The fucking buzzing won’t be silenced this time. It hammers away at my skull, even as my cock finally deflates and Stacatto’s whore is painted with my cum. It’s ironic how her skin still glistens beneath the obscenity; she’ll wear a man’s mark just as easily as silk. Though her new accessory comes with a high price. She shows more emotion now than when I severed part of her ear.
I suppose some part of me should feel proud at breaking her, but all I feel is irritation: the heat, the insatiable prickle in my skin, the goddamn buzzing. Even her strangled gasps aren’t enough to smother the sound ripping through my head. It’s instant. It’s pounding. It’s...
Someone knocking on the goddamn door.
“What the fuck do you want?” I growl while my hand flies out for my jeans. I yank them on one-handed and stagger for the door. When I wrench it open, I expect to find Arno or maybe one of his men on the other side of it. Though these days, who knows where the kid’s loyalty lies anymore? There’s no hint of it now as Espi watches me coldly, his eyes raking over my bare chest and my unfastened jeans.
“...Am I interrupting something?” His eyes cut to the woman he only catches a glimpse of, her naked body contorted by her muffled cries. Shock tightens his mouth before I can force myself through the doorway and slam the door shut behind me.
“Espi...” I observe him from head to toe. He’s wearing clothes similar to the ones he wore in Van Hallen’s snapshot: a dark hoodie and filthy, paint-stained jeans. The expression on his face is a little different, though; instead of fierce and determined, he stares right through me.
“Having fun?” he wonders, jerking his chin toward the door.
Fuck.
“It...that isn’t what it looks like.” I shouldn’t have to explain shit to him, but I can’t shake the urge to defend myself against the accusations I can see forming in his eyes. That bruised, broken woman had nothing to do with me.
“Oh, I’m sure it isn’t,” he says, spitting the words at me. “You...You’re no different than him.”
“What...what did you just say?” Rage smothers everything. My ears pop with the clarity it brings. Ruby taints the edges of my vision, and it takes every ounce of concentration I have to blink it back. “Don’t you ever...ever compare me to that bastard—”
“Why not?” Espi eyes the door to my apartment again. “Like father, like son—”
I see scarlet. I fucking taste it. The rage breaks loose from its chains for only a second, but it’s long enough. My knuckles burn and Espi’s clutching the left side of his face.
“Nice one, Dante,” he grits out along with a harsh chuckle. His jaw won’t bruise, but he still winces as he pulls his hand away. “Yeah, you’re so different.”
He spits out blood before turning for the stairs, but I’m right behind him. “Espi, wait.”
I’m still on his heels when he enters the pub. Arno and his men are seated at the bar, but they pretend not to notice as Espisido darts across the room and barrels through the main door, out on the street.
It’s only when I start to head after him that Arno speaks up. “Let him cool off.”
“What the fuck do you know?” I toss back. I can see Espi’s dark hair bobbing amid a crowd of pedestrians across the street. He’s headed south. I flatten my palm against the main door before it can fully slam shut. I start to shove it open again when a hand falls on my shoulder. Only sheer force of will keeps me from sending my fist through its owner’s skull.
Arno knows better.
“Let him go,” he says, withdrawing his hand the moment I whip around with both of mine already curled into fists. He backs up a step, holding his palms out flat toward me. “I’ll try talking to him again, once he’s calmed down.”
“I don’t need your help,” I snarl.
Arno says nothing, but his expression reveals what we both fucking know. I do. The bastard just has enough sense to not rub my nose in that fact. “I’ll send the tape tonight,” he says, changing the subject. “I thought I’d let the fucker stew for a few days. I hear that he didn’t react very nicely when he got her ear.” He flashes a wicked grin, his eyes gleaming. “Let him see what happens when you fuck with my family.”
“What will you do to her?” It’s a dumbass question. I tell myself that he could string her up for sport and I still wouldn’t give a damn. Then my fingers twitch, sticky.
Arno shrugs. “Nothing for now. If you’re bored of her, you can send her down to the basement—”
I leave him there, heading for the stairs, and Arno doesn’t follow me to the upper level. There’s no one to witness when I throw open the door to my apartment so hard that it ricochets off the wall and nearly closes again. When I finally step into the living room, she’s still on the floor. She lifts her head when I come closer though, her eyes glassy and distant as they attempt to focus on me.
