Dominance, Threatened, page 24
I tap the image to make it go away, but another one appears. This time, V is up close and personal with the mirror, eyes shining with mischief as he makes a pose with his tongue extended out. The picture is very close to his face — close enough to see his tongue piercing. Instead of the silver ball he usually has, there is a small-ish black bar sitting across the flat plane of his tongue. It has white letters that say: ‘cum here.’
My first thought is about how vulgar that is, but the twitch in my pants is almost immediate, telling me I don’t mind the indecency as much as I should. As I read the banner this time, I can’t control the blood in my head from rushing down lower.
‘I got a new tongue ring. It vibrates.’
Another line of text is beneath that, and I feel my mood — and something else — instantly drop.
‘Do you think Theo will like it?’
Damn V, and damn Theo. I hate them both.
Scoffing to myself, I tuck the phone back into my pocket. Raimona has led us inside the public elevator, and it is already ascending to the floor below mine reserved for my business meetings. My anxiety hits without any warning, most likely due to me not pressing the button or even being in the public elevator, to begin with. For some reason, I feel like the world is tipping on its axis. There is absolutely nothing I can do to prevent it from rupturing our gravity and throwing us all far into the endless, yet expanding, nothing of space.
Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.
What is wrong with me?
The elevator dings as the doors open, and Raimona heads toward the meeting room beside my assistant, Emily, who was waiting for us. I fall back, unsure how to quell this panic rising in me. What is going on?
My hands shake as I fumble my phone back out, opening the recent application and pushing the button. The ringing phone is against my ear before I have a chance to process it.
“Are you really calling me on Snapchat? I have a phone number, you know.”
“V,” I’m not sure what emotion coats my voice, but it’s thick and throaty and low.
“Cay, tell me what's wrong.” Immediately alert, his voice is the opposite of mine — strong and firm and comforting. “I’m around the corner. I’m running. Talk to me, Cay.” I hear his footsteps pick up into a sprint, and he calls something to someone else. The other guards?
I duck to the side of the elevator into a little alcove by a fire extinguisher, my breathing picking up. “I don’t— I don’t know. I don’t know.”
“Where are you? I’m at the doors—” He breaks off as a loud noise comes through the phone. I try to place the sound. Did he trip over a metal trash can? Slam into a pane of glass? His next words answer my mental questions. “Motherfucker! He fucking shot me.”
My heart drops at his words. Shot? Who would shoot him? Is he okay?
Of course, he isn’t okay. He just said he was shot!
A scene plays in the back of my mind as I replay that sound — almost like a memory. Bang! No, that’s not right. Something before . . .
“I’ll give you a chance to back out of the deal, or we’ll make you.” Bang!
Snapping back to the present, I open my mouth to ask V if he is okay, but a clattering sound like the phone being dropped comes through the receiver. More shots ring out, and my feet are flying across the carpet before I can stop them. I press the call button for my private elevator on the other side of the floor as soon as I reach it, and it opens almost immediately to reveal a pale-looking Winnifred. Well, as pale as his dark complexion can look.
Not even caring that he is using my elevator, I storm in with a hand held out. The doors close behind me as the elevator moves down, down, down to an injured V. “I know you have more than one gun,” I say, my eyes flickering to the one in his hand. “Give it to me.”
“Do you know how to use it,” he asks skeptically.
Luckily, I have a damn good poker face. “Yes. Give it. Now.”
Winnifred pulls out another gun, checks the chamber, cocks it, and flips a button. “Safety is off,” he grumbles. “Stay behind me.”
We wait the next minute or so in the elevator, bouncing on the balls of our feet anxiously. When the doors open to the lobby, Winnifred immediately shoves me behind him, lifting his gun while yelling at the accumulated crowd. “Move the fuck out of the way!”
The glass entrance to the building comes into view, but there are too many people with their backs to us, making a large semi-circle around something on the sidewalk. The muffled sounds of horns honking and distant sirens force their way through the glass-windowed walls of my office building. I can just make out the backs of Matthew, Hunter, and TJ shoving their way into the crowd.
Come on, come on, come on.
If V is hurt—If V is dead . . .
Numbly, I grab onto the back of Winnifred’s suit jacket as he elbows our way through the large gathering of people. A cop car arrives as we burst into the open area, and I look around frantically for V.
Where is he, where is he, where is he?
A man is on the ground, handcuffed and held down by Matthew, but it isn’t the man I’m looking for.
Where, where, where?
“Cay!”
Only one person calls me that.
I whip around to face the voice, gasping as I take in his bloodied shirt. The once-white fabric from his photo earlier is now soaked in dark red liquid, and V’s face is set in grim malice. “Winnifred,” he growls, stalking over to us. “Get him the hell away from here.”
Winn goes to answer, but I cut him off. “Like hell! Look at you! Are you okay?”
Dark eyes flicker to me briefly, looking me up and down once. If the situation was different, I would assume he’s checking me out. I know better, though. He’s only making sure his client is in one piece. Face hard, V turns away from me just as quickly as he looked. “Get him to the apartment. And take that goddamn gun from him. He has no idea how to use it.”
