The top and bottom three molars on the right side of my mouth are artificial. I caught something to the jaw there one time, and they had to fix it all up for me. I was surprised the Army did a good job. Even if you took a good look inside, you wouldn't notice a difference." "Not someone's rifle butt, I hope?" I was impressed. This girl knew more than she let on. Either that, or she had a penchant for enjoying war movies. I hoped it was her intelligence, because I personally can't stand war movies. They gave me flashbacks. "No, not a rifle butt. Actually, it was a brick. They gave me a Purple Heart for that one. What about you? Why biology?" Abby grew serious and looked up above my head. "My mom and my big sister were killed when I was little. Head-on collision with another driver. Mom was in her Honda that she liked for running us around town while the other driver was in one of those big Fords they used to make—the Expedition, I think? You know, the small tank they made for a while." "Expedition, Excursion, Excalibur. I forget the exact name, but I know what you mean," I said, lowering my voice to a comforting level while she shared this painful memory. "They were pretty popular for quite a few years a while back. Was the guy drunk?"

She shook her head, tears coming to her eyes. "No, it was still early afternoon, and Mom was coming to pick me up from my Gymboree class. I took that while my sister took her piano lesson at the teacher's house two miles down the road. The driver was a diabetic who was trying to treat his disease through self-medication and trying one of those no-carb diets. He went into diabetic shock behind the wheel of his truck and drifted over into Mom's path. Even though they were both belted in, they hit each other going forty-five each. The crash . . . I don't remember the funerals, but the newspaper clippings Daddy kept said there wasn't much left. And all of it could have been avoided if the guy had known how to eat right for his diabetes. Later on, when I was in high school, Daddy had a small heart attack—too many Sunday breakfasts at Cracker Barrel. That made up my mind, and I decided to go into biology. Later on, I'm going to specialize in nutrition and really work to make sure things like what happened to me don't happen to anyone else." We fell silent, this time a comfortable one. While my body was aware of the nude young woman in front of me, my immediate desire was not to have sex, but instead to protect her. I held her close and we lay there in silence for a moment. I saw the glistening drop of the tear that was still on her cheek and wiped it away. "I know that was painful. But I'm glad you’ve used it to fuel your desire rather than dismiss it." "You have to take the bad things that happen to you and turn them into good things," Abby replied. "That's what Daddy taught me during the years it was just the two of us. Sheesh, I must sound like a total daddy's girl, don't I?" "You're not the worst I've heard," I said with a smile. "You should have known one of the girls that I went to high school with. Not only was she a daddy's girl, but she had her father wrapped around her little finger too. She was insufferable to deal with." "Well, you won't have that problem with me," she laughed back. “We butt heads a lot. Still, he’s my daddy. I know, I know, that is supposed to give me all sorts of strange complexes or mental problems, but I seem to be doing all right." "I'll say." My stomach gurgled, and Abby looked down, patting lightly on my stomach. "I guess I really am hungry." "So am I," she said. “Do you have something I can put on? I really don’t feel like getting back in my dress already.” "I'm sure I can find something for you. You could just use a t-shirt of mine. I'm big enough that it might just drop past your hips." Abby took my offerings and put them on. As she stood up, looking younger and cuter than ever, she started to laugh.

"What?" “Nothing, it’s just funny. We just met, and I’m already wearing your clothes." She laughed again, looking down at the massively oversized t-shirt and shorts. “By the time breakfast is over, I'm going to be claiming half the bathroom and putting my toothbrush in there." When I didn't answer, she lowered her eyes, unconsciously crossing her foot behind her heel. I wondered if this was the pose and expression she took when her father chastised her. If so, I was surprised the man was able to deny her anything. She was so adorable. “Sorry. It was just a joke. I don’t mean to sound like I’m already head over heels or anything.” I laughed. "Trust me, it's a tempting offer. But yeah, let's not get ahead of ourselves, or else your father might have a barrel for me. One belonging to a shotgun." "I think Daddy would like you. You're the sort of guy that he likes, confident and real." I wasn't so sure of that, but I wasn't going to tell Abby my misgivings as I went to the kitchen. "You did save my life, after all. That has to count for something. Dane, what exactly did you do in the military, anyway? Were you some kind of platoon leader?" I chuckled, shaking my head. "With this ink? The commissioning boards would never even take a look at me. Besides, they like those with college educations to become officers. No, I was just your run of the mill, eleven bravo grunt.” I brought over the cheese and crackers. I'd found some grapes in the fridge and put them on the plate as well. "I'm twenty-nine," I admitted. “I’d probably have been promoted, but I had a bad habit of not exactly following orders." We kept chatting, and after we snacked a bit, we both drifted off to sleep, but when I woke up, she was standing at the foot of the bed. Her eyes were wide with shock and a slow-growing anger, a photograph in her hand. I knew the photo. It was from the side of the refrigerator, and one that I wanted to get rid of but never had. Chris had left it on the fridge from the old days, and I'd never hated it enough to actually take it down. Besides, it reminded me of how I'd screwed up my life. For Abby, though, there was something different in her eyes. There was awareness, and a growing look of betrayal, which cut me to the bone. "How do you know Chris?" she asked, pointing at the photo. "Who the hell are you?"

Chapter 5 Abby WHEN I GOT IN THE SHOWER, THE WARM WATER HELPED ME WASH AWAY THE EXHAUSTION OF THE evening. My mind and my soul were refreshed, recharged, and ready for more. It’d been a long time since I'd gotten so little sleep, yet I wanted the time with Dane to never end. It seemed that with every word we shared, every touch and every time our bodies came together, we grew a little closer. And the sex . . . No man had ever given me the sensations he gave me, no man had ever been controlling, powerful and unrelenting, yet tender and comforting at the same time. It was as if every touch said, I'm in control and you are powerless, but I will protect you and keep you safe. Washing my aching breasts and the tender areas between my legs, I smiled at the fresh memories. I'll be the first to admit that until that night, I'd led a pretty sheltered life, and I still believed that my little outburst against my father led to it all. If he’d just have allowed me to do what I wanted, I can’t imagine ever going back to a stranger’s place, no matter how drop-dead gorgeous he was. Even if he’d just saved my life. My sex life thus far had been pretty vanilla—I'd never done some of the things that I'd read about in magazines or online. Even Shawnie, who was no party girl herself, described my sex life as boring. In fact, most often, sex for me had been lying there while the guy grunted and thrust for a little while before rolling off me and gasping for air. It was the epitome of a bad sitcom, and I was supposed to be in the wildest days of my life. But with Dane, we'd done things I'd only dreamed of. He tasted my body and ran his tongue along every erogenous spot I had. I knew from the first touch of his tongue between my legs that I wanted more, and that I’d never be the same again. Still, even a long-repressed body eventually tires out, and it was time to wash up and go. Soon enough, the water finished sluicing the dried sweat and sticky residues of our repeated lovemaking from my body, and I felt as refreshed as I was going to get. I'd picked up my panties and bra from the floor of the bed area of the loft, tossing them in the washer on a gentle cycle. Now, after no heat tumble drying, they were probably the freshest thing I had to put on. "This one goes out to all you girls having breakfast . . . in last night's dress," Katy Perry had said, and I smiled to myself thinking about it. Damn right. Fixing my left shoulder strap, I looked at myself in the mirror, thinking I wasn't looking all that bad. I looked more like a girl who'd overdressed for breakfast than a girl who was still dressed from the night before.

I finished teasing my hair with my fingers, wishing that Dane had an actual hair brush, or at least some sort of band I could use to pull my hair back into a ponytail. I made my way out to the kitchen, and I could still hear Dane snoring softly. I looked around, knowing he must have coffee. I’d gotten into a habit of having a nice steaming mug every morning, and I simply could not function without it. I saw the coffee maker, and next to it a clear glass jar that obviously had ground coffee inside. I remembered Shawnie's admonition to me that coffee should be stored in a cool, dark, airtight place to preserve the most flavor, especially if it'd been already ground. "Shawnie would smack you upside the head for that." Still, the aroma that came from the canister when I opened the seal was heavenly, and I quickly got a pot going. I preferred my coffee with milk or cream, so I turned to the fridge, reaching for the handle. I had the door halfway open when the photo held to the other side by a magnet caught my eye, and my hand froze. With trembling fingers, I took the magnet off the face in the photo it had been covering, my mouth going dry. I hadn't seen or heard from Chris Lake in years—not since he had what he described as an "incident" in Iraq. I'd been in high school at the time, so proud to be dating a handsome guy like him. I was even more proud of the fact that he was a soldier, and at the time, I thought he was out there defending our country. His final letter to me was long, and I remembered it was somewhat rambling. He'd lost a friend, he said, and another went to jail for the killing. As I looked at the three faces in the photo—one was clearly Chris, the other clearly Dane, but there was another that I didn’t know. Right then, fear stabbed icily into my heart. Marching to the bed, I stood at the foot, not sure what to do or say. Fear kept grabbing at me as I saw the things that I dismissed earlier. The amateur nature of some of Dane's tattoos . . . they could have just been ones done hastily in the service, or could they have been prison ink? When he talked about his time in the military, he hadn't really said where he'd been or even why and how he'd gotten out. Had he been the man Chris had told me about? Had I spent the night making love to a murderer? It couldn’t be. Dane seemed nothing like a killer . . . Before I could say anything to wake him up, he stretched his arms to the sides and opened his eyes. He blinked a few times when he saw me, obviously confused by what I was doing standing there. "How do you know Chris? Who the hell are you?" Dane's eyes flickered between the photograph and my face as anger and shame built within me. "Abby, I . . .” he said, his voice trailing off into silence. For the first time, I saw secrecy in his eyes, and shame of who he was and what he'd done. "This isn't my apartment." "Well, that explains a few things,” I said, trying not to sound snippy and vindictive. I've got a temper, and a very sharp tongue to go with it if I let it loose. "Anything

else around here not yours?" He sat up, pulling his knees to his chest and scooting back. It enraged me, seeing him trying to take a cute defensive body position when he was obviously more than he'd led me to believe. Or perhaps less, depending on how you looked at it. "Almost all of it," he sighed, looking around. "I'm house sitting for Chris while he took a couple of months in Europe. He wanted to catch a festival in Switzerland and the last of the spring skiing or something, he said. I didn’t have anywhere to stay, so he was basically doing me a favor. I've been trying to find a job the whole time." "Not too many people want to hire a murderer," I spat, my anger boiling over. Dane recoiled as if I'd slapped him across the face. Still, he didn't deny it, which for some reason made me even angrier. I guess I still had a semblance of hope that I was wrong. “So what were you doing last night, huh? Deciding to hang out with the other assholes and felons in the park? You all have some sort of convention or something?" "Abs, I never hurt you," Dane said, trying to defend himself. "I would never hurt you. I'm not like that." "No? Then what about the other guy in this photo? What's his name and where is he now?” I nearly screamed, almost throwing the picture in his face. Dane hung his head, guilty. "Lloyd. Lloyd James, from Gettysburg, Pennsylvania." The name clicked, and now I could place Dane's as well. "Yes . . . Lloyd James. You know, Dane, you're kind of famous in some circles. Killers and those who betray their comrades aren't too popular in places like Atlanta. Why the hell did you come here instead of someplace a little less military-friendly? You have a death wish or something?" Dane shook his head. "Chris . . . Chris offered me a chance to start over. After the conviction, my family said they wanted nothing to do with me. My parents, even my brother and sister . . . nobody came to see me for the whole time I was in Leavenworth. Chris did, one time. He also wrote me a few times—nothing much, but he was the only one I could turn to. Abby, I'm not a good man, but I'm not an evil one either. I . . .” "I don't want to hear it," I snapped, cutting him off. "I'm out of here." I stormed my way to the entrance, where I found my high heels. Slipping them on, I heard Dane get out of bed behind me. "Abby, wait. There's more to the story than you know. Hear me out. No one else will.” "No, Dane," I said, my own tears finally threatening to spill over. "I never want to see you again. This was the worst mistake of my life." "Abby!" Dane's words followed me into the hallway, even though he didn't. They

tore at my heart, which silently acknowledged that I hurt so damn much at that moment because I was hoping this could be more than a one-night stand. I should’ve known better, and I was being that naive little girl who thought she was in love after a man had given her the fuck of her life. When I got outside, the muggy early morning air smacked me in the face, and I retreated inside. I saw that the Tower had a concierge, and I turned to it. "Excuse me," I asked the woman at the front desk. "Can you call me a taxi?" "Of course, Miss," the woman said. Taking my face and appearance into consideration, her eyes softened. "Is everything okay?" "No," I said, trying not to sob. "I just made the worst mistake of my life. Everything is definitely not okay."

Chapter 6 Dane I WATCHED ABBY GO, FLEEING INTO THE EMPTY ELEVATOR AND THE DOOR CLOSING BEHIND HER. I COULDN'T move, frozen in shock at what had happened in the last five minutes. Walking to the door, I stared at the elevator as the lights showed it going down all the way to the lobby. Part of me wanted to run after her, to charge down the fire escape stairs and plead for her to listen to me. If she just knew my story, if she only could understand, maybe there'd be a chance. But the other side of me, the side that had spent nearly five years in Fort Leavenworth as Prisoner Bell, stayed my feet. It was a good way to get myself arrested again, and from what Abby had told me about her father, a good way to fetch myself another felony, possibly even a sexual assault or rape charge. Two-time losers on a rape charge don't get much mercy from the State of Georgia, and the only way I'd see the free world again would be as a withered old man. The cautious side of me won, which disgusted me even as I closed the door. Something rustled at my feet, and I looked down to see the photo that had set the whole thing off lying on the tile. Abby must have dropped it when she fled the apartment, perhaps when she was putting her shoes on. Reaching down with nearly numb fingers, I picked it up, absently locking the door behind me as I looked at the faces in the photo. Myself, Chris Lake, and Lloyd James. The killer, his friend, and the man who'd damned me.

Northwestern Iraq, Five Years Prior "MAN, DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT THE FUCK THE NAME OF THIS SHIT HOLE IS?"

I glanced over at Lloyd, who was staring through slitted eyes at the wind scoured vista before us. We were inside a small hut that the locals had abandoned with the amount of insurgent activity in the area. It was just before sunset, and I was trying to get some rest and food before going out on guard duty starting at seven. Three hours of guard duty followed by six hours of sleep. It wasn't that bad of a setup, as long as we didn't get hit by the insurgents. Then nobody would get any sleep. "What a shit hole," Lloyd repeated, and I had to agree that our hut didn't give us anything to send home on a postcard. It wasn't that Iraq didn't have its fair share of beautiful scenery. In the two months that we'd been there, I'd seen plenty of breathtaking sunrises and sunsets, and there was an arid majesty to a lot of the country. But still, we were uninvited guests surrounded by a lot of people with a lot of guns who didn't exactly like us. It got to you after a while. And this particular little nameless village had the unfortunate luck of being not only partially destroyed by insurgents, but it was hosting me and my squad mates just as a dust storm started to roll in, turning the whole world a sickly, ugly shade of brown. "Lloyd, you know what the difference between you and the battalion commander is?" I asked, trying to get him to stop staring out the window and just calm down. Lloyd was my friend, but once he got going like this, he'd keep ranting through most of the damn rest time. No thanks. I checked the dust port on my machine gun, making sure to spray a little bit of lubricant into the action. I was on the SAW this patrol, and those things had a nasty reputation of getting jammed in the dust and grit of the desert unless you oiled the hell out of them. “What’s that?” Lloyd replied. "He's taking two weeks’ leave to be back fucking some fraulein in Baden-Baden or something?" "Nope. You're sleeping in the shit hole here. He's sleeping in the one ten kilometers down the road," I said with a smile. "Come on, man. This has been an easy patrol. We're scheduled to rotate back to the Green Zone for some R and R soon anyway. Just chill the fuck out and we'll be eating steaks, watching the NBA playoffs, and maybe getting some Air Force pussy before you know it." "Forget that, man. I'm looking for a little local action," Lloyd said. "You know those girls want it. They dream about fucking a good ol’ American soldier. At least I can take some good memories back from this dreadful place." The flap to the room we were in opened before I could reply, and Chris Lake, our team leader and good friend, walked in. "Lloyd, careful what you say," he cautioned his buddy. "You know if the El Tee or the Captain hear you talking like that, you're going to be humping nothing but a rucksack for the next ten months." I nodded. Lloyd had, in the two years I'd known him, slept his way through just about every town we'd come to. He had the looks for it, certainly. A bit shorter than me at just under six feet, with blond hair and blue eyes, he looked like Captain

Fucking America, especially with his shaved side crewcut. The All-American Boy, with All-American dick, according to him. Of course, Lloyd wasn't too choosy either, willing to shag just about anything tossed his way. We still kidded him about the woman in New Mexico who'd turned out to be a grandma. "Fuck that, Chris. You know, not all of us have Miss Teen USA waiting back at home for us to come back and legally deflower the tender petals of her maidenhood," Lloyd replied, turning away from the window and sitting down on the dirt floor of the hut. It wasn't a bed at the Radisson, but it was a lot better than sleeping outside or in our vehicles. "Some of us have to make do with what’s available, and I'm not talking about Bane over there with his right hand." "Sometimes I use my left," I taunted back. I always did. I hated when Lloyd called me Bane. Just because I'm taller and pretty strong does not make me a comic book villain. "Feels like a total stranger. I just close my eyes and pretend it's your mama." We all laughed at the tired old joke with the familiarity of old comrades. I'd met Lloyd during Basic Training at Ft. Benning, while Chris had come along a few months later when all three of us ended up going to Airborne School together. When we ended up all getting posted to the same unit, Chris had a chat with his company commander, and Lloyd and I were assigned to his team. We'd bonded well, and while there were perhaps a few teams that were more professional than we were, even our platoon leader, Lieutenant Locker, had to admit that we were effective. Part of it was our team spirit and friendship, which allowed our little fire team to perform nearly as effectively as a full squad. If I had to do a house-tohouse sweep, I'd rather have Chris and Lloyd on my side than an entire platoon of Delta Force. “That reminds me. Chris, you heard from the beauty queen recently?" I asked him. He'd met her during a three-week-long leave period back home, but I didn't even know the girl's name. Wisely, he'd never shown any of us a picture of her, as even the more polite troopers would have given him a lot of hell if the girl was even half as hot as he described her. "You know, something probably involving puppies, candy canes and sweet innocence? Maybe a little poem decorated with hearts?" Chris laughed and shook his head. "No, nothing like that. I tell you what, though, boys. When we rotate back out of this sandbox, I've got the world's greatest gift waiting for me back home." “Is it serious?” I asked, surprised. All three of us weren’t too fond of commitments, after all. Chris usually chased high-end or different girls, while Lloyd was a very catch-as-catch-can type. Me? Well, I was actually the nice one of our group, believe it or not. I didn't go out looking to break hearts, though I’d done my fair share. Things never worked out, and it just sort of happened that we'd break up, sometimes with bad feelings, sometimes not. For Chris to be in love, it would be

like finding out George Bush and Barack Obama were best buddies who played cards together. "Sorry. I just didn't think it’d happen so soon." "Fuck no, dumb shit," Chris said with a laugh and a snort. "But what I do love is the idea of taking that sweet, sweet cherry and wearing her out. She's already said she loves me and is saving herself for me." "You actually believe that shit?" Lloyd asked with a guffaw. "You don't think she's just telling you that while shagging every swinging dick back in . . . where is it again?" "She's an Atlanta girl, just like me," Chris said, before realizing the double meaning of his words. I had to give a snort of my own. “You know what I mean. Not a fucking word, guys." I laughed, leaning back against the rough walls of our hut. Atlanta girl. "You said it, not me."

Baghdad, Iraq, The Green Zone, 2 weeks later SURE, BAGHDAD WASN'T LIKE GOING ON REAL LEAVE. EVEN WITHIN THE CITY, YEARS AFTER WE'D TAKEN over, things weren't exactly making Baghdad a resort town or anything. Still, within the Green Zone, we could do things that soldiers liked to do, namely chill out, get some beers, and if you were really lucky, find a hot chick to share your rack with. It was the third night of our time in the GZ, and for me, I was feeling pretty damn good. I was still bedmate-less, but there was a cute little supply clerk from the Indiana National Guard that had her eyes on me, and best of all, both of us were open about the fact there would be no relationship situations involved. It was pure sex, a little fun, and then we went our separate ways. I would have been able to seal the deal, too, if it hadn't been that I was supposed to pull guard duty that night. Guard duty in the GZ is nothing compared to pulling a guard shift out in most of the rest of the country. Between the hours of eight PM and midnight, I only managed to get two hours of sleep, and I drooped over my rifle while my Iraqi Army post-mate manned the tower. It was just after midnight when I came down from the tower I'd been assigned to, and I was ready to head back to my bunk. Duty within the GZ was on a rotating basis, and I didn't need to wake up for any formations or any of that other bullshit the next day, so I was planning on trying to catch up on some sorely missed shuteye before me and Miss Gina Redman of Terre Haute, Indiana found an empty building to occupy together.

I almost ignored the sound I heard coming from behind the supply shed. It was a common place for people with uptight tent mates or commanders with a bug up their ass to go hook up. While I personally found no fun with the concept of rushed sex in the dark behind a musty tent while sand stuck to the sweat on your ass . . . different strokes for different folks, if you know what I mean. I almost kept going back to my bunk when I heard the whimpered cry from the girl, and the heavily accented words, strangled with effort. "No . . . no . . . please . . .” I have no problems with being in control with a woman, and I've had chicks that liked it rough. But there's playacting and then there's real resistance. I don't go for that. Darting around the side of the tent, I saw a man pulling at the belt of his ACUs, holding what looked like a local girl by the throat with his free hand. He had clamped down more with his hand after her cry, cutting off all of her air. She was scratching and clawing, but he was short and stocky, with the sort of arms that came from lots of hard work and just natural freaky strength. Her eyes were fluttering shut and her hands didn't beat quite so hard as the blood flow to her brain shut down. I didn't even pause, even though I couldn't see the man's face. Taking my M-4, I jabbed the butt stock forward. It hit the man in the back of the shoulder, distracting him enough for him to drop the girl, where she fell to the ground retching and coughing. The man turned around, and I saw in the dim light something that made my heart sink. "Lloyd? What the fuck are you doing, man?" “What’s it look like? I’m getting some sandy pussy," he slurred. He was drunk, and Lloyd was the sort of guy who could handle his alcohol pretty damned impressively. I'd once watched him down an entire pitcher of beer in ten minutes, get up off his barstool, and then throw two dead center darts on the electronic board we were playing on. For him to be slurring his words meant he had either downed enough to kill a small elephant, or he'd been hitting something a lot harder than beer. From the smell of his breath, I suspected the latter. It took a lot, but when he was drunk like this, he was nasty. “What the fuck you want?" "You can't do this, man! You really want to go down on a rape charge?" Lloyd reached to his right hip, where I saw the bayonet in its scabbard. We didn't use them often. In fact, our normal rifles didn't even have a lug to connect it with, but you could still find one if you needed it. “I’ll finish her off. There won't be no rape charge. There's just gonna be another sad terrorist beheading." He grinned and turned back to the girl. "Now go the fuck on, Boy Scout. Let the real men handle this." He bent down to grab the girl by her torn and dirty clothes, pulling the bayonet from his scabbard while he did. She wasn't very old, considering she was wearing

semi-western style clothing and didn't have even a head scarf on. Our cultural briefings had told us girls who dressed like that were either part of Iraq's tiny Christian minority or underage. I couldn't let it go on. Reaching down, I grabbed Lloyd by his arm and yanked him away from the girl. "Lloyd, no! Look at her! She's probably not even eighteen, for fuck's sake! Let her go, or I'm dragging you down to the MPs." "Fucking bastard!" Lloyd yelled, pushing back into me. He knocked me off balance, the two of us tangling up and tripping. I knew Lloyd was strong, but when he landed on top of me, there was also anger and drunken rage in his eyes. My right arm was trapped, sandwiched between him, my M-4 and my body, while my left arm tried to hold onto his right wrist. Unfortunately for me, Lloyd had leverage, and in his drunken anger, I thought he was willing to kill me. I'd seen that look in his eyes before, when he would be out on patrol and an insurgent sniper would take a shot at us or an IED would go off. His humanity dropped away, and a stone-cold killer would be there in his place. "Lloyd, don't do it!" I yelled, trying with all my might to deflect or stop the slowly descending blade of the bayonet. But in the way we'd fallen, my legs were pinned, and Lloyd was able to put most of his upper body weight behind the bayonet. "Lloyd! LLOYD!" There was nothing else I could do. I could feel the trigger of my rifle still in the painfully twisted grip of my right hand. I pulled, hoping that the barrel would wound or scare him enough that I could get his ass off me. I hadn't realized that when we fell, the selector switch on my rifle had gotten caught in my web gear. The switch wasn't on single shot any longer. Instead, a long, rattling sound came from between our bodies, a sound that of all things reminded me of a beer belch. Lloyd stiffened, his arm dropping, the point of the bayonet burying itself into the sand less than an inch from my left ear. He rolled off me, his body already going limp and his blood soaking into my clothing. I rolled with him, dropping my now empty M-4, amazed I was still alive and unharmed. "Lloyd? Lloyd!" I looked around, hearing people coming our way. I grabbed the emergency compression bandage from the shoulder strap of my web gear, tearing the plastic envelope open. "MEDIC!"

Two Months Later- Fort Campbell, Kentucky "SPECIALIST DANE BELL, YOU HAVE BEEN CHARGED WITH THE INVOLUNTARY HOMICIDE OF SPECIALIST

Lloyd James. How do you plead?" I looked at my JAG lawyer, who nodded in encouragement. He was a wimp, the kind of officer who would have gotten himself shot if he'd been in any combat unit, and I felt an inherent sort of disgust for him. I'm not one of those types that cannot appreciate any soldier but those who sling a rifle, but my lawyer wasn't a man, in the real sense of the word. He was a weasel. I felt I was getting screwed royally, but by the way he put it, the odds were against me if I didn't do it his way. Without him helping in my defense, the odds were impossibly against me. "Guilty, sir." The judge, a grizzled, hawk-faced Colonel who probably had done push ups with Patton and ruck-marched with Chesty Puller, glowered at me from the bench. I could understand. I'd just admitted to killing not only another soldier, but my friend as well. A Court Martial is not the sort of place where soldiers are given a pat on the back and toasted with beer. Unfortunately for me, there were a few problems with my case. First of all, the Iraqi girl that Lloyd had been choking turned out to be the little sister of one of the local insurgency leaders in Baghdad. So, despite her repeated assertions to the Baghdad police that I had saved her life, her story was dismissed as being nothing more than the lies of a terrorist sympathizer. That she was underage and had somehow gotten inside an American base in the Green Zone didn't help. I suspected Lloyd had snuck her in, maybe with the threat of violence, but I didn't know. Hell, she could have been scouting for a terrorist attack. I couldn't have been sure, but it didn't matter to me. Shooting an insurgent is different from raping a child. Another problem was that a post-mortem toxicology report showed that Lloyd's blood alcohol content was nearly zero. According to what my lawyer told me, Lloyd at the time of his death had the equivalent of one beer in his body, nothing more. This, more than anything else, confused the hell out of me. I'd heard his slurring words and had smelled something stronger than beer on his breath. I couldn't figure it out. Third, and perhaps most damaging to me, was the fact that my lawyer was not one of those types who was passionate about defending his clients. In fact, he'd have much rather been out of the service altogether, working admiralty law with his father up in Seattle. He'd told me as much himself at our first meeting. I wasn't going to get a passionate advocate on my side. So, when the prosecutor tossed me a bone and agreed to a plea-bargain for involuntary manslaughter, I took it. If anything, I felt I had to do some penance for taking my friend's life. "Specialist Bell, the court accepts your plea of guilty to the charge of involuntary manslaughter. I've looked over the terms of the agreement worked out between you and the prosecution, and while I find them rather lenient, they are within the guidelines of the UCMJ. In addition, the court takes into consideration the statements of character from your team leader, as well as your service record,

which until now, while not spotless, showed that you have served well. Therefore, the court will agree with the recommendation from the prosecution. You are to serve three to five years at the military prison in Fort Leavenworth, Kansas." There was an outraged cry from behind me, and I turned my head to watch as Mr. James, Lloyd's father and one of the biggest businessmen in that part of Pennsylvania, exploded to his feet. "The hell you will! That son of a bitch murdered my only son! And he gets three to five? Are you out of your fucking mind?" The Colonel glared at Mr. James and banged his gavel on the desk. "Mr. James, it is only at the request of the senior Senator from your home state that I have agreed to allow you to attend these proceedings. He is a personal friend of mine, and he assured me that you would conduct yourself in a reasonable and dignified manner. If you cannot, I will have you removed from the courtroom, and neither of us wants that." Mr. James was red-faced, staring daggers at the Colonel before turning his attention to me. "I swear, you bastard, you will serve every day of that. And may God alone help you when you get out." He sat down before the MPs could take him away or the Colonel could order him out, and I turned my attention back to the Colonel. When he was certain there would be no more outbursts from the gallery—other than Lloyd's father, the only other person there was a reporter from the Fort Campbell Public Affairs Office, who would handle the press release, military level newspaper story, and statements to the civilian press—he continued. "The court's decision is made. In addition, effective immediately, you will be reduced in rank to that of Private, and upon completion of your sentence, you will receive a Dishonorable Discharge, forfeiting all pay and benefits accrued during your time in service. Do you have any questions?" "May I make a statement, sir?" I asked. Other than entering my plea, it was the first time I'd said anything, and this was the third day I'd been in the courtroom. In combat, military justice is swift and certain. In the rear areas, though, justice was less swift but no less certain. The Colonel nodded, and I cleared my throat, squaring my shoulders and standing tall. I may not have been accepted by the military any longer, but I still had my pride. "I . . . I’m sorry for Lloyd's death. He was my friend, and I wish he could have been here today. But despite my fate, which I will not appeal, I feel I have served as honorably as I could have done, and I have never betrayed my oath to protect our nation and our Constitution. That's all." The Colonel nodded, with perhaps a hint of compassion in his face after my statement, then turned to two MPs who were acting as bailiffs. He'd read all the same evidence I had, and he knew that if I'd insisted on taking it to a jury trial, a good lawyer had a chance of getting me off. "Secure the prisoner for transport. This court-martial is adjourned."

Chapter 7 Abby THE HOUSE WAS QUIET WHEN I GOT BACK, AND I WAS WORRIED THAT DADDY MAY HAVE GONE TO WORK. Brittany didn't work. I don't think she'd ever had a job in her life, and I could not have faced dealing with her alone. Not on top of all that had happened to me in the past twelve hours. But Daddy . . . I needed him, regardless of how childish it made me feel to admit it. On the cab ride from Midtown back to our house, I kept turning over in my mind how damn stupid I'd been. It had taken me a while after I saw Chris's face to make the connection, but once I had, the name Dane Bell stuck out like a sore thumb in my mind. I had been just about to turn eighteen when I read the news about a soldier in the 101st Airborne killing one of his own in Iraq. Chris hadn't told me a lot of personal details about his friends at Fort Campbell, probably because of operational security, but the names Dane and Lloyd stuck out because they were so close. I'd known that Chris was older than me when we first met, but it was charming that he was willing to wait. We'd met on a day that Daddy had let me come to the job site, where he was working on a new building for Lake Chevy. Chris had been there on leave from the Army, visiting his dad, and the two of us hit it off. Within two weeks, we were seriously dating, Daddy at first concerned about our age difference, but accepting it because he felt Chris was so mature and noble. I, of course, felt the same way, especially when he swore his loyalty to me. "Honey girl," he told me when he had a three-day weekend to spend down in Atlanta before shipping out to Iraq, "you just happen to be the most beautiful thing I've seen in my entire life. Only a damn fool wouldn't be willing to wait for you." We'd kissed. We had done a lot of that back then, and I'd let him get to second base. But the one time he'd tried to push for more, I told him no, not until I was done with high school. He'd agreed easily enough, and other than a hand on my backside when we would kiss in his car or out on the lake when we went swimming, he never strayed out-of-bounds again. After the killing, Dane's name had been all over the news for a few days. Even though I don't watch a lot of TV news, Daddy loves his Fox & Friends, along with Hannity, O'Reilly, and the others on that channel. It had made for good TV at the time, especially when it came to light that Dane was from a so-called blue state and had actually left college to enlist. Normally, this would have been a cause for celebration, but for the fact that Dane had been involved in what the campus termed 'multi-faith support group,' and the talking heads termed an Islamic

acceptance front. Also, the classmates who came forward to get their fifteen minutes of fame described Dane as a misfit, who'd partied and goofed off more than studied, so he had lost his scholarship. "So you see, this little liberal, guiltridden sympathizer decided that it would be fun to go and play soldier," one of the commentators had declared one night, the same day I'd gotten the email from Chris telling me about the arrest, "but when the chance came for him to show his true colors, he chose the enemy over his own friend." That Lloyd's father had made the rounds of the talk shows after that didn't help matters either. He was mad as hell and used every chance he got to try and push for Dane to get more time. Listening to his side of the story, you'd think Dane had gone hunting Lloyd purposefully. By that time, though, I'd been caught up in my own drama, too much to know the truth from the spin. Chris had written me an it's not you, it's me letter, leaving me eighteen, not knowing which college I'd go to, and having to go with Pete Stantz, of all people, to the senior prom since every other guy worth going with already had a date by then. I'd been considering Georgia Tech and the University of Kentucky at the time, but Chris's breakup made my decision clear. As time had gone on, the hurt healed, and until the night before, I thought I was pretty well off, all things considered. I had decent grades, Daddy was in good health, and I was happy. At least I thought I was, until I saw Chris's photo and it all came rushing back to me. The hurt, the pain, all of it. Add to it that Dane had been amazing in bed, so wonderful that my body still yearned for his touch even after knowing what kind of murdering bastard he was, and I didn't know what to do except feel miserable. The sound of the front door closing echoed through the house louder than I thought it would, only to be followed by the sound of footsteps rushing to the front door. I stood there, unsure of myself when Daddy came around the corner from the kitchen, his face lined with worry. "Abigail Melissa Rawlings, where have you been?" he demanded, anger on his face until he saw the way I looked. His eyes immediately softened, and he stopped, holding his arms out to me. "Oh, baby girl, come here." He hadn't called me his baby girl in years, not since I got over wearing my hair in pigtails back in fourth grade, but it didn't matter. I rushed over to him, burying my face in the cotton of the polo shirt that he normally wore to the office. Inhaling the comforting scent, I started to bawl my eyes out. I heard footsteps again, this time lighter and more measured, and I knew that Brittany had joined us. It didn't matter as I continued to bawl, tears and everything else pouring out of me as he held me tight, whispering comforting words that had little meaning except that I was safe into my hair. "I'm so sorry, Daddy."

