Текст книги "Elect"

Автор книги: Rachel Van Dyken

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

Chapter Three Chase

I seriously needed to stop pissing Nixon off, but it had been a knee-jerk reaction, kissing Trace on the hand. If he didn’t want me playing friendly with his girlfriend, he shouldn’t have ordered me to be her personal bodyguard every freaking day of the school week.

I was in a living hell and nobody knew it but me.

“Can we skip?” Trace asked as we walked to her third class of the day. It was a KI class, one I knew she hated because it was all about self-defense. To be honest, she needed that and more, so I put my foot down even though her gorgeous smile was killing me inside.

“Nope.” I put my arm around her. “Just imagine Phoenix’s face when you’re punching Spike.”

Trace shuddered beneath my arm. “Yeah, when I imagine Phoenix I have a knife to his balls. Pretty sure that would either scar Spike for life or get me kicked out of Elite.”

“Fair enough.” I pulled her closer. “He’s taken care of, Trace. Nobody’s seen him in two weeks. He’s either in hiding or across the Atlantic. He’s not stupid enough to attack you again. Let Nixon do his job. We may not be able to kill him for what he did to you—but we sure as hell can make his life a bitch.”

Trace nodded, but didn’t say anything. I knew she was still traumatized over the whole ordeal. Shit, I was still traumatized and I’d done my fair share of dirty work in the name of the Abandonato family. Finding her on the floor with her clothes bloody and ripped from her body was one of the most horrifying experiences of my life.

I still wanted to kill Phoenix.

But Nixon wouldn’t let me.

It had to do with some sort of code about killing off direct descendants of mafia bosses and them being next in line. Considering Phoenix’s dad got a bullet to his head a few weeks ago by Trace’s grandfather, our hands were literally tied.

Didn’t mean I couldn’t dream about his death every freaking day. It seemed unfair that the bastard could breathe the same air as Trace, let alone walk around as if he hadn’t tried to kill her.

“You’re late,” Trace’s professor announced when we walked in.

“My fault,” I lied. “My shoe was untied, I fell, pulled Trace down with me, got her shirt all—muddy, and she had to go change.”

Professors hated me. Nixon was the golden boy, kind of like a god around this place. I was just the assistant, the one who did the dirty work. Didn’t help that my grades were less than stellar ever since I’d been trying to get homework done while Trace slept. It was the only free time I had.

Keeping her safe was a full-time job. Not that I was complaining.

The professor’s sharp eyes focused on me with chilling indifference. “You’re wearing boots without strings, the sun’s shining, and one more tardy and your grade falls, Tracey.”

“Ouch,” I mumbled next to her, “I can order a hit on any professor you want, just remember that.” I patted her back and winked at the professor.

Trace rolled her eyes, but it did make her smile.

“Your partner has fallen ill, so you’ll be working with Chase today.” With that, the cranky professor walked to the front of the room. “Now, today we’re working on footwork and self-defense techniques. Instruction packets are on the desk; be sure to work through every scenario before you leave.”

Trace grumbled beside me and went to fetch a packet. Her face fell when she read the first page. “I-I can’t, Chase. I can’t…”

Suddenly, the Trace I was used to was a shadow of her former self. Shaking, she wrapped her arms around my neck like I was her lifeline, her savior, her everything. As much as I hated seeing her freaked out—my body responded to her proximity like she was my gravity. She gave another shudder. I gently pulled her away and looked into her fear-stricken eyes.

“What the hell?” I grabbed the papers from her and quickly scanned the first scenario.

A guy and girl alone in his apartment. He tries to take advantage of her, she gets away but he’s able to grab her wrist and overpower her on the ground. What do you do?

Freaking hell.

I reached for Trace’s hand and squeezed it. “It’s just you and me, Trace, okay? You’ll power through this, and you know why?”

Her hand shook inside mine.

“Because you’re an Alfero.” I gritted my teeth and pulled her closer to me. “Do Alferos back down?”

“No,” Trace whispered.

“I’m sorry; what was that?”

“Hell no.” She nodded.

“Do you let people walk all over you? Do you let people attack you, Trace?”

“No.” Her nostrils flared as she jerked her hand away from mine and glared.