Staring her down, I wait for the rage to resurface. My fingers curl in anticipation of that irritating heat. I blink my eyes, expecting to find her drenched in red any fucking second. I’m ready for the violence; I won’t resist the impulse to take out every bit of frustration I feel on her pale skin. She’ll get her death wish after all...
I wait.
She keeps still, almost as if she knows what’s coming. Her hair drapes her back, strands of it mingling with the substance still drying there. Her body is limp, resigned. I know then that she won’t fight when I attack her.
Hell, she’ll relish the assault.
My head throbs, but for a different reason as I reach back to slam the door shut behind me. I stalk down the hallway, my eyes on the doorway to the bedroom. I don’t know why the hell I pause to direct two words at her from over my shoulder. “Get up.”
She does so noisily, staggering against the couch to catch her balance. I hear her let out a low groan, registering the pain she’ll feel for the next few days. Any smug pleasure I may have felt at hurting her is washed away by exhaustion. Arno’s not the only bastard who’s been deprived of sleep. I need to wash these past forty-eight hours from my brain, and I consider heading down to the bar to seek out some liquid assistance to do just that.
Instead, I enter the bedroom and take up a spot on the floor.
“Lie down,” I order when the woman staggers to the doorway, clinging to the wall for balance. She found my shirt and wears it, the filthy hem brushing her knees. Her eyes flicker with uncertainty when she spots the bed, but she crosses over to it and sinks down without question.
Pressing my head against the wall, I close my eyes, blocking her out as she lies stiffly on the mattress. I’ll make a new plan to talk to Espi, with or without Arno’s help. I’ll find a way to make that bastard Van Hallen pay for putting his babysitters-in-blue on my trail. I’ll repay Arno for posting my bail.
It’s a long list, and I grit my teeth in irritation.
A wolf never sleeps.
“Going somewhere?” I grind out the question with my eyes still shut.
The quiet rustling that jarred me awake goes silent, followed by a softly whispered word. “B-Bathroom...”
I sigh and consider ignoring her. Hell, if she wants to sneak out of the apartment on her own and risk running into one of Arno’s men, that’s no concern of mine. After a minute of silence, the rustling starts up again as if she’s settling back down against the mattress, and I finally open my eyes to near darkness.
Ten-o’clock flashes on the alarm clock, illuminating the room in hints of neon red. “Make it quick.” I stand and make a show of stretching my arms above my head, knowing she’s watching and imagining the difficulty she’ll have if she tries to run. When I head for the door, I hear her scramble to her feet.
I don’t follow her into the bathroom and enter the kitchen instead, flicking the light switch. Arno had it stocked with food the day I showed up on his doorstep, but what little there was is nearly gone; there are just two eggs and a rind of bread left over. Sighing, I run a hand along the side of my jeans and feel the crunch of a few crisp dollars in my left pocket.
“What do you want?” I turn to find her creeping up the hallway, rubbing her wet hands on the front of my shirt. She looks like a zombie in the shadows; a blood-stained, bruised, violated corpse animated only from her eyes.
She cocks her head. “What do I—”
“To eat,” I clarify. “What do you want to eat?”
She still looks confused. “Whatever you think is—” she cuts the words off, clenching her jaw—something I notice she does whenever she’s trying to break a habit she learned from him. Handshakes. Polite words. Prissy little posture. Stacatto trained her well for life as the whore of a crime lord.
“I want...” Her eyes narrow in concentration as if thinking for herself is a hard skill to master. “Thai,” she says finally. Her own frown reveals that she knows it’s a stupid request—one I definitely won’t obey—but she can’t seem to stop herself from saying it anyway. She needed to hear it come out of her own mouth. I want Thai.
It’s a haughty little request. I want to write it off as a byproduct of her living in the lap of stolen luxury, but I can’t. It’s something Espi would ask for. He used to make a game out of how many exotic foods he could try in a week. Living off takeout had been the skill of a kid who’d grown up without a mom to cook for him and an idiot like me to scrape his meals together.
I don’t answer when I head for the door and enter the hallway, but I lock it behind me, tucking the key Arno gave me into my pocket. The pub is packed when I head downstairs. Arno’s throwing a party it seems, but I don’t find his red hair mingling through the crowd by the time I reach the door and head out onto the street.
It’s a slow, cold walk up a nearly deserted block in search of any food place open this late. I won’t get fucking Thai. Maybe Mexican or some cheap-ass fast food.
If she doesn’t like it, then the little bitch can starve.