"Shh, we'll talk about it later," he said, in that way that told me everything would be all right. "We've just been worried sick about you, honey. Come on, let's get you up to your room where you can change clothes. Do you need anything?" "I just want to sleep," I said, my exhaustion hammering into me. Despite the cat naps I'd taken during the night with Dane, I was shattered and barely able to stay conscious. "Please, I just need sleep." "Then let's get you to bed," he said. "We can talk after you wake up." I felt like a zombie climbing up the stairs to my bedroom, Daddy and Brittany helping me the whole way. Daddy stopped at the door while Brittany followed me into the bedroom, helping me with my clothes. "I'm sorry I was so strict with you, Abby," Brittany said after the door closed and we were alone. "I didn't mean to make you run away." "It's okay, Brittany," I said, too tired to say much more. "I just . . . I need to sleep." "I understand, honey," she said, tucking me into bed. She sat down next to me, brushing the stray hairs out of my face. "I know that I come off as a bitch to you, Abby. I'm sorry about that. I never had a daughter of my own before. But I do love you, and I want to at least be your friend. I'll never try to replace your mother." "Thank you," I whispered, my eyes drooping. "I know you care." I didn't hear her answer as the black curtain of sleep started to fall over me and I descended into my dreams. BY THE TIME I WOKE UP, AFTERNOON HAD COME, AS EVIDENCED BY THE BRIGHT LIGHT THAT POURED through the windows to the left of my bed. Atlanta's a warm city, even in winter, so my bedroom faced west to minimize the amount of sunlight that came through the glass during the day. With the way my bed was arranged, that put the main window off to my left. I yawned, feeling myself remarkably refreshed and much better than the weepy, sobbing wreck that had been put to bed hours earlier. Stretching, I thought about the conversation that I would have to have with them, but I was more prepared for it than I had been that morning. I looked down at myself, not realizing how much Brittany had helped me get changed. I was still wearing the same panties as the night before, but I had on one of my sleep t-shirts and a pair of my old cheerleading shorts that I still wore for sleep and exercise. I went over to my dresser and peeled my shorts off, changing into a pair of pink boy shorts that matched a t-shirt bra that I liked to wear around the house. There was no need to make Daddy feel embarrassed.

I looked at the panties in my hand, seeing a faint bit of dried mess from the night before, and sighed. I wasn't so much panicked anymore as I was ashamed. I'd acted like a total slut, practically jumping on Dane's cock as soon as it was out of his pants. A few tattoos, a little bit of a bad boy vibe to him, and I melted right into his hands . . . And the way those eyes looked at me when he touched me, the voice in my head said in his defense. Face it, you were falling for him. I was, but that doesn't mean I need to keep it up, I bitterly said to myself. I balled up the panties and threw them into the hamper. Much like the night before, I scored, this time two points. I headed downstairs and found Daddy and Brittany in the living room. Daddy saw me first and turned off the television, which had been showing a Braves game. "Good to see you awake, sweetheart," he said, setting his remote aside and standing up. "How do you feel?" "A lot better, thank you," I said. "And thank you, Brittany. I saw that you helped me change. Honestly, I don't remember much of that part." "You were pretty exhausted, Abby. Come now, have a seat." I rubbed my stomach, thinking. "What time is it?" "Just after two, sweetie," Daddy said. "You look famished." I shook my head. "No, Daddy. I think I can wait until dinner time. That is, if you guys don't mind eating a little earlier than normal?" "I don't think that'll be a problem, dear, but how about a glass of milk at least?" Brittany asked. She stood up, then stopped. "Sorry. I've been thinking, and I feel like I owe you an apology. I feel like a lot of what caused last night are my suggestions to you." I took a deep breath, having a seat on the couch. It had taken a lot for Brittany to say what she had to me in my room. It had been just the two of us. There hadn't been a need to show off to Daddy. Her words had come from the heart. "Brittany, I'll admit that there was a part of me that got up because of that. I had an overwhelming need to rebel. But that wasn't all of it." I took a deep breath and looked at Daddy. "Part of it was you. I know you love me. And I know you want what's best for me. But Daddy, I can't keep living inside the bubble you've built for me. And as much as it may pain you, I'm not cut out for the world that Brittany is so familiar with." His face pinched, and Brittany had a worried look, but both of them held a respectful silence as I continued. "I'm not cut out to be a debutante! Nor am I the

type of girl who enjoys putting on a thousand-dollar dress to drive over to Camden in April to hobnob at the Carolina Cup only to have some frat boy from Duke end up puking all over it. I'm blue jeans and t-shirts, and during the summer, sometimes I like wearing Daisy Dukes and a blouse." "Yes, much to my worry, honey," Daddy said. "Why do you want to live the way I had to? Dirt in my hands, the sun on my neck, and sometimes my father having to choose between paying the electric bill and paying for food. I just don't want you to live like that." I smiled and came over, sitting in between them, taking both of their hands. "Daddy, that's not going to happen. Your hard work has put me through GT, even if you never give me another dime in your entire life. You've put a roof over my head, food in my belly, and most importantly, love in my heart. After Mom died, you worked hard, but you also loved me hard too. And Brittany, I have to say sorry too. I know you were trying to help me, and I'm not trying to demean who you are or where you come from, but it's just not me. I'm sorry if I couldn't appreciate what you were trying to do." Daddy squeezed my hand and smiled. "It's hard to believe that my little girl’s grown up so much. I guess part of me still thinks of you as the little girl who used to want to do coloring books and would mess around in the old workshop with me." "Part of me still is. But I've grown up, too. I know part of me is still a bit jealous that I have to share my daddy with another woman, and again, I'm sorry for that, Brittany. I feel like I haven't always been fair to you about it." Brittany smiled and squeezed my other hand. "Abby, I think you did more today than anything I've seen to show me that, while you may not exactly fit in with some of the country-club set, you've got more than enough moxie to be able to stand on your own two feet. I'll be honest, I don't think I could have done what you've done over the past few years when I was your age. And one other thing." "What's that?" I asked, somewhat stunned by her words. "I love you very much, dear." I blinked, smiling as tears threatened my eyes again. "I don't say it enough, but I care for you too, Brittany. You've got some ideas that I may not agree with, but you love Daddy, and that’s most important to me. And if you don't mind, I’ll take some of that milk." Brittany smiled and nodded. “How about we make it chocolate?” DESPITE THE IMPROVEMENT IN MY RELATIONSHIP WITH DADDY AND BRITTANY, LIFE REFUSED TO GET BACK to normal. I was glad that classes were nearly finished for the semester, because I

was too caught up in my own drama to be able to focus on tests or papers or anything like that. Still, I had finals coming up in a month, and I knew that when those rolled around, either I had to get my act together, or else my GPA was going to drop. With grad school admissions coming up soon, I didn't want anything to put my chances of getting accepted in danger. The problem was, I couldn't get Dane out of my head. When I woke up in the mornings, his name was on my lips more often than not, and I hated myself for it. How could I still be obsessed and thinking about this man who was a killer? Was I really that hard up for a relationship, or was there something wrong in my head? I thought about those sick, twisted women who would write convicted murderers in prison and supposedly fall in love with them. Was that what was happening to me? He said there was more to the story, the little voice in my head would say whenever I thought about him. He sounded so genuine when you were running out of the apartment. An apartment that wasn't his, I reminded the little voice. An apartment that he was only crashing in because he was a convicted killer who didn't have a job, and probably didn't even have two dimes to rub together. You mean like Daddy didn't have when he was growing up? the voice asked again. And just how did he turn out? "That's different," I muttered to myself. "What'd you say?" I started, looking up, and realized that Shawnie had spoken to me. We were sitting outside a pizza joint near the GT campus, where she'd invited me to grab some lunch with her before her afternoon lab class. "Sorry, Shawnie. Just talking to myself." "You've been doing that a lot lately,” she said, taking a sip from her Coke. "People are going to think you've gone crazy." I shook my head, wondering just how close to the truth she was. I took a deep breath to force my mind off the subject and looked over at my friend. "They already know I'm crazy, Shawnie. About the only sane thing I do is hang out with you." "My case in point," Shawnie said with a laugh. She was wearing her typical campus clothing, a pair of jeans and a Georgia Tech t-shirt, the G and the H poking out a lot farther than the center of the shirt. If I was to be accused of being curvy, Shawnie was nearly a cartoon caricature come to life. She took it all in stride though, and more than once had shut down a horn dog that tried to ease up on her with a lame 'hey, shawtie' come on. She liked her men intellectual and cultured, something that was pretty hard to find around campus. "Seriously, though, is everything okay?

You've been off for the past few weeks." "Yeah," I said, sighing. "Just . . . well, remember that night I said I was going to meet you at the art exhibit?" "The one by the German? Yeah, I remember being pissed off at you, and even more when I found out that you were at the dinner for Greg DeKalb, of all people. But you told me you got hung up on some stuff. Why, what's up?" "Well, I tried to walk to the gallery," I said, and Shawnie held up her hand, shocked. "You did what? Abby, Atlanta might be safer than it was a few years ago, and this certainly isn't Freak Week, but are you out of your damn mind, girl? And you're a native of this area. What were you thinking?" I smiled and took a sip of my own Coke, reaching for a slice of the medium pizza we were sharing. "Careful, Shawnie. Your Sandhills drawl comes through more when you get all worked up. But, as I was saying, I tried to walk. I ran into some trouble, and before you say anything, I know I was being stupid. But I got some help, and the guy who helped me . . . I’m just having problems getting him out of my head." "Ooh, I see," Shawnie said. "Tell me, was he cute?" "He was." I nodded. “A little different from the type I normally go for. Maybe that’s the attraction.” "So why haven't I been introduced to him? Afraid I'll try and take him from you?" I was about to answer when my phone buzzed. I picked it up off the table and grimaced when I saw the number. It was Dane, and while he wasn't exactly pestering me with phone calls, he had called me a few times in the three weeks since we'd spent that night together. I hoped he'd have given up, because every time he called, I was almost guaranteed to dream about him that night. I hit the red call rejection button and set my phone down. "Because sometimes guys aren't what they seem to be.” Shawnie looked at my phone, then up at me, and sat back, tenting her fingers under her chin in the way that told me she was being perceptive. For a girl who was in school for engineering, she had a deep psychological streak that could either be helpful or frustrating, depending on the situation. "Really? And without going into too many details, since I can tell you don't want me to know exactly who this mystery man is, what is it about him that has you so worked up?” I sighed and shook my head, confused. "Shawnie, it's just that . . . I thought he was a good man. But, how can a good man have done terrible things? I mean, he's been in prison." Shawnie tilted her head, smirked, and shrugged. "You mind if I tell you

something?" "You know you can say anything to me. You're my best friend." "Abby, you come from upper crust society. Atlanta upper crust at that, which makes even Charleston look downright Hicksville. I'm from parts of South Carolina where a lot of the folks I graduated high school with, their greatest goal in life was to get a job at the DuPont factory down the road and buy themselves a new Chevy pickup. Guys I used to date, the pinnacle of their entire lives will be the two years they played varsity football for the local high school. I guess what I'm saying is, you grew up somewhat protected. Now, I'm not saying you're prejudiced, no more than I am, but you never faced the choices that some of the people I knew had to face." "I know," I said, thinking of some of the discussions she and I had shared over the years we'd been friends. "It's kind of what makes you special. You're also one of the few people I know who doesn't try to kiss my butt or hold it against me that I am who I am." "You can't help it, just like I can't help being fine as May wine," she said with a laugh. "But what I'm trying to say is, there are times when good people either just make stupid mistakes or are forced into bad situations. Did you know, my graduating class's salutatorian is doing ten years at the Broad River Correctional facility back home?" "Really?" I said. While Shawnie had been more than willing to share her observations on things or offer up a bit of down home country advice, she'd never really talked about her growing up in South Carolina except as an illustration of another point. "What happened?" "He had a cousin in the county over that got in trouble with the wrong type of people. He agreed to help his cousin out by making a run over to the Myrtle Beach area to pick up a package and bring it back. Now, you know, I know, and yes, even he knew that nobody forgives a multi-thousand-dollar debt for running down to the Beach to pick up some doughnuts and maybe some crab cakes. But, he decided the risk was worth it to help out his family. So he took his car down there and picked up the package. He probably would have gotten away with it, too, if there hadn't been a drunk driver on the road behind him on the way back. They ended up crashing, and the cops found sixty pounds of weed in the trunk of his car. He got tabbed on a Class E felony, and even though he was eighteen and it was the first time he'd done anything, the judge was one of those hard-ass types who looked at kids like him and threw the book at him. Maximum sentence, ten years at Broad River. If he gets time off for good behavior, and a little bit of luck, he might be out right around the time you and I start grad school." I thought about it, then shook my head. "So you're saying the next time he calls, I should pick up?"

She might have had a point, but then again, we weren’t talking about naively smuggling some drugs here. Dane took a man’s life. Shawnie shook her head and brushed a strand of hair out of her face. "What I'm saying is that you should think about it before hitting that red button so hard or so fast next time. Is there something you don't know about this guy? Is there more to the story than what you know already? And also, more than anything, is there a reason you're still thinking about him weeks after you met him for only one night? Oh, and one more thing." "What's that?" I asked. "Are you going to eat that last pepperoni?"

Chapter 8 Dane I WAS SITTING ON THE COUCH THAT SEPARATED THE BEDROOM AREA OF THE LOFT FROM THE LIVING ROOM area when I heard the doorknob rattle, and insane hope flared inside me. In the time since my night with Abby, life had become painful at best. Each day had started with rolling out of bed, a desultory shower, and then off to find a job. My list of rejections was now standing at two hundred and thirty, the latest being at a soul food restaurant on Peach Street that had five customers along with one of the dishwashers in the back having gang tattoos when I'd put in my application. However, one look at the box and the details of my conviction, and the manager hadn't even given me the respect of waiting until I was out the door to throw my application in the trash. Instead, she had balled up the paper in front of me and tossed it in the trash can by the door. "Boy, we don't need your kind around here," she'd told me. "Now get out, and I don't want you here as a customer either." I'd tried again afterward to call Abby, but just like she'd done the other times I called, it went to her voicemail. I'd left her a message, then went on my walks again. That morning, though, I woke up totally broken. Lying there in bed, staring at the ceiling, the thought of trying to get out of bed, shower, and go out job hunting again was too much. Even the thought of going downstairs to the library and grabbing yesterday's copy of the Constitution-Journal just felt like too much effort. Even the time I spent in Iraq wasn't so exhausting. So that day, I lay in bed until nearly eleven o'clock before my bladder chased me out of bed. I'd always been a guy whose body seems to run by an internal clock that rarely varied. I sighed. I had exactly five dollars left on me and not a prospect in sight. Still, there was no way I could face going out there that day, not after two

hundred and thirty rejections. And especially not after Abby. So I crashed on the couch, foregoing a shower for the first time in over five years, the first time since Iraq. Instead, I lay on the couch, watching as people with even more fucked up lives than I had yelled at each other over paternity tests, who was sleeping with whom, and who was going to kick whose ass later on. It helped. No matter how fucked up your life gets, no matter how low down the ladder of life you felt you were, you can always turn on daytime TV and find someone who is worse off than you. I was watching a DVR-delayed celebration of Drew Carey giving away a new car to some co-ed from Cal Poly San Luis Obispo when the door rattled, and I sat up. The slight hope I had was squashed a moment later when I saw Chris Lake walk in. I mentally kicked myself, considering the Mayfair Tower is one of those types of places where guests can't exactly walk in and out without a lock code or being buzzed in by the front desk. If it had been Abby, I would have gotten a call. "Hey, big man," Chris said, looking fresh and happy. Then again, if I'd just spent weeks in Europe catching the last of the ski season in the Swiss Alps, I'd probably be feeling pretty good too. "Taking the day off?" "Hey, Chris," I greeted him, admittedly sulking. When he gave me a look, I shook my head. "Sorry, I just thought you were someone else for some stupid damn reason." "She must have really rocked your world.” He laughed, dropping his backpack and putting his wheeled suitcase next to the fridge. "Or did your time in prison change your preferences?" His joke was made with a lighthearted tone, but when I didn't respond, he sobered up, coming over and taking a seat in the chair that completed the rest of the living room ensemble. "I was just pulling your leg, man. Sorry, I guess I shouldn't joke about your time in prison.” I shook my head. "It's not that. Just . . . it's been harder than I thought it would be getting out. I just couldn't take it anymore today. That's why you found me this way." He looked at me with an expression of mixed pity and commiseration that was somehow more painful than if he'd just looked at me in disgust. "You're still struggling on the work front?" I nodded. "Yesterday was number two hundred and thirty. And not even a second interview. I was going to go down to the day labor office tomorrow. I'm down to my last five dollars. Which, by the way, I have to thank you for, and I promise you, I will repay you. You didn't need to leave me five hundred bucks."

"Five hundred bucks for two and a half months isn't a lot," Chris said. "Besides, it was the least I could do for you. You're my brother, man." I sat up, my hands dangling between my knees. "You're the only friend I've got left, Chris. Thank you for giving me a lifeline.” Chris shook his head and sat up straight. "You can cut that shit right now. Everyone needs a second chance. That so far you haven't found that chance yet doesn't mean it isn't out there. So here's what we're going to do. You chill out a while, let me unpack, then go get yourself cleaned up. I can smell your funky ass from here." I sniffed, and I had to admit he had a point. While I'd showered just the morning before, I'd done a lot of walking to quiet my inner demons, and that was pretty funky. "Okay, okay, a good scrub down with the Irish Spring wouldn't hurt things. I suppose you're going to want me to find my own place soon too, right?" Chris laughed and shook his head. "You're welcome here for as long as you need it. If I need to bring a girl home, I'll give you a heads up. Worse comes to worse, we can do the old tie on the doorknob routine." "Remember, I didn't finish college," I said. "That must have been your frat buddies." Chris had gotten out of the service soon after he'd gotten back from his Iraq rotation, just as the Army was starting to draw down some. He'd gone on to college and graduated six months before I'd gotten out of Leavenworth, just in time to bury his father. Now he was twenty-nine like me, and was half owner of the second largest chain of car dealerships in Georgia, along with his uncle, his father's younger brother. "Frats wouldn't have me," Chris said with a laugh, "probably because I ended up with enough ladies to start my own sorority. But seriously, though, let me unpack and you chill, then go get washed up. Then we'll get dressed and go out on the town, my treat. I'm sure there's some woman out there with your name on her lips, just waiting for you to give it to her.” The idea of cruising bars with Chris wasn't exactly appealing, but I couldn't exactly say no. I had no idea how to explain Abby to him, after all, and if I refused his offer, he'd want to know why. "All right, man, but don't be too mad if I don't exactly hit a home run tonight. All that time in the exclusive company of men does make your game weak as hell." Chris laughed and got up out of the chair. "I doubt that, Dane my man. The biggest thing standing in your way is that you just have that damned inconvenient noble streak about you. And you always were pickier than you needed to be. Just remember, a pair of sevens beats a ten every day."

I snorted at the bad joke, causing Chris's smile to broaden. "Besides, we need to go out and celebrate." "Celebrate what? You not breaking your leg in the Alps?" "Fuck no. Your new job. Starting Monday, you're going to be the new shop assistant down at Lake Ford-Lincoln-Mercury. That is, unless you have another opportunity knocking.” I sat there, stunned. "Chris, you didn't need to do that. Really." "It's not charity. Trust me on that. I may be half owner, but other than getting my Uncle Hank to agree to hire you, I've got very little to do on the day-to-day operations of that place. You're going to be working your ass off for your paycheck." "And just what will you be doing?" I asked, feeling the first smile in a while creep out on my face. "Selling used F-150s?" “No," Chris said with a laugh. "I've got my own job. Don't you know? You're looking at one of the managing partners in Lake-Crawford Real Estate. Starting tomorrow, I've got to start actually putting all that shit I learned in college to work. Use it or lose it, you know?” HANK LAKE WAS THE EPITOME OF A SOUTHERN GOOD OLD BOY. WITH SUN-PINKED SKIN AND A SLIGHTLY piggish look to his face, he could have done justice to a remake of The Dukes of Hazzard as a double for Boss Hogg. That being said, he was a lot gentler than his outer expression put off. In fact, he was a pretty good guy. "Bell," Hank said one evening as I was sweeping up the mechanics’ bay. It was one of the duties of my job, along with fetching tools, unloading and sorting parts deliveries, and a lot of go-fer work in general. I couldn't complain though. Chris had arranged that I was getting twelve bucks an hour, and each of the two weeks I'd been there so far, there'd been the chance to catch a few hours of overtime. "Come by my office when you're done with the bay." "Yes sir, Mr. Lake," I said, putting my broom aside. I still had two more steps to clean the floor, since it was a Friday. After the initial sweep, I had to scatter absorbent material over any obvious oil spots, let it dry, and then sweep those up before mopping the whole bay with a strong detergent that was supposed to break up any thin layers of oil. If there were a lot of spots for the absorbent stuff, it could take upwards of an hour and a half to do the whole thing. Thankfully, that night there were only two, both of them small and in bay four, the left-most bay. By the time I finished the first three repair bays, I was able to sweep up the absorbent material, which now looked a lot like wet kitty litter, and get bay four done without too much delay.

I found Hank in his office, located inside the sales area. He wasn't a salesman. He'd let his brother deal with that side while he concerned himself with the mechanical side of things, but as the now operations owner of the whole chain—four dealerships throughout central and southern Georgia—he'd had to leave the greasy coveralls behind. In the little bit of time I'd worked there, it seemed to me that he wished he was back in the garages instead of wearing a white duck, cotton buttondown shirt. I knocked on his door frame, a habit from my military days I hadn't yet lost. "Mr. Lake? I just finished bay four. Sorry if you were waiting." He looked up from his desk, which was covered in paperwork and invoices, so much so I had no idea how he kept it organized. He must have had one hell of an assistant. "Not at all, Bell. Trust me, there's always more work to do with keeping this place going. Have a seat." I looked down at my stained and spotted coveralls, and shook my head. "No offense, sir, but I'd mess up your office. If it's all the same to you, I'll stand." Hank nodded, looking my clothes over. "Suit yourself. I just wanted to give you your first paycheck personally, so here you are." He handed over the envelope, which I glanced at before putting it in my back pocket. "You're not going to open it?" "No, sir. I was taught that you don't tear open letters and stuff like that when the person giving it to you is still there. Either it's good news, in which case it can wait, or it's bad news, in which case you don't want to lose your temper in front of who gave you the letter. Besides, I trust you, and I've kept track. To be honest with you, no matter what it is, it’ll seem like a fortune." Hank sat back in his chair, entwining his fingers over his belly. "I'm going to be honest with you, Bell. When my nephew said he wanted me to give you a job, I was confused. I don't know if you know, but he and that boy, Lloyd, knew each other before they enlisted in the Army." I shook my head, surprised. "No, I didn't, sir. I always thought that the three of us met at Benning in Airborne School." Hank chuckled. "Nope. That boy, Lloyd—his parents are from right here in Atlanta, same as Chris. In fact, Lloyd's daddy and I were high school classmates. Lloyd and his folks moved up to Pennsylvania right after he finished his junior year in high school. You never noticed he had an accent?" "Lloyd was one of those guys whose accent never really gave him away," I said. "Maybe he blended his Southern with a bit of Yankee or something. Besides, a lot of us ended up with a bit of accent after a while. It kind of all blurs together when we're in green." "I see. Well, anyway, those two boys grew up really thick, and I was glad when they

met back up in the service. Guess what I'm saying is, if Chris stuck it out for you, there had to be a reason. So, I'm gonna make you an offer. Starting up soon, the shop has a summer surge of folks coming in. Lots of trade-ins and lots of repairs as folks want their cars tuned up for going out to the lake or going on summer vacation. We normally bring in a bunch of new folks around that time to do the lower level mechanical stuff—things like oil changes, tire rotations and changes, things like that. Pay's better. We pay each of them fifteen an hour, and those that have skills have a chance to become full-time mechanics if they know what they're doing. Tell me, do you have any real mechanical skills?" I thought, then shrugged. "I learned how to do the basics on a Humvee, and back in my high school days I helped my dad with a rebuild of a small block Chevy engine for a '79 Camaro he was doing as a project. We finished just before I enlisted. Prior to that, I did basic stuff at a Jiffy Lube down the street from my house. But I never got any formal schooling or anything like that, if that's what you are asking." Hank laughed. "I never went to any of those schools myself. I started the same way you did, rebuilding small block Fords with my daddy and doing oil changes here in the shop, back when this was a one-dealer operation. All right, then. The offer's on the table. You keep working hard as you've been the past two weeks, and tell me by the start of next month if you want a slot in the program or not. I'm not saying it'd be permanent. You might find yourself sweeping bay floors again come fall, but it'd be something." "Thank you, sir. I'll think it over." On the way back to the apartment, I did exactly that, mulling it over. Hank didn't strike me as the sort of man who would try and feed me a line of junk, so the offer did make me happy. I was a little disturbed by what I'd learned about Chris and Lloyd, but in the end, I figured that they'd just forgotten to mention it during the time we had been friends together. After all, military time was just different from civilian time. There's no other way to really put it. I didn't tell them too much about my life growing up in the Midwest, either. When I got back, I found Chris leaning back on the sofa, watching the evening news. "Hey man, how was work today?" "Good," I said with a smile. I pulled my paycheck, which I'd opened on the MARTA, out of my back pocket. "Check it out. After taxes, nine hundred and forty-seven dollars and thirty-six cents." Chris flashed me a thumbs up. “That’s good. You've been working your ass off. So are you on the schedule for tomorrow?" I shook my head. "Nope. I'm off until Saturday morning. Why?" "We're going out then," Chris said, getting off the sofa. "But you're buying the

beer." "I don't know, man. Since getting out, I've found that my taste for alcohol isn’t what it used to be,” I said, tilting my head and rubbing my hand through my hair. "You know, getting dried out by Leavenworth and everything. Not to mention, I don't need any trouble with John Law." Chris wasn't to be denied, however. "Don't sweat it, man. We're just going out to celebrate. I promise, you're not going to get hammered, and we're just gonna relax, see if maybe we can find you a girl to take your mind off whoever the hell it is that's been keeping you tossing and turning on the sofa at night." "Sorry about that," I apologized, knowing exactly what Chris was talking about. In the days since the night with Abby, she was always in my thoughts. A lot of it was silly shit, like if she'd be proud of me for how I worked or if she'd like the cut of beef I'd picked up at the grocery store. But whether it was just stupid rationalization or not, she was always on my mind. I tried to stop it, but the image of her eyes drove me from my sleep every morning, and it was the desire for my arms to hold her again that chased me in my dreams. She'd even, after the week of sulking, fueled my renewed focus on working out. With Chris being home, I didn't feel so strange using the fitness center at the Tower, and I'd gotten back into the habit of morning PT. An hour on the weights alternated days with calisthenics and running around the park, using one of the jogging paths that ringed the place. Every time I went by the grove of trees where I'd rescued Abby from those scum that had assaulted her, I found the energy to push myself just a little harder. Still, I woke up in the middle of the night more often than not, and I guess Chris had noticed. I made a firm decision. "All right, man. Let's go out and enjoy the world. We're single, under thirty, and we've got some money in our pocket. We're the kings of the goddamned world, aren't we?" "That's the spirit. Come on. But first . . . you need a shower. You smell like a car service." THE CLUB WASN'T MUCH, JUST A PRETTY STANDARD COUNTRY AND WESTERN BAR THAT CATERED TO THE crowd that was slightly older than college age. There were plenty of college kids there, but the majority of the people there that night at Roundups looked like they had at least a car loan, if not a mortgage, in their name. Unfortunately, the fact that we were there on a Wednesday night of all times meant that the crowd was light. We'd been there an hour already, and to be honest, even if I had been in the mood to chase a skirt, the pickings were mighty slim, and Chris was despondent. "This place is dead, man. Sorry about that."

I took a sip of my beer, the second glass of the night—I'd promised myself no more than three— and sat back, shaking my head. “It ain't no thing. It's nice to just get out a bit and chill. Hell, it feels good just being able to pay for the beer." "Well, you still owe me about fifty more pitchers, by my calculations," Chris said with a laugh. "Do that over the course of the rest of our lives, and I'll call it even on that loan. No way in hell am I taking half of your first paycheck." "Dude, you need to at least let me give you something," I objected. "Pay you some rent, something. And we go half on the groceries.” Chris took another drink of his own beer—he was most of the way done with number four and warming up for number five—and it looked like he was about to object for a second, then he shrugged. "All right. We go half on the groceries, and your rent's four hundred a month. You pay me with your next paycheck." Chris finished off his beer and looked around, seeing something that caught his eye. "Damn, check out the tits on that one. Phew, she'd be able to hold this whole glass in between those puppies." I looked over and saw who he was talking about, a curvy girl who looked to be in her early twenties. She was pretty light skinned, but she still stood out in a place like Roundups, where most of the clientele was a shade lighter. "I see you still like chasing the younger ones," I said. “Though she isn't jailbait. When did you grow out of them?" "About the time I started getting strange looks around the high schools," Chris said with another laugh. "So I graduated up to college girls, and that one looks like just about my type. You know what the best thing about undergrads is, Dane?" "What's that?" I asked, feeling like the years were falling away. We weren't pushing thirty anymore but were twenty-three and on leave in between Airborne School and heading back to Fort Campbell to join the 101st, and everything was relaxed and cool. "I keep getting older, they keep staying the same age," Chris finished with a laugh. "Why don't you try for that one? You always struck me as a tits man." I shook my head. "Nah, that's okay." I looked around for someone else to take my attention from the girl, someone who looked like she was already attached. It wasn't that the girl wasn't hot, it was just I wasn't interested in a one-night stand. Besides, the inner voice said, that isn't Abby. "How about that one?" Chris looked over at who I pointed out, laughing. “Her? Didn't think you chased married women." I shrugged. "Maybe it's just the beer, then. Hey, what ever happened between you and that girl you were dating right before I went up? You know, the one we called

Miss Teen USA?" Chris polished off the rest of beer number four, his expression darkening. "Never came to anything, man. Just . . . never came to anything. Listen, you going to find some pussy or not? If not, I'm going to look around myself.” I looked around and shook my head. "Nah, I'm good. Probably got whiskey dick right now anyway." Chris grunted and heaved himself out of his chair, putting his glass down on the table. I looked, and the girl he'd first shown interest in had seemingly disappeared, while the woman I'd indicated seemed like she was still there. Chris studied her for a second and shrugged. "Hell, any port in a goddamn storm. Yo, you good at getting home tonight by yourself if you need? I'd rather not bring this one home, if you know what I mean." "I'm good, man. Happy hunting." "You're goddamn right about that."

Chapter 9 Abby I CAME OUT OF THE CLOUGH UNDERGRADUATE COMMONS BUILDING, FRUSTRATED WITH MYSELF. I'D stopped by the building to find a quiet spot to do some studying for my European History final, which was the next day, when I'd fallen asleep in one of the comfortable chairs that you could find in the study rooms. When a chime had woken me up, I was pissed to find that it was already noon, and I had agreed to meet Shawnie for lunch in fifteen minutes. If I hurried, I'd just make it. Heading off campus, I rounded a corner to come to a screeching halt before I got run over by someone on a bicycle. "Hey, watch where you're going!" The bike came to a stop, and I saw that the man was wearing a business suit, one of the seeming army of young executives on bikes that had sprung up around Atlanta as the city became more bike friendly. This one had the whole nine yards of gear, including aerodynamic minimalist helmet and even a protective tight spat on his right lower leg to protect his suit pants from the oil and dirt of his chain. When he turned, I felt like I'd been smacked in the face. "C-Chris?" Chris blinked, his momentary expression of anger over being yelled at being replaced by a gape of surprise. "Abby? Abby Rawlings?" I smiled, stunned. "Yeah. Wow, it's been so long." He got off his bike and came over, grinning. "Yeah, it has been. How have you

been?" I shrugged. "Well, you know . . . nearly done with college now. And you?" "Running back to the office," he said. "I had a client meeting downtown, and the traffic is hell in a car that way this time of day, so I jumped on the bike instead. I have to say, you look great. So you're what, a senior now?" I nodded. He was the same as ever, with the sort of personality that never let up and never really backed down. "Yeah. What about you? What are you doing?" "I'm in real estate. Hey, you know, we should catch up sometime. I live near here, if you don't know. The Mayfair Tower. You know it?" Chris said, smiling wider. The mention of the Mayfair filled my heart with dread and trepidation as I thought again about Dane. It had been Dane who'd taken me to the tower, and it was through Dane that the memory of Chris was strong in my head again. Most of all, though, it was Dane. Dane, Dane, Dane damn-his-heart-for-disrupting-mysleep-for-five-weeks-Bell. Chris saw the change of expression on my face and tilted his head to the side, confused. "Abby, I know that I was kind of an idiot in breaking things off between us the way I did, but that was a few years ago now. Listen, I'd really like the chance to at least explain to you why. Would you mind if I got your number?" My cellphone buzzed in my pocket and I pulled it out, seeing that it was Shawnie. Cursing silently to myself, I nodded quickly. "Okay. Here," I said before giving him the number. I didn't have time to argue with him. I didn't want to keep Shawnie waiting any longer than I had to. "Chris, I'd love to chat more, but this is a friend of mine, and I'm already late for a lunch appointment. Do you mind if I take off?" "No, I understand," he said with a somewhat happy smile. "It was good to see you again." He hopped on his bike and disappeared down the street while I answered Shawnie's call. "Yeah, babe, it's me. Yeah, I know. Hey, I fell asleep in a study chair. You know, that one that gets the morning sunlight. I'm just off campus now, maybe five minutes away? Yeah, go ahead and order," I said as I jogged across the street. "General Tso's Chicken for me. I'm serious, and yes, I know it totally makes me a hypocrite. But today I can use it. I'll tell you all about it when I get there. Thanks, Shawnie. Bye." I turned back to see if I could still see Chris, but he had disappeared. I was confused, and more than ever, unsure of what the hell was going on. Chris looked handsome, that was for sure, but there was something in the way he'd talked to me . . . I just wasn't attracted to him anymore. Sure, five years ago when I was seventeen, maybe. But not anymore.

