15. Tony

Flint barked instructions into the phone, and a car appeared through the huge windows, making its way up the driveway. I’d never get the answers to the mate question or the weird shit in the car or how the mafia worked.

But I’d learned something about my father. And for the first time in my life, I met people, other than my dad, who knew him. He was liked, loved even, by this found family.

The door opened, as if by magic, and I told myself not to say goodbye and not to look back. Never look back at your kidnapper. I was sure that was written somewhere.

I strode out, and the urge to glance over my shoulder was so strong, but I steeled myself to look straight ahead.

The ride back to my shared apartment was a blur. I made the driver stop two blocks from my place, not wanting him to report back where I lived. But of course Flint knew the location of my apartment. He’d probably sent his henchmen to ransack it, looking for evidence that I was a plant, working for another mafia family or something equally ridiculous.

I tumbled into bed and slept until the next morning when I awoke with a start, wondering where I was. My first thought was, Where is he? and I was filled, not with joy or relief but something close to disappointment. Yikes, after being a captive for less than twenty-four hours, I needed to see a therapist.

The apartment was empty when I staggered out to the kitchen and made coffee. Ugh, it wasn’t as good as the stuff Flint had made yesterday. As I sat in bed, sipping my brew, I slid a hand under my shirt, the same one I’d worn yesterday. Not mine.

I was too exhausted to change last night before falling into bed. Or that was what I told myself. It was a reasonable explanation. No kidnap victim wasted time getting changed when they got their first taste of freedom, because I was now an expert on all things kidnapping.

My injuries were scabbing up as I brushed my hand over the uneven flesh.

My phone was at the club, so I’d need to get a new one. A burner phone. All the detective shows mentioned crooks with phones that couldn’t be traced. While I was no criminal, I suspected Flint’s people had the power to bug any device.

With no phone, I couldn’t contact the police and report what happened to me. And as the university had me on sick leave and with no job, I had no reason to leave the apartment. A new phone could wait until tomorrow or the next day.

I grabbed my laptop and opened a new document, ready to list everything that had happened since Emilio put a gun to my head.

Around midnight…

Was that when I was caught snooping? Maybe it was later? I chewed a nail and figured my brain was processing trauma and I couldn’t expect to type screeds of notes.

“Tomorrow,” I announced to the room and pulled the covers over me, ready to nap.

But Flint infiltrated my dreams. His scent, which was a combination of seduction, old leather, and danger, tickled my nose, demanding attention. The snake slithered off his punctured skin and taunted me, hiding under the bed before sliding into my closet, waiting to pounce. The grinding of his teeth when I pissed him off penetrated my dreams, as they grated and rubbed against one another.

While I tossed and turned, telling Flint to leave me be—no mobsters allowed—I clutched the bedding, the softness reminding me of his hand when it gripped mine. Woven in with dream-Flint was the creature I witnessed in the car, and I cowered until it vanished and only Flint remained.

In my head I saw Flint disrobing, his pants puddling on the floor before he dropped his underwear. His cock! That cock was going to be inside me. I spread my legs, begging him to hurry, telling him slick was sliding from my hole.

“I know.” He leaned over me and dragged me to the edge of the mattress, and my breathing sped up.

“You’re mine.” His eyes glowed, and I shivered, welcoming the hint of danger.

“Yes,” I mumbled. “Always. But I need your dick in my hole.” I lifted my legs and bent my knees and urged him to hurry.

He stood at the side of the bed, his length lined up with my entrance as I peered between my legs, begging him to shove it in. He fingered me, murmuring how wet I was, and when he removed it, I grabbed his dick, tired of his go-slow technique.

He grunted as I pumped his cock, pleased at his reaction. I pumped more and harder until he came in my hand. No! I needed him inside me.

I woke, my fingers on my cock, coated in my own cum, and I wept. He’d freed me, and yet I wasn’t really free.

With nowhere to be, I dozed the days and nights away, and not wanting any contact with my roommates, I avoided going to the kitchen when they were around.

