Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

BELLA

I watch as Sarah, my afternoon student, beams proudly. She's just aced the awkward spiccato passage we've been working on. Her enthusiasm makes me so freaking proud. "See? The bow bounced perfectly," I say, smiling as she giggles.

Her fingers dance on the strings. She looks up at me, eyes shining with pride.

"Can we do the minuet next?" she asks, already positioning her fingers for the next piece.

I nod, enjoying her eagerness. We review the bowing technique, focusing on smooth transitions and maintaining a steady tempo. Sarah quickly learns, and her small hands move over the instrument comfortably and intimately.

After the lesson, Sarah's mother reaches into her purse to pay me. She rummages around for a moment, then her expression shifts. "I must have left my wallet at home," she says tightly. "I'm so sorry. I can't believe I did this. I can run home and get it right now?—"

I raise my hand. "It's fine. I understand. These things happen. Don't worry about it." Relief touches her anxious features, her shoulders relaxing. I don't mention that the only way I can be this generous is because of the handsome and possibly dangerous stranger filling my safe day by day.

"Thank you so much. You're so kind," she says, her voice thick with gratitude.

"Please, there's no need," I say, cutting her off as gently as possible. "It's really okay. Sarah is such a joy to teach. That's more than enough." I crouch down to Sarah's level, giving her a warm smile. "Keep practicing that minuet, and remember to focus on your bow hold, alright?"

Sarah nods enthusiastically, her eyes shining. "I will!" she chirps, hugging her violin.

Once they're gone, I sit on the couch, yawning. I haven't been getting enough sleep for months. I think the money situation always plays at the back of my head. Now, it's still money, but in a different way. I wish I could stop thinking about that phone call. I wasn't even supposed to hear it.

When my cell buzzes, I snatch it up eagerly. I expect to see a text from Matt, but it's Emily. I assumed she'd be staying at her date's house again. She's done that plenty of times.

Bella? Are you there?

What's up? I reply.

I need you to come to this address and bring a bag of my things. Press the buzzer and act casual, okay? Just say you're here to see Emily and drop off some stuff. Then I should be able to come down and meet you.

I stand up immediately, my instincts pricking. Something's wrong. Is it that guy?

I'm texting you from the bathroom. He's being really pushy. He hasn't threatened me, but every time I mention leaving, he gets weird and aggressive. I don't want to push him. I've told him I'll stay again but need some stuff.

Okay. I'm on the way. You haven't sent the address, though.

Crap. Okay. Sending now.

A moment later, a pin appears. I rush into Emily's bedroom and grab a few things to make it look realistic. Quickly packing the bag, I flinch when another text comes through.

Hurry, please, Bella .

She knows I don't have a car. Getting to the pinned location will take me at least two hours. No, I can get a cab!

It shouldn't be longer than an hour. I'm going to call a cab.

An hour? Okay.

"Fuck," I whisper under my breath. Emily isn't the sort of friend to come out and say something isn't good enough, but that okay tells me everything I need.

Wracking my brain, I try to think of somebody with a car that could get me there quicker. Mr. Hudson from across the hall doesn't drive. Neither does Mom, and that's it. Isn't that sad? I don't have anybody else.

Except, maybe, there's one person I could ask—a tall, broad, muscular, intimidating man who would put the fear of God into any clinging date who wanted to pretend to be a tough guy.

Now he's getting angry because I'm "taking too long" in the bathroom. I won't be able to text for a while.

I won't be long, I reply. I promise .

Getting over the nerves and the doubt, I go to Matt's number and click call . As it rings, I try to stay calm and not overthink everything. My mind is torn apart by all the bad things that could happen to Emily. Still, if it was that bad, shouldn't we call the cops?

"Bella?" Matt says, his voice tight. Concern bubbles up in his savage tone. "Bella?"

It takes me a moment to respond. The concern in his voice makes my chest go all tight and warm. It's like he's worried about me.

"Sorry to call," I say quickly. "I didn't have anybody else."

"What's wrong?"

"One of my friends is stuck in her date's apartment. He hasn't threatened her outright yet, but he's being really weird and intimidating about letting her leave. She asked me to bring a bag of her things so she had an exc?—"

"You need a ride there," he says.

"Yes."

"I'm on my way."

"Just like that?" I whisper.

He hangs up, and then a text follows. I'm bringing my bike. It'll be easier to beat traffic. Wait outside. Wear jeans. I'll have a jacket for you.

I quickly get changed and then carry Emily's stuff downstairs, pacing up and down in front of my building. In a crazy short amount of time, maybe ten minutes, I hear the growl of a motorbike engine. The bike cuts around the corner, a sleek black road vehicle, not like a biker-gang bike.

Matteo isn't wearing a helmet, his hair glistening in the light. I feel a shiver running through my body when he pulls up beside me. It's how he stares as if he's ready to beat Emily's bully with his bare hands, just like the phone call.