When I got to the restaurant, Shawnie was just pulling apart her set of chopsticks. "Hey, Abby, the food should be here any minute. So how was your nap?" "Needed," I said honestly. Shawnie gave me a look of concern, and I nodded. "Yeah, I'm still not sleeping well." "Even after the double spin classes you tried this past week?" she asked. "You could barely make your way up the stairs the last time I saw you." I nodded. While I'd pushed myself to my limits physically and dropped into bed each night exhausted, that didn't mean that I was staying asleep or sleeping well. "Not even those. Why do you think I'm trying the chicken today? My legs are so damn sore that I figure the extra calories and protein can do nothing but help with recovery, if nothing else. I'll be honest with you, Shawnie. I'm scared. Our history final is tomorrow, and right now I couldn't tell you the difference between Napoleon Bonaparte and Napoleon Dynamite." "So when are you going to give this guy a call back then?" Shawnie asked, cutting to the root of the issue in her normal direct fashion. "At least talk to him over the phone and then make your decision. You might be able to get some sleep tonight." "And tomorrow's final?" I asked, confused. "What am I supposed to do about that?" Shawnie laughed and leaned back. Our food arrived, and we tore into it like the starving people we were. I hadn't told her, but between the stress, the extra exercise and the lack of good sleep, I'd dropped nearly eight pounds in the past two weeks, and even Brittany, who had once joked with me that there was a kernel of truth in the old saying you could never be too rich or too thin, looked at me with concern. I could see it too, as my cheekbones were starting to be a bit too defined, and I'd gone from perky and cute to lean and drawn. A few more weeks of this, and I'd be at the stringy and emaciated stage. “I’ve been thinking," I told Shawnie after I'd finished chewing on one of the spicysweet chunks of chicken, "and I think what you told me last time carries a lot of merit. But, Shawnie, what if the thing this guy did . . . well, what if it's a lot more serious? That guy you knew in high school, that's one thing. But to do what this guy did . . . well, are there crimes beyond forgiveness?" Shawnie chewed on some of her own food, Kung Pao shrimp and vegetables, then took a sip of her tea. The restaurant, in a nod to the Southern culture in which it was located, offered both iced and traditional hot tea with its meals, although they had so far not bowed to the Southern convention of adding ridiculous amounts of sugar to all tea. "That's something I think each person needs to answer for themselves," she eventually replied. "I can't speak for you, Abby, but from what I've seen from you, I

think you need to talk to him either way. Can I ask—you don't need to answer or anything, but from the way you acted afterward . . . I take it that it was more than just a kiss or something?" "God, yes," I immediately said, blushing. “A lot more.” Shawnie nodded, then grinned. “It was that good, huh?" I couldn't help it, I laughed. The humor helped. "You have no clue, Shawnie. Seriously, that man could do things that I never imagined." "And your hang-up about him, is it because of that, or because of him?" she asked, springing her trap. It was part of the reason I liked her so much. She was willing to confront me, but always in a way that was for my own good. "I'm just saying, if you're having bad dreams and not sleeping because you need a good orgasm, I'll get you a battery-powered sleep aid for your graduation present. Rechargeable, even. But I think you're more authentic than that." I couldn’t help but laugh, and it gave me something to think about. I took a sip of my tea, thinking. Shawnie and I worked our way through the rest of our meal when she took something out of her pocket. "Hey, I got a letter today." "Oh?" I asked. "Who from?" "Not who, but where," Shawnie said. "I got accepted for a full ride to Stanford for grad school." I blinked, stunned. "Full ride? Really?" Shawnie nodded, sighing. "Yeah. You remember that summer internship I did last summer, the one with the lab over in Texas?" "Duh," I replied with a laugh. "Shawnie, you got to do a summer internship at the Johnson Space Center. What could be better for an engineering student?" "Well, the guy I was working with there—I thought he was a total prick, but it turns out that he wrote a letter to the admissions people at Stanford. He's buddies with the head of the aeronautical engineering department there, and they've collaborated on some projects together. In any case, when my application went across his desk, the guy pushed for me. And by the conversation I had with the guy last night on the phone, if my first semester works out well, he'd be able to get me a paid TA position second-semester teaching freshman math too. It's not a lot, but it'd put cash in my pocket and totally eliminate the need for me to do a part-time job." I whistled. "You must have really made an impression on the guy at Johnson." "I guess I must have," Shawnie said with a chuckle. "I never would have thought it from the way he acted the whole time I was there."

"So what are you going to do?" I asked. "You know I've only applied to schools in the area. GT, Duke, UGA, stuff like that." "I know," Shawnie said quietly. She looked at the letter, which she'd taken out of the envelope while we talked, then looked up at me. "Abby, you're my best friend, but this is too good to pass up. I mean, a paid Master's? Not too many girls from the Sandhills get a chance like that." "Not to mention you'll be working with some of the best and brightest in the world, as well as being able to maybe score a job with the JPL, or maybe one of those aircraft manufacturers that you bent my ear about so much," I said. I reached across the table and took her hands. "If you want my advice, I want you to do it. I mean, of course I'll miss you, but we can still get together during summers, and besides, it'll give you motivation to make a plane fast enough that you and I can hang out on weekends or something." Shawnie squeezed my fingers and lowered her head, blinking. "Thanks, Abby. I love you, girl.” "I love you too, sweetie," I replied. My phone rang, and I took it out of my pocket. I looked at it, then I looked up at Shawnie. "It's him." "Who?" she asked, momentarily having a vacant moment. "You know . . . Dane.” "Dane, so that's his name," she said while the phone rang. "So what are you going to do?" I thought, my finger hovering between the green and red buttons. "Hell, you listened to my advice. I might as well follow yours," I said, jabbing the green button. "Hello?" "Abby, it's Dane. Don't hang up." I looked over at Shawnie, who gave me a supportive smile and sat back. "I won't hang up, Dane. But you need to talk fast, and talk well." I heard Dane exhale on his end, and my heart went out to him. I'd been rejecting his calls for so long, he probably had little hope left that I'd have ever picked up. I wondered if his heart was in his throat like mine was, and if he was also torn in half between fear and happiness, although perhaps for different reasons. "Abby, first of all, I want to apologize. You're right, there's a ton of things about my past that you don't know about. And maybe I should have told you. But I'll be honest in saying I just didn't know how. I need to see you. At least give me a chance to tell my side of the story. There's more to it than what you know. I'm not asking for redemption, but . . . I want to see if there is more between us than just one

night. And most of all, I don't want you to think I'm a monster." "Hold on," I said. I took the phone away from my ear and covered the mouthpiece. "He wants to meet. Not a date, just to talk." "And what does your heart tell you?" Shawnie asked. "To say yes," I replied. "But how should I set it up?" "How about a coffee shop or someplace public? If you want, I can go with you." I smiled in appreciation at her offer and nodded. Uncovering the mouthpiece, I took a deep breath. "All right, Dane, but it's where I want and on my terms, agreed?" "Agreed," he said immediately, relief evident in his voice. "Good. Then meet me at The Nook, on the edge of Piedmont Park. You know where that is, I assume?" "Just down the street," Dane said eagerly. "What time should I meet you there?" "You can meet us there at seven thirty. But Dane, if we don't see you by seven thirty-five, I'm walking out and blocking your number. Okay?" "I'll be there," he said. He was so eager, he didn't even ask who the other person was. "Abby?" "Yes, Dane?" "Thank you. I'll see you tonight." "Good-bye, Dane." I hung up my phone, looking over at Shawnie. "So, what do you say to the two of us getting one more study session in on European History before I take you out for burgers and tots at The Nook?"

Chapter 10 Dane I WAS NERVOUS STANDING OUTSIDE THE DOOR TO THE NOOK, EVEN MORE NERVOUS THAN AT MY COURT martial. The tavern wasn't too busy for a Tuesday night, but I'd still made sure to arrive five minutes early. I was wearing my best clothes short of a suit, which I still didn't own. Instead, I’d put on my best pressed-collared linen shirt, dark khaki dress pants, and my only set of dress shoes, slip-on black shoes that I'd polished not to a military-level shine, but still pretty good. I looked down at myself and nearly slapped my head. I felt so stupid. The night I'd

met Abby, I'd been wearing jeans and boots and a t-shirt underneath my hooded shirt. Now, I probably looked like a loser who was trying to look like something he wasn’t. “The worst that can happen is she says no. You've gotten plenty of that in your life." Somewhat reassured, I entered the place, looking around for Abby's face. I panicked for a second after my first look didn't see anything, but then when I checked again, I saw what looked like a familiar face behind a burly-looking man at a corner table. She was seated with a friend, I guess, and I did a double take when I realized it was the same girl that Chris had his sights on back at Roundups. I went over, her friend seeing me first. She leaned over, and Abby turned, finding me and raising her hand not so much in a wave as a signal that I had found the right table. I couldn't help it. My heart jumped in my chest when our eyes met, and it felt like at least a little bit of the weight that had been sitting on my shoulders since she'd run out of the apartment was gone. "Abby . . .” I said, not sure how to continue when I reached the table. I wanted to pull her into my arms and kiss her again, to feel the lips that I'd dreamed about for weeks. I wanted to whisk her away to a fantasy land that didn't exist outside of movies. Finally, I knew I had to say something. "It's good to see you. Can I sit down?" Abby's eyes cut over to her friend, whose lips twitched in an amused smile. "Sit down, Dane. By the way, I'm Shawnie, Abby's friend." "It's good to meet you," I said, offering my hand. We shook, and I was impressed with her grip. Most women in the South either wilt or give you a weird sort of grip that doesn't quite align properly with the way a man grips your hand, web of thumb to web of thumb, fingers wrapped properly. Most women give you some sort of three-quarter grip where their thumb ends up right about the base knuckle of your fingers, a half-inch short, with their own fingers in some sort of strange stiff pincer grip. Shawnie could shake hands correctly, and I was pleased with that at least. "So I guess you're the other part of us that Abby mentioned earlier?" "I am," she answered playfully. "I get to play the silent muscle, or the Inquisitor, whichever is needed. Do you have any sins to confess?" Her eyes were twinkling in good humor and her mouth was quirked in a half-grin, but it faltered when she saw my face and reaction. "I have more sins than I can think of counting," I said somberly. "But I promise you both, I won't hide any of them." Abby nodded, and for the first time since that one special night, I saw a faint ghost of her smile. "Be careful, Dane. If you think I'm the sort of person who asks hard questions, Shawnie's a pit bull. You may be asked things that you aren't comfortable answering."

"I know. I've been thinking about that for the past six hours. Hell, in reality, I've been thinking about that for the past month. And I'm willing to do that," I said. A waitress came by and took our drink orders—Cokes all around. "You're probably wondering why." "The thought had crossed my mind," Abby said. "Shawnie's been asking me that too. Why would a man be willing to even try explaining things to a girl who he has known for only one night? Why not just find another girl, one who doesn’t know and doesn’t care about what you did?” "I think it's because he's thinking with his hips and not with his head," Shawnie added with a wicked grin. “If I just wanted to get my rocks off, there's a lot of places I could go. But I didn't, and other than two nights out, one at a place called Roundups with my friend, Chris, I haven't been in a night spot since Abby and I met. To tell you the truth, I've seen you before. You were there that night.” "Ah, that night," Shawnie replied, totally unfazed. Smart and collected. I liked this girl. She was a great friend for Abby. "Yeah, I went by there. What did you think?" "Beer's a bit expensive, but the music is tolerable. But anyway, I'm doing this because I felt like maybe we had a connection. I could be wrong, but I’d like to find out.” Abby's eyes softened. My words had an impact on her. Still, there was a lot of hardness in her eyes. Our tension was broken, however, when Shawnie interrupted. "Whoo, you're either the most romantic man in the world or the smoothest talker. Hey, barkeep! I'm going to need a beer over here to put out these flames!" "So why didn't you tell me?" Abby asked quietly after the beer arrived. I demurred, taking just a sip from the previously ordered Coke. I didn't need any alcohol in my system. "Why didn't you tell me about your past?" “I didn’t think it really mattered at the time. I didn’t exactly expect that to happen, and well, after it did, I didn’t really know if I should or how. I mean, was I supposed to say ‘by the way, you just slept with an ex-con’? How would you have done it if our positions were reversed? I'd feel like I was in a Carly Rae Jepsen song or a bad Internet meme. I'm a convicted killer, so call me maybe?" Shawnie nearly snorted beer from her nose, but Abby didn't flinch, studying me with those perceptive eyes of hers. Finally, she nodded, accepting the point. "I do suppose that’s not the sort of thing you tell someone in that kind of situation. Would you have told me eventually?" "I'd like to say yes, but hypotheticals have never been my strong point," I said. "I'll be honest. Not a day goes by that I'm not reminded of what I did, of what

happened. There are times, though, that I'd like to move past it, to not wake up every morning with the thought that I'm going to spend the rest of my life with this weight around my neck." "Tell us what happened, in your words," Shawnie said suddenly, very serious. "Abby showed me some of the old news clips about your conviction. They said you pleaded guilty after killing another soldier." I nodded and told them my version of the events. "In the end, I pleaded guilty because I could have done something different," I said. "I could have knocked him out. I could have kicked him in the back of the leg or something, something to have let me be in control and not end up where we did. That, combined with the case and who I had as a lawyer, I decided the best thing to do was to plead guilty." "And if you hadn't?" Abby asked, almost all of the hardness gone from her eyes. "If you'd taken it to the trial?" "The prosecutor was asking for murder," I said. "Conviction would have been either twenty years and up, or death. Considering it was in a combat environment, I most likely would have gotten life or the death penalty." "So why Atlanta?" Abby asked. "I know I mentioned that before, but it seems like San Francisco or Seattle or someplace like that would be a lot less dangerous for you." I sighed and took out my wallet. Flipping through, I took out the creased photo I had inside. "Take a look," I said, handing over the photograph. "You may not recognize one of the people there, but that's me when I was twenty, about six months before I enlisted. The other people are my parents, my brother, Cain, and my sister, Denise. Once I was arrested, I've heard from them one time. My father wrote me a half-page letter that I got to read when I was in the holding brig at Fort Campbell awaiting my court martial. My defense JAG had asked my family to appear, to make a statement or something that could help my case. Instead, my father wrote back that neither he, my mother, or my siblings knew who Dane Bell was, and wanted no contact with said person forever. He disowned me, and disavowed that I'd ever been his son. It . . . it was difficult to read." "Then why do you keep this photo?" Shawnie asked. "Isn't it painful?" I nodded and took the photo back from Abby, tucking it back into my wallet. "Sometimes, our pain is what shapes us. I keep it because somewhere inside me is hope. Hope that some day, maybe I can redeem myself in my father's eyes, and I can be accepted back into my family. So far, though, no such luck." "Have you tried to contact them?" Abby asked. "You were pretty determined to contact me."

"I write my parents every month," I said. "So far, all these years, every single one has been sent back marked 'Return to Sender.' I'll keep writing, though. Stamps are pretty cheap, and I don't have their email or Facebook accounts." "And are you still living with Chris Lake?" Abby asked. "In that apartment?" I nodded. "I am, but I have a job now, working at Lake Ford. It's not much, just sweeping the repair bay and hauling stuff here and there, but it's a start. As soon as I can, I'm going to find my own place. The amenities may not be as nice, but I'll be standing on my own two feet again." "Why’d you stay with Chris, anyway?" Shawnie asked. "I guess that also has something to do with Atlanta." "Chris, Lloyd and I were in the same team in the 101st. Chris was our team leader. He'd enlisted nearly a year before I did. Afterward, he was the only guy who stayed in contact with me, and when he got out, he continued to send me the occasional letter. So after his father died and he inherited half-ownership of the Lake Automotive Group, he said that when I got out, to look him up in Atlanta. He's let me stay at that apartment, lent me some cash while I tried to find my own job, and when that didn't pan out, he hooked me up with the job at Lake Ford. Of all the people in the world, he was the only one who didn't toss me aside like a piece of trash after what happened to Lloyd. That's why." Abby looked like she was about to say something about Chris, then closed her mouth. She looked down at the table, then at Shawnie, asking her a question without speaking swords. "I think you've made up your mind already," Shawnie said with a smile. "On the good side, I've listened to every word he's said, and either he's been totally honest, or he's the world's best liar, in which case you spent the night with a sociopath." I was still staring at the table when I felt the soft, sorely missed touch of her fingers on my hand, tenderly touching the back of it. I looked up to see Abby's eyes gazing into mine. "Before you two get doe-eyed, I've got one more question, just for curiosity's sake," Shawnie said. “What’d you do all those years in prison?” I looked over and smiled. "You have a lot of spare time, that’s for sure. You can either spend it staring at the walls, staring at a television, or trying to better yourself. I tried to use my time to make myself better. Some studying and a lot of reading.” “Okay, I lied. One last thing, then I'll shut up. What sort of toppings do you think I should get for the tater tots that you're buying for me?" I laughed and looked at the menu. "If it were up to me, I'd go with the chili and

cheese." "That seals it. You’re a keeper," Shawnie said with a chuckle, patting Abby on the shoulder. "He has my seal of approval. You can kiss your boyf . . . whatever it is you want to call him." "Actually, I had one more question," Abby said. "About Chris . . . how close are you two?" The same look that was on her face when I mentioned Chris earlier came over her, and I tilted my head. I figured it was a bit of uncomfortableness over the fact that he and I were friends while he was an ex-boyfriend. Even if it had been years, there were rules that some people followed about that issue. "I owe him a lot. He gave me a home, a job, and loyalty when the rest of the world turned their backs on me. But, if you're worried about how he'd react, I think it wouldn't be a problem. He's moved on. Is it a problem?" Abby shook her head, then lowered her head. "Dane, I feel like I have to say first that… " She paused and was about to say something when a thunderous voice boomed across the tavern. "Abigail Melissa Rawlings!" My head jerked up as Abby whipped her head around to see an older man, maybe in his late forties or early fifties, his eyes glaring at the two of us. He was in good shape for a man his age, and he had a vein pulsing in his forehead as he stood rooted to his spot, his hands clenched at his side. At the sight of him, Abby jerked her hands back from mine, her eyes wide and fearful. I surged out of my chair, getting in between the two while the tavern went dead quiet. "Who the hell . . .?" "Dane, stop," Abby said quietly, laying her hand on my arm. "He's . . . he's my father. Daddy, this is—” "I know who this son of a bitch is," Abby's father said. “I’ll never forget the face of a goddamn terrorist sympathizing, murdering traitor. Dane-fucking-Bell." "Daddy, please," Abby said, her voice quaking. "If you only knew him . . .” "Enough!" he nearly screamed, his face turning purplish. "We're leaving. Now!" I looked around the tavern. While there were a few people looking at Abby's father in shock and even some upset, there were just as many faces looking at me. Two of the guys looked like soldiers, perhaps on leave, or at least the type that wanted to be soldiers. High and tight haircuts, lean faces, and a look in their eyes that said they knew how to handle themselves. I reached back and put my hand on Abby's forearm, but not taking my eyes off her father. He looked mad enough to kill, and that was no exaggeration. "It's okay. It'd be better if I go. Abby, thank you."

I left, trying to keep my head high, even as Abby's father stared daggers at me, along with a few of the other patrons. Shawnie saw what was going on and stood up, but I glanced back quickly and shook my head. Abby needed her friend more than I did. Outside the tavern, I watched as Abby's father said something in her ear, and Shawnie tried to defend her friend before a glare from him silenced her as well. I saw the door to the tavern open, and the soldier boys started to come out. I'm no coward, but this was one situation where discretion was the better part of valor. I couldn't help Abby, but messing with those two guys would get me nothing but time in jail. Hating every step, I left, walking just below a run back toward the apartment.

Chapter 11 Abby WHEN I HEARD DADDY'S VOICE CUT THROUGH THE BAR, I FROZE, MY HEART TREMBLING IN MY CHEST AS MY head whipped around to see him standing there, rage on his face. I'd seen him that mad only once before, when Mike Burriss had been caught red-handed drunk on a job site, and his drinking had caused two other men to get hurt. Daddy had needed to be restrained by four other men that day, and I knew that I had to try and do something. If he’d attacked Dane, Dane would either catch a beating if he didn't fight back, or else Daddy would go to the hospital. I'd seen Dane fight, and for all my Dad’s strength and rage, he wasn't a match. Still, I also knew that Dane was a man who was conscious of his criminal record, and that he tried to do everything he could to blend in, not catch the attention of the police. If something did happen, he’d probably just let Daddy beat on him mercilessly. I had to do something, but I didn't know what. When Dane got up, trying to protect me, I laid a hand on his forearm, hoping that maybe I could use words to diffuse the situation. "Dane, stop. "He's . . . he's my father. Daddy, this is —” Daddy cut me off, his face turning purplish and scaring me. After the cardiac incident back in high school, he wasn't supposed to get upset like this. And he almost never cut me off unless he was upset, and never by screaming at me. If anything, he would interrupt with quiet tones, never showing a lack of control of his emotions. He claimed it was what some of the upper-crust folks who tried to hold him back would use against him. This time, though, his voice was bellowing, loud, and dripping with the blue-collar accent that he’d tried his hardest in daily life to not let seep out. "Enough! We're leaving. Now!" I wanted to say something more, but Dane's calm voice stopped me. I looked at him

and was moved. He was obviously angry, but he was under control. A warm flush ran through me, knowing how much passion he had inside him, yet he kept it under such strong control—all to protect me. "It's okay. It'd be better if I go. Abby, thank you." I watched Dane make his way out of The Nook, and turned my attention back to Daddy. "Daddy—” "Abigail, not a damned word," he said, shocking me into silence. He had never, in my entire life, cursed at me. Sure, he might have occasionally described something in one of our conversations using a curse word, but never had he cursed at me. It brought tears to my eyes, and I gaped like a fish out of water, staring at him as he made his way to our table and grabbed the check. He wouldn’t let a tab go unpaid, no matter how angry he was. "Get your things; we are leaving." "Mr. Rawlings, please don't make a scene. Abby was trying to introduce you to him," Shawnie said, trying to be helpful. “If you'd only sit down and let her explain . . .” He fixed Shawnie with a glare that could have melted through steel. I'd seen my friend stand up to harassing professors, ignorant frat boys, and even groups of people before, but under his eyes, she withered. She sat back down, her eyes barely still able to make contact with Daddy. "I have approved my daughter's friendship with you previously because she always described you as having a good head on your shoulders. Apparently, she was as mistaken in that as she was in talking to that bastard. Do not speak to me, and do not speak to my daughter ever again. Is that understood?" Shawnie's a smart girl, and knew that trying to argue the point with him at that time would be futile. Instead, she was concerned with me, so she pulled her eyes away to look at me. "Are you going to be okay?" "She'll be fine," Daddy said, his iron-hard grip on my arm pulling me toward the exit. There were a few of the customers who looked at me with concern, but no one wanted to get in our business. Not with the look in Daddy’s eyes. Outside, he let me go and pointed at his car, silent and resolute. He said nothing to me the whole time, the frame shaking as he slammed the door when he got in the car. He jammed the keys in the ignition, twisting them savagely until the starter whined and ground with the still-running engine, then stomping down on the accelerator so that his Escalade squealed rubber going out of the parking lot. The whole time driving home, he was dead silent, the only sound in the car being the sound of his breath puffing in and out of his nose. I sat in the passenger seat, trying to figure out what to say, and couldn't. I was miserable, and there was nothing I could do about it. Ironically, the one thought going through my mind was what I'd have to do to get my car back, as it was parked in The Nook's lot. I

wondered how long it would take for them to call a tow truck for it. I sighed and leaned my forehead against my window, wanting to cry but not allowing myself the bitter comfort of tears. I was stronger than that. When we arrived home, Daddy parked the car and sat there, trying to calm himself. "Abigail, I know that going to college, you get exposed to ideas that I may not agree with. And I accepted that. I'm not so backward and set in my ways that I’m afraid of your exposure to these ideas. I thought I'd raised you correctly, and that you would be able to discern the truth from the bullshit.” "But what I saw breaks my heart. It wasn't that you were talking to a traitor. Talking is one thing. But I saw the way you were holding his hand, and the way you were looking at him. You want to break my heart? You want to spit on everyone and everything I find important? Because that's what you did. A fucking traitor, Abby? What the hell’s gotten into you?" I couldn't help it. Long repressed tears spilled down my cheeks as I looked at the anguished face of my father. "Daddy, I'm sorry." He shook his head and took out his keys. "Most days, that'd have been enough, Abby. But this . . . go to your room. Tomorrow, I'll take you to school for your tests. And I'll pick you up." "Daddy, I’m grown. I can go to school on my own," I protested, and he looked back at me. “Besides, my car is parked at The Nook.” "Until I know I can trust you again, I don't think so. Now head to your room. You have tests tomorrow. I'll call the restaurant and make sure that your car is taken care of." I followed his instructions, closing the door to my room behind me. Falling onto my bed, I let the rest of my tears out into my pillow. I wasn't sure if they were tears of rage, tears of sadness, tears of frustration, or what they were. I just knew they had to get out. I think it was mostly of anger, anger that I was being treated like a child. Either way, the tears were poisoning my body, my heart pounding in my chest and my eyes swelling to the point I could barely see, and I had to get them out. I was just starting to gain control of myself when there was a knock on my bedroom door and Brittany came in. "Patrick has asked me to tell you that you’re to have dinner in your room tonight, and that if you need anything, I’ll be the person you should speak to," she said quietly, in a tone totally unlike her. It wasn't cold and it wasn't distant, like I'd expected. Instead, she sounded hollow. "He also asked me to collect your cellphone. He'd have me collect your laptop as well, except he thinks that you might need it for your studying." "Brittany . . .” I said, then sighed and dropped my head. Reaching over, I grabbed my backpack and pulled out my smartphone, holding it out to her. "It isn't right."

For the first time I could think of, I saw frustration in Brittany's face while she took the phone from me and held it while she crossed her arms. I'd seen her piqued plenty of times, usually due to something I did, but I'd never seen this level of pure frustration before. She looked up to the ceiling and took a deep breath, then spoke. "You know, both of you are wrong in this instance. Maybe it’s not my place to say it —but it's true." "What do you mean?" I asked, shocked. I'd rarely heard Brittany talk in this way before, and I had certainly never heard her say something negative about Daddy. If she had ever criticized him, she must have done it just between the two of them. "I mean, Abby, that Patrick is wrong in the way that he’s handling this, while you were wrong to have met with that man in the first place. What do you even know about him?" "A lot," I said, the fire building in my temper. I may not have inherited Daddy's size or physical strength, but I did inherit his stubbornness, even as much as I tried to control it. Sometimes that comes out as anger, whether I want it to or not. "He's not as bad as Daddy thinks he is. He's actually a good man, Brittany." "That doesn't really matter now, does it?" Brittany asked. "You lied, Abby. Maybe not explicitly, but you lied by omission. Patrick and I both thought that your stress over the past month has been because of your upcoming finals and graduation. Now we find out that it was over some . . . some boy!" "He's not a boy,” I said simply. “If you saw him, you’d never say that again." "You think that makes it sound any better?" Brittany asked. She held up her hand, silencing me. "Whatever the case may be, I suspect this has roots going all the way back to that morning you came home after staying out all night. I'm not going to give voice to my suspicions as to what happened that night, although I'm sure Patrick is thinking about the same thing." I couldn't say anything but just dropped my head, unable to answer. Brittany sighed, then bonked her head against my door, a sound so natural and unlike her that I couldn't help it, smiling for an instant before disappearing into my other feelings. "That doesn't mean that Patrick has been blameless in his actions either, Abby. There was no reason for him to blow up at you like that, especially not in a public place. God knows what is going to happen to his account that he stormed out of." I raised my head, surprised. "What are you talking about?" Brittany huffed through her lips, pondering me for a second before answering. "Lake Automotive is looking at expanding, adding a heavy equipment dealership to their lineup. Patrick was meeting with Hank Lake to discuss the possibility of Rawlings Construction building it for them. As Hank is also a rather working-class

man, they decided that a casual meeting over beers and some burgers was better than business suits and lawyers, at least at first." It answered a question I'd had, and I let my breath escape in a whoosh. "So Daddy wasn't spying on me or following me." Brittany chuckled darkly and shook her head. "No, he wasn't. You got caught by pure bad luck, Abby. Basically, at least according to what Patrick said to me, he looked around stretching, only to see you, your friend, and that man talking. He said something, and Hank looked up and remarked that it was . . . what's his name again?" "Dane Bell," I answered hollowly. Brittany clicked her fingers, nodding. "That's right. Dane Bell. In any case, you know your father. He never forgets something like that, and when he made the connection, he lost his temper." "So what now?" I asked. "Brittany, I know you don't want to hear this, but I like Dane. A lot—” “Just stop there,” Brittany snapped, cutting me off. I closed my mouth, and she shook her head. “Just stop, please. I know what you want to say, and I'm not going to argue with you. If you're trying to get me to lessen your father's punishment on you, it won't work. But I do want peace in this house, and I do want us all to be a family. This past month, at least until tonight, has been some of the best for me and you, and I'd hope we could continue that. So don't throw a monkey wrench into that just yet. I’ll talk with Patrick, see if he's willing to calm down. I do guarantee you that you will be taking that European History final tomorrow with him sitting in the parking lot—if not in the hallway outside the lecture hall. I guess the housing development in Douglas County will have to get along with just the foreman tomorrow." Lessen my punishment? What am I, thirteen? Daddy’s overprotectiveness was never really a problem until now. Things are starting to go a little too far. I’m a grown woman, and at some point, it has to stop. “Then I guess I should get to studying," I said, sitting up. There was nothing more to say, and I just wanted to be left alone. "Thank you, Brittany." She smiled, and I was struck at how pretty her smile was. I saw it so rarely, and it actually suited her. I wondered if she shared that smile with Daddy, and I hoped she did. “Don’t stay up too late. Make sure you’re well-rested for your test.” Brittany left, and I got out of my bed, going over to my little study desk and opening my laptop. She was right. I did have a test, and while I was still emotionally shattered, maybe I could get something else into my mind before trying to go to

sleep. I fired up my Mac and went to my professor's course homepage, where the study notes were sitting organized and waiting for us. I was just reviewing the ways the battle of Agincourt had changed warfare, and to a lesser degree, British culture, when I got a beep on my messenger program. I’d forgotten that I had it set to auto start whenever I booted up, and I wondered who it was. I was encouraged when I saw it was Shawnie. Hey, Shawnie. Hey, Abby. I tried calling your phone, but you never picked up. I was worried.

My friend's concern touched me, and I couldn't help but smile. Daddy confiscated my phone as if I’m still a teenager. I'm still not okay, but I'm doing better than when I left The Nook. U? I had to wait a minute while Shawnie typed out her reply, during which I pulled up the Wikipedia on the Battle of Agincourt. If I was going to cram as much as I could last minute, going through the textbook just wasn’t going to work. Besides, I only needed a B on the test. Finally, Shawnie's reply popped up. I got home okay. Wish I'd have been able to bum a ride like I'd planned, but the bus was cheap. I was thinking about calling the cops though. He was so mad . . . It wasn't that bad, Shawnie. And before you start, I know I'm 22, I'm an adult, yada yada yada. I threw in a couple of emojis, a shrugging one and a sheepish grin, then hit enter. Okay, but it's true. Actually, I had another question for you. Go ahead, I wrote. I'm just perusing Agincourt. Good, I hear it's always on the test. Anyway, I'll be blunt. What were you about to say before your dad yelled out? I hope you weren’t going to say that you love him. It was my turn to sit back, thinking. Finally, I decided it was too late in Shawnie's and my relationship to lie. I don’t know. Ok. Well, if you need my help, you got it. Good ol' Shawnie. I couldn’t have asked for a better friend. Thanks. But for now, the main thing I need is to study. See you tomorrow morning. Good night, Abby. IT TOOK NEARLY A WEEK, BUT EVENTUALLY DADDY STARTED TO CALM DOWN AND RELAX. I THINK PART OF IT was when I showed him the results of my History final, an A minus that ensured that I would get on the Dean's List for my last semester as an undergrad. I got my phone back and was even allowed to attend my last few days by myself, without Daddy or Brittany taking me to campus like some sort of junior high school kid. During that time, I texted Dane three times, the first to say that I was sorry about what happened, the second as a reply to his asking how I was doing, and the third just to see how he was doing. I didn't want my bad luck to rub off on him. I wanted to text more, but more than that, I wanted to hear his voice again. I just couldn't take the risk though, as desperate as I was. I wasn't sure I could control myself if I did.