“Good girl.” I nodded. “Now, try not to forget that it’s me, not Phoenix. I’m really partial to my anatomy, and I’d like to, you know, in the future have kids someday.”

Rolling her eyes, she took a stance next to me. I muttered up a prayer as I quickly tripped her and pushed her down against the mat. She struggled against me, but I held her wrists firmly above her head—just like Phoenix had. Shit, it was killing me. Her face contorted in pain as she closed her eyes, and shook her head back and forth. I waited for the fear to pass—waited for the moment when her body would switch from being terrified to being pissed. But it was hard as hell.

I could shoot a man twice my age in cold blood.

I’ve buried more bodies than I can count.

I’ve grown up around drugs, prostitution, and the gambling underworld.

Nothing—and I mean nothing—had ever been harder to do than forcing Trace to relive one of the worst moments of her life. Nothing was more necessary than that she do it, so I held her. I held her and I leaned in.

“Fight back.”

She squirmed beneath me, I could see the panic welling in her eyes. Maybe I was wrong, maybe she would crumple under the pressure, but she had to learn how to defend herself. As much as I wanted to be—I knew I wasn’t part of her future, I wouldn’t always be able to protect her. I gripped her harder. Trace’s nostrils flared as she took in a few deep breaths.

“Trace,” I whispered hoarsely as her body moved against mine. Shit, I wasn’t counting on my physical response to her, to being so damn near… Swearing, I tried to focus. “Think, Trace, think about how to move my weight, or use it to your advantage.”

Her eyes narrowed, and then she wrapped her leg around me and pulled my body tight against hers, making it so I couldn’t gain any leverage. It was a smart move; most people wasted their energy on trying to get the person off of them, then they gave up.

It was always wise, when in such a situation, to not fight against but fight with. Trace used her other leg to swing it around my body and then slowly pushed me so that I was on my side and she was on top of me. She wasn’t able to gain quite enough leverage, though. In seconds I had her flat on her back again.

In that moment, seeing a bit of sweat pouring down her face, I hated Nixon all over again.

Because he knew he was torturing both of us. He knew how damn difficult it was for me to keep my paws off what wasn’t mine to touch, yet he trusted me enough to put me in the damn situation every day.

Her body felt so right underneath mine, I could almost forget that it wasn’t real—that we weren’t just friends, that we were more. My chest tightened a bit as Trace wrapped her arm around my neck and jerked me down; my mouth hit her cheekbone, not hard, but that touch, that one sizzle of my lips grazing her skin, was enough to send me over the edge.

I wasn’t just teaching her anymore.

I was fighting myself.

I was living in hell—and she had no idea.

“That’s it,” I said hoarsely, “Now, use your leg again.”

Trace tried again; this time she was able to push me onto my back before I flipped her again.

Exhausted, she closed her eyes and sighed when I was back on top.

“I’m tired… I think I got it…”

“Hell no.” I gritted my teeth and leaned down so that the full weight of my body was on her. “You don’t got it, you don’t have it yet. So help me God, I will keep you pinned to this damn floor all day if you don’t fight me like your life depends on it. Go again.”

Her eyes flared with anger as she wrapped her arms around my neck again. Our mouths were inches apart, both of us breathing hard from exertion.

Correction; she was breathing hard from exertion. I was breathing hard from the supreme self-restraint it took for me to keep my lips off of hers and my clothes on my body.

She groaned in agitation.

Son of a bitch.

She groaned again, and really, I wondered, in that moment, would death be worth it? Was a lifetime of friendship with Nixon that meaningless that I would just toss it away for one chance with this girl?

Tracey must have felt me pause. She took her chance, swung her leg around me, and with a loud shout pinned me to the ground.

“Well done.” Shit. Shit. Shit. I needed to get a girlfriend or find a distraction. Anything. So close, so damn close to ruining everything.

“I did it!” Her chest rose and fell with exertion; her sweaty white t-shirt was pressed tightly against her body.

“Yup.” I reigned in the lust. “You were a regular Tito Ortiz.”

“Who?”

I chuckled. “Never mind. Now get off of me before I throw you against the ground again.”

She laughed.

I didn’t.

I was damn serious.

Hanging by a thread. Huh, never understood that expression until now. Fantastic.

