Crazy Love, page 2
A wave of despair washed through him as Kennedy threw open the door to a utilitarian looking building, causing it to bang against the wall and bounce closed with a shuddering slam as if closing any chance he had with her. Gone. Damn. At least I know where she works. This time I won’t let her get away.
Chapter Two – Kennedy
Adrenaline pumping, Kennedy threw the door open to the back of the tiger sanctuary, confronting Raul, the teenage idiot who let Raja into the viewing area with her. “Are you stupid, besides being an idiot?” she yelled at the soon to be fired if she had her way, animal care intern.
“I’m so sorry,” the young male said, cowering.
“Sorry doesn’t cut it. Raja’s new. Not yet conditioned to me. You’re lucky I’m not dead,” she said, striding to within a hair’s breadth of his face. Even though she stood several inches shorter than him, she felt far bigger and far more deadly. “Think how it would feel to live with that on your conscience.” She jabbed him in the chest with her finger. “What the hell were you thinking, letting him into the pen with me, huh? What, huh?”
The young man’s caramel colored face paled to ghostly white. “M-M-Mr. Barnes told me to open it. Said Raja was getting restless. He needed play enrichment. He said you’d be all right.”
“Mr. Barnes? Are you kidding me?”
“N-n-no,” the teen said.
“What, he wants me dead now, not merely subjugated to his power and whims?”
The door opened, and Big Jim rushed in, tranquilizer rifle in hand. He studied her with his dark chocolate eyes. “Everything okay? You all right?”
“I’m fine, Jim. Raja stopped his death charge. He was confused, is all. He’s new here. Unsure of himself. He didn’t know whether to kill me or love on me as his surrogate mama. Did you know the director put him up to this?” She stabbed a shaking finger in the direction of the kid.
“Goddamn, that’s harsh,” Jim said, in his deep, earthy voice. He strode to where she stood and put his big hands on either side of her face. “You’re shaking. Calm yourself, woman. You’re okay.” He stroked her cheeks with his thumbs, his warm gaze washing through her inner walls. “Did it bring up Mosi?”
Tears pricked at her eyes. “Yes,” she whispered, letting out a shuddering breath.
“Shhh. Mosi wouldn’t want you to feel this way, choty goty,” he said, using African slang for “beautiful girl.” He continued to stroke her cheeks with his rough, work-hewn hands. “Let it out. Be calm. You don’t want to be confronting Barnes with this kind of rage.”
Kennedy lifted her hands to his wrists, clinging to him for support. She adored Big Jim. They’d met when she worked with him at the same animal reserve in South Africa near Kruger National Park, a sanctuary called Beskerming, a word that meant protection.
He’d seen her through thick and thin. He’d been her comfort when she lost Mosi, the African man she thought her savior, her redemption — the man she wanted to make latte colored babies with. When she got this gig stateside, she’d lobbied them both as a package deal.
Releasing him to swipe at her eyes, she said, “You know Barnes has it in for me. He poo-poos the rapport I build with these great beasts. He prefers whips and chains to kindness. He likes to think he can conquer wild cats, not love and understand them.” She huffed out a sigh and squared her shoulders. “Come on, we’ve got to get to the bottom of this,” she said, seizing the kid’s arm and hauling him away from the tiger enclosure with Big Jim hot on her heels.
As they strode toward the office compound, she recalled the man she’d laid eyes on while scrambling to save both her life and the life of the tiger. Dante Vega. In high school, she actually thought she loved him. She wrote him dreamy love letters, then burned them in her parents’ fireplace. She doodled his name on her notebooks when she was supposed to be doing her homework.
She knew she never stood a chance with him, though. He was one of the A-listers at school, the rich kids who thought themselves special, unique, and outside the laws, which the rest of the school followed. Still....she swore she caught him staring at her in the halls a time or three, and not unkindly. And when they’d kissed, she thought her dream came true. Only she never saw him again—until today.