The fact was, other than when I was studying or in the tests themselves, I was constantly thinking about Dane. I’d just finished my last final, the defense of my capstone project with the head of the biology department when my phone rang and I saw that it was an unknown number. A wild idea flashed through my mind, and I answered the phone, hoping that it was Dane calling from a new phone or something. "Hello?" "Hi, Abby, it's Chris Lake," Chris said, disappointing me, but at the same time setting loose a wild idea in my mind. "How're you doing?" Chris sounded like he hadn't heard about my little incident at The Nook, so I assumed that Dane hadn't told him, nor had his uncle. If they hadn't, I figured there was no reason for me to either. "I'm doing okay, Chris. Just finished my last final. How about you?" I could hear him chuckle, but again, there was that sense of something different that I'd felt when I saw him smile the time I'd given him my phone number. It was like I was listening to a stranger, and not the guy I'd dated five years earlier. Most disturbing, though, was that whoever Chris had become, he wasn't exactly someone I was interested in. "I'm doing well. I just closed a pretty big investment property deal and was looking to celebrate. I was thinking of getting together with some people, and wondered if you'd like to come with me. Nothing major, it's not a date or anything, but just a bit of a party out at the site of the deal." "Oh? What sort of site?" I asked, curious if nothing else. It wasn't that I didn't like Chris. I just wasn't interested in him. Besides, while it’d require my lying to Daddy, seeing Dane would be worth it. "I just closed the deal on a housing development on Blalock Reservoir," Chris said. "It's a little south of Atlanta, near Jonesboro. Do you know it?" "I've been down there a few times," I said honestly. It had been years, but Daddy had taken me down there to do some fishing, just for fun. "It's a nice little area. I think the last time I was down there, we went to Lake Spivey. That's nearby, right?" "Right. Well, we just signed a deal with the Clayton County Water Authority that's going to allow us to put in a whole development down there. The land actually already has a lake house. That's where the party's going to be." My idea started to sound more and more plausible, and I couldn't help it. I smiled. "Sounds like fun. When's the party going to be?" My smile must have come through in my voice, because Chris sounded a lot more excited than he had at the beginning of the call. "Saturday at noon. What do you say?" Wild hope flared in my chest, and I answered quickly. "I'll see what I can do. Can

you text me directions? Daddy's been a bit protective, and he's not going to like a man coming around the house and calling on me right now." "That sounds like the Patrick I remember. Okay, I'll send them to you. And bring your swimsuit if you’d like. I think someone's going to bring their boat, and there might be some tubing at least." “I might do that. See you later, Chris." "See you later, Abby. Bye." I headed toward my car when I heard Shawnie call my name. I turned around, waving. "Hey, Shawnie! What're you doing here? I thought your last class was yesterday." My friend came closer, shaking her head, the long ringlet curls of her hair bouncing with every motion. "You're right, but did you really think I was going to let you defend your capstone without me at least checking on you? Besides, in the last week I've barely seen you. At least, not without a parental shadow. How're you doing?" I took out my car keys and unlocked the door. "Tell you what: we can talk while I give you a ride back to your place or something. I owe you that much after The Nook.” "I'll always take a free ride," Shawnie said, going around and climbing into the passenger seat. She hissed when her mostly-bare legs hit the dark leather seats of the Camaro that I'd gotten as a high school graduation present, and I noticed she was wearing kinda short shorts. She pulled her knees up and rubbed the backs of her legs. "I keep forgetting about these damn seats.” "Don't worry, my A/C is super blasting," I replied, turning on the engine and cranking the cold air. Within seconds, we could already feel a difference, and I put my car into reverse and backed out of my parking spot. "Hey, I just had a call and a crazy idea, and I was wondering if I could run it past you." "Go ahead, I love crazy ideas. The Wright Brothers were batshit insane for their day," Shawnie said, slowly lowering her legs to the leather with a contented sigh. "After all, so were a lot of the most famous aeronautical engineers." I was stunned for a second, not sure what the hell to say to that, when I just waved it off. “Well, I just got a call from Chris Lake. You remember the name, right?" Shawnie nodded as I turned right and headed north toward her apartment. "Yeah, your ex-boyfriend who also knows Dane, and you ran into a little while back. By the way, you're beginning to sound like a soap opera with this love life of yours. What's up with him?"

"Well, he invited me to a lake party this Saturday, and I was kind of thinking of doing a little rope-a-dope. Shawnie, I've really got to see Dane, but with Daddy all up in my business, I need some help." Shawnie grinned and tapped a quick beat on the dashboard of my car in front of her. "I like it. What's your idea?” WHEN DADDY GOT HOME FROM THE OFFICE THAT NIGHT, HE FOUND ME RELAXING IN THE TV ROOM, stretched out on the couch. He gave me a smile, something that I hadn't realized I missed until we went days without his being anything but angry at me. "Well now, Abby girl, how did it go?" "I'll find out in two days. But I think it went really well. If it did as well as I think, I'll be sure to get into the GT Master's program. Also, I had an interesting phone call." "Oh?" Daddy said, unable to contain his excitement. He had always been supportive of my academic pursuits, as he felt that education was the key to a better life than what he'd built. "And what was that?" I sat up, trying my best to put on a cute expression for him. I don't normally turn on the charm on him, but I just had to this time. "Well, Daddy, do you remember Chris Lake? You know, of Lake Automotive?" "Of course, baby. You and he dated back when you were a senior in high school. If I remember right, you were pretty down when you guys broke up. I never understood why either." I shrugged, playing it off. I didn't have time to explain it, and besides, it didn't matter. Chris was my past. I was more interested in my future. "I dunno. But, I ran into him the other day, and he's doing really well for himself. He's taken over half of Lake Automotive, and he's got his own real estate company now too." He looked impressed, though he probably already knew that, and if I wasn't so focused on my plan to try and meet Dane, I would have been upset. "Good for him. I always thought he was a good boy. Although he'd be what, twenty-eight, twentynine now?" "I think twenty-nine," I said quickly, trying to advance the conversation. "Anyway, I got a call from Chris today. His real estate company just closed a big deal out on Blalock Reservoir, and he invited me to a company barbecue party to celebrate the deal this Saturday. I thought if I went, maybe he would keep you in mind when it came time for the actual construction of his project." "Wheelin' and dealin' for me, baby? I don't need that," Daddy said, but I could see him smile despite himself. He tried, but he worried too much about me, including

the size of my bank account once he passed on. A good marriage, in his opinion, was essential to that. "What about Chris himself? Like I said, I remember you two were pretty sweet on each other." "That was a while back, but yes, I liked Chris a lot. Besides, I thought a bit of a lake party would be fun, and let me de-stress after all of this. And it's not like its going to be some sort of wild college party or anything. Probably a lot of polo shirts and khakis, I bet." He sat down in his easy chair and started to sit back, then stopped. "Wait. I remember when I was talking to Hank Lake—Dane Bell is living with Chris." "Really? I didn't know," I lied through my teeth, pretty convincingly. Inside of me, I felt a little twinge, but that twinge quickly went away. “I just wanted to go to the party, that's all." He studied me for a moment, then nodded. "Okay. You're a big girl now. I'll give my permission. But, there’s one condition." I rolled my eyes but tried my best to hide it. He’d just said I was a big girl, then followed it up with he’ll give his permission with a condition. “What's that, Daddy?" I asked, trying not to get up and cheer. "Chris is a good man, but he's loyal to a fault. If he goes all noble or anything and invites that traitor, Dane Bell, you are not to hang out or even talk to him. If he approaches you, you politely inform him that you are not to speak with him, and you go on your way. I will not tolerate you and him spending time together, Abby. Understand me?" I nodded and prepared to give him a big lie for the first time in my life. "I promise. If Dane Bell is at the party, I will not speak to or hang out with him."

Chapter 12 Dane I WAS SITTING IN THE PARK ON THE GRASS OVERLOOKING THE POND, RELAXING AFTER A LONG DAY AT WORK, content if not wildly happy. After the incident at The Nook, I’d worried about three things. First, that Abby was okay. Second, that she still wanted to see me. We'd had such a great conversation and connected at the end. I needed just a few more minutes, and to be honest, I was actually angry about it. Thankfully, before I went to sleep, I saw that Abby had sent me a text message that she was okay and that she would talk to me when she had the chance. However, there was a third concern that left me sleepless for the rest of the night. I just couldn’t help but think I was going to walk into work at Lake Ford and find

myself terminated. When Hank Lake called me into his office the next morning, I was sure of it. I hadn't even started my shift yet. "You wanted to see me, Mr. Lake?" I asked, mentally debating if I was willing to debase myself enough to beg for my job, or at least ask to finish out the day. I could have used the money. Hank looked up from his chair, noticing that I was at least in clean clothes, my coveralls freshly washed and still actually smelling slightly of fabric softener. "Yeah, Bell. I just wanted to tell you that what I saw last night, stays last night. To be honest, I was impressed at how calm you stayed." I was stunned. Recovering quickly, I found my voice. "Thank you, sir. I apologize if I caused any trouble." Hank shook his head. "Not at all. I've met Abby Rawlings before. She's a beautiful young woman. Of course, I assume you know that she and Chris were involved before." I nodded. "Yes sir. But when I met Abby, I didn't know that. When we were in the service, Chris never told me her name. It wasn't until later that the connection was made." Hank tapped his desk, pondering for a moment before shrugging and continuing. "I see. Well, that's not here nor there, I’d prefer to stay out of that issue. In any case, I just wanted to let you know. By the way, I saw you weren't scheduled for the weekend this week. Planning on enjoying the time off?" It was my turn to shrug, as I was still flummoxed from the past thirty seconds of conversation. "I was thinking I might look at some apartments if I get the chance. I'm not quite ready yet, but I'm itching to stand on my own. I looked in the paper and saw a few cheap places that don't need a big deposit." "Most likely in neighborhoods where you're going to be putting that military training of yours to daily use," Hank said with a laugh, tossing his pen onto his desk, where it clattered before coming to rest on his blotter. "All right, I'm not going to tell a man not to be a man. If you need a reference or anything, give them my number." That conversation had calmed my last fear, and the rest of the week went well. Now, on Friday night, I was in the park relaxing after work not because of lack of funds, but because when I came back to the Tower, I found a tie hanging on the doorknob of the apartment. Holding my ear to the door confirmed that Chris did have some female companion over, a quite vocal one at that. I figured tonight would be a good night to just chill out, and backed away from the door, trying to figure out what I wanted to do with the rest of my evening. From the sounds of it, Chris and the lady were enjoying each other's company, and I'd need plans until at

least midnight, if not morning. Thankfully, unlike some of the guys in the shop who wore their work clothes to and from work, I used the locker room. So while my clothes weren’t exactly dressy, they wouldn't get me kicked out of an Applebee’s either. The sun was still low on the horizon and the sky was golden when my phone rang, and I opened it up to see Abby's name on the caller ID. "Abby?" "Hi, Dane," she said, her voice sounding a bit nervous. "How are you doing?" "Pretty good, but the past five seconds have been the best part of my day," I replied honestly. "It's good to hear your voice again." "You too," she said. "I know this sounds weird and all, but I was really hoping I could see you again tomorrow. Daddy won't know." I should have said no. I knew it. I should have said that if we were going to see each other, then we had to be honest with her father, even if it meant that he would be pissed off. I should have, but I didn't. Instead, I let my lust do the talking, which said that if I had to make my way through a mile of rabid pit bulls to see this woman, I would. "Of course. I have the day off, lucky for me. What do you want to do?" "How about you meet me at the Midtown MARTA station?" Abby asked. "And dress casual. It'll be a surprise. I'll be honest, I'm kind of making this up as I talk." "Deal," I said, leaning back and just relishing the sound of her voice in my ear. "Abby, are you going to get in trouble for this?" "Sometimes things are worth getting in trouble for," she said softly. "I didn't understand that before . . . but I think I do now." "I know what you mean," I said, sitting up on the grass and watching a couple of kids throwing a Frisbee back and forth. "Abby, you're causing a lot of emotional changes in me. Some of them are pretty scary, actually." I could hear the smile in her voice as she replied, but still, a trace of nervousness clung to her honeyed tones. "Really? Like what?" "Like for the first time since I can remember, I think there might be a chance that I could find real happiness in life," I said. "Like maybe I'm not just a barely tolerated dog in the world, to be kicked and smacked around until I lose it and bite back. Like maybe there is someone for me, and that there might be a chance at . . . well . . .” "At what?" she asked, her breath caught in her throat. I could tell she wanted me to say it, but I didn’t want to say it prematurely. We still had a while to go. "At love," I finally said in a whisper. I ran my hand through my hair and laughed.

"Is that too much to hope for?" "No." Abby's answer came back at nearly the same level of whisper that I had used. "I feel the same way. I don’t know if that’s what this is, but I have hope.” THE NEXT DAY, I WAITED OUTSIDE THE MIDTOWN MARTA STATION WHEN A WHITE CHEVY CAMARO pulled up and Abby waved. I hurried over, jumping in on the passenger side. Looking around the interior, I ran my hand over the real leather, impressed. Maybe it was living in the Mayfair Tower, maybe it was that I had a job of my own now, but I had come to be able to appreciate the trappings of Abby's economic status without being too worried about my position relative to them. "Wow, this is a great car." "Thanks," Abby said. I couldn't help it—I stared at her as she pulled out. She was wearing jean shorts, not quite short shorts but damn close, with what I was sure was about a mile and a half of toned, beautifully tanned leg sticking out, along with a blue tank top and her hair pulled back into a thick, braided ponytail that completed the package. I could feel blood begin to rush to my cock, and I could only sit there like an idiot. When we got to the stop light, she looked over at me and smiled shyly. "You're staring. And not wearing your seat belt." "Sorry," I replied, jerking my eyes away and putting on my belt. "Just . . . you look beautiful today. So what is on your agenda?" Abby's smile was contagious, and she jerked a thumb behind her. I looked and saw the folded bulge of a blanket and a picnic basket. "I guess you can tell, but I'm an outdoors-type girl, and I couldn't think of anything better than having a picnic with my boyfriend." "Is that what we are now?” I asked. I tried to think back to the last time a girl had called me her boyfriend, and I realized it was nearly a decade prior, back when I'd just gotten out of high school. Of course, I’d had plenty of hookups since then, at least before Iraq, but never had I been someone's boyfriend. “Are you sure about that? I’m not the most popular guy around here.” Abby got on I-85 and headed north, letting the horses under the hood of her car walk it out some. I wasn't sure exactly what she had, except that it was one of the newer Camaros, but I doubted she was running a factory standard motor under the hood. I'd heard enough engines in the near month that I was working at Lake Ford to know a tuned up car when I heard it. “I’m positive,” she said as she smoothly merged. “After today, I was thinking that no matter what, I’m going to tell Daddy we’re going to see each other. He’ll be so pissed off at me that I lied to him, but I don't care. After last week, I have to follow my heart, and it’s time for me to put a stop to him controlling my life. I’ve let it go on for so long that it has become second-nature to him.”

"So what did you tell him, anyway?" I asked, curious. I wanted to say something else, but didn't have the words just yet. "Just so that when he kicks in my door with his twelve-gauge ready, I’ll know what to say." "Oh, he doesn't have a twelve-gauge," Abby said, then looked over at me. "He's got a ten-gauge." I rolled my eyes, laughing. "Even worse. Although I guess it means more mess for the coroner to pick up. It's worth it, though. So what did you tell him?" "Well, I was invited to a party by Chris Lake," she said, "down near the reservoir. Anyway, I didn't tell him flat out yes, but I did arrange for Shawnie to go in my place. She's going to say that I invited her too, and that I would meet her there. If Chris asks, I'll tell him that I had car trouble or something. Daddy doesn't need to know more about it, except that you and I were together instead of at the party like I'd originally told him." The way she said together sent shivers down my spine, and I hummed, half nervously. "So, we're lying to both your father and to the man who is giving me a place to stay. This sounds like a dangerous game.” "I'm willing to take the plunge if you are," Abby said. It was easy for her to say. She had never really experienced any consequences in her life. Not that I wasn’t in—I was all in—but I wasn’t sure if she would stick to it once the going got tough. "Dane . . . my feelings for you are hard to put words to." "Then let's wait until we get to wherever it is you're taking us," I said. “It's probably safer to drive when you're not searching for words." We left Atlanta, heading out into the suburbs, until Abby took an off-ramp and drove me down a few winding roads to the side of a river. "I thought about a park. I even thought about us going to Six Flags, but I decided that I wanted something more private." “Even better,” I said amiably as I got the picnic basket and blanket out of the back. "Ooof, this thing weighs a ton. What all do you have in here?" "You're a big man, with big appetites," Abby teased, her meaning very clear. "I wanted to make sure we were both satiated today." Abby led me down a narrow path to a clearing, where I spread out the blanket. "What is this place?" "Just a fishing spot that Daddy and I would sometimes go to when the creek at the house was boring," Abby said. "It's special to him because it's the spot where he and Mom got engaged." Abby spread out the blanket underneath a huge magnolia tree, the shadows from

the wide leaves giving us plenty of shade. "It's beautiful today," she said as I took a seat. "Abby, can I ask you a question?" "Of course. Shoot.” Abby opened the basket and took out a sub sandwich wrapped in butcher paper. It was easily a foot long, and about as big around as my forearm. It looked like it could have fed a horse. "Sorry. I would have come up with something more homemade, but it would have looked funny. Thankfully, the picnic basket was in the garage, or else we'd be eating our picnic out of a plastic shopping bag." "This is just fine," I said, unwrapping it to find a turkey sub with bacon and cranberry mustard dressing. Easily a half pound of turkey slices, probably an entire pack of bacon, and just a bit of cheese complimented the whole package. "It's a little Thanksgiving, isn't it?" "You can always enjoy a good Thanksgiving," Abby said, taking out a can of Pringles and a bottle of Cheerwine. She handed them to me, then got her own, much smaller sandwich and sides out, along with the same Cheerwine. When I looked at her bottle, she raised it in a salute. "A Southern tradition, you know." “I love it,” I answered, toasting her and opening both bottles. "I guess my question is, what happens next?" "What do you mean, next?" Abby asked carefully, setting her bottle down. "Do you mean with me going to grad school? Well, I'm planning on going to GT for my Masters too, and after that, well, we'll just have to see. What do you think of North Carolina? Duke and UNC both have great Ph.D. programs." "Last time I went to North Carolina, it was on leave," I said, thinking back into my memories. "I ran into some boys from the 82nd. When they found out I was 101st, we had a friendly discussion that ended up with my getting a black eye." Abby laughed and sighed. "That's what I like about you, Dane." "What?" I asked, taking a huge bite out of my sandwich. It was juicy and delicious, and I reminded myself to get the address of the shop from Abby, no matter what. "That I got my ass kicked? I mean, I gave as good as I got against three other guys, but that’s beside the point.” "No, that you're secure enough in who you are and in your maturity that you’re willing to admit that. Any other man I've ever met, after the way we met, at least, would have told me a litany of lies that made him look like the world's biggest badass," she said, laying back on the blanket and letting her body stretch out. She looked so sexy, I couldn't have taken my eyes from her anyway. “You’re the real deal, and you don’t try to flaunt it. It’s refreshing. And you know what else?" "What?" I asked.

"I'm hoping that you’re going to take advantage of our privacy and this blanket," she purred, cupping her breast. "I've not been able to get that night out of my mind for six weeks. If that's what you meant by what's next." It wasn't, but I damn sure wouldn’t turn something like that down. Setting the delicious food aside, I lifted the basket out of the way, making sure it was clear of anything before I lay down next to Abby, pulling her into my arms and softly kissing her lips. I tasted the sweet wine on her mouth and tongue. Her breasts pushed up into my chest, and her legs were warm and strong under mine. Abby's kiss was tender and loving, her fingers running through my hair and pulling me in tighter. With a giggle and a squeal, we rolled until she was on top, kissing me with her hair dangling over our face. Breaking our kiss, she traced my forehead and eyebrows, looking down on me. "Dane.” “Yes, Abby?” I asked as she wiggled her body, rubbing against my now raging hard on. "Call me Abs. You're the first person to ever do that, and . . . well . . . I kinda like it." My answering combined chuckle and moan was more than enough of an answer, and we kissed again, my hands going from caressing to demanding, hungry to feel the silky smoothness of Abby's skin and to see her nude in the shaded afternoon light. "Abs." It came so naturally. She lifted her body enough for me to pull her tank top up and off, leaving her in just a lacy bra. I repeated the name over and over, kissing down her throat and finding her pulse on her collarbone. She mewled and gasped, struggling to form a question. "Please, can you take off your things too?" "Please? I like that," I teased, letting her get off me while I sat up. I'd dressed casually, but still more than she had, with a light cotton, button-down shirt to go with my own cargo shorts, five years or more out of fashion, but what I was still comfortable with. She reached for the button on her shorts at the same time, and I noticed that her bra had a front clasp this time. I wondered if she had planned on seducing me even as we had talked the evening before. I couldn’t complain. I’d hoped for it either way. She saw where my eyes were fixed and raised an eyebrow, unclasping the bra and letting her perfect, heavy teardrops expose to the air and to my view. I reached up, cupping one of her breasts and letting it rest in my hand. "You certainly like these." “How could I not?” I replied, taking my hand away and undoing my shorts. I pushed

them down, glad I'd worn the Nikes instead of boots, as I could pull my shorts off easily. "Sorry, forgot the shoes." "I don't care," Abby said, reaching for my cock. "This is what I've been desperate to have." "I'm just a big cock life support unit then?" I teased, causing her to stop and smile. “Oh you’re a little more than that,” she teased. “But yes, you sure know how to use it,” she said with my dick in her hand. “And there's something I've wanted to do that I didn't last time." "Oh?" I asked, thinking back to the night in the apartment. It was hard to concentrate when I had a beautiful woman stroking my cock with her small, perfect hand, and my thoughts were totally blown away when she quickly knelt and took the head of my cock in her mouth, sucking and licking the sensitive tip. Abby's lips sealed around my shaft added to the sensation, and I knew if she kept that up, I was going to fill her mouth with my come before she even got all the way down. Reaching forward, my hand traveled over the smooth curve of her backside, noticing that she'd lost a few pounds since our first night. It must have been the stress of studying, I thought, but I didn't mind. She was perfect no matter what, and as my fingers reached between her butt cheeks to find the warm moistness of her cleft, I shuddered as she groaned around me. I stayed there for as long as I could, Abby slowly bobbing her head on my cock while I rubbed my fingers over the edges of her lips. Finally, I couldn't resist it anymore and I pulled back, grabbing her ponytail and pulling her up into a searing kiss. Our lips were hot and liquid, flowing over each other and sucking hard while we growled. Our inner feral natures were coming out, and this beautiful woman was more than willing to match my inner nature with her own passion. "Give it to me, Dane,” Abby hissed at me as her fingers pulled at the muscles along my shoulders and neck. "Show me what you can do." Her words stirred my passion to flaming heights, and I pushed her back onto the blanket, her legs wrapping around me as I claimed her mouth with mine again. Reaching down, I aligned myself with her wet entrance and pushed in, not too fast, but unrelenting. If she wanted to be my woman, she would be my woman. Abby didn’t make a single sound of complaint as I sank my entire length into her. A warm moan started deep in her chest as I pushed farther and farther in, until my balls rested on the curve of her ass below me. Pulling back, I looked into her sapphire eyes, which were wide with amazement and pleasure. Tracing my hand over her heart, I let loose the words of my heart. "You're going to be mine— forever."

She smiled, bringing her hand up to rest over my heart, her voice thick and syrupy with desire. I pulled back and drove into her again. Shudders rippled through her body with the feeling. We fell into a fast, hungry pace, demanding from each other everything the other had. My right hand was still wrapped with her ponytail as I drove into her over and over, our eyes locked on each other as our passion built. I'd never found a woman like Abby before, whose genuine desire matched my own in perfect harmony, rising to meet me and pulling me in for more and more. My orgasm built quickly within me, and I didn't care. I could tell she was on the edge as well. I knew it—and knew there would be other times for gentleness and tenderness. This was about laying claim to each other. I was determined to make her mine. Faster and faster, my hips rose and fell while I pinned Abby to the blanket, my hand tight in her hair and her fingers raking down my back. I felt the steely fire of my skin tearing as her fingernails cut furrows in my back, but the pain fueled my passion even more, and my hips pounded into her even harder. "Yes, yes, yes," she cried, biting her lower lip. "Fuck me!" We raced each other toward our orgasm, my body trembling and covered in sweat from the exertion and the heat of the early summer day. With a trembling growl, I plunged my cock into her one more time, her legs tightening as Abby's orgasm swept through her, her fingers digging in harder than they ever had. The feeling of her pussy clenching and massaging my cock that last time was the trigger I needed, and I exploded, letting out a powerful, feral growl. When I was finally done, and my body relaxed into the boneless happiness that is the wonder of a post-orgasm glow, I leaned down, kissing Abby tenderly and rolling both of us onto our sides. "I think I’m falling in love with you, Abs." “Me too, Dene," she said. When I cocked an eyebrow, she smiled and traced my face with her fingertips. “In my studies, I ran across the word that the old English used for the Viking warriors. They called them Dene, or what eventually became Dane. I thought it appropriate for you.” I kissed her softly, my heart warming. “It’s fitting, given what I’ve turned to religiously. I'll treasure it, Abs. Maybe I can get it tattooed on my body somewhere." "I was thinking of maybe having it tattooed on mine," Abby replied with a smile. “And what do you mean? Are you into Norse mythology or something?” I shrugged and shook my head. “I don’t know—kind of. I started looking for something to believe in after my conviction. But it started a little before that.” "Tell me about it," Abby said softly, rolling back and pillowing her head on her arm. "I want to know everything about you, even the dark parts."

I nodded and rolled onto my stomach, tenting my chin on my hands and looking out at the river beyond. "I guess part of it was my upbringing. My family was one of those weekly churchgoing families—every Sunday, like clockwork. But there was nothing happening despite all that praying. It continued in the Army, as some of the biggest assholes I knew were also some of the most churchgoing. Still, I tried to keep at least a little bit of faith, but after what happened in Iraq, I practically gave up on it. So I thought about it, and I picked Norse mythology because it seemed to fit what I was going through. It's a religion where everything pretty much goes to hell, and the good guys get screwed in a major way. Kinda fit in with my outlook on life back then." "And now?" Abby asked. "Do you still think that life sucks and then you die?" I rolled to my side and kissed her nose, shaking my head. "I don't know for sure, but things do seem to have taken a turn for the better.”

Chapter 13 Abby

UNFORTUNATELY FOR OUR DESIRES, REGARDLESS OF HOW LONG WE WANTED TO STAY THERE, I HAD TO GO home eventually. As it was, we stayed until the sun started to go down, then had a casual dinner at a little country barbecue place. "I never realized just how voracious an appetite you have," I said as he came back from the buffet with his third plate. "Have you been starving yourself or something?" Dane grinned and shook his head. "No, but I did work up quite an appetite this afternoon. And it’s a bit of an old habit that I've not quite worked past yet." "What's that?" I asked, enjoying the rich pork myself. "Until recently, I mostly just ate to live," Dane said simply as he used his plastic fork to split a biscuit in half. He took forkfuls of the spicy barbecue and put it on the halves, making an open-faced sandwich that he started consuming in efficient, neat bites. Despite it being his third plate, and the barbecue being soaked in nearly an obscene amount of sauce, his shirt was spotless, a far cry from my own. "Luxury for my family was getting eighty-twenty ground beef to go into our mac & cheese casserole. The Army was the same way, and Leavenworth . . . well, you can guess what that was like. In any case, during all that time, I ate enough to not be hungry, but I hated a lot of what I had to put in my mouth. On the rare occasions that I was able to have delicious food, I ate as quickly and as much as I could. I never knew when I'd get another chance to indulge in it again."

"Well, now that you won't have that issue, it’s a habit I suggest you look at breaking unless you want to end up the size of a small elephant," I teased. Dane immediately set his fork down and pushed his plate away. “Well, I’m still going to have some Key Lime Pie.” I couldn't help it. I laughed. "Dane, I'm not saying don't enjoy tonight. It's actually kind of cute to watch. You act like a man, a real man. I've spent too many meals surrounded by frat boys who worry about their six-packs and their haircuts. So enjoy. I guess what I was trying to say, not too successfully, is that your life isn't that way anymore, and you don't have to worry about it." Dane thought about it, teasing the pile of barbecue with his fork. "Abs, we seem to have something going here, but I don't want to be a kept man. I never have been and never will be.” I blushed and looked down, twisting my napkin until it started to tear. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that either. I'm just trying to say, money isn't important to me. And I’m not going to live off of Daddy for the rest of my life—something I should have started already. I’ll admit, I'm self-centered, I'm greedy, and I'm spoiled rotten. In other words, I'm your normal girl." Dane laughed and pulled his plate closer. "You are far from normal. In fact, you're pretty exceptional." WHEN I GOT HOME, DADDY AND BRITTANY WERE ENJOYING A MOVIE TOGETHER IN THE FAMILY ROOM, looking comfortable together. I hadn't seen them like that often before, and I had to admit that it was nice to see. They looked like a normal couple. "I'm back." "Did you have fun, sweetie?" Brittany asked, leaning against Daddy. "I did. The water was nice," I lied. "How about you guys?" "We had a good afternoon," Daddy said. "You want to join us? Blazing Saddles is coming on in a few minutes." I shook my head, tired after the warmth and the day's exertions. "No thanks. I'm pretty worn out. I think I'll get a bath and go to sleep, if y'all don't mind." I rarely let a y'all slip out. Brittany usually corrected me on it, but this time she was content, and I think our conversation a few days earlier helped. She waved from the couch, not even looking up from her position nestled next to Daddy to worry about it. "All right, Abby. See you in the morning." Up in my room, I noticed that my phone was blinking, meaning I had some messages or missed calls. I'd ignored it all day, in fact leaving it in my bag in the car while Dane and I spent the afternoon together. I turned it on, surprised to see over

a dozen missed calls. Checking my call log, I was a little worried to see that ten of the missed calls were from Chris, with two from Shawnie. Also, there were three messages from Chris to my phone. Party's just getting started, I hope you get here soon! Hey, where are you? Your friend got here, hope you can join us! At least give me a call, or tell me what's going on. It was the tone of the last message that concerned me. I just got a sense that Chris seemed to expect something, and I thought about giving him a call to clear things up. I hope he didn’t get the idea that I wanted to see him again. It was nearly nine, though, and I decided to give Shawnie a call instead. She picked up almost any time of the day or night. Shawnie's phone rang over and over, and I grew concerned. She usually turned her phone off if she couldn’t answer. This time, though, her phone just kept ringing, until finally it kicked over to her voice mail. "Hey, Shawnie, it's me. Just wanted to see how you were doing. I saw you tried to call. I'm a bit concerned—you normally have your phone set differently. Gimme a call if you can and tell me how the party went. Talk to you later, bye." I repeated the message in a text and put my phone on its charger. Yawning, I realized I really was tired, and I changed out of my clothes into some sleep shorts and a pajama top and climbed into bed. Dreams of Dane and me making love on the side of the river warmed me throughout the night, and I woke up feeling better than I had in a long time. I knew that my dream had to have good meaning for the day ahead, and I planned again how I was going to approach Daddy about everything involving Dane. Taking my phone from the charger, concern swept back over me when I saw that Shawnie hadn't messaged me back. It was already nearly ten in the morning, and she had always been a notoriously early riser—to the point of annoying me more than once with her seven in the morning perkiness. I enjoyed sleeping in when I didn't have to be up, and after the physical exertion of the night before, I was more than ready to crash for a whole day. I quickly showered and changed clothes, pulling on some jeans and a t-shirt. Going into the kitchen, I saw Daddy drinking his morning green tea as he read a spy novel, a habit he had picked up at my urging. Considering the time, it was probably his second cup of the day before he enjoyed his Saturday morning. "How did you sleep, sweetheart?" "I'm fine, Daddy, but I need to go run an errand," I said, grabbing my car keys. “I

hope it won't take too long.” "What is it, honey?" he asked, setting his tea and book down to look at me. " "My friend, Shawnie. She didn't answer her phone or the text message I sent her last night. I'm just a bit worried about her, and I want to make sure she's okay." I had expected him to protest, but he waved it off. Instead, he picked up his paperback and took another sip of his tea. "I was a bit too harsh on her, I think. You two have been friends for a long time, and I shouldn’t have taken out my concerns on her. Besides, from what you said the other night, you won't be seeing much of each other soon, and I don't want to stop you from having some good memories." "Thanks, Daddy," I said, going over and giving him a kiss on the cheek. "I'll see you in a bit.” Jumping in my car, I thought about calling Dane, but I decided I was being silly. Instead, I sent him a text message. I didn't have a chance to talk to Daddy yet. But I will. He replied quickly, and I snuck a look while waiting at a red light. It's okay. I know it needs to be done, but I’m not looking forward to that one anyway. I'm going to go out apartment hunting. Talk to you in a while. His reply made me smile, and I turned left toward Shawnie's neighborhood. Being on a scholarship and not exactly coming from means, Shawnie's apartment wasn’t in the best part of Atlanta. Pulling up in front of Shawnie's place, I didn't see her car at all. Not answering her phone was one thing if she were home, but Shawnie was as much a smartphone junkie as I was—she never left without it. Still, I parked my car in her space and went up to her apartment, knocking on the door. "Hello?" A young woman, about Shawnie's age, opened the door. "May I help you?" "Hi," I said, a bit confused. I hadn't met the girl before, and I felt a bit taken aback. Then again, Shawnie frequently changed roommates, letting anyone who wasn't doing drugs, and had the money, crash to share the rent. "My name's Abby. I'm a friend of Shawnie's. Is she home right now?" The thick accent of the girl was something that I'd heard a lot of, and told me that while she was staying in Shawnie's apartment for now, she probably wouldn't be for long. "Naw, Shawnie ain't been back since yesterday. Said she had some lake party or somethin' she was goin' to." "Oh, okay. I guess I'll try her phone again," I said. "It was just something to do with classes. Thanks." The girl nodded and closed the door quietly, leaving me standing on the walkway in

front, still confused. I pulled out my phone and tried Shawnie again, but hung up when she didn't pick up after the fifth ring. Going back to my car, I thought about what may have happened. "Maybe Shawnie followed my lead and found a cute guy," I said to myself while the air conditioning blasted. "I mean, she's single, cute, and likes men. No reason she can't have a little summer lovin' before heading out west." Still, it didn't jive with me. Shawnie having a hook-up, I could understand. After all, I'd basically done the same thing. But Shawnie having a hook-up and not sending me a message or replying to what I sent her? That I didn't see happening. "I should check in with Chris," I said to myself again. "He may be pissed that I ditched his party, but maybe I can find out who was there, and if Shawnie hooked up with someone." Nodding at my logic, I stopped to send another little text to Dane asking about the apartment search. He replied almost immediately. I've got one more to check out, then I'm going back to the apartment. His words let me calm my nerves enough to call Chris, who picked up on the third ring. "Hello?" "Chris? Hi, it's Abby Rawlings. I am so sorry about yesterday." There was tension in Chris's voice, but I figured he was just still a bit miffed about yesterday. Part of me understood. I mean, Daddy did have business connections that he could have used. If anything, Daddy's construction teams needed at least one or two new trucks on almost a yearly basis, and if he made a good connection with me, he'd have an easy hundred thousand a year in fleet sales ready to go for Lake Automotive, never mind the actual construction itself with Chris's real estate investments. "Abby, it's good to hear from you. I was worried when you didn't show up yesterday. What can I do you for?" I hated that turn of phrase, but I never let it show as I put my phone into the hands-free dock and started up my car. "Well, first off, I really wanted to apologize about yesterday. I was getting ready to go when Daddy kinda flipped out on me." Chris's voice sounded relieved, and there was a chuckle in his reply. "Still a daddy's girl, I take it?" "Forever and ever," I answered with a laugh. "Anyway, Chris, I was calling because of my friend, Shawnie. I saw in your texts that she made it to the party. I hope that wasn't a problem?" "No, Shawnie was great,” Chris answered. "I had a good time talking with her— she's quite a firecracker. Of course, it would have been nicer to have both of you beautiful ladies here at the same time, but I guess that'll happen another time."

