The breathy chuckle of the man who almost got within touching distance of Demi reveals he isn’t a threat, much less the words he whispers, “If you think I’m gonna hurt your girl, you obviously haven’t heard the stories about me.”
Rocco was only released from prison a few months back. He was serving a second seven-year sentence for manslaughter. Why such a small sentence for such a horrendous crime, you ask? His first ‘murder’ was in defense of his mother. He was only fifteen and walked in on his father beating his mother to within an inch of recognition. His second stint was when his sister attracted the same type of scumbag as their mother.
Some people say his reduced sentences were thanks to his friendship with Dimitri. I’m not so quick to jump onto that bandwagon. The judge assigned to both of Rocco’s cases came from an abusive background. He understood that sometimes the only way you can end the domestic violence cycle is with a bullet. He couldn’t exactly say that to Rocco, but everyone knew what he was thinking when he sentenced him to seven years behind bars with eligibility for parole in three. He was an adult during his last three court appearances, but he didn’t have the book thrown at him. People can be excused for being a little fucked up when they come from a childhood like that. Rocco’s misdemeanors are easily brushed off, and so are Demi’s.
“Wanted to see the damage firsthand,” Rocco informs while taking in the rapidly healing marks on Demi’s face. Compared to what they once were, they’re barely noticeable. “Dimi’s decision makes sense now.” His words are barely whispers, but they’re loud enough to send an involuntary shiver rolling up Demi’s spine. She whimpers in her sleep before she rolls onto her hip, her hand instinctively moving to find me under the sheets. We’ve only been hiding out for just under a week, but it truly seems as if we’ve been together half a lifetime.
After tossing the sleeping pants Demi pushed down my thighs with greediness last night into my face, Rocco nudges his head to the door leading to the living room, wordlessly requesting to have a word out of Demi’s earshot.
Curious as to what he meant about Dimitri’s decision, I jerk up my chin. Rocco does one quick final sweep of Demi’s face before he gives us some privacy. After tugging on my pants under the sheets, I push Demi’s hair back from her face, then whisper in her ear that I’m going to grab a glass of water.
Her eyes pop open in an instant. “Are you okay?” The hand she crept across the bedding to find me unknowingly traces the bumps in my midsection. She isn’t teasing me. She’s seeking hints of the nightmare that usually clings to my skin long after I’ve awoken.
“I’m fine.” I inwardly curse before correcting myself, “I’m thirsty as fuck. Thought I better replenish some of the fluids you sucked from me last night in case you feel the need to suck me dry again in the morning.” When I hit her with a frisky wink, her smile shines brighter than the moon peeping through the cracks in the wooden shutters. She doesn’t just hold me when I’m reminded how far I’ll go for her, she occupies my thoughts in a way only she can. “Go back to sleep. I’ll only be a minute.”
My nostrils flare when I lean across to press a kiss to her temple. Our hook-up last night occurred in the shower, but the location did little to lessen the smell of my skin on hers. It’s an intoxicating scent I’d strive to recreate if I knew there wasn’t a mass murderer waiting in the living room for me.
I wait for Demi’s breathing to indicate she’s asleep before slipping out of bed. Even knowing Rocco is rarely seen without a gun, I ball my fists before entering the living room. I hate that he found us so easily, but I’m not surprised. I saw Dimitri’s hacker’s skills firsthand. He unearthed the location of the deathmatch within a couple of keystrokes.
My arrival in the living room reveals even mass murderers still have integrity. It gives me hope I didn’t completely fuck up my life last week. “How are you handling things, Ox? Bet it took a lot to stop at one hit.”
I had wondered if news was circulating about me striking Col.
Now I know without uncertainty.
Although Rocco’s smug expression is stroking my ego, I get down to business. “What decision did Dimitri make?”
“That’s it?” Rocco replies with a laugh. “You’re just gonna leave me hanging without any details. Not cool, man, not fuckin’ cool.” As he rubs his hands together, his lips curve into a mammoth grin. “Dimitri has kept your runs local, then you’ll be close by for Demi…”
“And?” I ask when his question seems unfinished.
“And…” I don’t know if he has a barbell in his tongue or if he just likes swishing it around his mouth when he’s teasing. Whatever it is, I wish he’d get to the fucking point. I’ve got packing to do. If Dimitri has located us, it will only be so long before Col’s crew comes knocking. “… you won’t have any issues competing in the comps each Friday night.”
“I can’t fight for Dimitri, Rocco. His father is a part-owner of that comp.”
He tsks me as if I’m being eccentric. “Dimitri has it handled.”
“Handled?” I scoff. “How the fuck is that handled?” I point to the room Demi is sleeping in. “His cousin was assaulted by his father!”
“Yet, you’re still breathing after making Tweetie birds fly around his head,” he fires back. “Do you think that was by chance?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer him. “Smith found your hideout in under two minutes. If Dimitri hadn’t intervened, Col’s men would have arrived a day or two after that.” When my confusion remains paramount, he pulls off the Band-Aid in one quick motion. “Your brother paid your debt. You’re not on Col’s ledger anymore.”
“You torched my brother’s business.” The night after the deathmatch, both Caidyn’s Ravenshoe office and site office were torched. Since it’s believed to be the act of an arsonist, investigators were brought in. It will delay the insurance claim process, which means he’ll be out of business for months if not years. That might be okay for established businesses, but Caidyn’s was only just getting off the ground. I don’t know if he’ll come back from that.
“Arson doesn’t get me off,” Rocco pushes out with a laugh like our conversation isn’t half as serious as it is. “But I guess that doesn’t matter when you’re desperate, does it?”
He steals my chance to reply by handing me a tablet. It must be a prototype as it’s nothing like any I’ve seen at the shops. “Caidyn torched his business?” I half question, half confirm after taking in the surveillance video playing on the tablet. “Why the fuck would he do that?”
“Same reason I popped a bullet between my sister’s punk-ass boyfriend’s brows. Sometimes you’ve got to take shit into your own hands.”
I get what he’s saying. I also understand it, but if this footage gets out, Caidyn is up shit creek without a paddle. His insurance company will never payout, and he doesn’t have the capital to start afresh.
“Now, I bet you’re more than interested in what’s in the bag.” Rocco prances on the spot like he belongs on one of the Backstreet Boys’ reboot videos before he pulls open the zipper of my gym bag sitting on the coffee table. It isn’t brimming with smelly gym socks and badly in need of clean clothes. It’s lined with Benjamin Franklins. There would have to be at least one hundred thousand in there.