He was hot then, scorching now. He’d filled out, becoming solid muscle. His short dark hair glistened in the sun as if sprinkled with blood diamonds she’d seen in Africa. She imagined his eyes still greenish-gray, filled with the same foolish hunger she’d seen graduation night. The hunger he no doubt felt whenever he gazed at someone or something, he wanted.
Dante Vega was a dangerous man, as far as she was concerned. He’d stirred her into an obsession. She’d lost herself in the kiss, and it had taken months to find herself again. She’d spent her summer pining for him, another year despising him, and then her teenage dreams became adult reality—she got an internship at Beskerming. After that, she tucked her memories of Dante into the recesses of her mind, certain it had only been a childish crush. And then she met Mosi.
“Kennedy, I’ll see you later.”
“Excuse me?” She pulled herself out of reverie, still marching forward like the devil strode at her tail, prodding her with his fiery pitchfork.
“I have to get back to what I was doing,” Big Jim said. “Let me know how it goes.”
Without missing a step, she nodded and reached for the door to the administrative offices, throwing it open harder than she intended.
The receptionist, a plain looking woman named Alice who kept an iron grip in her role as office manager, yelped when Kennedy entered.
“Sorry,” Kennedy said. “I was almost killed a few moments ago. I’m a little upset. Barnes in?”
“Killed?” Alice said in alarm.
“Yeah. By Raja. Barnes put this kid up to it.”
“Raul?”
“Yes, Barnes told him to let Raja into the enclosure while I was working in there. Where is he?”
“He’s in a meeting with funders. You can’t interrupt him.”
“Wanna bet?” She took a couple swift steps toward the hall, but Alice proved too fast, leaping from her chair and putting herself between Kennedy and the office of the Director of Services, Martin Barnes.
“You can’t go back there. He’ll fire your ass, even though you’re the draw here. You know he resents the attention you get from the public.”
“He can have it. I try to avoid it.”
“He would if he could. He’d rather have every drop of it.”
“Then he should learn humane practices.”
“I know,” Alice said simply.
Kennedy’s gaze slid to Raul who stood cowering in the corner. “And you,” she said to him. “I may or may not let you go, depending on what Barnes says.” Her stance softened somewhat. She knew what it was like to make a royal, unrecoverable fuck up. “Just...stay put. Or better yet, go help Big Jim.”
He nodded, chewing on his lower lip. He practically bolted from the building.
“When will his meeting be over?” Kennedy asked Alice.
“Not for another hour.” She sat at her desk and scanned her computer monitor. “Then he has to leave for a meet and greet with potential donors. He doesn’t have a free second in the day. You know this place is constantly on the brink of losing funding. If he doesn’t secure funds, our days here are numbered.”
Kennedy blew out her breath. “Yes, and the cats are either shipped off to zoos before they’ve been rehabilitated or worse, euthanized. I wouldn’t be surprised if Barnes’s stunt today intended to get me killed. Then he wouldn’t be able to get funding. This place would look like a death trap with raging beasts. Fuck.” She lifted her cap and dragged her hand across her head, noting the moist spots from Raja’s tongue. Her gaze rose to meet Alice’s eyes. “Sorry, it’s my paranoid theory. We always seem to be looking for money to keep this place afloat.”
“Mr. Barnes would never do that,” Alice soothed. “He’s not a murderer.”
Kennedy shook her head. “Why do you protect the man? He’s a snake.”
“He may be that, but he pays me well,” Alice said, her eyes dropping to her lap. “And I have kids to feed. My husband’s still on unemployment.”
Kennedy pursed her lips, keeping her comments to herself. When her phone buzzed, she pulled it free of her shorts pocket and glanced at the text.
You’re coming with me to drinks and dinner tonight.
She groaned.
“Unpleasant news?”
“Kind of. It’s my stepbrother, Simon. He’s dragging me to another social engagement.” She quickly typed, Sorry, you know I don’t drink.
“He's only kind, trying to get you back in the game,” Alice said, her hazel eyes leaking sappy sympathy all over her cheeks.