"Maybe," I demurred, still not liking the weird undertone to his voice, "but I got a bit worried about her. She never came home last night, and she's not answering her phone. Do you know anything?" "Hmmm, let me think," Chris said. "You know, she was hanging out with a few of the people at the party . . . you know, I can't remember their names. Let me check my—" "What?" I asked, a tinge of panic creeping in. "I was going to check my digital camera. I took a bunch of photos for the party, and I knew there were a few with your friend in them," Chris said. "But I think I left the camera at the lake house. If I had it, I’d remember who she was hanging out with." "Chris, I know this is asking a lot, but do you think there's a way we could get that camera and take a look at the photos? Shawnie's not the sort of girl to go on a wild night without telling at least one person. I'd really appreciate it." Chris hummed, and I thought he was about to say no, when the hum changed. "Okay. I'm a bit busy today, though, Abby. Do you mind if we just meet up at the lake house? I'm out that direction right now, and I can be there in a few minutes. And you could help me search for the camera. I think it’s in the kitchen, but I’m not sure, and I don’t have time to go around looking for it. "Sure," I said. "That's more than fair." "Okay. You know, Abby, I can pretty much figure out from your skipping out on the party that you're not really interested in seeing me again, at least not the way we used to be," Chris said. "But I'd like to think that we can at least be friends. We had some good times together." "Yeah, we did,” I answered, relieved. Maybe Chris had just sounded weird because he still carried a bit of a flame for me and didn't know how to say it. That could make anyone sound a little weird. "Thanks, Chris. I'll see you at the lake house. Can you send me a text with the address? That way I can put it into my GPS." "Sure, I'll send it right away. It won't be hard to find, though. You shouldn't have a problem. See you in a bit." Chris hung up, and my phone beeped a minute later as a new text message came in. I pulled over and read the text, copying the information over to my GPS system. A second later, I had my route, and I thought Chris was overestimating things a little bit. While the house wasn't exactly in the backwoods, the development was a decent distance from the other housing developments near the reservoir, and I wondered how long it would take for him to build all the infrastructure needed in order to get a good return on his company's investment. Even if he only put in a two-lane drive, it was nearly a half-mile from the nearest blacktop.

Pulling back out into traffic, it took me about a half-hour to make my way to the house. The last mile or so was over a washboard dirt road, and I was somewhat worried about the suspension in my car as I drove. The Chevy Camaro is meant for city streets, not dirt paths. I slowed down, taking my time and ensuring I'd make it out to Chris's lake house. Pulling up, I saw that the house was a boxy two-story affair, like it had been prepared by someone to use as a quick vacation getaway on the lake and not as a permanent or long-term sort of domicile. I saw a Jeep parked in front of the house, which I figured was Chris's, although the house did have a garage. "Probably where the old owners kept their boat," I said, looking at the way the driveway sloped all the way down to the lake. "That's where I'd keep it when I wasn't on the water, at least." I parked next to Chris's Jeep, honked my horn and got out, waving when Chris appeared in the window. There was something about the way he looked, like he'd been surprised at my appearance. His face was a bit flushed, and a light sheen of sweat was visible on his forehead. "Hey, Abby!" "Chris, thank you for meeting me," I said, walking toward the back porch. Chris came out, his face pink with an excited but naughty gleam in his eye. I swear it looked like I'd just walked in on him reading a porn mag and enjoying himself to it. "Are you okay?" "A bit of a hangover, and I was looking around when you pulled up," he said, wiping his face before scrubbing his right hand on his shorts, blinking then letting out a big breath. "I didn't realize just how much of a big ol' mess we left yesterday." Chris offered his hand and we shook hands. Chris moved like he wanted to give me a hug, but stopped about halfway, backing away a bit awkwardly. "Sorry." "It's all right," I said, half apologetically. Even though he'd been the one to break it off with me, there were obviously lingering feelings. "So did you find the camera?" "It's not in the kitchen, I can guarantee you that," he said, shrugging. "That was half the reason I was looking in the dining room. Unfortunately for me, there is a lot of junk there. Mind giving me a hand?" "I guess not," I said, heading inside with him. I saw what he meant immediately, as the clear aftereffects of a good party were littered all around the place. "Sheesh, how many people did you have here yesterday?" "Only about a dozen or so," Chris replied. "Not as big as some of the parties I threw back in my college days, but I'll admit I was pretty well buzzed by the end of the night. That's probably why I can't remember where I put my damn camera. Heck, part of me is a bit worried about what you'll find once we do find it."

"Sure it's not in the lake?" I teased, and Chris laughed. "No, nobody brought any swimming gear, despite what I'd told you,” Chris replied. “Well, I'm just worried about my friend,” I said, sighing. “I hope she's okay. There's just something that doesn't feel right.” Chris nodded and reached up, rubbing his temples. “I understand. I’m sure she’s fine though. Hey, you mind if I grab a drink?” “I thought you were busy?” I asked, crossing my arms. Chris waved me off with a relaxed laugh. “I am. I didn’t mean alcohol. I just meant some fruit juice. There's still some orange juice in the fridge from last night. Would you like some?” “Sure,” I replied, trying to be polite. Besides, the day was warm, and I hadn't really had anything to eat or drink except for a mouthful of water when I'd quickly brushed my teeth. I could use it, and my grumbling stomach could use the calories. “If you have a big glass, that would be great.” “I'm sure I do,” Chris said, heading into the kitchen area. He rooted around in the fridge for a moment, then came out with a glass pitcher of juice. “Here we are. I had to double-check that this wasn't one of the ones that are spiked.” Chris poured a large glass of orange juice, emptying the pitcher. “Oh. Well, there's some other stuff in there, and I think the carton of milk is calling my name right now. Here, go ahead.” I brought the glass to my lips, taking a deep drink. Chris watched me, smiling. His grin creeped me out, and I set the glass down. “What?” “Nothing,” Chris said, turning back to the fridge. He opened it up and took out a half-gallon jug of milk, breaking the seal. “Nothing at all.”

Chapter 14 Dane

IT WAS THE BEST WEEKEND I'D HAD IN OVER FIVE YEARS, I THOUGHT AS I LOUNGED BACK ON THE COUCH. After getting home on Saturday night, I'd used the Internet to look at a few apartment listings online, and I was interested enough in two of them that I made plans to go see them on Sunday. The second complex was by appointment only, and while not great, it was pretty close to the Georgia Tech campus, had reasonable rent, included utilities and even a shared Wi-Fi connection that I could use. I

booked an appointment to see one of their open units for Sunday afternoon, then went to bed. Waking up, I enjoyed my morning workout and a shower before eating a light breakfast. As I ate, I pondered how best to talk with Chris about Abby. It shouldn’t too much of a problem. After all, they’d been split for a while now, but still, there would probably be some weirdness that I wanted to minimize. Even if I was going to move out, Chris really helped me, and I didn’t want to do him wrong. And frankly, bringing your friend's ex-girlfriend back to his place while you’re crashing with him is just too weird—even for me. When Abby first messaged me, I was a bit disappointed, but I understood. In the little bit of checking around I'd been able to do, Patrick Rawlings had struck me as the sort of guy who had gotten his success via a lot of hard work and a deep-seated stubborn streak that you didn't want to mess with. If even his own daughter had to sit back and think about the best way to approach him about our relationship, then I had to respect her point of view. Besides, Abby constantly impressed me. Of course she was beautiful, as even the memory of us having sex on the side of the river, with the hum of the insects in the background, had caused my cock to stir lazily in my shorts. There was no need to do anything about it, though, as I knew that soon enough, Abby and I would be together again. After lunch, I went over to the apartment and met the landlord. She was an Asian woman named Lynn, and when she looked over my application, she was reservedly impressed. “Well, Mr. Bell, it looks like you at least have a job,” she said. “We get some folks in here who can't even claim that.” “Can I ask you, what percentage of your clients are students?” I asked, thinking that was what Lynn was talking about. “My girlfriend is going to do her Master's at Tech, and I was kind of hoping she might be able to crash here every once in a while.” “Not a lot of Tech students around here, but there are still quite a few students,” Lynn answered with a shrug. “When I said no job, I meant nothing at all. The only way I take those folks is with two months’ deposit up front in cash or money order. Then when their section eight comes in, I get our money. Still, sometimes it's not worth the hassle.” “And you don't have a problem with my background?” I asked incredulously. “No offense, just a lot of people have.” “Hey, you gotta stay somewhere,” Lynn said. “I'll be honest with you, Mr. Bell. I'm not going to say you're going to make the wall of fame for this place. But I deal with some bad folks every week. If you pay your rent, don't destroy the place, and generally don't raise hell, I'll be happy. Then again, people like that rarely end up

staying around here. They move on up and out.” We shook hands and I returned back to the apartment, stopping at a bookstore and picking up an interesting book. It was just a book on architecture, but it looked intriguing to me, and despite the rather hefty price tag of forty bucks, I didn't mind paying. I got home and decided that the best thing to do on such a relaxing day was just lounging on the couch. I sent Abby another text message and plopped down with my new book, intrigued almost immediately as I read about some of the great designers of the late twentieth century. I was just reading about the background of Zaha Hadid when the door to the apartment opened and Chris came in. He was out of breath and sweating, but he looked happy, excited. In fact, I hadn't seen him this happy in a long time. “Hey, Dane! Great fuckin' day, ain't it?” I realized what had gone on—Chris was drunk. I figured after the party he'd had Saturday, and with him not even coming home the night before, that he'd had enough. Apparently not, though, much to my disappointment. “Hey, Chris. Yeah, great day. What have you been up to?” “Oh, this and that,” Chris said with a laugh. He came in and took the chair opposite of the sofa, kicking his muddy shoes up onto the coffee table. “I see you got a new book. Good story?” “Kinda,” I said with a shrug. “It's a book on famous architects. So there isn't exactly a lot of plot to the thing. Still, the story about some of them, it is kinda interesting to see where they drew their ideas from, stuff like that.” “Sounds boring as shit,” Chris dismissed with a laugh. “Tell you what, let me tell you a story instead. I promise—you're going to love it.” I knew that in this condition, Chris wasn't someone I wanted to fool with. Even drunk, I'd seen him fight three men and kick their asses like it was nothing, walking away without a scratch. While I could probably take him, I didn’t want to hurt the one man that had given me a lifeline. Better to humor him, let him get it out of his system. Then I could look at maybe deflecting his attention somewhere else. Besides, getting into fights with my roommate was not the sort of person I wanted to be anymore. I set my book aside and sat up, paying attention. “Sure, go ahead, man.” “Well, it's about these two boys, so it's kind of a buddy-buddy story,” Chris began, leaning back in the chair and crossing his hands over his stomach. “These two boys, oh, let's call them Tris and Boyd, they grew up together and raised a lot of hell together back in the day. Now, both Tris and Boyd were from well-to-do families, but deep down inside, both of them were disgusted by the boring nature of their lives. They tried the normal stuff that boys do, sports and games and toys and whatever, but life was just bleh and in tones of gray to them. It was only in each

other that they were able to find some real fun.” I had a growing sense of disquiet as I listened to Chris talk. He was obviously talking about him and Lloyd, telling me about them growing up. There was something else he was trying to say, but I couldn't tell what yet. I decided it was best to listen carefully. “Go on.” “Well, starting in high school, Boyd and Tris found something that could at least partially relieve some of the tedious boredom that was their lives. That was sex. Now, before you start thinking anything, it wasn't with each other—they weren't into that. On the other hand, both of them absolutely had high interest in women. They developed this sort of game of one-upmanship, seeing who could score the greatest accomplishment. Oh, the two boys, they ran through the normal gamut. Boyd was the first to get a girl to give him a blowjob, Tris was the first to do some ass fucking, Boyd had the first threesome, stuff like that. By the time they were juniors in high school, they had reached a sense of boredom again. So, one day Tris said to Boyd, we need to up the game. Now, Boyd was an adventurous spirit, so he was more than willing. They started betting each other, seeing what the other one could pull off. At first, the bets were for real money, a hundred bucks or so, but soon enough, that same hundred-dollar bill had been passed back and forth so often that it became a symbol, a trophy more than an actual bet amount. The first challenge that Tris gave Boyd was to see who could screw their math teacher—a soon-to-be married young woman of twenty-four who'd just started teaching the year before and gave just about every boy in her class a nice set of blue balls along with his homework. Tris was able to bag that one, along with video proof, of course.” Chris grinned, and I was starting to feel sick to my stomach, not liking where this was headed. “Even after Boyd had to move away, the two boys kept up their little game, emailing proof back and forth. Some of the proof ended up on the Internet, of course, but the boys were careful, making sure that their faces or voices were never identifiable in the videos. Some of the games were dangerous, but both of the boys eventually found a prize that they both enjoyed. That was in finding a woman or girl who at first would say no, then with some convincing, whether a little or a lot, would end up on her knees, begging for it. Then . . . well, then it went up a notch.” “Like how?” I asked, my throat dry and parched as I saw the true Chris. I'd seen him before, of course, but it’d been in firefights—in combat. I thought it was just the side of him that every soldier had. As Shakespeare wrote so much better than I could think of putting it, In peace there’s nothing so becomes a man As modest stillness and humility,

But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then imitate the action of the tiger: Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, Disguise fair nature with hard-favored rage, Then lend the eye a terrible aspect. I knew that separation, and I thought that I'd only seen that in Chris and Lloyd in those times. Little did I know that the side I saw in combat was the real man, and the joking, easy-going guys I'd called friends were the false side of their natures. “What did you guys do?” He seemed to ignore that I knew he was talking about him and Lloyd. “Oh, they started with alcohol, which is after all pretty easy to get their hands on and so effective more often than not. You see, Tris and Boyd were both handsome fellows. A lot of the early women, they didn't need much more than a little encouragement, something to help them let go of their inhibitions.” “Later on, with some of those women whose morals either refused alcohol or just couldn't be pried by other means, they got their hands on some of the little helpers that are so mislabeled in the media. A vial of this stuff in their drinks, whether it be water, beer, or even, say, orange juice, and the girl was out like a fucking light in about two minutes.” “Date-rape drugs? Fucking sick,” I said, getting to my feet. “I don’t know if this is just fiction or a true story, but I think I've heard enough, Chris.” “Oh, we’re just getting to the best part, Dane. It’s just getting good. You see, Tris and Boyd, they reunited when both of them joined the Army, although by then Boyd had picked up a battle buddy. Big, tall, handsome fucker, but dumb as a goddamned stump. Let's call him . . . Bane, why don't we? Anyway, Bane had the potential to be as much a player as Tris and Boyd—he certainly had the tools for it. Bane would have been a great player in the game, except for this little problem of his noble streak that ran bedrock deep in him. Tris and Boyd didn't mind, though. Bane was good in a fight, and like I said, he was as dumb as a rock. But reunited, the two friends were able to take their game to whole new levels. They’d finally reached the nearly penultimate level of their game, which they somewhat mourned, but knew it had been a shitload of fun anyway. You see, Tris and Boyd were both going to try and get a fresh, un-plucked cherry and turn her into a total mind-numbed slut. I mean, straight up ruin the bitch. Tris thought he had the edge. He'd found a total hottie who hadn’t even graduated high school. She was stacked like a goddamned porn star, but as innocent and sweet as a Disney character. Nobody could have topped that, Tris was sure. He sweet-talked her, of course, pretending

he was willing to wait for her. After all, this one would’ve sealed a victory. She was just about to give it up to him when the Army came calling, sending the boys to the big sandbox called Iraq. The thought of getting that precious cherry when he was back was what got him through it. Little did he know that Boyd had his own plans.” “You're a fucking psycho, Chris,” I seethed, still not moving and not really understanding where this was going. Chris was nearly at his point, and his face twisted into a gleeful rage as he kept talking. “Perhaps. Anyway, this one night, Tris thought he would play a trick on Boyd, so he slipped a quarter-vial of the assistance drug into Boyd's beer, just to knock him out. Maybe fuck with him a bit and make him think he’d shacked up with another man. He didn't realize that doing so would make Boyd drunk off his ass while still leaving him conscious and able to function. Tris found out later that not only had Boyd not gone back to the tent to sleep it off, but had in fact left camp, grabbing some local girl and hauling her back for a little fucking behind some supply tent. Now, you'd think that because the girl was saying no that it wouldn't count, but that didn't matter to the two boys. However, Boyd was stopped by Bane, who actually, get this, shot Boyd dead as a goddamned doornail. Total accident, of course, but Bane still went to jail for five years over it. Tris felt bad about the whole thing, so he decided to help his stupid ass buddy out. After all, Tris had given Boyd the quarter-vial, and Bane hadn't done anything more than defend himself. Anyway, during that time, Tris somewhat lost interest in the game for a while, and Miss Teen USA slipped away. Probably better in the long run, since it would protect him from any connection with the string of adventures the boys had. Little did he know that the girl would end up back in his life.” “Abby,” I whispered, my fists clenching. Chris slapped his knee and sprang up, full of manic glee. “Yep, that was her name! See, I just forgot, I guess. You must have heard this story before. Anyway, after Bane gets out, Tris sets him up, gets him a job, all of that. Then one day, he finds out from his uncle in passing that Bane stabs him in the back by fucking none other than Miss Teen USA! In fact, from what Tris could tell, Bane was probably fucking her three ways from Sunday! So Tris invited Abby to a fake party, hoping that he could get a little sugar through the right convincing. If anything, it'd kind of close out the game with a final score. But instead, Abby was so fucking love-struck that she sent her big-titted bitch friend in her place while she went off somewhere, probably fucking Bane and draining his balls of everything worthwhile. So, Tris got a little angry.” “What the fuck did you do?” I hissed, stepping forward. “And stop with this third person Tris shit.” Chris brought his hands up, his eyes flashing with fire as he got to his feet, smirking as he dropped all the smoke screens and told the bare-faced truth.

“It's what I'm going to do that you should worry about. A vial to the friend, a vial to sweet Abby, and both of them are sleeping it off. When they wake up, they're going to find themselves in my nice, new little play room. Then it's going to be play time —all the time.” I couldn't resist it anymore. I swung. Unfortunately for me, I forgot the first rule of hand-to-hand combat as I was lost in my anger, which is don't let your emotions get the better of you. I should have kicked out straight, or thrown a jab. Instead, in my anger, I let loose with a huge, looping overhand right that Chris stepped inside of, catching my arm and attempting to judo throw me over his shoulder. I hung on, though, the two of us crashing to the floor in a tangle of bodies, arms and legs as I tried to pummel him. Curses and grunts filled the air. Chris got a shot into my ribs as we rolled, a tight elbow that drove the wind out of me as I felt something inside me let go. Coughing, I hung on as best I could, trying to avoid the punches he began to rain down on my head and shoulders. While he punched, he was yelling. “Man, I so tried to get you into the game, to have some fucking fun. I figured if anything, prison would have made you more understanding. Instead, I come to find that you're fucking the one that I let get away? You probably even love the stupid stuck up cunt too.” “Fuck you!” I screamed, slipping my head to the side. Chris's punch, which had been aimed at my nose, slipped by, just clipping my ear before I could push the elbow up and over my head, allowing me to escape out the side. I wanted to try for a choke hold, but Chris was fast, scrambling to his feet and grabbing a small statue from the coffee table. He brandished it at me, the dull pewter-like metal gleaming in the afternoon light, suddenly deadly. “Get out,” Chris said, raising the statue up. I was on one knee, pain flaring through my body as my most likely separated rib sang out inside me. “Get out—you're on your fucking own. I tried, Dane. I gave you a place to stay, got you a job, I even took you out to get some pussy. But you just wouldn't go along with the program. So fuck you. You're on your goddamned own.” “I'll take this to the cops,” I hissed, backing away slowly. “I'll call the cops, and I’ll find Abby and Shawnie. You won't get away with this.” Chris laughed, breathless and with a trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth. “You stupid fuck, you're even dumber than Lloyd. Who's going to believe you? The cops? You're a convicted killer, dipshit. You go to the cops, and you'll be the one arrested. Stalking, sexual assault, murder . . . oh, I'm sure they'd love to find everything. Because I bet if the cops did a rape kit on sweet, sweet Abby's corpse, they'd find your DNA, wouldn't they?” I could see it in Chris's eyes; he would have a backup plan. It hit me like a ton of bricks. I'd been the fall guy. He knew that if he ever got into a jam, he could use me

as a convenient excuse. After all, Chris was the upstanding member of society, from one of the best families that had served his nation honorably. I was just his fuck-up friend who he'd given a second chance to, the most noble of gestures that would be regretted sorrowfully. “I will stop you,” I gasped, backing away. I grabbed my phone from the counter as I approached the front door, glad that I still had my wallet in my pocket. “I don't know how, but I will.” “I don’t think so, lover boy. By the time you figure things out, those two will be dead, and I'll be sitting here as free as a fucking bird. Get the fuck out. Next time I see you, I’m calling the cops myself.” Chris darted forward and shut the door in my face, throwing the lock. I knew from months in the apartment that the door was steel core, and the deadbolt could probably hold back a motivated gorilla if it needed to. I turned and limped as fast as I could toward the elevator, hoping that Chris's bragging had been in haste. As the elevator descended, I tried to think of someone, something I could use to save Abby and Shawnie. Chris was right, the cops were useless. They'd believe him, and most likely I'd end up arrested. Instead, I had to find someone else. I racked my brain, trying to think. Hank? No, Hank Lake might have been a good man, but Chris was his family. I didn't really know anyone else at work well enough—I didn't even have anyone's phone number. The bell to the lobby dinged at almost the same time that the answer came to my mind. Daddy. Patrick Rawlings might have wanted to shoot me, but he loved his daughter more than life itself or his dislike of me, warranted or not. If there was anyone in the world that could help me, and had the social influence to get the cops to believe him instead of Chris, it had to be Patrick Rawlings. Of course, that left me with one major problem. Other than his name, I knew nothing of Patrick Rawlings, or even how to get in contact with him. I left the Mayfair Tower, then turned around. I walked into the concierge area, where the person on duty looked up at me in surprise. After all, I'd been living there for four months now, and other than snatching old newspapers, I'd never said a word to them. “Can I help you, sir?” “Yeah,” I said, trying to put as casual a look on my face as I could. Rule number one in a firefight: don't panic. If you panic, you’re dead. “I'm trying to get a home phone number for someone. It's a business emergency, and nobody's at the office. Think you can help me out?”

Chapter 15 Abby

I FELT CONSCIOUSNESS COME BACK SLOWLY, ACHINGLY FIGHTING ITS WAY BACK FROM THE BLACKNESS THAT seemed to be smothering me. My mouth felt like it was lined in cotton, and my pulse pounded in my ears. I swore I could even feel the air resting against my skin, and everything was in pain. I tried to move my arms to scratch the itch that had developed in my hip, and found that I was restrained somehow. I forced my eyes open, pain chasing away the last of my cobwebs as even the dim light of wherever I was sent stabbing needles through my eyeballs, directly into my brain. I mewled, trying to turn my head away. “You're awake,” someone said in a near whisper, which still sounded like I was at a rock concert. “I was getting worried.” I blinked, trying to get my eyes to focus. After a minute, I thought I could see a little bit, and recognized that I was in what looked like a garage, with a bit of dim light filtering through the one window that was in the corner. I guessed that it was nearly sundown, but that was all I knew. There was also a little light coming from what looked like maybe a twenty or forty-watt light bulb suspended from a socket in the middle of the room, but it cast more shadows than anything else. I looked toward the voice that had spoken, and was shocked to see Shawnie trussed up, her clothes hanging in ripped rags from her body. “Shawnie? What the hell?” “Don't worry, you look about the same way,” she said softly, her voice dry and raspy. “Although I think I might be a bit more dehydrated.” “What happened? Where are we?” I asked again, still muddled. I looked up and saw that my hands were chained to a thick eye bolt in the beam that supported the ceiling. While the chains weren't super thick, and I wasn't exactly hung up like a side of beef, there was no way I was breaking that chain. It looked like the sort of chain you might use to hang a kid's swing or something, easily capable of supporting three or four times my body weight. “What the fuck?” “We were drugged, we're in the lake house garage as best I can tell, and I have no fucking clue,” Shawnie rasped, her voice gaining strength when she paused and forced herself to swallow whatever spit she could work up to lubricate her throat. “You certainly have interesting taste in men.” “Hey, I wasn't dating him anymore,” I replied, wincing as my brain tried to kick off the rest of its cobwebs. “What happened to you?” “I arrived at the house at the exact time that you told me,” Shawnie said, rolling her shoulders. She was trussed up like I was, about six or seven feet away from me. I looked at her chains and guessed that if she stretched her arms overhead, she might be able to sit down, but that was it. Her clothes hung in tatters, and I felt a

rush of shame as I noticed that I could see her left breast hanging out through a cut in her shirt, and that she was only wearing panties. I looked down and realized with a shock that I looked about the same way, although I was still wearing my shorts. “When I got here, Chris was surprised as all hell, but he invited me in. He told me that he must have given you the wrong time, as the party wasn't supposed to start for another two hours. He seemed relaxed, and since it was hot as hell, when he offered me a drink, I accepted. Before you ask, no, it wasn't supposed to be alcoholic. I just asked for a glass of Coke. I was about halfway through my second cup when I started getting woozy, and it hit me. I woke up here this afternoon while he was chaining you up. What day is it, anyway?” I blinked, tears coming to my eyes. “Shawnie, I'm so sorry. I didn't know that I was putting you in danger.” Shawnie shook her head and tried to wave it off with her fingers. “You didn't know, that's for sure. Can I ask, did you have any suspicion about this guy when you were dating?” I shook my head, the pain lessening with each second. “No. But we didn't really spend a lot of time together. I mean, he was already in the Army when we started seeing each other. A lot of our courtship was done by phone calls, letters, emails, stuff like that. He was really sweet and charming at the time. He seemed like a normal guy when we were together though.” “So what day is it?” Shawnie asked, rasping. “I know it has to at least be Sunday, but I figure not Tuesday. I haven't had anything to drink, and while I'm pretty sure I pissed myself while I was out, I can't be sure.” “It's Sunday,” I answered. I sagged, letting my head fall forward. “Shawnie, what are we going to do?” She shook her head. “I don't know. Like I said, I've only been awake a bit longer than you. He must have dosed me a lot more. What brought you here?” “I tried to text you last night, see how the party went. When I called Chris, he said that you were at the party, but that he didn't know who you'd left with. Where is your car, anyway?” “I don't know,” she said. Shawnie didn't drive her car often, it was a third-hand used thing that had a barely-working air conditioner, but it was all she had. “I drove it over here, but I heard Chris start up a car after he chained you up, driving off before he came back. I guess that was your Camaro?” “Even drugged, I don't think you could confuse a beater Honda and a Camaro,” I said with a mirthless chuckle. “I’m guessing he drove my car off to the same place that he took yours. Considering the area, that could be anywhere.”

“It couldn't have been too far, he was gone only twenty minutes or so,” Shawnie said. “I mean, I guessed it was twenty minutes. I can't see my watch very well. When he came back, he taunted me a bit, then left.” “What did he say?” I asked, chilled at the idea. Shawnie shook her head, not wanting to relive the memory. Still, the information was important, she thought, and she swallowed thickly before continuing. “He didn't give a lot of details, but basically, he plans to rape us both and then kill us.” The calm, simple way she said it convinced me that Shawnie was pretty certain that she was going to die. I wasn't going out like that. I knew it for sure. Taking a deep breath, I screamed as loud as I could for help, until my breath was gone and a harsh, jagged pain racked my throat, like I'd swallowed a bone or something. “Don't,” Shawnie said when I stopped, forced to hack and cough to ease my vocal cords. “I already tried that. I stopped a while before you woke up.” “So what do you want to do?” I replied angrily. “Just stand here until it's time to be raped and killed?” “I plan on surviving,” Shawnie said simply. “I've just been trying to figure out what to do. Chris at least made a few mistakes.” “What's that?” I asked, getting my heart under control. It was hot in the garage, and while there was a trickle of cool air coming in from the currently open door to the rest of the house, sweat was beading on my forehead and trickling down between my breasts. “The eye bolt isn't all that strong,” Shawnie said, “and I don't think it's an actual full eye bolt. I think he used a U-shaped hook. If he can put it on there, it can come off too.” I looked up, moving around in the limited amount of space the chain's slack gave me. As I moved, I studied the beam above my head more closely, wondering if Shawnie was right. It was about six feet over my head, and from my angle, the shadows made it look solid, telling me nothing. Instead, I looked over at her bolt, and saw what she meant. What I'd originally taken to be a full circle was in fact a mostly closed U shape, like Chris had taken a hook and bent in the top. “Still, that looks like a pretty hefty hook. What's your plan?” “Depends. How much do you weigh?” Shawnie asked. “Real weight, not Facebook weight.” “One fifteen, last time I checked,” I said, thinking back to when I'd stepped on the scale. “I might be a bit heavier now. That was during the two-a-day spin classes.” “I'm one thirty-five,” Shawnie said, “so I guess I get the painful one.”

Before I could ask Shawnie what she meant, she looped the chain through her hands and dropped, jerking on the chain when her body came to a jarring halt an inch or so above the floor. She yelped in pain but got back to her feet. “What the hell are you doing?” “Seeing if we can unbend the hook,” she said before dropping again. The beam above her groaned but looked as strong as ever, and if there was any change to the hook itself, I couldn't tell. “I'm hoping that Chris knows more about cars and sexual torture than he does construction materials. And I'm hoping he's a cheap bastard.” “If the hook is soft enough, you might be able to get it to open some,” I said, understanding her point of view. “But you might just jerk your arms out of socket at the same time.” “I'll take a surgery or two to avoid dying,” Shawnie said, her breath coming fast and hard as she dropped again. Tears rolled down her face as she climbed slowly back to her feet, her head drooping. She shook her head, trying to repress the pain, and looked up at me, desperate for support, or at least a distraction. “Tell me something, Abby.” “What do you want to know?” I asked, looking up at her hook. Maybe there was a way I could do something instead of stand there like a damsel in distress, waiting for some hero to rescue me. I suck at that sort of thing—it doesn't fit my personality. “Tell me about Dane,” she said, taking a deep breath and tensing her forearms before dropping again. Blood trickled through her grip and down the chain looped around her left fist, and her face was a near mask of pain as she stood up. “Tell me that at least he was worth all of this damn trouble.” “I don’t know if anyone is worth this shit,” I said, trying to lighten the mood a little. “No, but really, beyond that Bad Boy exterior, he’s got a good heart. We’ve really only had a few days together spaced out over nearly a month, but I really like him.” Shawnie stopped her dropping, looking at me in wonder. “Well, I hope something comes of it after all of this.” “He's not perfect, but he’s perfect for me.” Shawnie grinned and flexed her hands painfully. “When is your and Mr. Perfect’s wedding?” “Well, let’s not quite go there yet,” I said, shaking my chains and looking up. “Hold on. You rest while I try something really, really stupid.” When I was a kid, I used to go to Gymboree after kindergarten. After Mom and my

sister died, Daddy still had me going for a few years, at least until my body started to shoot up and he worried that I was getting too tall for becoming a gymnast. I’d tired of the class by then anyway, but I still did cheerleading in high school, although our squad was more of the dancer type than the gymnastics type. I had a pretty mean booty roll back in high school, if I do say so myself, although that didn't do much for my shoulder and back strength. So it had been a few years since I tried anything like what I was about to do, but I figured there was no time like the present, and I couldn't think of any greater source of motivation, unless there were poisonous snakes or huge, ugly spiders in the garage as well that I wasn't seeing yet. The light through the window dimmed, and I thought the sun was nearly gone outside, night approaching. At least that would let some of the heat fade from the garage. That was something I could at least hope for. I first tried my maneuver the strict way, grabbing the chain and pulling it tight enough to take away the slack. Chris had used a pair of handcuffs that he'd separated and then apparently welded to the main chain, so there was some pull on my wrists as I wrapped my hands through the chain and pulled up. The pain was immediate as the links tightened around the bones in my hand, and I gritted my teeth, trying to pull my feet up and to the chains. I was able to reach the cuffs, but the next phase of my plan fell apart as I couldn't get the strength to straighten out my legs and extend my body to the point of hanging upside down. Falling back, I gasped, flexing my aching hands. “Well, that version didn't work.” “Are you trying what I think you're trying?” Shawnie asked as she prepared herself mentally to drop again. “I pulled it off when I was seven,” I defended myself, sounding stupid even as it left my mouth. “It's worth a try.” Shawnie didn't have a reply, but dropped again instead, a scream tearing from her throat as she jerked to a stop. This time, she didn't get up so quickly, but pulled with her right arm only as she stood up. “Shawnie, what happened?” “Left arm,” Shawnie cried pitifully as she regained her feet. She tried but failed to stifle a sob, burying her mouth in her shoulder. “Maybe my elbow. It hurts, and I felt something pop in it.” “Then stop it,” I said, looking up at the beam over my head. “I'll try to get us out of here. I'll try the cheat way this time. I should have the first time, except I'll be swinging like an idiot the whole time. Last time I did that on rings. I puked hanging upside down.” “I wouldn't, if I were you,” Shawnie said. “Puke, that is.” “Thanks for the advice,” I said, trying not to laugh despite the serious situation. I

stepped back, and was just about to launch myself forward and up in the short amount of slack on my chain when the sound of a truck approaching came through to our ears. “Shit. Better hurry.” “No,” Shawnie said sharply. “There's no way you can get that maneuver pulled off in time. Better to stay where you are. Maybe he gets stupid and we can kick him in the balls or something.” I stopped, nodding at the wisdom of Shawnie's words. “Okay, but promise me one thing.” “What's that?” “Regardless of what happens, we fight this asshole until the end.” Shawnie clenched her fists and nodded. “Oh, you can guarantee that. Georgia boy's gonna learn what it's like to fuck with a Sandhills girl, that's for damn sure.” I heard the truck stop, and the door opened. Boots crunched on the dirt and gravel as someone approached. “You know, your accent gets stronger when you get angry,” I commented, trying to calm the fear in my heart. “You really need to work on that.” “I love you too, Abby,” Shawnie said, her smile disappearing as the back door to the house rattled and the heavy tread of the boots came inside. “Honey, I'm home!” a slightly unhinged voice called, giggling crazily at the end. “And I've got such a surprise for you!” I looked over at Shawnie, who nodded. We were going to fight, no matter what. Chris came in, flipping on another light that momentarily blinded us before settling in and letting us see better. He'd had some sort of rough time, his shirt partially torn and a little crust of dried blood on the edge of his mouth. He had his right hand behind his back, and a gleam in his eye that sent chills down my spine. “Hey, baby, did you miss me?” “Like I miss the bubonic plague,” I spat back, literally, as I followed my words with the best loogie I could work up. Sadly enough, the garage was far too big and my spit was far too weak to reach the whole way across. It fell pitifully to the dust about two feet away from me, and I immediately regretted it as a waste of precious bodily fluids. “What the fuck do you want?” “Well, I have some good news and bad news,” Chris said as he crossed the garage. He stayed just out of my kicking range, even when I darted forward and tried to lash out at him. He laughed and jumped back, his hand still behind his back. “My, my, my, such fight in you still. That's not going to be useful at all.” “I don't plan on being useful to you, you sick, demented fuck,” I hissed. Suddenly,

Chris pulled his hand out from behind his back, holding what looked like a pistol. He pointed it at me for a second, then turned and fired. I screamed, sure that he had just killed Shawnie, but instead, the gun made a hissing, spitting noise and suddenly, Shawnie had a red dart sticking out of her left thigh. “He shoots, he scores!” Chris taunted us both. Shawnie stumbled back, her cry of pain fading as the drug in the dart took effect and she sagged down to her knees, unconscious. “Too bad. She's not going to be able to feel it. Ah well. You know, they say you should never eat chocolate before having your main meal, but in this instance, I'll break the rule.” “What the fuck are you going to do?” I asked as Chris walked toward Shawnie's body, squatting down and pulling the dart from her leg. “Get away from her, you psycho fuck!” “Patience, my sweet. There's plenty of me to go around. But I want you to get a preview of what you're in store for, and I needed little Shawnie here to be . . . compliant.” I shook my chains and tried to kick him again, but he was still too far away. “What did you do to her?” “Oh, nothing much. You see, I happen to have a rather fond interest in pharmaceuticals. It's what led me to making that little spike for your drinks, by the way, even though I got it on the Internet. Cheaper that way. But this baby,” he said, holding up the red dart, “is my own special cocktail that I developed through a lot of experimentation. Little bit of Ecstasy, little bit of LSD, little bit of some other stuff . . . it's quite the ride, I've heard. Fact is, if I shot you up with this, Abby, I could fuck you three ways from Sunday, and not only would you not remember it, but during the whole thing, you'd be begging me for more and more. Too bad you two won't be getting a repeat performance though. Your boyfriend ensured that.” “What?” Chris turned and threw the dart at me, bouncing it off my chest. His voice broke into a high-pitched, wheezy scream, the last vestiges of his sanity disappearing as his voice jumped an octave. “Knowing that stupid noble fuck, he's probably trying to convince the cops right now that I'm doing what I'm doing. So, I can't have any evidence left behind. Damn shame, though, what'll happen tonight afterward. Two young women, so close to graduation and chasing their dreams, decide to go camping up in the Chattahoochee National Forest. Of course, being unprepared, they both disappear, only to be found later badly decomposed near Blue Ridge Lake.” “You're a monster,” I gasped. “A real monster.” “You have no idea,” Chris said with a chuckle. “But at least I'm honest about it. I

know I'm a monster and relish the fact. Now, the monster must prepare for his first lesson.” Chris turned and walked back into the rest of the house, humming to himself as he went. I started to pray. First to God, and then I took something from Dane’s Book. In a last gasp of desperation, I said a quick one to Odin. Maybe the Norse deities could bring Dane to me. Something or someone had to—I was all out of ideas.