Chapter Four Nixon

I sent Chase a quick text to meet back at our hangout on campus, or as Trace referred to it, the Bat Cave. I had exactly ten minutes to wipe the blood from my body and change my clothes.

On a more positive note, I’d been wiping blood from my hands for the past ten years of my life, so it wasn’t a new experience for me.

I grabbed a beer from the fridge and reached for the salt and baking soda. I jerked off my jeans and held them under the cold water, then made a paste with the household stuff. After rubbing everything together I went and tossed them into the washing machine.

I was clad in only my boxers.

“If only it would wash away your sins…” a voice said from behind me.

“Ah, the bastard returns. Tell me, how was Women’s Studies?” I turned around to see Chase and Trace setting their bags on the couch.

“Awesome,” Chase said dryly. “I learned exactly how not to piss Trace off, so that should come in handy one of these days, or like in the next few seconds.”

“Hilarious.” Trace pushed him and then held out her hand to me. “I missed you.”

Was it wrong that I hated how much I missed her, too? I sighed and pulled her into my arms. God, she smelled so good. It always calmed me to hold her. Having her in my arms was the closest to heaven I would ever get.

“How was your day?”

“Better than yours.” She pulled back. “At least I kept my clothes on.”

Chase groaned from the couch.

“You okay?” I looked above Trace’s head.

“Splendid. Ask Trace about her KI class. She kicked my ass.”

Trace wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me softly across the lips. It still made me feel—unbalanced—when people were touching me. Trace never knew the real reason. I swore I’d take it to my grave. But it always reminded me of his hands, of being strangled within an inch of my life, of being locked in my room without food. It just… it was damn difficult. And although she calmed me down—when she wrapped her arms around me, or when I felt like I had no escape—I panicked.

I slowly undid her hands from behind my neck and kissed her fingers. “I’m liking this conversation. So you kicked Chase’s ass? About time, I’d say.”

“I tried.” Her shoulders hunched as her brows furrowed together.

I tensed. “What the hell happened?”

“Why did something have to happen?” Chase asked behind her.

“Because she’s all… stiff.”

“Me too.” Chase grumbled.

“Excuse me?”

“Never mind.” Chase got up from the couch. “Look, I need to go”—he pointed to the door—“take a break from security detail. I’ll come back and get her for her last class and you and I can chat, okay?”

“Fine.” I watched him leave. Nervousness was making a damn hole in my stomach. I walked Trace over to the couch.

Her eyes were glued to my bare stomach.

“Not my face, Trace.” I tilted her chin up. She blushed and then closed her eyes.

“That was embarrassing.”

“Not for me.” I grinned. “Now, stop objectifying, and tell me what happened in class.”

“It wasn’t a big deal. I mean, it was but—”

“Why the hell are you shaking?” I gripped her wrists, probably harder than I should have, and told myself to calm down. “Trace, tell me.”

She was closing herself off, the way she sat on the couch, crossed her legs, and primly placed her hands in her lap—everything was off. That wasn’t the Trace I was used to being with. It scared the living hell out of me.

“We had to act out scenarios.”

I felt my eyes narrow. “What kind of scenarios?”

Trace played with the edge of her shirt and shrugged. “Ones where people get attacked, broken into… raped.” Her voice trailed off.

That particular professor had just sealed his retirement.

“Trace, look at me, are you okay? Did Chase—”

“Chase was great.” Her face lit up. Damn it. “He talked me through the situation and, well, it ended up being fine. I think I’m just a bit shook up. He forced me to do it. Basically threw me against the mat and gave me hell.”

It took me exactly five seconds to decide that I was going to murder him on the spot for putting her in that position. Ten seconds after that, I was feeling such insane jealousy that his body had been pressed against hers, I almost grabbed my gun and took off after him.

“So…” A few pieces of hair fell across her face as she bit her lip. “Chase gave me some tough love, said to buck up, and I did it. I actually pinned him to the ground.” Her face lit up like a damn Christmas tree. No wonder Chase left; he didn’t want me to shoot him in the ass.

I snorted. “I’m sure he loved that.”

“What?” Trace tilted her head. Was she really that clueless?

“Do you really have no idea?” I tucked some of her dark hair behind her ear and sighed. “No idea at all?”

“Idea? Help me out, Nixon. I don’t speak crazy.”

