5. Chapter 5

5

I can hear him moaning in the bathroom like he's not even trying to hide the fact he's taking care of himself in there. It isn't very pleasant. Even if I wanted to cover my ears and not listen to him, I find myself unable to do that. It's stuck inside my brain that I know exactly what he's doing. And the fucked-up part of my brain wants to know what he's thinking about. What does Jace like? He's all hard muscle, dirty blond man-bun, and striking steel-blue eyes. Annoying and hot. Ever since the incident, many things have stopped. My feelings got shoved down, I stopped talking, and I stopped caring for just about everything. I felt trapped in my skin, hating everything, including myself. I also no longer found anyone attractive.

Until Jace.

And I can't help but hate it with every fiber of my body. Why does it have to be the much older man that makes me uncomfortable? Why must I find him attractive, and most of all, does he have to be the one who is on this stupid protection job? I should hand myself over to Antonio at this rate. I don't know why my family thinks it's a good idea to save me from what I'm meant for. It's a rule in the mafia, family marries off their children all the time. It's normal for us to marry out of duty instead of love. I knew that growing up, it was bound to happen. So, I don't understand why my family is hiding me when I'm meant to marry another mafia man.

I jump when a sharp knock echoes into the room. Clutching my sweatshirt against my chest, I glance between the bathroom door and the main door. The shower still runs, and I doubt Jace heard the knock. Not with the way he's moaning and groaning in there.

So, I have two options. Ignore whoever it is at the door. Jace was hired to protect me, and answering the door while he's currently showering doesn't sound like the best choice. But on the other hand, he ordered pizza, and I'm starving.

I'm up, heading towards the door before I even think too much about my actions. My hands shake as I reach for the lock, slowly sliding it from the bolt. Wrapping my hand around the doorknob, I twist, only for my back to be slammed against the wall. The force knocks the wind out of me, and my fingers dig into whoever has me by the throat. The logical part of my brain knows it's Jace, it has to be. He's the only one who could have been in the room. He made sure no one was inside before I even showered. I've been staring at the door the entire time. But that doesn't stop the panic rising in my throat, the goose bumps breaking out across my skin. And worst of all, I'm a little turned on when I stare up at Jace's eyes. This is the first time he's looked angry with me and not just annoyed.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he hisses. His muscular frame towers over me, his fingers digging into my neck, and that does nothing to help the slickness between my legs. How can I be terrified of touch for the past three years, but the moment a dude shows me any type of kindness, I'm ready to spread my legs like a buffet?

"How am I supposed to protect you when you continue to put yourself in danger? Running into the diner's bathroom, answering doors—what else are you going to do?" He growls, tightening that grip around my throat. The muscles in his forearm flex and it's like a fucking water gate in my panties. I should not find this attractive, but I do .

"Use that fucking brain of yours, Blake."

Why do I hate him calling me that now? I want him to call me Sunshine and it's only been one damn day. I need to get myself under control. Twelve hours being stuck in a car with a giant Viking man, and I throw any regard for my personal safety out the window?

"Stop putting yourself in danger, do you fucking understand?" he nearly yells in my face. I can feel the tears threatening to fall. I nod my head, needing him to let go of me. I need control. I need something to stop the racing thoughts begging to be let loose in that little dark corner of my head. I locked it away, but now it's there, breaking free and I can't stop the urges.

With a sigh, Jace releases my throat and steps back. The way he moves seems more animal than human. His eyes move around the room as if he thinks the threat is inside this room.

Ducking around him, I slam the bathroom door closed behind me, flipping the lock. My eyes dart around to nothing familiar, forcing my anxiety to rise even higher. Everything is wrong, everything is off, and I hate it.

"Please," my voice is broken.

"Stupid fucking bitch," Henry yells at me in Russian. My head rolls to the side, my body aches, the pain numbs and moves towards my hip. I can barely open my eyes. I don't even know what they've done to me. I don't care anymore. "You ungrateful fucking cunt," Henry hisses. Another blow to my thigh, I don't even know what he's hitting me with anymore. My throat burns, and I can feel blood coating my teeth.

"Where is he?" someone else in the room asks. I'm not sure who he's talking about, and I can't ask. I've tried and the blood running down my cheek is proof they didn't like being questioned. I was supposed to magically know who they were talking about.

"She's going to tell us one way or the other," a third voice fills the air. I don't know how many there are anymore. A new voice appears every second, or my mind is playing tricks on me .

I open my mouth to say something, anything at this point, but nothing comes out. No words, no sounds. Even when the burning travels along my torso up my chest.

That was the last time I spoke.

It's been three years, and I haven't uttered a word. No one understands, and truth be told I don't either. I think I can, but I can't. I'm weak and broken. I'm that scared seventeen-year-old, stuck inside the room being beaten because of who I was. I never asked to be born into the mafia. I never asked for any of this. But because Henry hated my father and because my brother killed someone who turned against him, Billy and Nathen's father decided Tobias's sister was the best revenge.

