6. CiCi

The next morning, I wake up in my own bed in mine and Miranda”s apartment. Racking my brain, I can not remember getting back home.

Damn, that was some pain medicine.

The black-out curtains are drawn, so the only light peeking in is from the hallway. Sitting at the end of my bed is a shadow illuminated by the soft light.

Even in the dark, I can feel the intensity reverberating off him.

“Stay away from me, CiCi,” he whispers, looking down at his hand twirling that gaudy ring.

It’s a warning. One that I don’t plan on heeding.

Slowly sitting up in bed, the irritation I feel every time I am near him boils inside me, “I swear, you are the most frustrating man! If you want me to stay away from you so badly, why take me to your secret lair?!”

“Keep your fucking voice down,” he growls.

Ignoring him, I raise my voice even higher. “Why are you still here if you don’t want me to be near you? You act like you are liable to kill me at any moment.”

“Knowing me puts a target on your back.”

Trying to hide my surprise at his answer, I defiantly cross my arms over my chest.

Rolling my eyes, I scoff and say, “I can take care of myself.”

He rises from my bed, leaning over me. “Yeah…You proved that last night by getting attacked.”

“You must be forgetting the guy I killed.”

Shaking his head, he lets out an exasperated sigh, “Killed? The bullet bounced off the concrete into his chest.”

“I still defended myself, jerk.”

His surprised gaze finds mine as though no one has stood up to him before.

“There are instructions on your bedside table on how to treat your concussion. The number to my private physician is also on the back of the paper, should you need him.”

“My my, aren’t we fancy? Private physician, huh?”

I can tell he is struggling to ignore my smartass mouth. I wonder what he would do if I wasn’t injured. The thought should scare me. After everything I have heard about this man, I should be running in the other direction. Instead, I want to know more about him and the pain he carries around with him like an anvil on his back.

Turning on his heels, he walks out of my room and into the hallway. I can hear him as he tells Miranda in a hushed voice to take care of me.

Moments later, his footsteps fade, and he walks out of our apartment.

Within seconds, Miranda is bounding through my bedroom door.

“What the fuck happened last night? One minute you’re yelling at the fucker who didn’t tip you–not a smart move by the way–and then I get some cryptic text from a number telling me you were attacked, but that you were safe?! CiCi, what happened? Why were you with Drake Reign?”

She plops down on the edge of my bed, and the sudden jolt causes my stomach to flip.

Miranda must realize I am still reeling from the night before, when I begin rubbing my temple with one hand and the other hand clutches my stomach.

“Shit. Sorry.” She apologizes, “I was just freaking out.”

Sighing, I sink my back against the soft pillows lining my headboard.

“I don’t remember much. When I chased that thug outside to yell at him for not tipping me, I was met with him and three other guys. Apparently, they were members of Las Serpientes.” I pause for a moment, trying to remember the footage Drake showed me earlier.

“Were? What do you mean ‘were?’” The fear is clear in her voice, as if she already knows the answer.

“One of them attacked me, and somehow I managed to kick his gun out of his hand right as he pulled the trigger. The bullet ended up ricocheting off the ground and into his chest.”

Realizing how that sentence doesn’t seem to stir any emotion within me, I inhale and continue.

“That’s when Drake and I’m assuming one of his cronies appeared,” I lie. I don’t want her to know that Drake is The Dragon.

Not yet.

I know this was our goal, to find him and learn about what happened that night. I know I shouldn’t keep this secret from her, but I have my own answers I want to get first.

Ignoring my own feelings of guilt, I continue.

“They killed the other three guys. Apparently, I passed out after that and woke up in Drake’s bed sometime in the middle of the night.”

I reminisce about the events of the night. How safe I felt waking up in his bedroom. I know he will not hurt me, no matter how many times he tries to scare me off. The question is, why? Men like Drake Reign don’t just let people go, especially when they know his deepest secret.

“Did he…He didn’t? Hurt you, did he?” Her voice grows concerned.

“No! Surprisingly. I figured someone like him would take advantage of any woman lying in his bed unconscious.” I try to feign a smile, remembering how I had offended him at my comment.

“Sandy gave you the week off after she heard about the incident in the alley. She said she expects to see you Friday night.” She rolls her eyes. “I can’t believe she made me finish my shift. That bitch.”

I chuckle at her defensiveness. “I’ll be fine. I’m just a little woozy and banged up. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Yeah, well, Mister Pissy Pants told me to tell you to stay in bed.” She laughs. “He seems really intense. What was he like?” She looks at me curiously.

“Intense is one way to put it, and utterly confusing.” I groan.

“What do you mean?”

“Hell if I know. One minute the man is trying to throw me away from his table, the next he saves my life and brings me to his home. Then the next minute he’s warning me to stay away from him, that knowing him is dangerous.”

“Well, sis, he is a criminal. He’s probably not lying.”

