I swallow. “When he hears about you putting your hands on me. He’ll—”
“He won’t do shit,” Grisha snarls. “Meanwhile, my boss?” He grins. “Mr. Chernoff threw a motherfucker out of a thirty-story window last week just for beating him at poker. And your wop father knows it. He won’t do shit to Chernoff, or me.” His lips curl dangerously. “But I bet he’ll do something when he hears about his little princess muling four hundred thousand in coke.”
I stiffen as Grisha flips open a switchblade. His teeth flash maliciously in the darkness.
“Get me that fucking money, Bianca. I mean it.”
“Hey!”
Tempest looks up at me in surprise from the kitchen island. She immediately closes the laptop in front of her and slips off her stool to walk over to me.
I make a face. “I should have called first. Sorry.”
My sister-in-law grins as she hugs me and then shakes her head. “Dude, never. Our house is your house.”
It’s happened much less frequently since she and my brother got together. But I do on occasion spend the night here at their place after a long day of rehearsals instead of slogging all the way back to mine. It’s a lot closer to the Mercury Opera House, and there’s a spare guest room with its own bathroom here, too.
But I’m not stopping by tonight because I’m too worn out to schlep all the way uptown.
I’m stopping by because I’m scared.
I hate admitting it, but Grisha’s just spooked the living shit out of me with his threats. Not to mention the nauseating way he just put his hands on me. I feel myself shudder again, trying to force away the memory of his hand rubbing me.
The worst part is, he’s right. What am I going to do? Tell Vito?
Hi Dad, this guy was a disgusting creep to me after I went on a drug deal for him and lost four hundred thousand dollars’ worth of cocaine.
Yeah, no.
I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do about any of this. But I do know it’s not going to involve telling Vito Barone.
Tempest shrugs. “Are you hungry? I was about to make dinner.”
“Really?”
She smirks. “By ‘make’ I mean order dinner from someone who can cook way better than I can. You know how low that bar is.”
I grin as my stomach rumbles again. “That sounds great, actually. Mind if I rinse off first?”
“Go ahead! Does sushi work? I’ll put in the order.”
“Perfect.”
Tempest opens her phone and starts placing the delivery order. Meanwhile, I head to their guest room, close the door, and walk into the bathroom. I strip down as the tub fills with bubbles and hot water, then lower my aching body into it. I scrub myself quickly, flinching as I wash my face with a cloth. When I scrub between my legs, I grit my teeth, forcing away the memory of Grisha feeling me up.
After that, I step out and do my usual routine: towel folded under my knees as I kneel next to the tub, the water running as I brace myself and lean forward. I wet my hair, then sit upright again as I shampoo. Then it’s back to leaning over to rinse. I repeat the whole thing for the conditioner before turning the water off and wrapping a towel around my hair before I stand up.
Someday, I’ll be able to submerge my head in water again without having a total meltdown. But that day is not today.
I dress in the pajamas that I keep at their place, then head out to join Tempest for sushi and trashy reality TV. Dante’s working late at Venom tonight, so after she hugs me goodnight and disappears into their room, I camp out in the living room for a while, thoroughly creeping myself out reading about Rachel Dawson getting hacked to pieces in her own bed.
Because I’m a freak like that.
Eventually, though, my eyes start to tire. I put my tablet down and sink back into the couch. My eyes drift closed, and I start to replay it all again.
Last night, and him.
The massive wall of a man, dripping with power, pulsing with darkness and danger.
The pressure of his strong hand around my throat
The touch of his finger as it dragged up my sternum.
The scent of him.
His size.
And the glow of that creepy mask leering down into my soul.
Goddammit.
The longer I replay it all and think of him, the more turned on I start to get. Black visions and brutal fantasies fill my head. Fantasies I know I shouldn’t have leave electrifying throbs sizzling through my core.
The desire to run, and to be chased. The need to be caught and pinned down against my will. To be taken, roughly.
What the fuck is wrong with you, Bianca? What sort of messed-up girl wants that? You need fucking help. You’re broken.