Cursing, I pulled her into my lap and wrapped her legs around my waist so her body was pressed against mine. “You. Are. Gorgeous.” Her body shivered in response to my touch. A hiss of air escaped through her lips as her legs tightened around my body.

I braced her hips with my hands and slowly moved them up. I looked at her perfect body as it fit like a missing piece to my puzzle. “Any guy would be an idiot not to have a problem keeping it in his pants around you, Trace. And that’s the truth.”

“You don’t seem to have a problem with it?” She winked.

I growled and jerked her head toward mine, crushing my lips against hers. I slipped my tongue past the barrier of her lips and promised myself she’d forget Chase had even touched her today. “Right,” I growled low in the back of my throat. “No problem whatsoever. I’m basically a saint.” I brought her hands down the front of my chest and lower, to my boxers. “You need to know one thing, sweetheart.”

“What?” Her hands froze on my abs.

“I would kill my own cousin.”

“What?” Her expression turned horrified: Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open.

“I would.” I shrugged. “He knows you aren’t his to touch, you aren’t his to want.”

“And I’m yours?” Oh great, now I’ve pissed her off.

I gripped her face between my hands and kissed her mouth softly. “Yes. Whether you like it or not, we belong to each other. I’m as much yours as you are mine—I don’t share. I want to freaking murder anyone who even so much as looks in your direction, or at your shoes, and damn if I don’t hate those boots that Chase got you. I want to consume you. I want to be the one that puts a smile on your face. I want to be the one that teaches you pleasure—me. Not anyone else. Sharing you—even by way of my cousin, who I trust more than anyone in the world—has to be one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.”

“Nixon,” she sighed against my mouth. “I love you. You have to know that.”

“That’s the problem,” I said.

“How is that a problem?”

“It’s a problem because I’m consumed with you, Trace. Are you hungry? How are classes? Do you need your space? Are you scared? Can you shoot a gun? Shit. I can’t even sleep at night because I’m so terrified, and I’ve literally been sharing a bed with you for the past two weeks.”

A pretty blush stained her cheeks.

“Sharing a bed isn’t sex; stop blushing.” I winked when she smacked me on the shoulder. “Not that I’m opposed to the idea…”

“You’re a guy. You’re never opposed to it.”

“You’re not ready, therefore I have to be.” I pushed her away gently and cupped her face with my right hand. “I’m not telling you all of this to get all sappy and freak you out. I just want you to know what’s at stake.”

“What do you mean?”

“Faust is here.”

“WHAT?” Trace stumbled out of my embrace and stood. “The same Faust who accused me of asking for it when I told him Phoenix raped me? That Faust?”

I chuckled. “Yeah, though he may be unrecognizable right about now.”

“Nixon, you didn’t…”

I shrugged. “He’s alive.”

Trace pressed a shaking hand to her temple. “What does he want?”

“What does anyone want in our world? Leverage? Money? Your guess is as good as mine. But he basically wants me to pick a side…”

“By you not finishing that sentence, I’m guessing it’s not the Alfero side he’s wanting you to stand on.”

“Smart and sexy. How did I get so lucky?”

Trace sighed and closed her hands. “My grandfather—”

“—is fine.” I knew we were alone, but… a person could never be too careful. “Drop it.”

I hated that I had to be rough with her. I hated that it was necessary in order to protect her. If she knew where he was, she was making herself a target. I knew, and that was enough.

“So what happens now?” Trace grabbed my hand and traced a small circle next to my newest scar.

“We wait it out. The Sicilians are here. I know the family well. Business goes on as usual and you try to graduate.”

“Without getting killed,” she murmured.

“Nobody is going after you.” I released her hand and got up. “Besides, they’d have to kill me first and I don’t die very easily.”

“Right.”

“I’m going to go put on some clothes so you stop staring at my ass.”

“I’m not—” Trace closed her eyes as her face flamed bright red.

“You are.” I walked over to the spare room, where we kept clothing and took naps in between classes. “But I forgive you because I have a really nice ass. It would be kind of cruel to hold that against you.”

“Wow, cocky and a killer. How did I get so lucky?” she said dryly.

I laughed and went into the room to find something without blood on it. Not that I would ever be free from the stain. After all, it was like my marker—blood.