“I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere unless it’s with you.” I glance around to make sure the man is still subdued. “The danger is gone, right?”
The Italian in front of me groans, grabbing my shoulders with both hands. “And if he was just a distraction to get you down here? If there is someone posted on the rooftops with a sniper just waiting to see you? What about that?” At his own words, V looks up to the top of the buildings around us with a half-wild, half-accusatory glare, searching for the aforementioned hitmen. “You need to go.”
I can’t focus on his words because his hands are on my shoulders, arms outstretched, and there, just on his bicep, is a rip in his sleeve with blood dripping from it. My eyes search all over him, catching sight of another dark red patch growing on his side. “You’re shot.”
V’s dark eyes meet mine. “Captain Obvious,” he deadpans, the very English term sounding strange in his accented voice, the Italian more prominent in his adrenaline-dumped state. “Go.” His voice is a broken whisper, desperate. “Please, Cay.” Eyes searching mine, bouncing back and forth, V pleads for me to leave.
A hand tugs at my arm, my side, my chest. “Come on, man,” Winnifred huffs when I refuse to move. “Come on.”
“You’re okay?”
“I’m okay,” he assures. “They just grazed me.”
I’ve heard the term before and have a general idea of what it means. Not lethal — that’s what I care about.
“Torni da me.” I tell him. Come back to me.
V’s eyes widen in surprise and awe. “Who the hell is teaching you all this Italian?” He whispers, lip twitching up at the corner. “Vai.” Go.
So, I go.
Trusting that V will take care of whatever he needs, I let Winnifred, Hunter, and TJ usher me to the parking garage, into an SUV, and over the Manhattan bridge towards the apartment. I run shaking hands through my hair, messing it up. Do I care? No.
Remembering I am an adult with responsibilities, I call Emily and give her a brief explanation of everything that just happened. I tell her to extend my apologies to the Mazza’s and cover all their expenses for this trip with a promise to schedule a new meeting asap — I’ll even come to them next time. When I finally get her off the phone, I call Phoenix.
“Bernardi.”
“You know it’s me.”
“What do you want?”
How to say this? Will he be mad? Do I need to be gentle or just rip the bandaid off?
“You know your brother?” This is probably not the right way to start.
Phoenix just grunts. “What about him?”
I take a deep breath, not at all sure how to break the news. Maybe if I just skirt around it, he will make the conclusion himself. That should work. “Yeah, never mind. Hey, so — completely unrelated — have you thought about making bulletproof vests a standard issue for your guards? I think that would be very beneficial in case of, um, shootings.”
“Caiden.”
“Hmmm?”
“Has my brother been shot?”
Cue my grimace, though he can’t see it. “How about those vests?”
Phoenix proceeds to spit a lot of Italian — some I recognize and some I don’t. There is a lot of cursing, some run-on sentences, and very complicated words I’ve never heard.
I recall a phrase from my Italian book, saying it to him in an attempt to calm his ranting and raging. “Non esagerare. Nix, the shots just grazed him. He is fine.”
“Do not tell me to calm down,” he growls. “Wait, what did you say?”
“Yeah, I know some Italian now. It’s not a big deal.” I try to brush it off, but I’m secretly glad he at least understood the words I attempted to say.
“Not that,” is his snapping reply. “Did you say ‘shots’ as in multiple?”
Oh. Oh.
Oops.
“I’m going through a tunnel.” I hang up on him, ignoring him when he immediately calls back. I send him a quick text saying his brother is fine before setting my phone down in lieu of running my hands over my face. This day has been absolutely awful. “Does anyone have a lighter?” I ask with a tired voice.
Winnifred gives an affirmative, fishing in his pockets before producing a small, pink lighter. We’re all so tense that no one even thinks to comment on it. Rolling down my window, I light a cigarette from the pack in my pocket and inhale its smoke as fast as it will burn. Can you smoke two at a time?
I shake my head to rid myself of the thought. Getting addicted to cigarettes is not something I need to be doing right now, yet here I am on my second of the day after practically craving it.
No, I realize. Not it.
The cigarette hits every point I need it to at this moment. The smoky menthol reminds me of the smell of V’s skin, and the breathless burn in my chest is what it feels like to be around him. The calming relief from the nicotine is like the relaxed feeling I get in V’s presence.
That light-bulb moment starts to freak me out. Do I really care about a man like this — enough to compare him to a nicotine addiction? Is that . . . healthy?
Before I can ponder it too much, we’re already pulling into the parking garage of V’s apartment building. I quickly send him a message the only way I can, telling him to let me know as soon as he is on his way here.
The guys join me in the elevator after giving me some spiel about watching me until my roommate shows up. Not wanting to be alone, I don’t argue.
I use my phone to control the elevator up to the 24th floor, let us in the apartment, and close the window shades as soon as I realize how exposed we are. Snipers on the rooftops, V had said. Is that too far-fetched, or perfectly sane?