Chapter 16 Dane MY HEART WAS IN MY THROAT AS I GOT OUT OF THE TAXI, GIVING THE DRIVER TWENTY BUCKS. “KEEP THE change,” I told him. “Thanks.” “Hey, no problem, man. It ain't my business, buddy, but you want me to wait? You don't look like you're expecting to be received too well.” “No, I'm good,” I answered, waving him off. “One way or another, I'm not leaving for a while.” “Your choice,” the driver said, looking around. I could understand his concern. I looked like shit, with a half-torn shirt, my hair all messed up, and a mouse growing under my left eye. Still, I wouldn't be stopped. Smoothing my hair back as best I could, I for the first time wished I'd kept the short hair I'd had in the military. At least that way, I wouldn't look like a total lunatic. Approaching the door, I squared my shoulders and rang the front doorbell. There was a long chunk of silence, and I reached for the doorbell again when I heard steps coming toward the door. “Coming!” The door rattled, locks being thrown back before opening, and I saw a woman standing in the doorway. She was about forty-five, or maybe a well put together fifty, with a certain coldness to her features that told me that she was from upper crust society. I guessed I had just met Brittany, Abby's stepmother. I cleared my throat and spoke in my most polite voice, regardless of the hurricane of emotions roaring through me. “Mrs. Rawlings, I need to speak to your husband. It’s very important.” Her look told me everything I needed to know. I'd seen it over two hundred times before, applying for jobs before starting at Lake Ford. It was the look that said fuck off. “I'm sorry, but Patrick is not available right now. I suggest trying him at the office on Monday.”

She closed the door in my face, but before she could lock it, I stepped back and kicked as hard as I could. I wished I had on my work boots, but the running shoes were enough to do the trick, and the door flew back, Mrs. Rawlings tumbling to the floor from the force. “Can't wait,” I said, stepping over her and walking inside. “I’m sorry.” “Brittany?” a man called from the back, followed by the sound of rushing feet. “What the hell was that?” Patrick Rawlings came around the corner into the main hallway, stopping dead in his tracks. “You.” “Me,” I said, dismissing the venom in his voice. I couldn't deal with his bullshit right now. I needed his help. If he wanted to hate me after that, I wouldn't stop him. “We need to talk.” “I'm calling the cops,” he said, stepping back and heading down the hallway. “Your ass is going back to jail.” “Fine, call the cops, but tell them to rescue Abby first!” I yelled after him. “She's in trouble, and I need your help!” Patrick's footsteps stopped, and I heard Brittany start to get up off the floor. I waited for Patrick to return, and in the meantime I held out my hand to Brittany, offering her assistance up off the floor. “Sorry about that. I just couldn't waste any more time.” She didn’t respond, but took my hand and let me help her up. “I need your help,” I repeated to her instead. “You said that already,” Patrick replied as he came back into the room. “Tell me what you mean.” I wasn't sure where to begin, so I started from the day before. “Yesterday, Abby and I spent the day together,” I started, pausing when I saw the expression on her father's face. I'd mentally punched him in the gut, or maybe a few inches higher, right in the heart, but I couldn't afford the pity right then. “She knew you'd object, so she told you that she was invited to a party.” “Yes, with Chris Lake,” Patrick said. “They used to date, back when she was in high school.” “I know. To try and make up for it, Abby asked her friend, Shawnie, to go in her place, with an excuse and apology. This morning, she was supposed to tell you the truth.” He crossed his arms over his chest, nodding. “When she found me this morning, she said that her friend hadn't replied to a text message, and she just wanted to

check to see if she was okay.” “I got a text saying that she had to do something,” I said. “We exchanged a few more messages, the last a bit after noon. Then, about an hour ago, Chris came home to the apartment. Mr. Rawlings, I know this is crazy, but Chris kidnapped both girls. He plans to drug them, and I think . . . well, I don't want to say it.” “How do you know?” Brittany asked. “How can we trust you?” “Does this look like a fucking joke?” I hissed, pointing to my eye. I pulled up my tshirt, showing her my already bruising rib. “What about this? That fucking psycho has Abby and Shawnie, and you're doubting my word?” I was angry, breathing hard and trying not to scream at her. Patrick watched it all, then nodded. “Fine. I’ll believe you. What do you need?” “Abby said the party was out by the reservoir. What did she mean?” He nodded again. “Blalock Reservoir. She said that Chris had signed a big real estate deal out there. At least half of the shoreline is undeveloped.” “That must be it,” I said. “I need you to get the cops out there, somehow. I couldn’t go to them—that’s why I came here. Tell them whatever you want, but you have to get them out there. They won't believe me. I'm a fucking felon with a dishonorable discharge to my name. Even you hate me. But I swear by everything I hold dear in this world, I am telling the truth.” “Okay,” Patrick said without a second's hesitation. He turned around and went to the back, returning a moment later with his phone and the keys. “You drive,” he said, tossing me the keys. “I'll talk to the cops and the phone company while you drive. Follow my directions. I know where the reservoir is. Brittany, you stay here in case we're on a wild goose chase. I pray that we are.” “Be safe, Patrick,” Brittany called. “And get her back. I love you.” He stopped in the doorway, turning to his wife. “I love you too, sweetheart. Don't worry. If this is true, we'll get her back.” His vehicle was a heavy duty Chevy Pickup, complete with off-road tires. I felt about twenty feet tall sitting in the driver's seat, and a small part of my mind flashed back to the time I'd driven an armored Humvee on patrol in Iraq. It was about the same size. Patrick mistook my momentary flashback for a question about his choice of vehicle. “I have another, but this should be better for our needs,” he said, sliding into the shotgun seat. “Think you can handle it?” “Quite,” I said, starting the engine and putting it in drive. I jammed the accelerator

to the floor, heading out toward the main street. Old habits die hard, and while it had been five years, I could still drive well. “Where do we go?” “South, along 75,” Patrick said. “I think the exit is 224. It's the Hudson Bridge Road exit.” “Gotcha,” I said, gaining speed. A terrible dread settled in my stomach as I pushed the truck past sixty, shooting through a red light and earning a few honked horns. “Hope your insurance is paid up.” Patrick didn't reply, instead calling the cops. He talked with the dispatcher for a few minutes, explaining the situation. When he hung up, he was pissed off. “Fucking cops can't do much without knowing an address,” he said. “And Abby has only been missing a few hours. Shit!” “Calm down,” I replied, my fingers tight on the wheel. “Abby told me you've had heart problems in the past. I don't need you having a fucking coronary on me while trying to help Abby.” Patrick glanced at me, then shook his head. “What is it with you, Bell? You kill your friend, but now you're trying to save my daughter?” “I killed my friend because he was trying to rape a teenage Iraqi girl, and he was going to stab me with a bayonet,” I answered, not taking my eyes off the road as I shot up the on-ramp to the Interstate, already going seventy-five. “As for Abs, she’s a special girl, as I’m sure you know.” “Yeah, I do,” Patrick replied. “Hold on, let me try something. I gave Abby a Camaro as a graduation gift from high school.” “Yeah, I rode in it yesterday. Nice car. You got it tuned up, too.” Patrick grunted in acknowledgment, then continued. “I had it equipped with OnStar. Her phone is under my contract, and that damn gadget has every gizmo on the planet on it.” I saw where he was going. “You can have those tracked. The car's OnStar and her phone's GPS. One of them should still be working.” “That's what I figure,” Patrick replied. He dialed his phone again, talking to an OnStar rep. As the official owner of the car, he was able to get the car's location and have it sent to his truck, where it popped up on an in-dash navigation system. “Finally, a use for that hunk of junk. Abby insisted I get it though. Never have used it for more than a fancy clock and CD player until now.” “More importantly, now you can tell the cops,” I added, watching as the route to the point was laid out over the navigation. He shook his head. “OnStar is doing that for me right now. They can feed the cops

the exact GPS coordinates. I'm going to try and get an aerial shot of the area though, just in case.” He tapped at his phone, cursing occasionally as he fiddled with the unfamiliar technology. “After this, remind me to learn how to use this goddamn thing,” he finally said. “I just let Abby do most of this for me.” “I will,” I replied, pushing the truck faster. Above ninety, it started to shimmy some. The high tires and boxy exterior were meant for rugged low speeds and not aerodynamics, so I kept the speed down at eighty-five. “Four miles until the exit.” “Do you love her?” Patrick asked randomly, his head still buried in his phone. “You're not just trying to seduce her?” “I'll die for her if I need to,” I answered grimly. “I came to your door—hell, I kicked it down, knowing there was a decent chance I'd end up catching a shotgun to the chest. Does that answer your question?” “I think it does,” Patrick replied. “I knew you two were still talking, by the way.” “How?” I asked. He pointed to his phone. “I get a detailed bill on the phones by email every second of the month. That includes every number that she's called or texted in the past thirty days.” “She was angry with me when she found out who I was. I wasn't trying to mislead her, but that first night, I didn't really know who she was either.” I got off the Interstate and kept following the navigation. I knew at some point soon I'd have to keep my eyes open. The way Abby had described the house, the road likely wasn't going to be well-marked or even paved. Patrick looked out the window, seemingly lost in thought before he spoke up. “After her mother and sister were killed, I only had Abby,” he said softly, looking out on the rapidly dimming evening sky. “If I was overprotective, it was because I couldn't stand to lose her too.” “You won't,” I promised, turning right. “I think this is the right road. I see a house up ahead—see the lights?” “No,” Patrick admitted. “You must have better eyes than me.” The road quickly became rough and bumpy, and I wondered if we were on the right track. Still, the house grew closer and closer, and we were getting closer to Abby's car, too. I gunned the engine, not caring if we tore up the shocks on the truck. Patrick said nothing, putting his hand on the dash and hanging on grimly while we bounced our way down the washboard road.

The house was on the edge of the lake, a two-story job that looked like it wasn't quite good enough to be a permanent house, but had when it was originally built been a pretty good vacation getaway. On our left, I could see blue lights approaching, and I knew the cops were approaching on another road, probably one that ran along the edge of the lake. Still, they were a good distance away and weren't rushing the way we were. I couldn't trust that they'd get there in time, and I pushed the engine harder. I skidded to a halt in front of the house, still a quarter-mile from the readout for Abby's car. Still, the house was the best chance for her location, and I was desperate, spraying gravel from the tires and leaping out. I immediately heard a sound that made my blood run ice cold, as Abby screamed as loud as she could. Running, I headed for the back of the house where I heard the sound coming from. It sounded like the garage, but there was no visible front door, with the garage door itself firmly padlocked shut. I went around and up the short stairs to the back porch, finding the rear entrance. This time, instead of kicking, I lowered my shoulder, hitting the door like I did back when I was on the high school football team. The old frame nearly exploded as I bulled through, looking for someone or something to fight. There was an open door leading down to the garage, and then a sound that again sent chills down my spine, as Abby's scream was cut off like a switch with a harsh, slapping sound. “Shut up, bitch.” Ironically, what should have driven me to even greater levels of rage, instead pushed me all the way past my emotions, drawing me into the cold, calculated place that I had last touched nearly five and a half years ago in Iraq. The killer inside me, the one that had actually shot at people with intent—and been rewarded, not sent to jail—was loose, and glad to be out of his mental cell. Almost unconsciously, I reached out and scooped up a kitchen chair, brandishing the wooden legs in front of me like a lion tamer as I jumped the short three steps down to the floor. The first thing I saw was Abby, trussed up and bound like a side of beef, her arms cinched above her head and her eyes half-shut, bruised and battered but still conscious, if only barely. She was alive at least, and I had to secure the area, so I turned my eyes away, scanning the rest of the room. The next thing I saw was Chris, a knife in his hand, brandishing it toward me. Next to him, sagging in her bonds and moaning, was Shawnie, who'd been cut numerous times, the blood dark on her skin in the overhead fluorescent light. “One more step, and I cut her fucking throat,” Chris said, quickly stepping behind Shawnie and pulling her hair, exposing her neck. “Don't think I won't do it, hero boy.” “Drop the knife, Chris,” I said, lowering the chair. It wasn't an effective weapon anyway. I had used it just to shield myself as I came through the door. My killer side knew that right now, the best thing to do was to get him to talk. Killing could come

later. “The cops are right behind me, and you don't want a murder rap on top of it all. Trust me, I know.” Chris chuckled and pulled Shawnie's hair harder. She was obviously drugged, her eyes rolling in her head. Somewhere, deep down, I think she knew what was going on. “Don't think I can get any worse than this, Dane, my boy. Two kidnappings, assault, and of course, the testimonies you and Abby there will give against me? No way, that’s not looking too good at all.” “You let them go, I let you go,” I said simply. “On my honor.” Chris's knife faltered, and he looked at me in slight distrust. “Why would I trust you?” I shrugged and sat down on the chair, even though it took everything in my power to do it. “You trusted me, gave me a place to stay. You could have turned me out, let me fucking hang. You didn't. I owe you my life. I think this makes us even.” Chris's knife faltered, drawing away from Shawnie's throat, which is what I wanted. What I didn't plan on, however, was Shawnie. Seemingly trapped in a drug-induced state, she threw her head back, her skull smashing into Chris's nose and mouth, sending him stumbling backward into the wall. I was out of the chair and on him in a flash. Driving low, I hit him hard with my shoulder in his stomach, lifting him and bouncing him again off the side of the garage. The knife fell from his hand to clatter on the ground, out of his grasp and temporarily out of my concern. Not giving him a chance to recover, I threw him to the side, bouncing his body off the floor before nailing him under the chin, snapping his head up and back with a kick that would have put a football through the uprights at a good distance. I stood over him, trembling while the killer inside me warred against the better half of my nature, until finally a compromise was reached. “Never trust a convicted killer.” I spat at the unconscious body. I kicked him as hard as I could in the ribs, feeling something give way under my foot with a satisfying crunch. “Sick fuck.” I heard a whimper behind me and I turned, seeing Shawnie's desperate and halflidded, drugged out eyes. “Sorry, Shawnie. I'll try and be gentle.” I stood up and looked at the bonds Shawnie was being held with, trying to figure out what to do, when I heard a choked gasp behind me. “Abby?” Patrick's body hit the floor before I could even get to him, his hands clutching at the left side of his chest. His face was paper white, except for two bright red blotches on his cheeks. He looked like a porcelain doll in a perverse way. “Heart . . .”

“Don't you fucking die on me,” I growled, pulling him up and out of the garage and back into the kitchen. I lifted his feet up and grabbed the other kitchen chair, elevating his legs and hopefully helping his heart. You're supposed to do it for shock, but I had to do something. “Hold on, the cops will be here in a second.” I could hear the car approaching, far too slow for my taste. “Move it, you fucking Deputy Dawgs!” I screamed before loosening Patrick's clothing. “I can't do all this shit by myself!” “Abby?” Patrick whispered, reaching up and taking my hand. I squeezed his fingers, staying next to him. “Where's Abby?” “She's fine,” I said, lying through my teeth. I had no fucking clue how Abby was, except that she was alive. “I don't think Chris touched her.” “I'm sorry,” he whispered, his eyes fluttering shut. His head sagged back, and I leaned down, checking him. No heartbeat. “Shit!” I grunted, tearing open his shirt to double check. “Don't you fucking die on me, old man!” I heard Abby stirring in the garage, just as the cop car stopped outside. The doors to the car closed, and I heard the scrape of boots on the dirt. “Move your asses, boys!” I yelled even as I interlaced my hands and looked for the compression point. It’d been years, but the basics of giving CPR were still there in my mind. “I've got a man in cardiac arrest in here!”

Chapter 17 Abby I CAME TO SLOWLY, GROGGY FROM THE SLAP CHRIS HAD HIT ME WITH. WHEN I DID, THE FIRST THING I noticed was that I was lying on the ground with a woman kneeling above me. “Miss Rawlings?” “Who are you?” I muttered, blinking. The light was now dim, but I had a pounding headache. “Where is Shawnie?” “Your friend is being looked after,” the woman replied. “I'm Debbie Morgan. I'm a cop.” “What happened?” I asked, rubbing my head. “Mr. Lake has been arrested. He's in an ambulance as well,” the cop said. She helped me sit up, making sure I kept my head down and between my knees. I noticed that I'd been covered with a blanket, which helped explain why I was so warm. “Your friend and your father are also on the way to the hospital.”

“Daddy?” I asked, jerking my head up and sending a lightning bolt of pain through my head. “Is he all right?” “Your father was taken to the hospital with chest pains,” the cop replied. “We're going to take you there as soon as a car gets here. We had to get the others out of here first.” “Dane?” I asked. “I heard him before Chris knocked me out.” “Mr. Bell?” The cop asked, then pointed. “He's been arrested too. We'll make sure he won’t hurt you again.” I shook my head, struggling to get to my feet. When the cop tried to restrain me, I pushed her hands away. “Let go of me! Dane didn't do anything. He's my boyfriend. He was trying to save me.” The cop stopped, looking in my eyes. I rolled my eyes, despite how much it hurt, and got up. “I'm not loopy, and I'm not on drugs. Dane is my boyfriend, and if he’s here, it's because he saved us.” “That's what I keep telling them,” I heard Dane say from the other room, grunting when someone shoved him. “Just nobody believes me.” “Shut up, traitor,” someone in the other room grunted, and I heard a loud smack and the thud of a body hitting the floor. The cops around here weren’t exactly the most understanding nor the most likely to follow the rules in terms of use of force, especially against convicted felons. “Stop it!” I yelled, wincing at the pain in my head as I made my way into the other room, which turned out to be the kitchen. Dane was lying on his side, his hands cuffed behind his back while his eyes stared holes into a cop who was standing over him. “I'm telling you, he wasn't involved! What's your name? I'm going to sue your ass!” The cop looked at me, surprise registering in his face for the first time before turning and walking away. I looked at the other two cops in the room, who both looked sheepish at the ferocity in my voice. One of them, the cop who'd helped me wake up, went over and helped Dane to his feet. “Okay, I'm going to go by her word,” she said softly to Dane. “On the promise that you don't go anywhere. We'll ride over to the hospital together. How's that sound?” “I'm good,” Dane said, shrugging off the cop's arm and sitting back down in the chair. “And tell your buddy out there he's lucky that I'm more forgiving than Abs is.” The cop nodded and stepped back, gathering her fellow cops and leaving us alone. “Are you okay?” Dane asked as soon as we had a bit of privacy. There was still a cop in the room, but we lowered our voices. I wanted to reach out to Dane, but at the

same time, I knew if I did, the cops would get interested again. “Are you hurt?” “I should probably get checked for a concussion,” I replied, “but if you mean am I in the same boat as Shawnie, no.” The female cop came up to us again, this time looking less concerned. “Miss Rawlings? We have an ambulance coming to take you to the hospital.” “And Dane?” I asked. “Can he come along with me?” She looked at us, then nodded. “Yeah, we can do that. Come on. Mrs. Rawlings is supposed to already be at the hospital.” ONE OF THE NICE PARTS ABOUT LIVING IN A CITY LIKE ATLANTA IS THAT THERE ARE A LOT OF TOP-FLIGHT hospitals throughout the city. When the ambulance pulled up, I’d already been checked out by the paramedic, who confirmed that while my clothes had been torn, Chris hadn't done anything else. “You've probably got a low-grade concussion,” he advised me before we pulled up, “but I'd let the docs give you a full check out. No offense—I don't know if you need it or not, but you've got one hell of a civil lawsuit on your hands.” “Not my style, but I'll still let the doctor look,” I said, not mentioning the fact that Daddy had enough money that he didn't need to worry about the frivolity of a civil suit. “Do you know anything about Shawnie or my dad?” The medic shook his head, and the ambulance stopped. Dane, who had been allowed to ride in the front seat next to the driver—the cops still weren't trusting him—called back. “We're here.” I found Brittany immediately inside the emergency room, the paramedics still insisting that I ride on the gurney. “Come off it, guys, I can walk,” I complained, pushing them away. Brittany put her hands on my shoulders, pushing me back. “Brittany . . . Daddy?” “They have him upstairs,” Brittany said, trying to maintain a calm outer demeanor. Still, I'd known her long enough; her emotions were a total wreck. “Abby, how did it all happen?” I told her the story while we waited for the doctor. The whole time, Dane didn't leave my side, reaching out and taking my hand and holding it gently. “It's my fault, Mrs. Rawlings,” Dane said softly. “I should have seen what was wrong with Chris before all of this happened.” “You weren't the one who lied and tried to get Shawnie to cover for you,” I said, tears coming to my eyes. “This is all my fault.” I’d expected anger from Brittany, or at least derision. Instead, she leaned down and

hugged me, then hugged Dane. “It is neither of your faults. Neither of you truly knew what kind of man he was. I remember him from five years ago, and he seemed like a normal, fine young man then.” “Regardless of whatever else you've done in your life, know that you redeemed yourself with what you did today,” I added. “I agree,” Brittany added. “The ambulance driver told me when they brought Patrick in that you most likely saved his life.” “What do you mean?” I asked, confused. “What did you do?” “I attempted CPR,” Dane said simply. “It was only for a minute or two until the cops got there and took over.” “Don't forget the thirty seconds you continued even after they pulled their pistols on you,” Brittany said. I gaped at Dane for a moment, then shook my head. “That would be like you. No wonder the cops were pissed at you after I woke up.” “So how is he?” Dane asked, “And Shawnie?” “I don't know about the girl,” Brittany said, “but they took Patrick upstairs. The doctors looked . . . not too worried. I don’t know if that’s a good sign or a bad one, but I’m praying for the best.” Just then, a doctor approached me, a professional smile on his face. “Miss Rawlings? I'm Doctor Jones. I just got done talking to the paramedics who brought you in, and I thought I should come over here and see how you're doing.” “Can Brittany and Dane stay?” I asked, leaning back on the gurney. “And can I at least get up?” Dr. Jones looked around, then nodded. “Just stay back, if you could. I don't think this should take too long.” “Don't worry, I'll be right outside the curtain,” Brittany said. “I've seen the inside of those exam areas. They're tiny.” Dr. Jones had a nurse wheel my gurney to an exam room, where the bed was at least reclined rather than flat. “Okay, just look into the light . . . pupils look good, pulse is good . . . any pain?” “Some, but mostly in my jaw where he caught me,” I said. “I'm not going to be eating meat any time soon.” Jones nodded and touched my jaw gently, humming when I winced. “You've got a pretty good bruise forming there. All right, as a precaution, I'm going to order an xray. Also, I'm going to admit you overnight, mainly to see if you've got any side

effects of whatever it was that you drank that knocked you out.” “Doc? What about Daddy?” I asked, worried. “I'll go check. If you can talk, I doubt your jaw is broken, but your dentist would probably feel better if I did it anyway. The nurse should be by soon in order to get your information and take you up to get an X-ray.” The doctor left, leaving me and Dane alone. I could hear Brittany shuffling back and forth outside the curtain, but I took the moment to enjoy it with Dane. “Thank you. I know I was only out a few minutes, but you saved my life.” “You saved mine,” Dane said. “You renewed my purpose in life.” We held hands for a few minutes, just looking at each other, and despite the background noise of an emergency room, I felt peace dropping over me, soothing the panic that was gnawing at my mind about Daddy and his health. I heard the curtain pull back, and I turned, hoping it was the doctor. Instead, it was Brittany, who was looking at me in a way she never had before. It was like she finally had recognized me for being an adult, and not just a child. “If you need anything, just let me know, and I’ll make it happen,” she said simply. “I'm sorry, Abby.” “It's okay, Brittany. Let's wait for Dr. Jones and see what is going on with Daddy.” “Actually, I do have a request,” Dane asked, a bit sheepish. “The cops took my wallet, and I'm kind of homeless right now. Can I borrow fifty bucks for the night?” “Dane, you can stay at the house,” Brittany immediately said. “You saved my husband's life and Abby's life. I'm quite sure that deserves a decent bed and a hot meal once we get out of here.” A man in a dark suit walked up, flashing a badge. “I'm sorry, Mrs. Rawlings. That might be a while. I'm Agent Morgan of the Atlanta FBI. I'd like to talk to your stepdaughter about her kidnapping.” Doctor Jones came back, tapping his pen on a clipboard. “Not for at least twelve hours, Agent Morgan. Testing and observation. In the meantime, though, a bit of good news. Mr. Rawlings is going to be just fine. Mr. Bell's quick thinking turned what could have been a major, if not fatal, heart attack into a minor incident. He'll be here for a few days, but according to the guys I talked to in the cardiac unit, he should make a full recovery.” I nodded, smiling for the first time in what felt like forever. “Then let's get my Xrays done too. After that, regardless of what you say, Doc, I'll be happy to talk to the cops. That piece of shit needs to pay.” THE FBI AGENTS WHO ACCOMPANIED AGENT MORGAN THE NEXT MORNING WERE YOUR PRETTY TYPICAL

group. One of them, who introduced himself as Agent Jacobi, came straight from FBI central casting. White, nondescript, but with an intensity to his eyes that spoke of his dedication to his work. I saw a plain gold wedding band on his finger, but there was something about it that made me think it was mostly there for show. He was married to the Bureau, not to any other person. The other one, Agent Leeds, was a woman in her mid-thirties, and from the first time she opened her mouth, I could identify her for what she was—a lab geek. As a biology major, I've dealt with plenty of them in my studies. They're generally a good group of people, but they normally have social skills that are a little lacking. The little pink streak in her hair gave it away. Agent Jacobi opened up the questioning. He asked me about my history with Chris Lake, including our dating history. “So you never had intimate relations with him?” he asked, all business. “Just to be clear.” “Never,” I said clearly. “Previously, we went to second base, but never any further.” Jacobi made a note in his notebook, while Leeds tapped at her tablet. I assumed she was recording the whole conversation using the computer. She had arranged it very specifically to point the back toward me. Besides, it struck me as just fitting her personality. We moved on to the actual details behind Shawnie’s and my kidnappings, Jacobi asking a few questions related to the symptoms that I felt. “No, I didn't notice any sort of taste about the juice at all. It just tasted like normal orange juice.” “And how fast did it take to kick in?” Leeds asked, the first time she had said anything since they had introduced themselves. “I'm not sure, but I'd say fewer than five minutes,” I said. “I don't think I even finished the glass.” Agent Leeds put her finger to her lips, nodding thoughtfully. I jumped at the chance. “Can you guys tell me what I was dosed with?” Leeds shook her head. “Right now, we're not too sure. The problem is that your blood tests all came back pretty clear. Whatever it was, it gets filtered out very quickly.” “Have you searched his apartment?” I asked, feeling dumb as soon as I did. Of course they had. They were the FBI. “And his office,” Agent Morgan said. “Miss Rawlings, you're probably wondering why this is being handled by the FBI and not the Atlanta Police.” “Not really,” I said. “Daddy is a fan of those procedural cop shows, and I know that

while they're normally full of junk, there's some information that jives. I'm guessing you have investigations over multiple states?” Morgan nodded, impressed. “Good catch. That, and the kidnapping gives us the ability to take the lead on this. Miss Rawlings, I'm not going to lie. We suspect Mr. Lake in a series of sexual assaults stretching back at least five years. If the statement Mr. Bell gave us holds water, it may even go back further, although the ones before the use of any drug would be nearly impossible to prove. You're quite lucky, Miss Rawlings.” “Why?” I asked, a chill sweeping over me as I thought about all those victims, all those women who'd been seduced or assaulted by Chris for his sick game with Lloyd. “Because a pattern was emerging in our investigations,” Leeds said, geeking out and not realizing how fast her mouth was running away from her. “We think he was getting ready to graduate from taking his thrill from sex to murder.” I shivered, hugging my knees, and Leeds realized what she'd said. “Sorry,” she muttered, looking around sheepishly. “I shouldn't have said that.” I shook my head, looking down. “It’s okay. Tell me, is Shawnie okay?” “She's going to need a little more recovery time, but she’ll be okay,” Agent Jacobi said simply. “Mostly uninjured, but there are a lot of superficial cuts and a separated shoulder from her escape attempt.” I nodded. “Then how about we wrap this up, and let me go see my friend and hopefully my dad?” It was Agent Morgan's turn to look sheepish, and he ran a hand through his thinning brown hair. “Actually, Miss Rawlings, you might need to wait for your clothes. Uhm, unless you mind wearing a pair of scrubs or something. I'm sure your stepmother or Mr. Bell will bring a pair as soon as they’re done.” “Where are they, anyway?” I asked. It was already mid-morning, and I had thought they'd already have been at the hospital. “With Daddy?” Agent Jacobi shook his head. “No, wrapping up things with Atlanta PD,” he said. “I believe there is a little situation of someone putting cuffs on Mr. Bell that needs to be cleared up. Also, they'll take another statement from him, although we talked with him last night. His story and yours are pretty clear. It all matches what your friend said as well.” “Then let me get some scrubs, and I'll go see Shawnie. Is there anything else you need?” Agent Morgan looked at his coworkers and shook his head. “We might be in touch

soon. For sure, the prosecutor will want you to be available to testify, but that might be a long time off.” “That's fine. Right now, I want to see three people: Daddy, Shawnie, and Dane. In that order.”

Chapter 18 Dane THE DOCTORS WERE ACTUALLY SUPER CONSERVATIVE WITH BOTH SHAWNIE AND PATRICK, KEEPING BOTH OF them in the hospital for over a week. I kept myself busy during that time, going into Lake Ford two days after the attack to clean out my locker. As soon as I walked in, I could feel the uncomfortable silence from everyone. Chris's arrest had made not just local but national news, and most of the details that could be released already had been. Of course, the effect on Lake Automotive was immediate and crippling. The lot was as empty as a ghost town, and the repair shop had only one vehicle, an out-of-state Fiesta that looked like it had a blown tire up on the racks. I felt for the guys in the shop. They knew what had happened wasn't my fault, but at the same time, they couldn't help but blame me just a little bit. After all, Chris had been my friend, and I'd been the one to take him down, which indirectly hurt them. Sure, it's a side of people that we don't like to talk about, but I didn't fault them for it. The negative press would most likely cost them their jobs. I found Hank Lake in his office, sipping a cup of coffee and looking about twenty years older than I had seen him the week before. The sales manager was with me, mostly to make sure there wasn't a scene. It was the last thing anyone needed. “Mr. Lake? I just came by to turn in my resignation and to hand in my keys.” Hank looked up and held out his hand, his fingers trembling as I handed over the keys. “Also, sir, um, I'm not sure how to do this, but this other key is to the apartment in the Mayfair Tower. It's only for the main door. I don't have a deadbolt key.” I set it on the desk and pushed it closer, Hank's hand recoiling as if the metal were poisonous. The sales manager shifted from left foot to right, not sure what to say or do, and looking like he wanted to be somewhere else at the moment. Hank swallowed and looked up at me for the first time. “Thank you, Bell. I know that it'd be impossible for you to come back to work here, but . . . I'm sorry. Chris is family, but what he did was wrong.” “You have nothing to apologize for, Mr. Lake. Neither of us recognized what Chris was up to, and I spent years closer than a brother with him. I'm just glad that it's over now.”

