Stolen: Dante's Vow

“There’s nothing to see.”

“I’ll judge for myself.”

“You’ll listen to me if I let you look?”

“I’ll hear what you have to say.”

I study him, not sure, but it’s something. So, I stand and lift the sweater enough to expose the side of my hip. I look away when he bends closer, holding my breath so as not to gasp when he draws my panties down a little, enough to be able to peel the bandage away. I know it’s not meant in any way but to look at the damage, but I can’t help that flutter in my stomach.

“Does this hurt?” he asks, pressing the skin around it.

“A little.”

“We’ll get you something stronger today.” He puts the bandage back on and adjusts my panties over it.

I sit down more carefully and watch as he takes eggs out of the refrigerator and scrambles them along with several strips of bacon. My mouth waters at the smell and I watch him standing at the stove barefoot in jeans and a T-shirt, doing this very domestic thing. I remember him last night when he stripped off his clothes. When he lay down beside me and it took all I had not to curl into him. To let him hold me. I have to be careful with him. Losing people hurts and I can’t let myself get to a place where it will hurt when I lose him. Because I will lose him. I know it.

He plates the food and sets it in front of me, then opens a drawer to hand me a fork and knife.

I start to eat as he pours coffee into a mug and sets it in front of me before refilling his own. I pour cream and three heaping teaspoons of sugar into it. Dante watches. I stir, then pick it up and drink a steaming sip, savoring the sweetness, this simple thing of eating breakfast. Of feeling hungry and wanting to eat.

“It’s sound proofed, the cellar,” I tell him as he watches me. “Elegant people upstairs drinking fancy drinks while downstairs men have their hands sawn off before they’re killed.” I eat a strip of bacon wondering if he finds it strange that I can talk about this while casually eating. Because it is strange. It says something about me. Something a little terrifying.

“Is that what the dreams are about?”

I stop chewing, look up at him. I remember him waking me once or twice. I always wonder how loud I am. If I scream in real life when I scream in my nightmares.

“No, not really,” I say. I don’t want to talk about that. “He took me to Red’s a few times. I met one of his sons. I don’t even think he found it strange that his father brought me there. That I was his property. I don’t think anyone did.”

He doesn’t say anything, just watches and listens. I eat every bite, drink all of my coffee then sit back in my chair and put one hand over my belly.

“Would you like more?”

I shake my head, push my plate away and look up at him. “If you go, you’ll die.”

“You don’t know me very well.”

“You will.”

“Mara—”

“And if you die, then I’ll die.”

“It won’t come to that but if it does, Matthaeus will get you out. Get you home.”

“You said you’d listen if I let you look.”

“I am listening.”

“But you’re not hearing me. You’re gambling with your life and my life. Everyone who is involved is in danger.”

“Mara—”

“I want a gun.”

He furrows his eyebrows, chuckles. “You’re not getting a gun, sweetheart.”

“Stop calling me sweetheart!”

His mouth moves into an entertained grin. He opens it to speak but must think better of what he was going to say because he shakes his head and pauses. “Have you ever handled a gun?”

I fold my arms across my chest. “No.”

“Well, you’re not going to start now.” He’s humoring me. I see it.

“I need one to protect myself.”

“I’ll protect you.”

“Not when you’re dead, you won’t. And you’re going to be dead if you go to that meeting. It’s what he wants. For you to walk into his trap. He’s the master of setting traps.” I grip the edge of the table and lean toward him. “You don’t know him. I do.” I push my chair back and stand. “And I’m wasting my breath because you’re a liar. You were never going to listen to me.” I stalk toward the bedroom.

“Hey.” He comes after me, but I don’t stop. I’m almost to the bedroom when he catches my arm and spins me to face him. I crash into his chest then bounce backward. He steadies me, walking me until I’m up against the wall.

I look up at him, heart racing. I take my lower lip between my teeth and his gaze shifts to my mouth. For a moment, he just looks at me and it’s not with pity. It’s different. And there’s that flutter in my belly again.