* * *

Once I was dressed, I went back to find Trace laying facedown on the couch, her breathing deep.

I checked my watch. She had class in exactly ten minutes. I sent a quick text to Chase that I was going to steal Trace away for the rest of the afternoon. He responded quickly, saying he didn’t mind and that he was going to go find a hot chick to make out with. As long as it wasn’t my hot chick, I was fine with that.

“Trace?” I nudged her awake. She groaned aloud and mumbled something that sounded nothing like English. “Trace.” I kissed the back of her head. She moved her arm toward me, hitting me directly in the stomach. Hard.

I smacked her ass just as hard and laughed as she fell off the couch and glared. “What’s wrong with you! You can’t just go waking people up like that! I could have…”

“What? You could have what?” I crossed my arms and smirked. “What could you possibly do that would bring me to my knees?”

Trace licked her lips and eyed me up and down. “Oh, I have a few ideas.”

“Well played,” I grumbled. “We’re skipping class.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to.”

“Why?”

“Say thank you, Trace, and so help me God if you say why one more time I’m taking you into that back bedroom and having my way with you until you can’t ask why anymore.”

She seemed to actually think about it. Shit. I was kidding, I wasn’t ready for that, not with her. It seemed too precious. And here I was joking about it.

“Fine.” She yawned and stretched her arms high above her head. “Do I need to text Chase?”

“Nah, I just did. He said he’s gonna go make out with some chick. Clearly you’re messing with his mojo.”

Trace’s face fell a bit. “I guess I never thought about that.”

“Don’t feel sorry for him. The man could charm anything with a pulse and could probably use this time as a way to do some sort of cleansing ritual.”

She nodded and reached for my hand. “So, where are we going?”

“Somewhere safe.” I winked.

* * *

I pulled the Range Rover up to the large metal gate. After I pushed the intercom button, a voice came on the speaker. “Who is visiting?”

“Nixon Abandonato.”

Lots of yelling and hushing and then, “Pleasure to have you, sir.” The gates opened in front of us and I drove through.

“Doesn’t that bother you?” Trace asked, pulling off her sunglasses.

“What?”

“ ‘Sir’?” Her eyebrow arched. “It makes you sound so old and… just old.”

“It’s a respect thing.” I shrugged.

“No,” she argued. “It’s an old person thing.”

“What?” I pulled to the front of the mansion and turned off the car. “You’d rather they call me Dude? Or Homie?”

“I vote Homie. It sounds—”

“I’m an American-born Sicilian,” I interrupted. “It sounds like an easy way to get shot; that’s what it sounds like.”

Trace rolled her eyes and unbuckled her seat belt. As she reached for the door, I grasped her wrist and pulled her toward me. “What would you call me?”

“You mean other than your name?” Her eyes narrowed.

“Yeah.” I licked my lips. My tongue touched the metal of my lip ring. I could almost taste her hot mouth on mine.

“Perfect.” She sighed. “I’d call you perfect.” Her hands reached out to cup my face as her tongue touched my lip ring and then slipped into my mouth.

I groaned in frustration when our lips met in a frenzy. It really wasn’t the time or place to be kissing her, or nearly exploding with frustration that I couldn’t just jump across the console and maul her. Reluctantly, I pulled back.

“As much as I’d love to finish that… conversation…” I chewed hard on my lower lip and literally had to look away from her so I wouldn’t say what the hell and drive her back to my house and lock her in my bedroom. “We’re here for a reason.”

“Oh yeah?” Her eyes were dilated as they looked me up and down. “What’s that?”

I smirked. “You’ll see.”

Thankfully, the air was crisp, so when I stepped out of the SUV I wasn’t still so aroused that I was ready to shoot something.

“What is this place?” Trace put her hand up as a shade over her eyes and looked up at the mansion. It was an impressive four stories, with over three hundred rooms. I’d loved this place, loved visiting. It had been my safe haven when my dad beat me. “My cousin Sergio takes care of the place while his father serves out the rest of his sentence.” I led her toward the back of the house.

“Sentence?” Trace repeated. “As in prison sentence?”

“We like to think of it as an opportunity for a family reunion,” a voice interrupted. I laughed when Sergio winked at Trace and held out his hand. “It’s been a long time, Nixon.” His dark wavy hair was tied at the nape of his neck. He was clean-cut, one of the rare sons who didn’t rebel against the formality of being in the mafia. His blue t-shirt fit tightly across his chest as he stood in front of Trace.