But when I opened my eyes to an inky blackness and the computer told me I’d been home for four days, I studied the wrinkled shirt Rudy had given me. Gross! I showered, ridding my body of his aroma, his fingerprints, and traces of his breath. The water slid down my body, over the tiles, and gurgled into the drain, but I fell to my knees, hands scooping up the soapy water, wanting to keep the memories of him alive.

Gods, what was wrong with me? I turned off the water and lay on the shower floor until goosebumps pimpled my skin. Knowing I wasn’t going back to sleep, I pulled on jeans and a hoodie, put on a backpack I used for college, and grabbed my debit card, thankful I hadn’t taken it to the club that night.

Trawling the aisles at a convenience store a few blocks from my apartment, I stocked up on cheap snacks, needing the salty, oily, overly sweet, fake flavors to wash away the taste of kidnapping. And I bought a phone and a prepaid plan. I experienced a thrill at purchasing a device that couldn’t be traced.

But as I left the store, I should have turned left toward home, but I headed right, while stuffing cheeseballs and candy in my mouth at the same time. Gross but oh so satisfying. The phone jiggled in my pocket as I strode along the almost empty streets.

I didn’t have a destination in mind. I didn’t, and yet as I sped up, jaywalking across streets usually clogged with traffic, I told myself I was going to retrieve my belongings from my locker at the club.

The streets brightened with flashing neon lights as I headed toward the entertainment district where crowds spilled onto the streets and expensive cars disgorged and picked up their passengers. But I bypassed the street, the one fronted by La Luna Noir, and traipsed around the back. With each step, my brain implored me to turn around and walk away.

This part of your life is over.

Crinkled chips fell from my mouth onto the sidewalk, and I brushed the salty, spicy remains from my lips. What was I doing, having escaped Flint’s clutches and his basement, heading into the lion’s den?

But I reasoned I needed to get back my stuff. Yeah, my stuff. What was it? I banged a fist on my forehead trying to remember. A phone, ID, and something else. Clothes? Oh right, clothes. Damn, I had to return Flint’s clothes, but I left them at home. Shoot, I’d have to come back another night.

For now, I’d sneak around back. Maybe Bobbie or Todd would empty the trash and I could plead with them to collect my belongings from the locker. Not that I had the key, and I had no memory of where I’d left it.

There were three black cars near the back entrance. His in the middle, plus the two who’d flanked us to and from his house. I crouched behind the dumpster, telling myself I needed to rest before returning home, but why was I doing it behind a container of trash?

My old hoodie wasn’t very warm, having been washed countless times in laundromats, often late at night. I pulled out a chocolate bar and took a bite, enjoying the teeth-decaying flood of sugar. But I froze mid-chew as a door opened, the one for Flint’s private use, and I caught a whiff of his distinctive cologne.

I squinted because he always wore black, and in the dark, against the backdrop of La Luna Noir, I couldn’t make him out. But his security detail had to be there. I held my breath, waiting for footsteps, the car door to open and slam. But the footfalls continued, across the alleyway. What the fuck? Why would he be tossing garbage in the dumpster when he had people to do that for him?

My pounding heart blocked out any noise apart from the footsteps. I counted them as they came closer. One, two, three, while the chocolate melted on my tongue, the sweetness having turned bitter.

He stopped, and while I couldn’t make him out, he was so close I could hear his long, slow, deep breaths.

“What are you doing here, Tony?”

I must have imagined he said my name. No way could he have known I was hiding in the alley.

“Tony?”

Damn, wishing I could slither away like the snake etched on his skin, I heaved myself up. His shadowy form towered over me, and I held up the candy wrapper.

“I needed somewhere to toss my trash.”

He sighed. “Go home.” He turned and walked away, taking something of mine with him. Not my heart. Nope. That was firmly intact in my chest.

“I was going to return your clothes.”

His dark form paused. “Okay, but there was no need. They weren’t mine.”

Right. They belonged to some other kidnap victim. An unfamiliar emotion bubbled inside me, sliding and creeping into my veins. It was kind of like jealousy when I saw a former boyfriend with his new partner. But that wasn’t this. It couldn’t be. This was the guy who was considering killing me. And kept me in his basement.

But if it wasn’t jealousy, what was it?