I hate them.

I hate them.

I hate them.

I'm grabbing the curtain from the shower before I know what I'm doing, pulling it down. It's not enough, and my focus turns towards the toilet. Yanking the lid from the toilet tank, I throw it across the bathroom. The mirror smashes, glass flying everywhere. Picking a piece up, I flip it through my fingers. Nicking my thumb, my lips stretch into a smile. Crimson blood runs down my hand, the satisfying itch bringing the calm rushing into my chest. I can finally breathe. It's beautiful.

"BLAKE!" Jace's voice breaks into my thoughts. "OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!" He bellows. Biting my lip, peeking around the destroyed bathroom, I cringe. All that just to have it ruined with reality.

"I swear if you don't open the door in the next two seconds, I will be breaking it down. On—" Yanking the door open, I stand before him. Jace sighs in relief only to stop the moment his eyes land on the mess behind him.

"Blake."

All he says is my name and I know I truly fucked up. I acted like a toddler, and now he's going to scream and yell at me.

"What the fuck did you do?" he asks .

Shrugging, I glance over my shoulder. I know exactly what I have done. I panicked, needed control, and just like everything else in my life, I ruined it.

"Sunshine," he mumbles.

My veins grow cold, my heart freezes, and I'm snapping my head up. Expecting Jace to be angry, to be red in the face, and ready to yell at me. He tilts his head to the side…and he looks sad. I don't like that look. I don't want him to be angry, but I also don't want him to be sad. He shouldn't be sad. I'm just a job to him, but the way he's looking at me… It's something else, something more. But it can't be more.

I can't be more.

I'm ruined.

Shaking my head, I point around him towards the bed. That's what I need, a good night's rest, and I'll be all good tomorrow. I'll be back to my angry self, hating the world, and ignoring Jace as I do with everyone else.

He nods his head as if I spoke aloud to him. Moving out of the way, I climb into the bed furthest to the front door. It doesn't matter which bed I choose. Once he goes to bed, I'll be locking myself in the bathroom again. I just need him to go to sleep.

***

The thing about not being able to sleep, is every little sound is as if it's right next to you. So, when the motel doorknob rattles, I hear it instantly. I sit up clutching the blanket against my chest, glancing around the bathroom that somewhat remains a mess. At some point, Jace had cleaned it after receiving the pizza. It wasn't long after that he got into bed himself and his soft snores had filled the room. The moment I heard him snore I was up and into the bathroom, locking the door and lying in the tub. I was able to get maybe an hour of sleep before I awoke, and now the rattling sounds fill the room.

I sit up, moving the blanket off just as the sound of a gunshot rings out. I flinch, my body freezes, and my breathing picks up.

Jace.

The adrenaline floods my system. Shoving the blanket off me, I'm swinging my leg over the tub. My foot gets caught in the covers as I go to take a step. The first thing you don't want to happen when you're in a rush and scared that you're about to get attacked is to fall face-first. Of course, I have about as much grace as a fucking panda bear, and the tile floor smacks against my forehead. My vision blurs. Reaching up, I wince the moment my fingers touch my head. Pulling back, blood covers my fingertips.

Well, fuck.

"Blake," Jace's voice filters in above me. Glancing up, something hits me—relief, he's alive. I didn't realize in this short amount of time I had grown some sort of attachment. And I'm not sure I like the idea of that. "Oh, fuck," he mutters, bending down. "What happened?" he asks.

Tilting my head to the side, butterflies swarm inside my stomach. Why is he asking what happened? Why does he care? I'm a job.

The rattling of the motel door with harsh voices stops me from trying to even explain that I'm just clumsy and a danger to myself.

Jace grabs a hold of my bicep helping me to my feet. I find myself not minding his touch, not that I have time to think about it. He pulls me from the bathroom and glances between the door and where our beds are.

"Get under the bed," he orders.

I don't question him and crawl under the closest bed, making sure to face towards the foot of it. I can't see much but Jace's boots standing in front and the click of what I think is a gun. Then everything happens too fast. The door bursts open, and three pairs of shoes come into view, stopping when they only see Jace.

"Where's the girl?" one of them asks in a faint Italian accent. Antonio's men.

Panic claws at my throat, the realization that his men are here for me. And only Jace stands in the way of me walking out of here alive or in the hands of men who are surely going to beat me.

I grab onto Gabriel's hand, dragging him back into the house. Salem has guns all around the house—my whole family made sure we knew how to use them. Even if I was blind, I could figure it out. I never get the chance before the explosion of guns echoes around us. I'm thrown back before I can register the burning sensation running down my right arm. They fucking shot me.

"Henry!" Gabriel yells. Of course, why didn't I think about my personal bodyguard?