No one fights for the TV remote. Instead, the guys sit on the couch staring at a dark screen until I eventually turn it on and resume where I left off on Parks and Rec.
“Someone should tell Theo,” TJ says without much emotion as if he has blocked it all out.
“I will,” Hunter offers, and I’m glad it isn’t me. I’d probably punch the guy in the face for simply caring about V. Hunter gets off the couch, walking out of the apartment to break the news to Theo.
My phone buzzes and I look at the message.
BigDick69
BigDick69
I’m fine. Don’t wait up. Phoenix and I are tracking down a lead.
I reply instantly.
Me
I told you to come back.
His character pops up at the bottom and stays, typing back as soon as my message is sent.
BigDick69
You told me to come back to you. Either your teacher sucks, or you didn’t realize.
Me
You’re right. I told you to come back to me.
Me
I want you here. With me.
V’s character sits there for a minute, not replying. Then:
BigDick69
I am always with you.
I know he doesn’t mean physically. For some reason, that eases my leftover anxiety for the most part. It’s my turn to reply.
Me
Question
Me
How do I change your name on here to anything other than BigDick69? I cannot take you seriously.
He only sends a laughing emoji in response.
19 I’m Fine
Vincent Bernardi
I’m not sure when Caiden and I forgave each other, exactly — or if we did.
We didn’t talk about his night with Ashlynn. We didn’t talk about my ‘relationship’ with Theo.
When I got home late Monday evening, my three friends were asleep on the couch, and Caiden was wide awake, waiting and biting his nails. I’d never seen him do that bad habit in action, but considering the short length of the nails on his right hand, I figure it’s something he does often, though their condition had worsened a lot since I saw him earlier that day. He hadn’t even changed out of his rumpled work clothes, but his jacket had been discarded, leaving him in a blue vest over a white button up. His sleeves were pushed up haphazardly to his elbows, and the blue tie around his neck had been loosened more than even I wear mine. That chestnut hair was messier than I’d ever seen it.
He’d looked utterly disheveled.
Caiden had taken one look at me, then to my friends asleep around the living room. He’d dropped off from the high stool at the bar and gestured for me to follow him.
I had.
I’d followed him into his room, and the bedroom door had shut behind me with a soft click.
We’d spent who knows how long just staring at each other, Caiden’s eyes roaming my t-shirt clad chest, lingering where the two wounds rested under the cover of fabric.
He hadn’t asked how I was, or what I had been up to.
The bob of his Adam’s apple had been the only indication of his nervousness. “I don’t want Theo to have the chance to like your new tongue ring,” is all Caiden had delved into the dark, quiet room.
When nothing else had fallen from his lips, I’d nodded. “Okay.”
Somehow we ended up laying in his bed, over the covers, beside each other with our faces turned to keep our gazes locked.
And we had slept like that.
That was Monday, and every day since has been back to the way it was before the last poker night. Our easy conversation resumed like nothing had ever effected it, and those innocent touches were back. He took Tuesday and Wednesday off, claiming he needed to be at the apartment in case I needed help reaching something with my injured arm.
Honestly, the injuries didn’t bother me too much, but it was nice each time Caiden sidled up next to me — just a little too close — to accomplish the task I’d attempted. I let myself have those moments.
Now, I’m driving him to the airport where we will board my brother’s jet for about an 8 hour flight.
I’ve changed my tongue ring back to the simple silver metal ball — the other having accomplished exactly what I’d wanted — and now it grates against the back of my teeth as I debate on whether or not to bring up Caiden’s jealous comment from Monday or the fact that we’ve slept in the same bed every night since then.
The vague signals are killing me.
“I can hear you,” Caiden speaks into the silence between us, turning from the heavily tinted window to look at me with a smile. “The metal is very loud against your teeth.”
“Really?”
“Si,” he replies the affirmative in Italian. He’s been practicing the language over the last few days, and I smile as I remember laying in his bed yesterday going over the common phrases. Caiden had settled between my legs, his back to my chest comfortably, as we both held the book in front of us. To my amusement, he’d showed me another book he’d bought — this one specifically being translations for different curses and insults, among some other phrases.
I hum in my chest, lost in thought, and Caiden’s gaze returns to the window, looking out at the dark city as it goes by. Before long, the private gate to Phoenix’s runway looms in front of us, and I roll my window down briefly to provide identification for us to pass through. It’s dark except for the lights along the jet, but I’m still surprised when Caiden sets a hand on my knee. Parking quickly, I turn to him in the dim light. It doesn’t seem like any of the other guys are here yet, so we are alone for now. “Yeah?” I ask, voice quiet and thick with gravel, too loud in the quiet car.
Caiden’s eyes search my face in what light there is. “We have to pretend not to be friends on this trip,” he states what we both already know and dread.
“I know.”
“I don’t want to,” he confesses lowly, leaning in slightly to help me hear despite the privacy we have inside the car. “I like spending time with you, V.”
It’s Vincenzo, something deep inside me urges to say. I hold it back. He’s going to have to ask for my name if he wants to say it.