Hank sighed, then looked at me. “So what now?” “Take care of your family,” I said. “If it were me, after the blow this causes, I'd sell the group, or at least rebrand it. Take the money and make a nest egg for the next generation. As for Chris . . .” “He'll stand on his own,” Hank said with only a hint of venom. “He gets no help from me. I've got two kids of my own to protect.” I nodded. “Then I guess this is it. I'm sorry it didn't work out, Mr. Lake.” Hank stood up and offered me his hand. He may have been hurt, his faith in himself and in his own perceptions shattered, but he was a true man. We shook, and Hank tried to smile. “You're a good man, Dane Bell. Don't ever let anyone tell you different.” A FEW DAYS LATER, I WENT TO THE MCCAMISH PAVILION WITH BRITTANY, DRESSED IN A SUIT THAT I STILL felt uncomfortable in. Brittany was on my arm, holding a video camera like a young parent at a kindergarten or something. “If Patrick can't be here in person, I’m going to make sure he can at least see the video,” she whispered to me. We had good seats and could see the whole stage where the ceremony would take place. “And stop fidgeting.” “Sorry,” I muttered, then laughed. “I guess now, you have someone else you have to teach the social rules to other than Abby?” Brittany blushed slightly, then patted my arm. “Maybe. It’s just a bit of a habit. And if my stepdaughter is going to see you, I'm going to do my best to make sure you’re a good influence.” “By the way, they're webcasting this thing too,” I said as I looked at the program. “Didn't you know?” Brittany nodded and adjusted the camera just a bit on its tripod. “I don't care. This is for posterity. Do you think I’m too uptight?” I thought about it a bit, reflecting that for a woman who I had literally kicked to the floor less than a week earlier, she and I had come to find a common ground rather quickly. Though if it wasn’t for a near tragedy, I don’t know if that would have been the case. It’s weird how it works like that. As we still had some time before the ceremony started, I took my time before answering. “I think you have good intentions. But I do think that the idea of them fitting in with the culture club has pretty much sailed. As for me, you could work with me for the next thirty years, and I still wouldn’t fit in. No matter how I talked or acted, one look at my tats and I’d be an outcast.”

Brittany thought, then made a sound that was half-laugh, half-sigh. “I guess you're right. Still, if Patrick wants it, I'll keep doing my best to open doors for him. And I’ll at least drag Abby to at least one social event a year. The graduation ceremony itself was actually pretty long and tedious, a lot different from the ones I'd attended before. Then again, my high school graduating class was only a hundred and thirty-five people, and graduating Basic Training was quick as well. Both of those ceremonies could have been started, completed, and probably cleaned up in the amount of time it took for Georgia Tech to graduate the five thousand students who were scheduled to walk the stage that day. The students walked the stage according to a complex system that left me baffled, until I finally had to lean over to Brittany for help. “When is Abs walking again?” “She’s still got a while.” There was one disruption, when during the College of Engineering's ceremony, Shawnie was announced. She had just been released from the hospital that morning, just in time to make the ceremony. As she made her way across the stage, summa cum laude, a wave of applause broke out. She was shocked, but recovered and stood tall, waving to her supporters as she crossed the stage to shake hands with the Dean of the College before walking off stage. “I underestimated that girl. Abby was right about her,” Brittany commented. When Abby walked, she paused to hug Shawnie when she came off stage before retaking her seat, and the ceremony continued. I had to admit I tuned most of it out, nodding off about halfway through the College of Liberal Arts and having to be woken up with a polite pat on the arm in time for the final playing of the alma mater. Outside, in the craziness that was the post-ceremony group celebration, I found Abby and Shawnie hugging and exchanging farewells, with lots of people in their graduation robes. Seeing me, Abby ran over, jumping into my arms and an embrace. “I saw you up there,” she said, kissing me with a wet smack. “Thanks for staying awake through my part at least.” “How could I not?” I asked with a grin, spinning her around before setting her down. “Although I know you're going to be doing the same thing in a few years again anyway when you get your Masters.” “And what about you?” Abby asked with a grin. “You could do a lot of things if you set your mind to it.” I raised an eyebrow thoughtfully. Me, college? Until I met Abby, I would never have thought of it. “I don’t know about that one.” Shawnie finished shaking hands with a professor and came over. She seemed in a

good mood, but I wondered how long it would be before the vivacious, wisecracking woman who'd impressed me with her wit and her insight the little bit we talked came back. I didn’t know the extent of the details of what she’d been through, and honestly, I didn’t want to know. But she seemed to be doing okay, and that’s all that mattered. “How're you doing, Shawnie?” She pointed with her chin, where a small group stood looking at us. “My family's here, so I'm doing okay,” she said with a smile. “Dane, I haven't had the chance before, but let me just say thank you.” I shook my head, holding up my hands. “I should have been faster, Shawnie. Trust me, I think about that every minute.” She nodded, then shrugged. “We move forward, big boy.” “So what are your plans?” I asked, putting my arm around Abby's shoulder. A wellwisher came by, greeting Abby and Shawnie as they passed, and Shawnie paused before answering. “I'm going to take a month or so,” She finally said. “Then I think I'm going to head out West, get a jump on settling in.” “In the meantime, you know that I've got all the time in the world on my hands,” Abby said. “Maybe a girl's weekend out somewhere?” “As long as there are no lakes involved, I'm fine with that,” Shawnie said. Someone in her family called her name, and she turned and waved. “All right, guys, I have to get going. Family party and all. I'll give you a call tomorrow or something.” As she walked away, I looked at Brittany, who was still smiling broadly. “So, how about the three of us changing clothes and getting over to the hospital? I bet Patrick wants to see that video as soon as possible.” Brittany nodded and patted her camera bag. “Sounds good. I'll drive.”

Chapter 19 Abby I WAS BARELY ABLE TO CONTAIN MY EXCITEMENT WHEN DADDY CAME HOME, ASSISTED UP THE STEPS BY Brittany and the occupational health nurse who'd been hired to help him during his rehab protocol. Monica was a former Marine drill sergeant who’d gotten into occupational health after an injury cut her time in the Corps short. She was tiny, just over five feet tall, but built like a truck with a ripped six-pack that rivaled Dane's. I'd met her one time before when she came over to stake out her room, as she'd be living with us for the next month. “We're running out of guest bedrooms,” Brittany said in a good-natured complaint. “Pretty soon, Abby, we're

going to be kicking you out to live on your own.” “I guess she can move in with me then,” Dane teased as he helped him down into his easy chair. “Since you can't chase me off right now.” “I can still use a shotgun,” Daddy growled in good humor. “Besides, I bet that Monica could kick your ass. I always heard Marines were tougher than Airborne.” “We'll settle that at some point,” Dane laughed, looking over at her. We got Daddy settled, and Dane gave me a look that I'd become familiar with over the past few days. “I think Dane and I will take a walk on the back forty,” I said, getting up off the couch. “We won’t be gone long.” “Okay,” he said, leaning back and getting comfortable. “But when you two get back, I'd like to talk with you both about some things I've been thinking about during my time in the hospital.” Dane and I left, heading out the back of the house. While Dane had been living with us for over a week, we hadn't spent a lot of time together alone. I'd needed my time to recover, after all. I’d spent a lot of time with my own thoughts, although I'd also talked with a counselor as well, something I figured I'd continue for a while longer at least. Now, though, I felt like life was finally getting back to normal. “So what's on your mind?” Dane just shook his head and took my hand, walking with me through the back yard. We reached the point where the manicured lawn gave way to the natural grass and kept going. “How do you feel now that your dad is home?” Dane asked. “I know you've been looking forward to it.” “I have,” I said excitedly, “but I know you've been worried. It's one thing to stay in a man's house with his daughter when there's plenty of room, and Brittany told me this morning she appreciates how much of a gentleman you've been. I have, too, by the way. But now that Daddy's home, you're worried.” “I still have enough saved for that apartment I was looking at before,” Dane admitted, “but not much else. I kind of feel like I'm back where I was a few months ago. Although I do have one thing that’s better than any job or home.” “What's that?” I asked, pausing. We were close to one of my favorite sites on the property, a field that in summer was filled with wildflowers. Even in the light breeze of the day, I could smell it, but you did have to be very careful about the fire ants. They liked that field too. “I have you,” Dane said. “And in all honesty, I don't ever want to let you go.” “I love you too,” I answered. “I know we haven’t been together long, but everything seems so right.”

“Good,” Dane said, taking my hand. “Because I was kind of hoping—after we go back, that we could tell your father that I asked you to marry me, and that you said yes.” “Is that what you call a proposal?” I asked, trying hard to hide my joy. “I love you,” Dane said simply, pulling me into his arms. “During my time in prison, I’ve learned if you want something, you’d better not waste any time. If you want it, go get it. Now, I’m not saying we go get married tomorrow. We can give it some time, but the heart wants what the heart wants.” It was my turn to wrap my arms around Dane, pulling him down for a deep kiss in the summer sunshine. “Is that a yes?” “Oh, that is certainly a yes,” I said. “But we really should get Daddy's blessing first. You know, me being traditional and all.” WHEN WE GOT BACK A HALF HOUR LATER, DADDY SAW IT FIRST, PROBABLY FROM THE LOOK IN MY EYE. “You know, I hoped you would’ve waited until after I said what I had to say.” “Sorry, Mr. Rawlings,” Dane said. “I just couldn't let a good thing go.” He sat up, and with the help of Monica, struggled to his feet. “I didn't expect you to move this quickly. So I take it you said yes?” “Yes, Daddy,” I said, pausing while Brittany clapped in joy, “but we also wanted to have your blessing.” He came over and looked Dane in his eye. Sizing him up, Daddy stood nearly eye to eye with him, pausing before looking at me, a small smile on his face. “You know, for so long, it was just you and me. Then I found Brittany, and I knew the day would come that you would also want to find someone of your own. I have to say, this isn’t how I expected it would be, but I love you, baby girl.” “I love you too, Daddy,” I said, taking Dane's hand. “I always will.” “Which is why I have to say, in response to your request for my blessing . . . no.” Daddy turned and made his way back over to his chair, sitting down carefully. “What?” I cried, tears in my eyes. “Why?” He grinned and laughed, unable to contain his humor. “Oh, I got you, didn't I?” I blinked, stunned. “What?” I looked at him, anger replacing my hurt. “You joke?” Daddy held up his hands defensively. “Now, Abby, I'm sorry, it was just a quick one. I’d be happy to give you both my blessing . . . when you've earned it. In that,

I’m being serious.” “And how would I do that?” Dane asked, his voice heavy with threat and repressed anger. “Haven't I done enough?” “Oh, you’ve done enough to prove you're a good man, and that you care for my daughter. Of course you have,” Daddy said, smiling. “But I've always been a father who has thought the world of my daughter, and to be honest, while I’m perfectly willing to accept that she won't be marrying a society boy, I do expect her husband to have a job. So, before I give you my blessing, there are a few things you need to do. First, you're going to have to enroll in college.” “I . . . I don't think I'd qualify any longer,” Dane said, stupefied. I heard in his voice the surprise at some of his own thoughts that he'd shared with me reflected in Daddy's statement, but he was still taken aback. “I mean, I'm nearly thirty.” “Oh, I can pull a few strings. You won't be in Georgia Tech like Abby, but I can get you into SCAD, the Savannah College of Art and Design. I did a lot of the recent renovation work on their student housing, and I’ve maintained a good relationship with the Dean. She owes me a favor or two. I’m sure you can find something there that interests you. Brittany told me that you were reading a book on famous architects a while back, and well . . . I was thinking perhaps Rawlings Construction might want to become Rawlings Construction and Design in a few years,” Daddy said. “Of course, I understand your financial situation, so you'll be going under a workstudy program. You maintain a certain average, and I’ll take care of the rest. You’ll work as a management intern at Rawlings Construction. It's not much, but it beats sweeping floors at Lake Auto.” “That's very generous of you, sir,” Dane said. “I don't really know what to say.” “Oh, it's not going to be all fun and games,” Daddy said with a chuckle. “I plan on working you very hard. But I think you’ll handle it fine.” I couldn't help it. I laughed, seeing the genius and the generosity in Daddy's plan. I hugged Dane's arm, looking up at him. “What do you say? Think you can go back to school?” Dane only had to think for a second. “Damn right I can. One thing, though—does that mean we can't get married until I graduate? I mean, I planned on waiting a while, but not years.” “Oh, no,” Daddy said, leaning back. “Whenever y’all think the time is right. Just that my blessing won't be conferred until after your first day of classes. So should I have Brittany give a call to SCAD, or do you need to think it over?” Dane shook his head and looked at Brittany, his eyes eager and glimmering with

excitement. “Can you call them now?” AFTER A CELEBRATORY DINNER IN WHICH DADDY GRANTED HIS APPROVAL, IF NOT YET HIS BLESSING, TO OUR engagement, Dane and I were alone in the living room. We sat on the couch, me leaning against him. I still felt thunderstruck, and I was sure I'd had a goofy smile on my face the whole time. “Pinch me.” “Hmm?” Dane asked, rubbing my shoulder. “I wasn't sure I heard that correctly.” “I asked you to pinch me,” I said with a small laugh. “Because I'm still not sure I'm awake.” “Well, you're talking, and I know I'm awake, so I’m pretty sure you're awake,” Dane answered. He kissed my temple, pausing to inhale the scent of my hair and to whisper in my ear. “But I’m happy to pinch you. Any place you prefer to be pinched?” I chuckled and rubbed his chest, leaning against him. “For sure, that comes later. I feel a bit strange about it, though.” “Because of what happened at the lake?” Dane asked, immediately stiffening and giving me space. “Sorry, I got caught up in the moment.” “No, silly,” I answered, getting onto my knees on the couch and kissing him. “I feel strange because of being here and how mortified I’d be if Brittany or Daddy walked in on us.” “They don’t seem like the type that’d cheer us on or give suggestions,” Dane joked in reply, kissing me back. “Your dad has warmed up to me a bit, but he’d still probably contemplate on grabbing his shotgun.” His humor was exactly what I needed to relax enough to do what we both wanted to do for too long. Dane pulled me into his lap, humming in appreciation at the slick texture of my nylon sleep shorts. “You wear those every night?” “Most of the time,” I said, my hips rubbing back and forth across the hardness growing beneath me in his pants. “Except in the winter. Then I might wear flannel pants.” “Well then, I guess we're going to have to make sure our home is warm yearround,” Dane replied, reaching down and cupping my ass. “Because this is far too good of a feeling to give up because of some damn weather.” I had to agree, as the slick fabric let his strong hands roam as he pulled me in closer, our lips meeting softly with long, gentle caresses. I could feel the desire within him, but he restrained himself, his hands more tender than he had ever

been. I leaned back, breaking our kiss, and stroked his hair. “Dane, you don't have to hold back,” I whispered, kissing his forehead. “There's nothing I want more than to make love with you right here, right now.” Dane's feral grin thrilled me, and he fiercely pulled me into him, our lips crushing together as he gave vent to his passion. He pushed my thin t-shirt up and over my head, freeing my breasts at the same time. Holding me like I weighed just a feather, he feasted upon my nipples, alternating from left to right in a chaotic pattern that never let my body adapt, each switch bringing fresh waves of pleasure through my body and shooting all the way to my pussy. “Dene . . .” “Abs,” Dane mumbled between my breasts, looking up at me. I shifted back, slipping down Dane's thighs slightly in order to be able to find the clasp of his pants. His cock was already hard and hot under my fingers as I undid the clasp and pulled the zipper down. Dane jumped in my hand as I reached into his underpants to take his long, thick cock out and hold it between us, pulsing with life and hunger. “I want to ask you something,” I said, leaning in and kissing him again. “And you can give me an honest answer. It won't change a thing about what we're about to do.” “What?” Dane asked, his breath hissing from between his teeth as I stroked him while my breasts pressed against his chest. “What do you think about having children?” I asked, sitting up and wedging his cock between us. My pussy was aching, needing him inside me, but I had to have the answer to this question all of a sudden. “In general, I mean.” “Well, I think we'll need at least ten months,” Dane teased, sliding his right hand inside my shorts to caress the skin of my ass again. “Seriously, though, I think having a baby with you would be the greatest thing in the world, and if it happens, I’d welcome it. But I think after your schooling would be best.” I smiled and reached down and pushed the leg of my shorts and panties to the side. There would be time for gentleness later, but my initial urge for tenderness had been replaced by the white-hot passion of going so long without Dane. For a week, we'd been in the same house, spending time together but not being intimate as he gave me time and space to let my mind heal. Now, the slowly building fire inside me was at nuclear levels, unable to be contained. “One more thing.” “What?” Dane grunted as I took his cock in my hand again and rose. “I need you, as powerful and wonderful as you can be.” I chuckled as I lowered myself onto him. Dane's cock would forever be a wonderful experience, each time leaving me feeling like a newly discovered virgin, thrilled and a bit frightened by

the first sensations of his huge cock spreading me open, stretching me and filling every nook and cranny of my body. Dane lifted me up and down on his magnificent tool, letting my body adjust and stretch until the fear was replaced with wave after wave of delicious pleasure, my breath catching in my throat every time my body lowered itself onto his shaft. To add to the feeling, the position of our bodies meant that my clit dragged over his stomach with each movement, making me nearly insensate. I was getting pleasure with each up and down stroke, never ceasing, just building. My eyes drifted closed. I couldn't focus any longer, when I suddenly felt a sharp pinch on my right nipple, painful and arousing at the same time. My eyes flew open to see Dane grinning up at me. “What? You did ask me to pinch you earlier.” Dane wrapped his arms around my hips and stood up, still impaling me on his huge cock as he laid me down on the living room carpet. Pulling out, he stretched his arms and legs, then laid down beside me, a confident grin on his lips. “Now I can move some. Turn over.” I couldn't help but obey the loving command in his voice, each tone dripping with desire. When I was on my side, Dane lifted my knee, spreading my legs before he drove forward again, this time mostly from behind, filling me all the way with one sure, mind-blowing stroke of his cock. I couldn't help it. I grunted and cried out softly. The hammering beat of his cock drove me wild, my body flushing over and over again with the explosion of pleasure that came from deep inside me. I turned my head, burying my mouth into my forearm to stifle my cries of pleasure. The only sound I could hear was the rush of my pulse in my ears and the sound of Dane's hips slapping against my ass. Other than the soft whistle of his breathing through his nose, he kept totally silent as my man fucked me hard and fast on the carpet. My pussy clenched around him and my body rippled as my first orgasm shot through me, my teeth clamping down on the meat of my forearm hard enough to leave marks as I moaned and cried out. Dane held me, his cock throbbing inside me. He was so close, letting me ride out my orgasm in my own pace, comforting me and letting me know he would be there. When the wave passed, I turned and kissed him softly. “You didn't come yet,” I said, feeling him still hard and pulsing. Dane grinned as he readied himself again, pushing inside and sending fresh waves of pleasure up my body. My fingers clutched at Dane's back as he pushed in and out of me, driving me down into the pillow as his body rubbed against my clit. I felt something building inside me in a deeper place, someplace that I'd never felt before. I wasn't sure what it was, but it kept growing, larger and larger, until I was nearly frightened out of my mind. It was too large, I was feeling too much, but at the same time, I couldn't refuse it even if I wanted to.

Somehow, Dane knew what I was feeling. “Let it go,” he whispered in my ear. “Same time as I do.” I bit my lip and nodded, untrusting of my voice as he kept pounding into me, strong and confident. I felt him swell, and with a strangled gasp, he thrust into me one last time, his cock erupting. His orgasm triggered an explosion inside me, so strong that I couldn't hold back, burying my mouth into his shoulder and screaming, it was so strong. I tasted the rich, coppery flavor of Dane's blood, and I blacked out for a moment, my mind unable to deal with all of the input at once. Dane held me, nestling me on his right leg while stroking my hair. “Welcome back,” he whispered. “I was wondering if I could sneak you down the hall to your room without someone noticing me carrying you.” “Well, that wouldn't be good, now would it?” I asked, reaching for my t-shirt. “On the other hand, if we walked down the hallway together, we might be quiet enough that you could join me.” Dane smiled and took my hand, stroking it tenderly with his thumb. “I don't know,” he said with a smile. “Your Daddy might still have that shotgun around. And now he's got a Marine, too.”

Chapter 20 Dane

IT WAS A RARITY IN ATLANTA AS SNOWFALL DOTTED THE WINTER LANDSCAPE. IT WAS A RARE GIFT TO GET the day after Christmas, and one that I appreciated. “You're probably one of the few people who aren't freaked out by this,” Patrick said to me as I looked out the big glass window of the rented hotel ballroom area. “Think you can get us all home without a problem?” “Patrick, it's less than a quarter-inch of snow,” I said with a light laugh. “I think even you Southerners could drive home in this. The most dangerous thing out there right now is the other drivers, panicking and acting like idiots.” “Never underestimate the ability of mankind to act like idiots,” he replied, taking a sip of his whiskey. He was looking remarkably well for a man after his second heart attack. Part of that was due to his month with Monica, I was sure. She’d imbibed a bit of Marine spirit into him, and he took up jogging, working himself up to two miles a day over the ground in the back yard. I'd even paced him once or twice, and he did pretty good for his age. “By the way, congratulations again on the first semester. You did well.”

I turned away from the window and took a sip of my own whiskey and soda. “I'll be honest. I was scared stupid for about the first week or so. It was only because of Abs that I was able to get my head out of my ass and recognize that I actually enjoy learning.” “I'd say a 3.2 GPA for your first semester back after a decade off from school is more than cause for celebration,” Patrick said. “Come on, let's enjoy the rest of the party. Those from the company who showed up, at least.” “Hey, more for us then,” I joked. “You know, besides the bar.” “This is my month's ration of fried foods, so don't make me regret it too much,” Patrick joked in reply. We left the entryway and went back into the party, where the place was only about half full. We hadn't expected a big turnout. After all, the party was being held the day after Christmas, but with everything else going on in our lives, it was about the only way to fit it in. “So you really won't mind that I'm taking a few weeks off?” I asked as we made our way through the room. “I mean, three weeks right after the beginning of the year isn't exactly easy for the company.” “You know, Dane, I've watched you carefully the past six months,” Patrick said, stopping about a third of the way across, near a large cake that was shaped like an excavator and festooned with a fondant banner that read Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, Rawlings Construction. “And I'll admit that I've been more than a little tough on you. I've given you enough rope to hang yourself more than once, and each time you keep busting your ass and working hard. So let me give you a little bit of advice.” “What's that?” I asked, curious. While I didn't think that he’d ever let me out to dry, I do know that he consciously avoided giving me the rub around the office. He wanted me to stand and become respected on my own, not because I was his daughter's fiancée. It had taken a fair bit of work, but I felt like I was fitting in around the place now and could hold my own with some of the regular workers. “You're getting married tomorrow,” Patrick said, pointing to the table where Brittany and Abby were chatting. Their relationship had grown closer in the past six months, and while I doubted that she would ever call her Mom, Abby had certainly come to understand and appreciate more about Brittany than I think she had in the nearly twelve years prior. “The one thing that I value most, looking at that table now, is the time that I spent not building properties. It's the time I spent playing with my little girl. I'm prouder of the fact I could make Barbie's horse whinny than the fact that I can buy a couple of real horses.” “So you think I should back off?” I asked, incredulous. “After all you've pushed me toward in the past half-year?”

“I think you should work just as hard as you have every moment since they let you out of Leavenworth,” Patrick retorted, giving me a half-grin at the end. “Just make sure you're working on the right things, that's all.” One of the company vice presidents came up, wishing us a happy holiday, and I used it as an opportunity to part ways with them. I'd come to admire Patrick, and while our relationship got off to a rocky start, we got along well enough. There was, of course, the unstated but obvious tension as his daughter let him go and became closer to me, but I think every man goes through that when he gets engaged. I headed over to Abby and Brittany, who were laughing as Abby described in detail our new apartment. We'd moved in just after Thanksgiving, after the neighbors in the first apartment complex we'd tried had turned out to enjoy partying a bit too much for our tastes. “Yeah, I know it's still nowhere near what I had at home with you and Daddy, but it's ours,” Abby said as I approached. I figured she was telling Brittany about our upstairs neighbors, who had a slightly disturbing habit of turning their nightly yoga sessions from Iyengar to Tantric, if you know what I mean. Still, better than listening to Flo Rida all weekend long. “We figure it'll keep us going for a while though. At least until I finish my Masters.” “You ladies make this party a lot better looking than any decoration or band could,” I greeted them as I came within greeting distance. Abby got up and we kissed, laying her head on my shoulder. “Hey, Abs. You miss me?” “Not too much,” she teased me, rubbing my chest. “Just enough that I can't wait until tomorrow.” “Oh, you can wait another few hours,” Brittany laughed, sipping at her champagne. “After all, it isn't like in my parents' day when the couple would have to spend every night apart until the wedding ceremony.” “Good for us, then.” Abby laughed. She reached down to the table and took a sip of her ginger ale, something I'd noticed earlier. Abby had never been a big drinker, but then again, neither was I. I used to be, but I’d seen firsthand what nastiness alcoholics could do. In the apartment, we didn't have any alcohol at all other than a bottle of Malbec that we'd been given as a gift for moving in. “Say, babe, are you sure you'll be good for picking Shawnie up from the airport tomorrow?” “Yeah, this is my last one,” I replied, taking the final sip and setting the glass down on the table. “I don't want to have my nuptials marred by a hangover or anything.” Brittany smiled in approval and finished her glass of champagne as well. “A wise decision. Well, you two enjoy yourself. I need to powder my nose, as the saying goes.” She left us, and I led Abby closer, away from the table, and took her out to the dance floor. The live band wasn't the best in town, but even a second-rate band in a city

like Atlanta can beat the pants off anything a lot of other places can offer. We found an empty spot on the dance floor and I pulled her into my arms. “Think of it as practice for tomorrow.” “You know, I think Brittany is expecting at least a little bit of Viking tomorrow with all of that Norse stuff you talk about,” Abby said as we danced. “She's going to be highly disappointed.” “Well, I guess I could rip off my shirt, grease myself up, and try to wrestle a bear, but those are kind of hard to find this time of year,” I joked. “I guess she'll have to settle for the roasted meats and maybe a song or two. You know I just take it in stride anyway.” “I know. It's why I love you so much,” Abby said. “Enjoying the party?” “Better than listening to the Washingtons upstairs,” I replied. “Trying to watch The Charlie Brown Christmas Special while they were having sex was not the experience I was hoping for.” “We've kind of given them a concert or two as well,” Abby reminded me. “Or did you forget Monday night?” “How could I?” I chuckled. We turned on the floor, moving in gentle circles, not really following any one pattern but just moving together. “Hey, Abs, I don't want to pry, but you seem to be a bit off tonight. Worried about tomorrow?” “No,” Abby replied. “I'm excited, yes, but not worried. Why?” “I just noticed you're only hitting the ginger ale. You don't think we'll get too drunk and oversleep, do you?” Abby leaned back, her honey blonde hair shimmering in the soft light, her blue eyes twinkling like twin sapphires, and laughed, long and loud. If it hadn't been a party, or if the music had been softer, she would have garnered a lot of attention, but as it was, she barely registered. When her laughter was over, she pulled my head down and kissed me. “I’m not worried about that at all,” she whispered in my ear after the kiss was broken. “I wanted to wait until we were alone tonight, but I have a late Christmas gift for you.” “Oh? What's that?” I asked, flummoxed. We hadn't exchanged too many gifts, so a late one seemed strange. “You get to find out in about nine months,” Abby whispered, pulling back to look me in the eyes. “Merry Christmas . . . Daddy.”

PREVIEW: RECKLESS BERTOLI CRIME FAMILY BOOK 2

**Subject to change before publication**

Chapter 1 Tomasso

FROM TEN THOUSAND FEET, CIRCLING SEATAC IN OUR LANDING PATTERN, I WAS DISAPPOINTED IN SEEING Seattle again. I should have driven. Up there, it was too pristine, too clean, too . . . quiet. I'd spent the past four years, more or less, being quiet. I was ready to get back into the pulse of life. Not that the quiet hadn't helped. Four years prior, when I was eighteen, the last thing I wanted to be was Tomasso Bertoli, heir apparent of Carlo Bertoli, Godfather of all of Seattle and Tacoma. I wanted to be a normal guy, with normal dreams and the expectation that I wouldn't have to risk my life either from getting shot like my uncle Johnny, or going to jail like my cousin Vince. Spending ten years in jail worried about dropping the soap? No thanks, not for me, even if I was protected. So I took the opportunity to get the hell out of Seattle. In fact, I went country, although my family never really knew to what extent. Going by the name of Tom Bertoli, I couldn't hide my heritage, but I hid just about everything else. Gone were

the suits, the designer clothes, and the slick looks that had gotten me plenty of attention and plenty of ass in high school. Instead, I'd worn off-the-shelf jeans and t-shirts. My Alfa Romeo was replaced with a Chevy, and I tried to act like a normal college student. Well, a normal college student in most ways. I was about fifty miles from the Gulf Coast in Alabama, in a little town that was just outside Mobile, and I grew to appreciate a few things. Fried catfish for one. Dusted in corn flower and then deep fried, I had to work hard to keep the weight off during my first year in college. I'm not one of those skinny poof types -- I took after my uncle Johnny and have loved the weights and the powerful look since about the first time I picked up a weight in the house gym. So as good as it was, I had to watch the Southern food. But the second and best part about being in the South? Southern girls. Say what you want -- there's a lot of dirt poor areas -- but the women are something else. Southern girls, they know how to treat their man right. They know how to talk, how to move, and just how to be feminine in ways that the girls I knew in Seattle didn't. Some of them liked to put on a front about being good girls, but once you got past it, they were down to fuck like it was nobody's business. The hardest part was getting the snaps on their shorts undone. But starting in my junior year, things just went weird for me. Maybe it was that I got bored. Classes were easy, and finding new challenges in the women department was getting harder and harder. I mean, I'd picked up a pretty good list of accomplishments, but it was just too easy and I stopped wanting to be in the South any longer. Whatever the reason, my last semester in college, I felt an itch inside me, a desire to go back to Seattle. I'd left because I didn't want to be Tomasso Bertoli, crown prince of the Bertoli family, and I knew I still didn't . . . at least to a degree. I didn't want to be handed a position merely due to my last name. What I wanted was to earn my place, to work my way up. If I was to take over when my father was ready to retire, then I'd do it because I was ready to handle the position. If I couldn't, then I'd happily pass it on to Adriana or Daniel if they wanted it, or to my little brother Angelo. My thoughts raced in my mind as the Delta 737 circled SeaTac. The city was just too damn sleepy and sterile up in the air. I should have driven. Thankfully, I was met at the gate by one of my favorite members of the Bertoli family, Pietro Marconi's son Jake. Instead of going to college, Jake signed up for a three year hitch with the Army, figuring that he'd pick up all the training he needed to become better at following in his father's footsteps by working a little bit for the government. He'd gotten out a few months before I graduated, and looked healthy and happy. "Tommy, it's good to see you."