“I’ll get back in the game when I’m ready. He’s trying too hard. I feel corralled sometimes. When I’m good and ready, I’ll date again.” Once again, her thoughts fluttered around the memory of Dante’s gaze, when he looked at her today. Please don’t tell me he lives here now. Last she knew, he’d moved to Massachusetts according to Simon. Today, she wondered what he saw when he stared at her. Maybe he’s between conquests, she thought bitterly. And maybe I’m feeling desperate.
She hadn’t been able to get back in the game since Mosi. And honestly? She didn’t think she’d ever love again.
“Uh huh,” Alice said, noncommittally.
Kennedy glanced at the incoming text.
You think I don’t know that? It’s a phrase, sis. Soda, ice tea, whatever. We’re going. Pick you up at 8:30. Want to introduce you to some people.
“Great,” she muttered. “Simon’s always trying to set me up.” NO SETUPS, she typed. NO BLIND DATES.
THE GUY’S IN A RELATIONSHIP, he typed back, also in caps. This is only for fun. Later.
“Well, at least he’s not setting me up this time. It’s only fun with new people.”
“You hate new people,” Alice said.
“I know. I was facetious. It’s going to be another train wreck evening when I’d rather be bonding with my cats.” Her gaze slid back to her phone screen. 6:15. “Well. I’d better finish up here so I can get off to my ‘fun’ evening. As if I haven’t had enough fun for one day.”
Chapter Three – Dante
Dante let himself into the apartment his parents owned at 15 Central Park West, using the ornate key his mother had given him. They bought the sleek, multi-million-dollar apartment a couple months ago when Dante’s younger brother, Damien, had been placed in a supervised living group home for individuals on the autism spectrum. It was supposed to help Damien make a transition to independent living and learn how to deal with his very different brain and abilities. A high functioning adult, it was thought he could learn to live on his own in the six months housed here. Either that or live with other high functioning “Aspies,” the term used for those with Asperger’s syndrome.
His father had been none too sorry to house his youngest elsewhere, while his mother, no doubt, had been heartbroken. Dante still felt mixed, wanting nothing more than to have his brother live somewhere safe and supportive, but knowing his mother longed to keep him close.
“Anyone here?” he called into the vast space. He trekked to the floor to high-ceiling windows of the living room, staring out at Central Park. The other end of the apartment, the dining area, had sweeping views of the city.
“Dante, is that you?” his mother called. She sashayed into the room, all elegant lines and angles, dressed in a stylish designer outfit, even though she’d probably been home all day. Her dark hair had been swept up into a sleek chignon, accenting her high cheekbones. In her earlier days, Carmen Vega had been a model. Now? She volunteered at various organizations and did fundraisers. It kept her busy, kept her involved and ensured her happiness since her marriage to his father seemed to be an empty shell.
“Hey, Ma.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek.
“When did you get here? You were on the West Coast, sí, amado hijo?” Calling him “beloved son,” his mother, born and raised in Venezuela, still slipped her native tongue into the conversation.
“Gia and I arrived yesterday, the other guys will get here tomorrow.”
“Where are you staying?”
“Our agent booked Gia and the guys at the Gansevoort. I’m staying at my place.”
“How exciting about your concert at the Garden,” his mother enthused.
“Yeah, I’ll say. It’s kind of...” He shook his head and bit his lip.
“What were you going to say? Daunting? Terrifying?”
“Nothing. It’s nothing.”
“Dante,” his mother soothed. “I know you don’t like the trappings of stardom.”
“Not one bit.”
“But I also know how much your music means to you.”
He glanced at her, then flicked his gaze toward the green park below. “Yeah. Well. I still see myself as the kid who played the dives in Brooklyn to a handful of drunk, half-baked listeners.” When he’d walked away from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, another huge failure in his father’s mind, he ran as far as Brooklyn, living a subhuman, street rat existence for a short time, trying hard to rid himself of his status as the rich fuck Richard Vega’s kid.