“It doesn’t add up. Criminal kingpins don’t save people, they look the other way. And they damn sure don’t care about anyone’s well-being but their own.” I sigh, clutching a pillow in my lap, playing with corners of the pillowcase.

“He seems different,” I mutter.

She lets out a loud gasp and covers her mouth, “You WANT him! Like, wanna ride him like a horse, want him!!”

My cheeks grow hot and I just know they’re probably a deep shade of red.

“No. Miranda, I don’t. And Drake Reign wants nothing to do with me.”

“So he says. That’s not what I saw when he walked out of our apartment. He didn’t want to leave your side.” She smirks. “OH MY GOD! If you married him, you could have his mini criminal babies!” She giggles, falling back on the bed.

I throw the pillow at her, and it smacks her in the face.

“I can’t stand you.” Rolling my eyes, I lie back in bed. “I need to rest. Doctor’s orders.”

She smiles as she walks out of my room, and says over her shoulder, “Have sweet wet dreams about your criminal boyfriend.”

Groaning, I roll onto my side and try to shut my eyes. As soon as I do, I can see Drake’s face staring back at me. His tortured, black, sad eyes.

Rolling onto my back, my eyes fly open and I stare at the ceiling.

He’s hiding something from me bigger than his identity, and I plan on finding out what.

***

It’s been a week since the attack and luckily I am feeling somewhat like myself. I still have the stitches, which I can hide with my hair in a cute updo, but the headache and the nausea have resolved. It’s Friday night and Sandy expects me to report to work as if nothing happened. Apparently, two waitresses and one dancer quit after hearing about the attack, so the bar is short staffed.

When I walk in, I can see the relief on Sandy’s face as I approach the marble bar top.

“Thank fuck. Someone decided to show up to work today,” she says, as she is furiously wiping the bar down.

“You said I could have the week off?” I ask, already pissed at her demeanor.

“That wasn’t directed at you, sug,” she pauses. “Sorry. I’m just stressed. Being short staffed in a bar where most of your clientele are pistol wielding crybabies when they don’t get what they want doesn’t exactly bode well for my attitude.”

Miranda leans in and whispers in my ear, “When does she have a good attitude?”

I try to stifle a laugh, but I have to bite my tongue when Sandy glares at her.

Pushing Miranda toward the break room, I say over my shoulder, “We’re just going to get ready for our shift.”

She waves us off and begins taking orders from customers who have approached the bar.

“At least she apologized to you,” I hear Miranda say, but I am too distracted by the dark storm cloud yet again sitting in the corner booth. Instead of burning a hole through the table with his eyes, he”s burning a hole through me. This time, his sidekick is sitting across from him. He is spewing words, but Drake isn’t listening. I notice instead of a crisp Armani suit, he is wearing black jeans, with a black hoodie, and boots.

I wonder what criminal he is hunting tonight.

Miranda realizes I’ve stopped following her and I can feel her walk up behind me.

“Go get ‘em, sis. He is looking at you like you are his prey and he is about to pounce.”

“Okay…enough smutty books for you, ma’am. Stay here,” I say, firmly grabbing her shoulder as if it will glue her into place.

I don’t want her learning Drake’s secret. He didn’t ask me not to tell anyone, but I am sure a criminal/vigilante doesn’t want everyone knowing his true self.

Taking a deep breath, I stride over to his booth, our gazes locked on each other. When I approach the table, his friend stops talking and looks between us, as if he can feel the electricity in the air cackling between us.

“I’m going to go grab a drink,” he announces to no one, because neither Drake nor I are listening.

We stay locked on each other, the sounds of the bar seeming far off in the distance, as if we’ve teleported to another world.

Finally, he says, “Why would you come back here?” His jaw is clenched and I notice the muscles flexing as he speaks, like he is aggravated that I would show my face back at the bar.

“Ummm…I need a job. Not all of us are billionaires like you.”

He shakes his head in disapproval.

“How are you feeling?”

“Don’t act like you actually give a fuck.” For a split second, I swear he winces at my words. He recovers quickly though as anger flashes across his face.

“Watch your fucking mouth when you talk to me.”

Feeling the agitation growing, I step toward him. Trying to act threatening, like I am any match for his huge body.

“Excuse me? You swoop in like Batman, save me, and then you play Houdini and disappear. Don’t get offended when I state the truth.”

After the words come out of my mouth, I realize I’m standing in between his legs, hyperaware of how close our bodies are.

Calm and undisturbed, he whispers just loud enough for me to hear, “You could have called me.”

“How? Through telepathy? It’s not like you gave me your number. What the hell, Drake?”

“It’s on the back of that paper I gave you, underneath the doctor’s. I take it you didn’t look.”

My cheeks flush as I feel the embarrassment take over.

I didn’t look.

Trying to shove the feeling down, I straighten my posture. “Well, if you wanted me to call so bad, you should have fucking said something.”

Turning on my heel, I walk away; leaving him in stunned silence, and head toward the break room.