Stepping off the bike, he opens the back part and removes a jacket and a helmet. "Put these on," he says. "They're Sofia's, so …"

He trails off, but he doesn't need to finish it. It might be a bit tight . It's nuts, considering the circumstances, but I feel my cheeks flushing at this reference to my size.

He frowns at me. For a split second, it's like I can read him. I imagine him saying, There's nothing wrong with your size.

"We need to hurry, right?" he says instead.

"Thanks for this," I murmur, wriggling into the leather jacket, ignoring how it clings to me. "I know it's odd."

He shakes his head. "We're wasting time. Your friend needs you."

I fiddle with the helmet. Thankfully, it fits far better than the jacket, but the strap seems designed to make me feel dumb.

"Come here," Matt says, his voice going breathy.

I step forward, and he reaches up and adjusts the strap for me. His hand brushes against my neck, and tingles dance down my body, under the jacket, whispering over my breasts like they're trying to tempt me. But there's no time for silly thoughts.

Yeah, right …

When I climb onto the back of the bike and wrap my arms around him, I know I will have to accept the sensations teasing me. He starts the engine, the thrum and the vibration making my body shudder. Thankfully, I can't let myself get too steamy. Or, more accurately, I can bury it for now.

Emily needs me.

Matt rides like a demon, cutting between cars, never hesitating, and never putting us or other drivers in danger. He has complete control at all times, even when going fast. I've never been on a motorbike before, but I don't feel afraid as I clutch onto his leather jacket.

I feel strangely safe, even when he takes the corners at sharp angles, causing us both to lean sideways.

"Hold tight," he yells at one point, and I hug him even closer.

A silly part of me wishes he wasn't wearing a shirt and I wasn't wearing a helmet. I could put my cheek against his bare back, feel his heat, his sweat, just him.

Thankfully, we arrive outside the apartment building in less than thirty minutes. This is good for Emily because she needs my help. It's also good for me because it stops my thoughts from going to those silly, impossible places. Think of Mom. Think of the money. Think of college. I need to make that into a mantra.

Climbing off the bike, I take off the helmet. "I'll just shoot her a text. Crap. I just realized, how will we get home?"

"I can call you a car," he says. "Just focus on getting your friend out of there first."

I place the helmet on the seat when he steps off. "Okay."

Typing quickly, I send, We're outside.

When her reply comes, my suspicion piques straightaway. Hey, hon, I've changed my mind. I think I misinterpreted him. I'm going to stay here instead. Sorry for the hassle!

"Bullshit," I whisper.

"What?" Matt asks, standing near me but not looking at the phone. His size blocks out what little sun this East Coast late afternoon offers. His scent washes around me, but none of that matters when I need to focus.

"She suddenly ‘wants to stay.'"

"You think he has her phone?"

"Yeah," I mutter.

"That's not good," he says, his voice getting low and somehow dangerous as he looks at the apartment building. "Do you know the apartment number?"

"Fuck," I hiss. "No, I don't. She just sent me the address."

Maybe my voice comes out a little too panicked. Matt reaches over and softly places his hand on my shoulder, giving it a squeeze that means far more than it should. Those tempting tingles dance through me again.

"One step at a time. Make sure it's not your friend first." He drops his hand as if just realizing what he's doing, leaving a phantom feeling in its place.

I take a breath. "Okay …"

In the text convo, I type, Yeah, duh, that was always the plan, but I've got your stuff like you asked.

Obviously, if he has her phone, he's read the previous messages. If he wants to keep playing the game, it's not as if he can just say it outright.

No, it's fine, Emily's phone replies. His sister left some stuff behind that fits me, and he has a toothbrush. Pretty perfect, huh?

"He's trying to speak like her," I murmur.

"Ask him something only she would know."

"Just come out and ask a random question? Won't that seem strange?"

"Doesn't matter," Matt says. "He's going to have more than strange to worry about soon."

A shiver runs up my spine as the phone call returns to me: his savage tone, his apparent capacity for violence. "I'll ask her what course my mom is studying. I doubt she'd mention that to him."

Ha ha, yeah, pretty perfect.

I stop typing.

"Wait. What if he bullies the answer out of her?" I murmur. "If she's there with him and I ask something, he might hurt her to get the right answer. We can't be sure even if he sends the right answer."

"And you don't know the apartment number?"

I hang my head. "No."

"Hey, Bella." I look up to find Matt DeLuca looking at me with an almost soft expression. "None of this is your fault. Now, I want you to wait across the street. When you see your friend, approach her immediately."

"See her how?"

"Just do what I say," he says bluntly, walking toward the apartment building. His shoulders are broad. His head is held high. I've heard the phrase knight in shining armor many times, but it's always seemed ridiculous to me until now.