“He doesn’t call you ‘sir,’ ” Trace interjected, then clapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry; it slipped.”

“It slips often,” I added.

Sergio laughed. “So I hear.” He held out his hand. When she gave him her fingers, he kissed her knuckles and smiled. “Guess the rumors are true.”

“Rumors.” Trace pulled back her hand and rubbed it.

“Of your beauty…” Sergio stepped closer to her and sighed. “Too bad I did not discover you first.”

“Yeah, that lament is already taken by another cousin.” I slapped him on the back. “Don’t make me threaten you, too.”

Trace rolled her eyes and fell into step beside us.

“Sergio.” My cousin cleared his throat. “My name is Sergio.”

Trace examined his face. “Of course it is.”

“Pardon?” He stopped walking.

She looked between us and shrugged. “The way I see it, every Sicilian name either sounds like something out of a mafia movie or a—”

“A…?” we said in unison.

“Never mind. So, nice house.” Trace tried to change the subject.

“Oh no, sweetheart.” I tugged her arm and made her stop. “Let’s have it. Or what?”

“Promise not to shoot me?” she whined.

“He’s threatened to do that before?” Sergio yelled.

“No.” I rolled my eyes. “She’s being dramatic.”

Trace turned back toward Sergio. “I’m a girl.”

“I noticed.” His eyes darkened as he licked his lips and looked about one minute away from devouring her where she stood.

“Trace…” I nudged. “What do Sicilian names sound like?”

“I need to learn when to stop talking.” She put her hands over her face. “A porn star name. Okay?”

Sergio and I burst out laughing. Damn, I loved that girl. The tips of her ears burned bright red as she covered her face in her hands.

“You know,” Sergio said in a serious voice, “not to brag but you aren’t too far off with your assumptions I—”

“No.” I shook my head. “You’re not going to finish that sentence. You. I will shoot.”

Sergio chuckled and held up his hands. “So, everything has been set up. Just be sure not to kill any cows.”

“Cows?” Trace’s head jolted up. “Where?”

“In fields.” Sergio cleared his throat. “Where they live.” He looked at me and shook his head. “Where did you say she was from again?”

I opened my mouth to answer but Trace was running toward the field to the cows.

“She likes cows.”

“I see.” Sergio chuckled as we both watched Trace run up to the fence and stand on it.

“How are things?” I asked. “Any more news?”

“They want to meet.” Sergio stuffed his hands in his pockets. “That is all I’ve heard. It’s your call, Nixon. If you want to meet with them, test out your peacekeeping abilities, I won’t keep you from it.”

“But?” I crossed my arms and continued to watch Trace laugh like she didn’t have a care in the world.

“But.” Sergio cleared his throat. “I don’t see this ending well. For any of us. You must be prepared to go into hiding. You must be prepared for the worst.”

I swallowed the dryness in my throat. “I’m not afraid to die.”

“I know.” Sergio patted my back. “Your problem stems from the very fact that you’ve finally found someone to live for. It is not our death that we fear, but leaving those behind that we love.”

“You sure you don’t want to be the peacekeeper, oh spouter of wisdom?” I joked.

“No.” Sergio kicked the grass at his feet and pulled a gun from the back of his jeans. “I’m here to counsel you in secret. I like my life. Being a made man? Jumping back into the limelight with you and Chase? No. I’m of more use doing what I do.”

“A ghost.”

“A damn good one.” Sergio thumped my back with his hand. “Here, let her use this pistol. It was my mom’s.”

I took the gun from his hands. It was sleeker and smaller than mine; it would be a perfect weapon for Trace to learn on. “Thanks for this.”

“I do what I can. Now, try to stay alive.” His blue t-shirt fanned in the wind as he stuffed his arms into his jeans pockets and walked off.

“Nixon!” Trace yelled from the fence. “Come on!”

I walked over to her and sighed. The cows weren’t used to people. Meaning she was most likely scaring the shit out of them.

“Nice.” I pointed to the brown creatures and lifted her off the fence, “Now, we only have an hour or so, then we have to head back into town. Let’s make good use of it, shall we?”