“They look good?” I ask him with a tilt of my head.
This time, he throws his head back and starts laughing. “They do. They really do. Now, if you would just remove the rest of your clothes so I can take a better look.”
“Roberto.” Keir says his name succinctly, and instantly, Roberto stops talking and turns away from me, but not before he throws another wink in my direction. Keir approaches and touches my hair, lifting just a few strands, feeling it between his fingers before he drops it back in place. Then he leans in closer. I can smell his breath on my face and a hint of whiskey hits my nostrils. His dark eyes, which hold notes of amber flecks, flick their way across my features.
“Go and get what you can carry. Try to run.” Keir reaches his hand to the back of my neck and pulls my hair slightly, just enough so our faces are now touching nose to nose, then he smiles. “I’ll eat you for breakfast, and not in the good way. You’ll wish you never fucking met me, do you understand?”
“I … I …”
I stutter, my lips basically moving on his as he speaks again, “I nothing. Tell me you understand.” He doesn’t care that our lips are touching. He makes no move to kiss me, he only wants me to know he holds all the power. That it’s his choice regarding everything.
I chant in my head.
It’s only a week.
It’s only a week.
But it’s already been a few days.
Can I do another week?
“Understood.”
He backs off, and the cold air assaults my face again. Keir says nothing more as he goes back inside and leaves me standing there with two of his men.
“Come on, sweetcheeks, we don’t got all night. We need some action too.” Roberto winks at me as he gets into the passenger side of one of the cars. The other guy looks me over before he gets in the driver’s side and starts the car. I slide into the backseat, and they start driving just as I get the door closed. Not once do they ask me where I live or how to get there. It’s obvious they already know that. They speak of music and drinks, nothing to tell me any more about who they are or what they do.
I almost fall asleep on the ride to the apartment. When we arrive, I see the lights on and have to stop myself from telling them to keep driving. Both men get out of the car, and I follow. I watch as they walk up the stairs that lead to my green door, which I painted myself, and I think looks so trendy up against all the other dowdy ones.
I love this apartment. It isn’t overly big—nothing ever is in New York—but it was perfect for us. It’s cozy with two bedrooms, and I put a lot of effort into making it our home. Now, when I look at it under the night sky, I wonder what demons live inside.
There’s one I know all too well.
Roberto doesn’t play around, going straight up to the door and knocking hard. I only saw my husband a few hours ago, but when he pulls the door open, he looks trashed, like he came home and decided to drink everything available to him. His eyes fall to the men, then to me standing behind them.
“What are you doing here?” he spits, a beer bottle in one hand.
“I need to get my things.”
Roberto moves to the side so I can go in, and Dillan blocks the doorway.
“Fuck off, this isn’t your place anymore.”
“Just let me get my things, Dillan. Not everything in here is yours.”
He chuckles and it sounds purely sadistic. “Of course, it is. Even you are mine. Bitch.”
Fuck! I take a deep breath to hold back my anger. I want so badly to punch him in the dick. Instead, I stand taller and look over his shoulder before I push past him and through the door. He huffs as I do. Dillan has never hit me, and I wouldn’t have thought he would ever do such a thing, but the man I have seen come to the surface this last week isn’t someone I know too well anymore.
“Run along, bitch.” He faces me, and I look to see Roberto and his friend just standing at the door, not paying us any attention.
I open my mouth to say something but walk past him and straight up the stairs instead. My hands slide along the wooden rails that I have clung to many times when I needed to, especially through the hard times, but this time they are pulling me up toward my old bedroom and to where my personal items are located. I head straight for the closet, grabbing the first bag I see and start packing it full of my clothes along with other things I know I will need. Then I head into the bathroom where my collection of jewelry is in a drawer and stuff all of that in too. I try searching for my phone but come up empty-handed.
“Give me the ring.” I look down to the ring on my finger, the one he asked me to marry him with, and pull it off my finger without any further thought. My skin is imprinted from years of wearing it, and if this was a different situation, I might just cry.
“Take it.” I go to hand it to him, but he pulls me by my wrist toward him.
Dillan’s breath smells of liquor when he speaks, “I’ll take you anytime I want, remember that.”
I push off his chest, but his fingers wrap tighter around my wrist.
“Let go of my wrist, Dillan.” He does, pushing me back when he drops it.
“He’s going to kill you,” he whispers. “It’s what he does. Keir’s evil.” He sneers at me.
“Who is he?” I ask, hoping he’ll tell me.
Keir is the reason I’m in this predicament, after all.
“He’s the one they run from,” he whispers. “If we had a real-life bogeyman, he would be it. I guess that’s what happens when you take over your family business that’s known for being shady cunts. Fucking mafia.” He shakes his head.
What the fuck?
I grab my bag from the floor where I dropped it.
“You made a deal with the mafia?” I ask incredulously, trying to understand his stupidity. “How dumb are you exactly?” I shake my head and go back into our closet where an old box full of family jewels sits on the top shelf. When I reach for it, Dillan snatches it away from my hands. “Give it back.”
“Nope. I’m going to sell them so I can pay my debt.”
“You have the apartment and everything in it. Now, give me my grandparents’ things, Dillan.”
He shakes his head with pride, like a naughty kid who knows they have won.
I jump at him, trying to reach for the box, but he chuckles at my attempt. So I jump again, but this time he knocks me in the mouth, backhanding me to the floor. I can taste the metallic tang of my blood from my split lip.
“Give. It. Back!” I scream at him, getting to my feet quickly, finally ready to cause him some serious damage between the legs.
“No,” he screams back at me, looking like a feral dog as spittle flies from his mouth.
That’s when I feel the presence of someone behind us, and we both turn to see Roberto standing there.
He looks from me to my lip, then to Dillan. “Give it to her, now,” he says in a casual tone.
“You can’t come in here telling me what the fuck to give my wife,” Dillan barks.
Roberto doesn’t seem fazed by his words and pulls out a gun from his back pocket and places it near his leg—not raising it—just to let him know he has it and will use it if need be. “Now.” I can hear in his tone that it’s his last warning—something he probably doesn’t give a lot of.