"H-he—fuck," I cry out. I bite my lip to stop the tears from forming. I refuse to cry because I got shot. Gabriel's heavy footsteps come towards me, stepping on my hand. "DON'T STEP ON ME!" I scream. Fuck, I'm never going to let him live this down.

"Shit, sorry," he whispers. "Ohmygod, ohmygod," Gabriel is spiraling, and I don't have the patience to handle him panicking while I try and control myself.

"Gabriel…" I hiss and my vision blurs. Blinking, I try to focus on the task at hand. "Look at me!" I yell. "Salem has guns everywhere in this house. Find one." If I can't go look, he can.

Gabriel gets to his feet. His legs wobble, but he doesn't move.

"Gabriel!" I yell, spooking him into action. He runs into the kitchen, "Check under the kitchen table, I know for sure she has one under there." My voice comes out rough. I know I'm losing too much blood. If I don't get something to stop this soon, I'm going to pass out and I can't let that happen. Looking around, I try to find something I can apply pressure with when Gabriel is suddenly thrown on the ground, and someone stands above him, kicking his side.

"S—stop!" I scream.

"Shut up, bitch," he snarls at me. My eyes widen as I realize it's… Henry, my bodyguard. I open my mouth to ask, to understand what he's doing instead of helping us when he turns back towards Gabriel. "Stupid fucking slut. Damn boss, I can't even understand what he sees in your ass."

I'm shaking my head, confused, and in denial that Henry, who worked for my dad for so long, is now beating Gabriel, my brother's boyfriend. I know Gabriel doesn't understand any of this, and I don't either.

"Enough," another man says as he steps forward. Bile rises in my throat as I look up.

"Boris, what are you doing?" My voice shakes, my shoulder forgotten as I look up at my old guard. The one that was left in Russia. Why is he here? Why are my dad's two guards not helping us?

Gabriel looks up before sneaking a look at me, both of us realizing that Henry and Boris aren't here to help us. They're the ones attacking, and no one is here to help.

"Something I should've done a long time ago." Boris laughs.

I don't see what happens. Boris knocks something over my head. Everything goes black.

"RUN!" Jace bellows. Shaking my head, I'm frozen as the memories threaten to take hold of me again. Panic claws my chest, and bile rises in my throat. I swallow it back when I hear Jace grunt again. "Fuck," he hisses. Desperation finally kicks me in the rear, and I crawl out from under the bed.

My eyes immediately are drawn to the dead guy on the ground, his eyes vacant.

"RUN goddamnit," Jace growls out. My eyes widen when I see Jace struggling to get the upper hand. He opens his mouth to yell at me again, but I'm already moving towards the door, running into the motel hallway until I reach the exit and into the fresh cold air. Looking behind me, I make it two feet before I run smack dab into a hard chest. Flying back, I hiss when my ass hits the concrete. He grabs at my ankle, and I kick, trying to get him off me.

"Ah, fucking bitch!" he yells when my foot connects with his dick. I smile, scrambling to my feet. My fight-or-flight instincts finally catch up, and turning around, I catch Jace's car from the corner of my eye. I can hide under that until he comes to find me. Jace will find me. I refuse to let myself think something will happen to him.

I'm yanked by my hair, something hitting the side of my head. Black dots invade my vision and my brain pounds against my skull. I wince when he pulls me by my hair, my back flattening against his chest.

"Antonio sends his regards," he breathes into my neck.

No. No. No .

There's a difference between saying, "I might as well turn myself over to the Capo of the Italian Mafia" and actually doing it. But it's the way this man—whoever he is, is standing behind me. Something's different about this whole situation.

They aren't going to take me back to Antonio, they're here to kill me. And something about that brings some sort of peace. I won't be haunted by the past anymore; I won't be scared of my reflection, and I can finally breathe.

I'm shoved down, my throat screaming in protest when my knees connect with the ground. I bite down on my lip hard enough that blood fills my mouth. I stare up at the monster that has come to put me out of my misery. A gun presses against my forehead. The beautiful thing about being faced with death, is the air that fills my lungs becomes a little easier. I close my eyes, a small smile playing on my bloodied lips. At least I'll be safe… A grunt sounds above me.

My eyes snap open, only there's no longer a gun pressed against me or aimed in my direction. He's no longer in front of me. Instead, Jace stands there, breathing heavily, his shoulders rising and falling as he stares into my face. Looking over, I'm shocked to find the guy lying on the ground. His hands wrap around something lodged in his throat. I squint my eyes trying to see what it is…a fucking pen.

Jace stabbed him in the throat with a pen.

"Sunshine," Jace whispers.

Looking up, he holds a hand down for me. Glancing between him and his hand, covered in blood, I swallow the lump in my throat before slipping my hand into his. Ignoring the tingle in my skin that I'm willingly touching another human, a man, nonetheless.

Jace might not be all that bad. At least not yet.