My fingers grip his forearm, but he sweeps his hand around my hip, keeping me upright. Then he lifts me entirely, taking me into his arms as though I weigh nothing. