It pissed him off when I commented on his age.
Even though he was thirty and the rest of the guys were in their mid-twenties, it still made his eyes flash like he wanted to pick a fight.
But that was the thing about Sergio; he only used his fists when he had to. No, his warfare took place either on a computer or with his mind games.
“Just make sure you actually go to class.”
“I can’t believe this,” I grumbled. “Anything else?”
He glanced over my head then back at me. “Make sure she stays out of trouble too.”
And there it was.
Seventh circle of hell? Check.
Sergio Abandonato asking me to do the impossible. Double check.
“No!” I barked. “Trust me she can take care of herself.”
He glared. “Just because her physical wounds have healed doesn’t mean—”
“It doesn’t mean what? That she’s all better now?” I refused to turn around, to see her pretty eyes and the sway of her hips. “We know nothing about her except Frank decided to save her and now she’s living with us. You were stupid enough to invite the enemy in the gates, so don’t ask me to watch out for your damn mistake!”
His eyes widened and then he let out a low chuckle. “I’d be impressed if I wasn’t so irritated that you just shoved me in the chest.” His nostrils flared. “Twice.”
I hadn’t even realized I’d done it.
“We keep our enemies close.” He shrugged. “And since I can’t find out anything about her save the fact that the Petrov family raped and abused her beyond recognition—” My chest burned. “—she stays.”
“Fine,” I snapped. “But I’m not going to hold her hand.”
“Something you need to get off your chest?” His smile was cruel. “Because if a girl half your size is really that intimidating…”
“Hilarious. Don’t you have somewhere to be? A person to torture? Maim? Kill? Lives to destroy? Puppies to kick?”
He snorted. “Your job is to get an education and show everyone in this damn university that the families are united, strong, watching every move — prove to those who hold the power that we only let them take it back for a few years. Think you can do that without getting into detention on the first day, sport?”
“Did you just call me, sport?” My jaw popped, my body pulsed with the need to punch him in his smug face and reach for the gun I knew was strapped to his back barely hidden by the black leather jacket he was wearing.
“Good talk.” He patted me on the back. “Oh, and your sister wants you to come to dinner tonight.”
“Tell her I have homework.”
“Tell her yourself.” He put his sunglasses back on and started walking away. “See you at seven!”
I growled in response just as a few laughing students walked by me, only to immediately do a double take and start whispering.
Not only did I glare at each one of them, slowly making sure they knew from the way I stared that I’d not only measured them but found them wanting, but I pulled a knife out of my pocket, flicked it out letting the sunlight catch it, then shoved it in my backpack, all before sending one last look over my shoulder that said, yeah I’d stab you first, ask questions later.
“Let the games begin,” I mumbled when they hurried off and all immediately began texting on their phones.
CHAPTER FOUR
El
PEOPLE WERE STARING.
I’d attended school for three months last year.
Three months of torture.
I rode with Dante every day.
And every day the door slammed in my face before I could get out of the car, let alone say, “Hey, could you keep it open?”
I wasn’t allowed to drive.
See? Prison.
Everyone seemed so… happy around me, like they were just waiting to finish college so they could be unleashed upon the world.
Like the world was waiting for them to finish so it could show them its greatness.
But all I knew was pain.
Darkness.
Running.
So when girls screamed around me, when they danced and joked, took selfies in the stupid quad, and then stared at me like I was an alien — I looked away, and tried to blend in with the trees.
And when that didn’t work…
I just… looked down at my feet and watched where I was going.
I was living an absolute nightmare, surrounded by complete strangers who knew nothing about me and an adopted family who only took me in because they had an ounce of humanity and knew that if they didn’t, I’d most likely be killed for what I knew.
Flashes of crowns invaded my vision as I stopped walking.
And the stars.
Always the stars, written in ink, written in blood across marred skin, across my own. I tugged the sleeve of my white oxford shirt down and sighed as a stinging spread down my veins.
I was safe.
Safe.
Safe.
Safe.
Nobody knew who I really was here — they never would.
And he was dead.
The monster who had touched me was dead.
If only the saying wasn’t true — where you cut off one head — two often appear and I knew better than anyone that the monster I’d shared a bed with was a mere taste of what the Petrov family stood for.
I started walking again, even though bile rose up in my mouth and threatened to make me puke all over the sidewalk; I kept my head down, I kept myself small.
I focused on the cracks in the cement as I slowly made my way toward the business building.
And stopped when two boots moved in my line of vision.
I moved to the right, the boots followed.
I went left. Same thing.
Finally, I lifted my head and locked gazes with ice blue, ice that burned and froze all at once, ice blue that did nothing to hide the hatred, the anger? the barely controlled rage — all directed at me.
I lifted my chin.
“El.” Dante spat my name more than said it, and slowly wrapped an arm around me. His muscles flexed like he was pissed he had to touch someone so… tarnished. “Walk with me.”
People were staring.
Probably more at him than me.
He was a god among men.
A man among silly boys who were still growing into their bodies.
Dante Nicolasi was easily the most beautiful and horrible person I’d ever met in my entire life. Looking at him was physically painful and touching him — well he’d never touched me until today.
Which meant he was either going to kill me or he was using me for something.
My body shuddered both with the need to get closer and the need to fight for my life and run.
Was this how it was going to happen?
Without the protection of the Family back at the house?
With Dante by my side?
Would he snap my neck?
Inject something into my skin?
Throw me off a building?
Or just beat me into submission?
And why didn’t anyone else notice the way his rage was barely kept in check? Even during family dinners he looked ready to throw a knife at someone.
Dante wasn’t just angry.
He was anger itself.
And part of me wondered if that was all he knew.
Just like all I’d known was fear.
By the time we reached the building, I was shaking. “Did you need something?” My voice came out smooth, indifferent, cold.