“No problem, right,” he grumbles, but then he says, “Fine. Make sure you do.”
“I’ll make sure,” she says.
I resist the urge to snatch the phone from her hand and tell him he’d better sweeten his fucking tone when he talks to my girl, but I leave it.
Caitlin hangs up and falls into me, pressing her body against mine. I wrap an arm around her. But her forehead wrinkles up again. “Um, I need to go home.” She sends me a pleading look. “I’m way behind in my schoolwork and—”
I hold up my hand. “Say no more. You’re not my prisoner, doll. I’ll drive you back.”
I’m annoyed by her relief, even though how the fuck is she supposed to know she’s not a prisoner this time? I’m the kind of guy who purposely keeps people in the dark about where they stand and what my intentions are.
I’ve spent my entire life hiding what’s important to me behind violence and threats. I don’t even know how to let another person in. My family, they just know me. Communication isn’t required.
But a prickly sensation tells me I’m going to fall way off the mark with Caitlin if I don’t figure this shit out.
Trouble is, I don’t even know where to start.
Caitlin
I don’t hear from Paolo for a couple days, which comes as a relief because I have a lot of catching up and explaining to do with my classes and job at the rec center.
That doesn’t mean I’m not thinking about him every second of the day. Wondering when he’s going to turn up.
If he’ll be sitting in my living room when I come home. Or if he’s watching me. I had this sense before the FBI picked me up that I was being watched. At the time I imagined it was them, but after the thing with Dr. Alden I’ve started wondering if it was Paolo.
And all this time, I hear the scream of warning going off about this whole situation. I literally got into bed with a killer. I owe him two hundred grand which I am paying off one blowjob at a time.
Things could go south in an instant.
On the third night I come home from my dance cardio class and find my apartment has been completely emptied.
I stand in the doorway, my heart thumping as I try to figure out what happened.
Is this a message from Paolo? Did he feel like I didn’t make myself available so he took all my belongings? Or did the FBI return? No, that doesn’t make sense.
“Oh hey, doll.” Paolo appears behind me, his large hand spanning my lower back. “I moved your shit. Come on.”
“Moved it where?” I say faintly. He takes my bike from my hands and carries it down the stairwell in front of me.
Outside, he hands the bike to some young Italian guy with a shining red Escalade on the corner. “Bring that over, too,” he says to the guy.
“What’s happening, Paolo?”
We get to his car and he opens the passenger door for me. “Get in.”
I wring my hands in the car. Did he move me into his place? It’s way too far from campus, and I don’t drive. Living there would be the biggest pain in my ass. Plus… I’m scared. I don’t know what it means to be consumed by Paolo Tacone.
The drive isn’t far, though. Just a mile away, he pulls into a newly remodeled upscale apartment building where I’m sure the apartments cost five times what mine does.
“What’s going on?” I ask Paolo again, but he still refuses to answer. The guy with my bike shows up right behind us, and Paolo takes it from him and hands him a wad of cash. “Grazie, Adam.”
Seriously, I could’ve ridden my bike over here and he could’ve given me that cash.
“Come on, little hacker.” Paolo carries my bike in and we get on the elevator to the sixth floor. There, he unlocks the door to an apartment.
It’s lovely. Gleaming hardwood floors. Bay windows on the street side of the apartment. A leather couch with dual recliners and a matching chair face a giant flat-screen television. There’s a nice rug in front of it.
My desk and bulletin board are against one wall, with my computer equipment all set up.
“What’s happening?” I try again.
“I moved you. I didn’t like that other place. It was a dump and not nearly safe enough for you.” He walks over and sprawls on the expensive couch. “What do you think?”
Great. I try to erase the frown from my face. Yeah, he does have the right to move me. This guy owns me.
So I should show some gratitude. Credit another $500 off my tab.
I walk over and hit my knees in front of him, reaching for his cock.
He catches my wrist. “Hang on, little girl.”
I look up, checking his face for clues about what he wants. What I did wrong.