"Actually Jake, if you can make it Tomasso now," I said with a smile, exchanging brotherly hugs with my friend. "I think I got all the Tommy out of me down South. You ever get to Alabama?" "Can't say that I did," Jake replied. Unlike his father, who looked like he was Italian, Jake always had a bit of a California surfer vibe to him, but who knew where in his DNA the dark dirty blond came from. His mother, Carla Marconi, had coal black hair like her husband. “The best I could manage was doing infantry school over at Ft. Benning, Georgia. Then they stuck me in fucking Korea for the rest of the time." "Which is probably why if I visited Korea right now, I'd find a ton of little half Korean, half Italian kids running around," I joked back. "Seoul's going to need a new Little Italy." Jake laughed, patting me on the shoulder. "It's good to have you back, Tomasso. You seem different though, more serious than you were, a more focused look about you.” "We can talk in the car. What did you drive?" I asked, as Jake reached for my bag. "No, I got it." Jake's hand stopped, a few inches from the handle. "Really?" I nodded. "Really. Jake, before I left I didn't want to be the prince. I still don't — I don't want that handed to me. So I'm going to earn it. That starts with little things like being able to carry my own bags." He nodded, and I grabbed my suitcase and duffel bag, following him out to the parking lot. "As to your question, I figured you'd be looking for a good ride, so I brought the Cali." The Ferrari California was one of my favorite cars in the lineup owned by my father, and I whistled as I saw the sleek lines and blue-gray paint job. "Still sexy as fuck," I said, holding my hand out. "Keys." Jake chuckled and held them out. "I thought you said that you wanted to earn it." "Hey, the car's still in my father's name," I said with a laugh. "Besides, I spent four years driving a Chevy. Just promise me one thing." "What's that?" Jake said, tossing me the keys and climbing into the passenger seat. "Tell me you have absolutely no country or Southern hip-hop on the sound system. I think I've had my fill of that over the last couple years” I said, climbing into the driver's seat. I'd forgotten how ironically luxurious a firm foam seat felt. I'd gotten too used to soft foam that just mushed out like a fucking pillow under your ass. The Ferrari though, it grabbed your legs, ass and back and told you to sit the fuck down

right here. The growl of the engine as I started it up sent a shot of adrenaline down my spine, and I grinned as I flipped the switch to retract the hardtop convertible roof. "You drive the way I think you will, it won't matter, will it?" Jake said. "Just remember to try and keep it at ground level, okay?" Actually, I cruised, enjoying the feeling of the sports car as I drove north along the Interstate towards the Bertoli mansion. "So how's life for you now?" "Not bad," Jake said. "You know the Don's got me working at the Pizza joint?" "No shit?" I said with a laugh. Bertoli's Pizza was just one of my family's legitimate businesses. No Mafia family can go for long without having some legitimate business to filter all the profits of their other enterprises, and Bertoli's Pizza was a Seattle institution. We'd even catered the summer barbecue for the police union three years running for free. "What's he got you doing, deliveries?" Jake laughed and shook his head. "Nah, learning how to actually do business. He's got me working the books, in the office and stuff. He told me that the Army took care of the violent side of things, and they taught me about how to organize. Now it was time to put the finishing touches on me, — his own words. So I've spent six months working in the back offices, doing orders for tomato sauce, cheese, flour, shit like that after I got reacquainted with Seattle. Worst part of it all is, I haven't even seen a slice of pizza the whole damn time. But what about you? You leave a bunch of heartbroken girls back in Alabama?" "Heartbroken? No way. Broken in? Hell yes." It wasn't the total truth, but I couldn't exactly tell Jake the truth, he wouldn't have understood. He laughed and we continued driving. Reaching the mansion, I stopped in front, getting out to take my bags. "You go say hi to your father, I'll park the car," Jake said. “And don't worry about the bags, either. You may want to do stuff on your own now, but remember, you're still part of the Bertoli family. There's people to do that sort of stuff around here. Your bags be in your room when you're done talking with the Don." I nodded and went inside, unconsciously checking my pants and shirt to make sure I looked okay. While Father would understand that I'd flown wearing track pants and a t-shirt, that didn't excuse if I'd shown up looking like a bum. Inside, I saw one of the maids, a nice girl named Jessie who'd been with the house for years. "Jessie?" "Master Bertoli, welcome home," she said, smiling shyly. Jessie was a few years older than me, and had gotten married while I was in college. Still, we'd had a few nights back when we were both single that still left pleasant memories and warmed

cold nights. Tiny, trim, and with a bobbed haircut that gave her sort of a pixie vibe, she'd always been a great maid, and she'd let me rock her world once or twice. "How was your flight?" "Good, but you know I don't like that Master stuff. Just Tomasso." Jessie blushed a little, but shook her head. "I can't, sir. At least, not using your first name while working. I suppose you are looking for Mr. Bertoli?" "Yes, do you know where he is?" She pointed out toward the back. "I believe he's by the pool. He's on a bit of a fitness kick recently, if you can believe it." I shook my head. "Really, what caused that?" She leaned in close, whispering into my ear. "He tried on his tuxedo for Miss Bertoli's wedding to Daniel. Let's just say it didn't fit too well. Since then, he's been on a fitness kick. He wants to make sure things look good for the ceremony." I chuckled and shook my head. If my father had any weakness in terms of his thinking or actions, it was Adriana. Then again, since I agreed with his sparing of Daniel, I couldn't argue it too much. "Thanks, Jessie. I'll let you get your work done.” I left and found my father in the family pool. It was three lanes, and while not competition depth, had let my brother Angelo do pretty well for a short, stocky Italian on the high school swim team. Of course, I suspect he joined the swim team only because he got to spend a lot of time around girls in swimsuits. Father, on the other hand, looked nothing at all like a swimmer, or an athlete of any kind. As he went north of fifty years old, his paunch had spread, and his already somewhat weak jawline had receded more and more into his neck. Still, discounting Carlo Bertoli, even if you were his son, was a fool's errand. It was difficult though, as he had for some reason insisted on wearing Speedos as he did his laps. Seeing me when he turned, he waved at me and stopped, touching down on the bottom of the pool. Walking his way back from the other end, he pulled his goggles off of his head and wiped his face. "Tomasso! It's good to have you home son! I didn't expect you in for another two hours, what happened?" "I was able to catch an earlier connection coming out of Denver," I explained, walking closet to the pool. "It's good to see you, Dad." He got out of the pool and grabbed a robe off the deck chair he'd been using. Tying the belt, he came and hugged me, the two of us clapping each other on the back. "Oh my boy, it's good to see you too. Ouch,” he said. “Watch it, you're going to

hurt an old man's back!" I laughed and pounded him once more, then stepped back. "You're not old. You're in the prime of your life still." He chuckled and shook his head. "When a man starts giving away those he feels are his children, then the prime of his life is over. But I plan on hanging on to what's left as much as I can. Come, let's sit." I took the other seat, and Dad tapped a control on the table. "Can you bring some beer for me and Tomasso? No, wait, make it two sparkling waters." He clicked off the intercom and shrugged. "I don't want to look like a fool at Adriana's wedding." "You won't, I promise. I'm glad to be back in time for that as well." "So, now that you're back Tommy, what do you plan to do? To be honest, when you left to go to school four years ago, I wasn't sure I'd see you back other than on holidays." "Actually, if you don't mind, Tomasso now," I said somberly. "I came back because I think it's time for me to set some ideas I had as a boy aside and become a man." He crossed his hands over his stomach, a gesture I'd come to know well. He was thinking, and his mind, which was stronger than any muscle any of his men may have had, was working. "You know Tomasso, coming back, it's not like you just stepped out for a bit while going to school locally. The boys, the family, they kind of knew you were unsure about this life. Now you're saying you want back in. How would I justify this to men like your friend Jake, who only left because I told him to go into the military for a few years? How would that look to his father even?" I nodded, thinking. "I know. It's one reason why I want to earn my way up. The boys, the Family, they won't respect me if I just came in acting like some sort of heir-apparent. I don't want to be some pampered prince, nor do I think that is what you would want of me. So let me start near the bottom, where you think I can learn and show what I can offer.” Dad's eyes twinkled, and a small smile broke out on his face. "Is that so? You realize if I do that, I must place you under someone beside myself. I can't be the one to mentor you. That would damage the exact thing you are trying to establish." "I know," I said, thinking. Suddenly, an idea came to mind. "You know, Jake Marconi was the guy who picked me up at the airport. I take it that you have him in the office to learn from you?" Dad chuckled and took a sip of his water. "Jake is a good boy, but he is not cut out for the rough part of life. I kept tabs on him in the military through our

connections, and while he's trustworthy and a good worker, he's not as sure on the trigger as I need him at this time. He's too sure of his words and his ability to use his charm. Useful tools, but more useful on the legitimate side of our business than the other side. Why?" "Well, why not place me under his father Pietro? He's your most trusted lieutenant, he's one of the best men you've ever worked with, and if anyone can teach me what I need to know, he can do it. Also, let's face it, he's not an easy man to work for. How many men have come to you asking to be taken off of his watch?" Dad laughed, raising his hands in the universal gesture of who knows? "But know this, Tomasso. If I do that, Pietro is going to be your boss, not your father's lieutenant. Can you handle that?" "Give me a day to get unpacked, get my mind right, and we can talk to Pietro tomorrow," I said, taking a drink. "Would that be okay?" "Let's talk with him Sunday," Dad replied. "You should take a few more days, get your feet underneath you in Seattle again."

Chapter 2 Luisa LOOKING DOWN FROM TEN THOUSAND FEET IN THE UNITED AIRLINES BOEING, I WISHED THE PLANE WASN'T circling Seattle. While it was summer time in the United States, and the weather was reasonably warm, I missed my native land. July in Brazil was beautiful, and in my hometown of Porto Alegre, the midwinter weather was perfect – Brazil is in the Southern Hemisphere, so July was actually winter. Not too warm, the rainy season wasn't too bad, and the mid-summer cattle were coming in from the pampas. Keep your wagyu, your Angus, and your Aussie. I'll take fresh Brazilian beef from the pampas any day. Still, as part of my father's businesses, this trip was necessary. The Porto Alege Mendosa family is powerful, but only within our little section of Brazil. Compared to some of the families in Sao Paulo, Brasilia or especially Rio de Janerio, we were nothing but backwoods hicks, rednecks with a little bit of money and a lot of cojones. In order to stay strong, we often had to mix our legal and illegal businesses. Then again, many families in Brazil needed to mix their legal and, technically, illegal businesses. Some of the best of them became politicians. So I had to come to Seattle. There was a trade show being held over the next two weeks at the Civic Center, and of all the Mendosas, I was the one that not only had the best English, but also had the cleanest record. My father was known as a person of interest by Interpol, and while some of my brothers were not as well known, they

barely spoke any English, preferring to leave the boring, nerdy side of education to me and my sisters. Not that it was all I learned, of course. "Ladies and gentleman, we just got final clearance for landing at Seattle's Seatac airport. For all of us in the flight crew, I'd like to thank you for flying with us today. Y'all have a great time, and see us again," the American pilot said over the intercom in his annoyingly Texas twang. At least my accent does not add syllables to words, or just make them up entirely. I sighed, and made sure my seat was up fully and my things ready. I looked around at the collection of Americans next to me, and I had to shake my head. None of them knew how to dress. Still, I had to admit that after being in various airplanes for going on eighteen hours with layovers and other delays, I could have switched places with one of them and enjoyed a t-shirt and yoga pants. But I had places to go when I got off the plane in Seattle, and social calls I had to make. Those social calls, more than anything, irked me the most. You see, the purpose of my visit to Seattle wasn't just the trade show, which would reinforce my family's agricultural connections. We had a chance to make the sort of face-to-face connections that could lead to Mendosa beef being served in many restaurants in the United States, a market worth millions of dollars a year. But more importantly was the connection my father wanted to make with Carlo Bertoli. That was, if anything, more important than the trade show. Like Seattle, Porto Alegre was a seafaring city, with lots of cargo going in and out of the port every day. That, combined with a very tourist friendly nightlife, left a lot of opportunities for men such as my father to make a living. But to further our opportunities, we needed allies. The Bertoli family, with a hold on the Port of Seattle, could be a powerful ally. So my first stop in Seattle, even before I checked into my hotel, was the Bertoli mansion. Thankfully I'd cleared American customs in Dallas, the last stopover I had before flying to Seattle. I'd even had a chance to take a nap on the airplane, so I wasn't too exhausted when I stepped out of the baggage terminal and walked to the shuttle bus that would take me to the car rental counter. At the counter, the clerk, a cute boy in that overconfident sort of way, tried to flirt with me as I checked out the Lincoln that I'd reserved. "So, uh, you'll be in Seattle for a while?" I raised an eyebrow at the clerk, who blushed. "Sorry?" The boy swallowed his nervousness, and tried again. "Just... if you're free any night here when you're in Seattle, I was thinking that....." "I don't think I will have the free time. But thank you," I said, cutting him off. Still,

I was trying to be polite, but I had other things on my mind. I didn't have time for a young man with an overabundant fascination with my backside, though it was one of my best assets. What is that American saying, real women have curves? I have them, and I'm proud of them. We figured that basic truth out in Brazil generations ago. Driving north toward what the car navigation system was telling me was my destination, I reviewed what I knew about Don Carlo Bertoli. He had taken over the Seattle area after his brother had been gunned down in a hit. In the ensuing struggle, he'd distinguished himself not only for his ruthlessness, but his analytical mind. He'd united the disjointed Bertoli troops under his command quickly, and enacted revenge on the men who'd killed his brother. He'd also taken care of his family, supporting both his sister-in-law and niece as well as his two sons. Widowed now, he ruled Seattle with a deceptively iron fist, in full control of the area. I knew that Bertoli increased his family's power, and had expanded in both the legitimate and illegal areas of business. He was a man to both respect and be concerned about. I couldn't be anything but honest with the man, but at the same time I couldn't be an open book. If I did, I would certainly give him information he could use against the Mendosas. I pulled up at the gate to the Bertoli mansion at just before five o'clock, looking up the driveway at the impressive building. I reached over and hit the buzzer button, and a male voice came back on immediately. "May we help you?" "I'm Luisa Mendosa. I have an appointment to see Don Bertoli?" I waited a moment, and then the man came back on the intercom. "Please pull up in front of the house. You will be met in the driveway." The gate buzzed and started swinging back, and I pulled up directly in front of the front door and shut off my engine, getting out with my hands visible, but not extended. I was an expected guest, not a hostage or some other lackey, and I was a Mendosa. The front door opened, and a man came out. He had the obvious look of an enforcer, but was a bit old for the position. I figured that he was one of the lieutenants. "Miss Mendosa? I'm Pietro Marconi. Don Bertoli is waiting for you inside. If you'd follow me?" "Of course, Mr. Marconi. Would you like to check my person?" He stopped and looked back, slightly surprised. "Miss Mendosa, that's not how Mr. Bertoli treats his guests and friends. Your father contacted him saying you would be in town, and he's very happy to receive you as a friend of the family. There's no need for us to treat each other with suspicion, is there?"

I tilted my head, remembering that America operated on different rules than Brazil, and nodded. "My apologies, Mr. Marconi. Please, lead on." He led me through the house, which I saw had three wings in a reverse open rectangular pattern, quite standard and quite nice. Taking me through the main wing, we exited into a garden, where he led me along a concrete walkway to a small picnic area. "If you would wait here, he'll be out in a moment." I had just took a seat at the table when a man approached, wearing a fine custom tailored Italian suit that had to have cost a couple of thousand dollars. He was slightly dumpy, but in his eyes burned an intelligence and power that only a fool would ignore. Then again, I'd met many fools in the short twenty-one years of my life to that point. I stood up, offering my hand to shake. "Don Bertoli?" "Miss Mendosa, it's a pleasure to have you in my home," the Don said, smiling and returning the handshake with vigor and strength. When he did, the steel in his face mellowed slightly. "Was your flight from Brazil reasonable?" "Reasonable? I'd say that would be a good word," I said with a slight laugh. I noticed that he had an Italian accent, which somewhat surprised me. The family had been in the United States for at least three generations that I knew of, and Carlo Bertoli himself had been born in Seattle. How such a man still sounded like an Italian immigrant was beyond me. "The flight from Rio to Dallas was the longest part, of course. But I was able to fly in one of the new Dreamliners, so it wasn't too bad." "That's good to hear. Please, relax and have a seat. I'm sure you must be tired." "Actually sir, I had a good nap on the plane. I woke up just as we crossed into American airspace." "That's great." the he said smiling. "Well then, it'd be my honor to have you as my family's guest for dinner tonight.”

Chapter 3 Tomasso

I WAS IN THE HOUSE GYM, STRAINING INSIDE THE PRESS MACHINE PIETRO CAME TO THE DOOR. "CHANGE OF plans." "What’s up, Pietro?" I asked, letting the handles to the plate loaded machine down slowly. While I wasn't the best fighter in the Bertoli house, that honor probably belonged to Daniel Neiman, nor the strongest, Lorenzo was certainly that, I more

than held my own in both arenas. "I was just finishing up before going to do pickups like you ordered." "The Don wants you to delay the start of your work for tonight," Pietro said. "A visitor from Brazil came to pay respects, and he wants you to have dinner with the family. So it'll be you, your father, Mrs. Bertoli, and Miss Mendosa." "Mendosa, huh? She cute?" I asked with a grin. I realized I was acting like a spoiled boy and not a Bertoli man, and I stopped. "Sorry. I shouldn't have asked." He smiled, not choosing to comment. “How quickly can you be ready?" "I had a few sets left, but I can stop now," I answered. "Give me fifteen minutes?" “Okay. Suit and tie, of course.” He gave me a nod and walked out. Even though I was supposed to be working for Pietro, I still had to respect my father's wishes. I finished one more set and went up to my room, where I grabbed a quick shower and changed. I chose my gray suit, mainly because I could use it for both dinner and work later on, and because it was breathable. Seattle may not have been as hot as Alabama, but I wasn't used to wearing suits yet either. Adjusting my tie, I looked in the mirror, and thought I looked pretty damn good, if I could say so myself. Coming out of my room, I saw Aunt Margaret. ”Hey Squirt," she greeted me, using the nickname that was reserved for her and her only, "you look handsome. Trying to impress a new girl?” I laughed and gave her a hug. "Hardly. You know Dad wants his men to look the part when on the job. It’s going to take some getting used to, so I figure now’s as good a time as any. What do you think?" Margaret adjusted my tie, and ran her fingers through my hair. “You look so much like your uncle that I want to cry sometimes," she said with a sad little smile. "It's amazing having you back in the house, even if it is bittersweet. Tell you what, how about you escort me to the dining room tonight?" I smiled and offered my arm. "I'd be honored. I'm not sure I could have a better looking lady on my arm anyway." Margaret chuckled and smacked my chest with her left hand while slipping her right arm in mine. We went downstairs and into the main dining room where the giant twenty-four person table dominated the room. She was facing away from me when Aunt Margaret and I first came in, but even with her back turned, I was impressed by what I could see of Luisa Mendosa. She was as tall as me, especially in the heels she was wearing which made her legs look miles long — the sort of legs a man wants to run his hands over and then his lips

and tongue. Well muscled, they led to an amazing ass that swelled out in all threedimensions. This wasn’t the backside of just genetics, nor of just hard work, but of the perfect combination of both before narrowing down to a waist that, while not model skinny, still highlighted her hips before flaring out again to a firm, flat back that was covered in long honey-blond hair. Our footsteps caught the attention of Luisa and Dad, who both turned to see us, and I was left stunned again. Her breasts were full and round, creating the epitome of an hourglass figure that caused a stir within my shorts even at a distance. Even more beautiful though was her face, with a swan-like neck, a beautifully oval face and full lips that twitched with sensuous promise, a button nose, and round, high cheekbones. Most dramatic of all were her eyes, which were nearly so dark they looked black even as I came closer. For me, a man who'd taken pride in sampling the genetic smorgasbord of lovers, she was the hottest woman I'd ever seen. I cleared my throat and tried to think of something to say. "Sorry for the delay. Are we late?" Dad shook his head and smiled. "Not at all, Tomasso. Luisa, this is my sister-inlaw Margaret Bertoli, and my eldest son, Tomasso. He just graduated, and is now coming home to learn the family business." "It’s a pleasure to meet you both," Luisa said, her accent sending chills down my neck, which intensified when she shook my hand. This woman was no wilting wallflower, that was for sure. She had a good grip, and her hand, while not callused, was also not the type that got oil massages on a daily basis. This woman knew more than her outer appearance let on. "So what did you study?" "Business," I replied, putting on a cocky grin. It'd always helped in the past, and I was confident talking about school. I'd done okay, and figured if anything, I could always spout a line of bullshit that would sound impressive. I just hoped that she didn't ask me too much about the family side of things. I was still so new to it that I didn't know enough to talk well. "I went to school at a private school in Alabama. What about you?" "I studied economics at Brown," Luisa replied with a cool smile. "It was an interesting few years." "I see. Well, shall we?" I asked, looking at Dad. He nodded, and we went to the head of the giant table, where four places had been laid out. Dad and Aunt Margaret sat side by side at the two spaces at the head, with Luisa on Dad's right while I sat on Aunt Margaret's left. She was wearing an Armani tailored suit herself, but it didn’t hide her femininity one bit. Raising a glass, she smiled beautifully. "I would like to propose a toast," she said, looking at Dad. "To Carlo Bertoli. May his family be blessed forever."

"To the Mendosa family, who I hope will be friends and allies for all the days to come,” Dad replied before taking a drink of his wine. "I must say Luisa, the stories of Brazilian beauty pale in comparison to the real thing." "Thank you, Mr. Bertoli, but considering your sister-in-law, I’m hardly one to take compliments," Luisa replied. "Besides, you should see my sisters. I’m far too tall to be considered an ideal beauty." I coughed slightly, mostly in surprise at her comment. If Luisa thought that her sisters were more beautiful than she, and it sounded like she was being honest and not just giving off false modesty, the family must breed goddesses, not women. My aunt gave me a glance, but overall I hid my reaction well enough, at least I thought. "Luisa, what’s your part of Brazil like?" "Porto Alegre is the southernmost state capital, so it's cooler than some of the larger cities. Like your Seattle?" she said with an eyebrow. “You'd find the weather much closer to what you probably had at your school in Alabama." "Tomasso wanted to spread his wings, find his own path. That sometimes requires putting up a little distance," Margaret said, speaking up. The reality, we all knew, was that I was trying to get as far away from Seattle as I could, and the school I went to chose the size of my father's donation over the level of my SAT scores. I'd done a lot more screwing around than studying in high school. "What about Brown? That's quite a distance from Brazil." "My father wanted at least one of his children to get an international education. As it was, he was lucky in that two of his daughters took him up on his offer. My little sister Anna is currently studying in Australia at the University of Adelaide," Luisa said, taking a sip of wine. Her words were interrupted as Chef wheeled out the first course, a light anchovy salad with a olive oil dressing. "Obrigado." "I'm sorry, what was that?" I said, picking up my fork. "I didn't get what you said." "Obrigado. It is Portuguese for thank you," Luisa replied, smirking. There was a taunting note to her voice that I didn't like at all. "Don't tell me you only speak English?" "Spanish and Italian too, thank you very much," I shot back, with more vehemence than I'd expected. This woman, as beautiful as she was, was starting to piss me off — I was used to being the cocky one, and she appeared to be just confident in herself. "I do have more than just my good looks on my side." "Hmm, if you say so," she said, eating her food. I caught the amused twinkle in Margaret's eyes, and I stewed for a moment before eating some of my salad. Conversation drifted along, with Dad asking Luisa about her family, and how her life in Porto Alegre was. Despite the sting of her earlier words, I was drawn in as she discussed her life.

"My father wants me to stay as far from certain sides of our family business as possible, so I often find myself bored, but doing what I have to. I know what my brothers do, but I've never been to some of the places they've been. Such a shame, too. While discussing cattle exports is interesting, there are better ways to apply my education." "I'm sure, but I can understand your father's point of view," Dad said. "My niece Adriana, she only recently had to see some of the other sides of our family business. Tomasso here, he's known more since his youth, and while he's just getting started after college, I couldn't be prouder of him. He's his own man — a multitalented one.” “Oh really? Such as?" Luisa asked, giving me a raised eyebrow. "Well, I’m sure it’s not exactly what he meant, but I’m a bit of a Judo fanatic. Brown belt currently, should have had my black except that I got started late, spent my high school days mostly wrestling so I missed a couple of years. Did a couple of tournaments in college. I did okay, won a few." Luisa chuckled and took a bite of her main dish, which Chef had brought out while I was talking. "A nice little past time. I should mention that to my Professor when I get back to Porto Alegre." "You study martial arts too?" Margaret asked. "Which one?" “I’m a two stripe brown belt in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu," Luisa said. "I haven't kept up enough to be a black belt any time soon, but it’s fun. Besides, my dancing is less painful on the body. But I'd be confident against any regular judo black belt." I bristled and cut at my eggplant with my knife with a bit more force than necessary. “Maybe that could be arranged." "Only if you’re willing to submit to a woman," Luisa shot back, before setting her fork down. She wiped her mouth, and looked down at her plate. "Don Bertoli, my apologies. I came to foster friendship between our families, not to pick a fight with your son." Dad looked at me and laughed. “No offense taken Miss Mendosa. Sometimes we all need to learn lessons either through making mistakes, or through having someone remind us that our egos can’t become larger than our accomplishments. Isn't that true, Tomasso?" I swallowed my frustration and nodded. Dinner continued, with Aunt Margaret giving me amused looks from time to time as Luisa and I continued to verbally tip-toe around each other, trying to not piss each other off and usually failing miserably. Still, there was something irresistible about her. All through our panna cotta dessert, all I could think of was how I could

get the Brazilian beauty in the sack. After dinner, as Luisa was getting ready to leave and Dad was sipping his espresso, I took my opportunity. Going to the entryway, I hurried the few steps to stop her from opening the door. "Luisa?" She looked at me, and I could see in her eyes that I'd pissed her off, which made her all the sexier to me. "Yes, Tomasso?" I took a deep breath and set aside my arrogance for a moment, an act of pure will. I’d cultivated it for years, both as a tool and as a shield. "Listen, I’m sorry about tonight. Tomorrow you have that trade show, right?" "Yes, at the convention center. Why?" She asked, clutching her purse tightly. I could see in her eyes, she wanted to hit me with it, probably right across the face. "Let me take you to coffee, say in the afternoon? The show's gotta have a break built in there somewhere, and it's just a cup of coffee. I . . . I'd like to show you that I'm not always such an asshole." Luisa chuckled and nodded at my admission. "For the sake of our fathers and families, I accept. Here’s my phone number, call me tomorrow afternoon. My break right now is about two in the afternoon until three. Maybe then we can try and make a better start than this. Have a good evening and good luck with your work tonight." "Thank you," I said, a pleasant buzz going through me as she took out a card from her purse and wrote her number on the back. "And like I said, I'm not always an asshole. You'll see." "Good night."

Chapter 4 Luisa THE NEXT DAY WAS THE SORT OF DAY THAT I HAD LEAST LOOKED FORWARD TO ABOUT SEATTLE, THE SORT OF dreary, overcast day where the sky looked like it constantly wanted to rain but didn't. In Brazil, it’s different. When the clouds boil over dark and heavy, you know to get yourself indoors. When they were done raining, the clouds knew enough to go away and the sky is beautiful. Seattle clouds, on the other hand, seem to enjoy just mingling with each other, turning the entire sky into a sort of slate gray that sucks the life and pleasure out of the entire day. Everything gets washed out into a monotone yech that can only be abated by sleep. No wonder the city was full of hipsters who have to drink coffee constantly to stay awake.

The convention center was a lot of the same, with most of the men wearing dull, drab suits that looked like they were all made in the exact same factory and handed out to American businessmen along with one of three options in tie. Still, as things started, I quickly got into the zone and started to enjoy my work. The key to my task at the Seattle convention was not to set up a booth, my family didn’t have the presence nor the available manpower to send such an entourage. Instead, my father trusted me to do what I did best, which was use all of my sixfoot-two inches (in heels) and thirty-eight inches each of chest and hip to get the attention of the people at the convention, and then use my brains to complete the work and make the connections. We weren't planning on making any immediate sales, but instead to make the sort of introductions and inroads that could lead to future sales. That didn't mean I didn't have sales forms with me, but they were kept in my small folder case. My immediate target, of course, were the churrascaria chains, the Brazilian barbecue places that could use the fact that my family offered authentic Brazilian beef for export as a selling point to their customers. So my immediate target list of people to talk to included Fogo de Chao, Rumjungle, and Texas de Brazil. But, if the opportunity arose, I'd be happy to talk to any of the chains or even the few supermarkets that were at the convention. In the morning, I was able to talk to the lead representative from Texas de Brazil, who sounded interested in what my family had to offer. After exchanging information, he talked with me for nearly twenty minutes, and for the most part kept his eyes where they were supposed to be. I was certain that he would actually give our offices in Brazil a call soon in order to get some of our winter cattle, although he stopped short on actually filling out an order form. Skipping lunch, I used the opportunity to make some of the smaller connections I'd sought for after seeing the big players leave their booths for lunch. However, the little places, the single restaurants or small chains that were looking for anything they could as every penny was precious to them, stayed at their booths or kept circulating, hustling to make deals and connections. It was capitalism and business in its truest form, which to me was both intoxicating and dangerous. If you let yourself become too desperate or too content, you’d fail. On the outside, you have to look confident and unconcerned, but on the inside you’re ready to jump at almost any opportunity that comes your way. By one-thirty, I was pleasantly tired, and the rumble in my stomach reminded me that I was supposed to have coffee with Tomasso Bertoli. As I finished my last conversation and went to a quieter area of the convention center to check my phone for messages, I thought about him. He was handsome — that was undeniable. He had wide shoulders and a powerfully built body that rippled with muscle even under the suit I'd seen him in. His dark brown hair reminded me of

freshly ground coffee in color, and his eyes were a deep hazel amber that certainly let him charm his way into many a woman's bed, I was sure. Despite being the daughter of a crime lord, I had a bad habit of losing myself when it came to men, including an incident in college where I thought I'd fallen in love with a professor. He'd used me as a 'side piece,' as I came to know the term later, while all the time he stayed with his society wife. I'd been so ashamed that I hadn't even told my father, and since then hadn't seriously considered a man for anything more than to fill a need. However, Tomasso Bertoli wasn’t a man that I could just play with. He wasn’t a man that I could just use to fill that particular need. Sure, he was sexy, but I needed to maintain at least a polite relationship with him in order to increase the chances of our families working together. I saw that there was a message on my phone when I pulled it out, and that it was from him. He sent me a message at noon, saying he'd be by the convention center whenever I was ready. I hit the dial button and waited. "Hello?" Tomasso said when he picked up, and I couldn't help but smile at the sound of his voice, even as I tried to fight it. "Luisa?" "Yes Tomasso, it’s me. I got your message, are you in the area?" "Yes, I was just doing a little shopping at a store nearby. Are you on break?" he said, sounding less cocky than he had the night before. "If so, I can meet you in about ten minutes." "That sounds fine. I'll be in the north side of the building. Can you meet me there?" "That would be great. I'll see you in less than ten." He hung up, and I had to admit that his tone of anticipation bled over onto me. I was looking forward to seeing him. I started heading toward the north exit slowly, pausing to check out a few booths and dropping off my business card. I waited by the north entrance, and was surprised when he walked up. Instead of the slicked back, buttoned down wise guy I'd expected from the day before, he'd gone more casual, with a pair of jeans and a shirt. "Hello." He stopped, looking at me. "Wow. You look... beautiful. I mean, not that you didn’t last night.” His honest compliment stirred me, and I couldn't help it, I smiled. "You look much more relaxed than last night. Shall we?" He nodded, and we started back towards the parking lot. "If you don't mind, there's a little cafe just around the corner," Tomasso said. "I've never been there, but they've got a big picture of apple pie out front, and to be honest, I could use some."

I thought about it, and nodded. “Sounds great. I didn’t have much for lunch other than some samples from the convention." We walked, my feet only slightly aching as I'd been on my feet all morning in high heels. "This is a part of Seattle I haven't missed the past four years,” Tomasso said looking up at the sky. I chuckled and agreed. “It’s definitely not something to inspire great works of art. On the other hand, I assume that means you value the good weather days all that much more." "I suppose," Tomasso said. "To be honest, I don't get as much of a chance to look up at the sky. I've been on the night shift this past week." "You're out now," I noted. "Is this your day off or something?" He shook his head, chuckling. "Hardly. Monday's one of my busiest. A lot of the businesses that I’m supposed to pick up from I stop by on Mondays. It does tend to end early, so I used the early start and knowing I was going to be down here to get out and do some shopping." I nodded in understanding. We made our way to the cafe, where I ordered an espresso along with a small slice of chocolate cake. "So I gather that you are just getting back into the family business," I said, taking a bite. It wasn't too bad. "How’s that working out?” He sipped at his cappuccino and sighed. "It's been harder than I thought it would be. Not so much the job itself, so far I'm not doing anything a reasonably trained beagle couldn't do. It's the mental stress." "Heavy is the head that wears the crown," I noted, causing him to nod. "You're not the only one who’s in such a position." "What's it like for you?" he asked, open and honest. His face softened, and I could see the cute guy under there, not the cocky jerk vibe I’d gotten from him the night before. "I mean, you said your father wants you out of the dirty side of things." “That’s true, but my family has a lot of things that aren’t dirty, but aren’t exactly on the up and up either. Like you, I have a lot of expectations to live up to, and a lot of pressure. Being the oldest daughter, and the one that's supposed to be the leader of all of them — it's a lot to deal with when I haven't even had my twenty-second birthday yet." Tomasso looked surprise. "You're twenty-one? I thought you were older than me. Not that you look it, just you're mature, you act . . . ah hell, I'm screwing this up — you know what I mean. I'm twenty-two, birthday's next month." "Me too," I said, chuckling as he tripped over his words. "What day?"

"August seventh," Tomasso said, "and you?" I laughed hard. "Me too. It seems we are exactly one year apart in age." I sat back, sipping my coffee and enjoying my cake. He also relaxed, enjoying his drink, a sort of companionable silence growing between us. It lasted until I finished my cake, and most of my coffee. "So, a brown belt, huh?" He commented as he took his last sip and breaking the silence. "What about the rest of your family?" I nodded. ”My older brother’s also a brown, and one of my younger brothers is a purple. It’s kind of a family thing for my brothers, but I got into it because of a friend. Look, I’m glad we did this, but the afternoon session is starting and I’d like to make another connection before the day is finished. Thank you, Tomasso." We started back to the convention center, friendlier than I'd expected after the night before, and more than once we laughed as we approached the center. “Do you have some spare time?" I asked as we neared the door. "Your family has business interests in restaurants, food, shipping, things like that, right?” "Some, but mostly in the pizza industry. My friend Jake would be better suited for something like this. I’m not really involved with that stuff, regardless of my education,” Tomasso said before shaking his head. "But I can at least get some business cards for him I suppose. Besides, I'd have to be an idiot to turn down an offer from a beautiful woman to spend some more time with her. And I’m no idiot." "I don't know about that," I teased back, not even realizing I was flirting with him until the words were out of my mouth. I shook my head in disbelief and opened the door to the center, when suddenly a man in a hooded sweatshirt collided with us, sending me sprawling to the sidewalk. "Hey! Que porra?" The man went tumbling down with me, and I yelped as his knee caught me in the thigh. I got a good look at him, and he had the most remarkable face, a scar that ran from his hairline to the middle of his left cheek, nearly bisecting his eye — his left eye was brown, while his right eye was blue. Scrambling to his feet, he took off running. "Puta! Get back here! You can at least apologize!" Tomasso, who'd also been knocked down, got to his feet and chased the man for a few feet before seeing that I was still on the ground. Coming over, he knelt down next to me. "Are you okay?" I nodded, looking down at my suit, which had a tear in the skirt that pissed me off. "My suit took more damage than I did. He caught me in the thigh with a good knee though." "Ouch," Tomasso said, offering me his hand. I took it, surprised at how effortlessly he helped me to my feet. Those muscles weren't just beach muscles, I could tell. I

took a step and winced, as a high heel that I hadn't realized I'd broken gave way and my ankle twisted, causing me to stumble again. This time though Tomasso caught me, even if he did have to swing me around to stop my momentum. "I think you need some new shoes." I realized that we were just inches apart, his hands on my waist and back, his expressive, sensuous lips close to mine, and I felt my breath catch for a moment. "Thank y . . .” My words were cut off as an explosion ripped behind me, the blast throwing both of us to the ground. I felt a sharp pain in the back of my head, and then the world went black.

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