But he couldn’t escape his talent and the success that went along with it. So he learned to love the welcome appreciation and endure the unasked for attention and gossip. “Oh, sure, there are perks. I like the access it gives me to places most people never dream of seeing. But it ruins people. Gia’s on her way to becoming a bona fide alcoholic if she hasn’t yet arrived. The strain of success is really getting to her.”
His mother tsked.
“How about you? What’s occupying your days?” He swiftly diverted the subject, not wanting to dwell on the many ways success and money destroyed people. The look his mother gave him let him know she both understood and wouldn’t push him to bear his heart’s secrets. Little did she know the strain of what really happened on the night no one spoke of, or the depth of lies he carried.
“Oh, I’ve been so busy with the Children’s Hospital Gala event. We’re raising funds for the children’s cancer ward this year. The pictures of some of the children simply tear at one’s heart.” She pressed her palm against her chest, her eyes growing moist.
“Ma,” he said affectionately. “You always were a softy. And dad? What new empire has he conquered?” His mouth worked into a crisp, thin line.
“Dante,” his mother said in a disapproving tone. “Your father is a hard-working man.”
“Yeah, I know. But, Dad can also be a plain old hard-ass.” Dante’s jaw set in a rigid block. His father, owner and Chairman of the Board at his high-end company on Wall Street, Vega, International, poured himself into the world of acquisitions and mergers, leaving little room for family time.
When he did assume the role of paterfamilias, he did it with the same ironclad rules and shark-like strategy he used at his job. In other words, not much warmth. And he could never tell what his dad thought of him and his brother. He hoped now that he had a name for himself, his father could find something to be proud of - specifically his income. But Dante always thought spawning a kid who’d been oxygen deprived in the birth canal—namely, his brother—served as a personal, regrettable failure in his father’s steel-gray eyes. “Heard from Damien lately? How’s he doing in the group home?”
“You can ask him yourself. He caught a bus here. He’s in the den playing that adventure video game you gave him. He loves those things.”
“Yeah, my friend Zander hooked me up. His company, EXcape, had some video games created for one of their outdoor competitions as promotional pieces.”
“Why don’t you go see him? I know he’d love to say hello.”
Dante nodded and headed for the entertainment room. He spied his brother, completely absorbed in the EXcape’s Global Domination game. Without a word, Dante picked up a controller, threw his leg over the back of the couch where Damien sat, and slid into position. “Hey, Dami,” he said, eyes glued on the huge, animated screen before him.
“Dant!” his brother said, eyes never leaving the game display.
“Two players. Let’s go.” When Damien obliged, Dante quickly got into the action, his thumbs and fingers flying.
As Dante’s character tried to push through the scene, Damien quickly obliterated it. “I win!” he shouted, tossing his control on the couch.
“You did,” Dante said, following suit. He reached to give his brother a hug, adding a playful head rub with his knuckles, across Damien’s military short hair. Personal grooming wasn’t high on his brother’s list, so his hair remained perpetually short. He usually had to be coached to shower and shave each day. The group home seemed to be doing its job since his brother didn’t have that three-day unwashed smell. In fact, he smelled kind of nice, like some minty man soap.
Damien returned the hug in a quick, brief manner, and got to his feet. He began pacing in front of the couch.
Dante eyed him warily, hoping he wasn’t going where he thought he might go.
“Where’s Madeline? I want to see Madeline.”
“Madeline’s gone, buddy,” Dante said, blowing out a long, pained breath. And he has to go there. It was bad enough she’d gone. Worse still, it came from Damien’s constant fixation on one of the more painful periods of his life.
His little brother’s behavior had always been off, thanks to the oxygen deprivation, but two years ago he suffered a severe blow to the head and had lost much of his ability to recall current events. A long, jagged scar snaked across his forehead, puckering the skin in testimony. That, on top of Madeline’s departure from the world, had sucked, hard.
Thankfully, Dante lost himself in Marked Love, managing to barely crawl out of the pit of grief he found himself in, locking away his love for her in some secret cavern vault.
“Where’d she go? The store? Let’s wait for her by the front door. We can scare her.”
