He would be in the room.
I could still feel the knife in my hands as I drove it into my husband’s abdomen, only to tug it down until it came into contact with his cold lifeless limp dick. I didn’t realize I was brutalizing a dead body until I tasted the blood splatters on my lips.
Until Frank pulled me into his arms.
And held me.
Maybe that was when I knew something was wrong with me, something pivotal, something that was missing in my makeup.
Because I hugged my husband’s murderer, embraced him like my savior.
Frank offered me his glass.
I shook my head no.
“You did not answer… my question, Eleanor.”
His eyes were so blue, so clear, they reminded me of death and the fact that he walked around like his conscience was clear when he had the blood of so many souls on his hands, I was surprised God hadn’t struck him down yet.
I licked my dry lips. “I’m trying.”
“Are you?” Frank tilted his head like, his eyes darting back and forth like he was making mental calculations about my actions or lack thereof. “Want to know what I think?”
“Not really.” I gulped.
He chuckled; it sounded foreign coming from him. “I think… that you are still running up here.” He tapped his head and then reached over and tapped my chest. “And here.” He leaned back and sighed. “I think you are at war with yourself, but you will never be safe from your greatest threat unless you stare it in the face.” His eyes blazed. “Do you know, Eleanor? Do you know what you fear?”
My heart pounded so fast in my chest, my legs burned with the need to run, to escape, to get away from that knowing look and the way it made me want to tell all my secrets.
“You,” Frank stood and held out his hand. I took it as he helped me to my feet. “Are afraid of being trapped and yet you are the very person keeping yourself in a cage. You took the keys from that monster a long time ago and that’s the only place you feel safe — you smell of fear, it pulses of off you in waves, and what’s worse, is you embrace it like a blanket not knowing it’s going to suffocate you one day. Fear is not your friend. It is your enemy.”
“And you? What are you?” I gulped.
He chuckled, his warm hand releasing mine by my side. “I’d like to think I’m family…”
I frowned, my eyes narrowing an inch. If only he knew.
Maybe he already did.
I waited for confirmation.
Instead, he let out a sigh and hung his head as if he was frustrated. “It wouldn’t kill you, you know.”
“What?”
“Making friends. Buying a magazine. Watching Kardashian Wives.”
My lips twitched.
“What?” His eyebrows furrowed. “Is that not right?”
“Close enough.” I found myself full on smiling. “I’ll… try harder.”
A door slammed, and then Dante was charging into the living room with Chase hot on his heels. “All I’m saying is you have to stop thinking of them in that way.”
Dante’s jaw clenched, his eyes were wild like an animal caged. And then those gloriously penetrating eyes found mine. And for some reason, all I kept thinking was he’d saved me today.
It was time to return the favor.
“You ready?” My voice never wavered, never shook, I could have sworn I saw Chase’s jaw nearly come unhinged from his face while Frank hid a smile behind his hand and scratched his head.
Chest heaving, Dante gave me a jerky nod.
I held out my hand.
He took it. Squeezed it so hard my chest nearly cracked.
And then we were in the garage.
Then in one of the new Range Rovers that Nixon liked to collect.
And driving at breakneck speed.
“Tell me you like pie,” was all Dante said.
I hated pie. “I love pie.”
“Pie it is.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Dante
I INHALED THROUGH my nose, out my mouth, twice, three times, ten freaking times, and when it still wasn’t working.
I punched the steering wheel with my hand, again, and again, and again.
Out of the corner of my eye, El flinched with each contact my fist made, an explosion of color broke out in my line of vision. I didn’t have a choice. I either saw the way I drew with comic book like colors spouting from every angle when I was stressed — or I had to hit something.
“Feel better?” She asked softly.
I gritted my teeth, tasting blood on my tongue and mumbled out a gruff. “No.”
“What fixes it?”
Really? She wanted to talk now?
I stopped at the light and opened the sunroof. Fresh air, maybe that would help. But no, I was still shaking.
The burn ran from my elbows all the way down to my fingertips, it collided with my muscles, took over my mind, blinded everything except for the need to just… destroy.
Maybe I was the monster the guys always said I’d become.
Maybe I was just like him.
Just like my dad.
Ruthless.
Cunning.
Angry.
Dangerous.
“Sparring.” I finally got the word out. “Fights.”
You used to draw.
I shoved the thought away, because drawing wouldn’t bring back my father, it wouldn’t bring back my life — it was as useless as I was if I didn’t get myself shit together. Focus in on what was necessary for survival.
“But—” El turned on the AC even though it was frigid in the car already. “—you sparred with Chase tonight, right?”
“That’s different.” I exhaled roughly. “It’s training, I can’t fight back, and trust me — they don’t want me to.”
“Because you’d get hurt?” her voice was soft, confused.
I burst out laughing; it was an ugly laugh, one that made me realize how sick of a human being I really was. “More like they’d get hurt.”
I pulled into Sherri’s and parked. “So. Pie?”
“Why?” El’s hand hovered over her seatbelt.
“Why… what? Pie?” I asked confused.
“Why do you let them hurt you? Why don’t you fight back? I don’t understand, if there’s a way to be free—”
“You think this is about freedom?” I spat. “This has nothing to do with being trapped and everything to do with revenge.”
She recoiled. “On who?”
“Trust me, you don’t want to know that either. Look,” I ran my bruised hands over my head. “You either want pie or you don’t want pie, I appreciate the save back there but I’m a shit conversationalist and I’d rather punch my way through a wall than have small talk, so if you can’t sit next to me and just… exist, then I’m leaving you in the car.”
“You’re a jackass, you know that right?” She scowled, unbuckling her seatbelt and then jerking the door open.
“Trust me.” I slammed my own door and followed her inside. “I know.”
I didn’t look behind me as I shoved the door to the diner open and made my way to the furthest booth in the back.
The wait staff knew the drill.
One slice of apple pie a la mode.
I knew the exact price in change to leave plus tip.
Four dollars and seventy cents gave them a little over a dollar.
And if they were quick, I left them a ten.
Luckily, it wasn’t two minutes after I sat down before a plate was placed in front of me with a spoon.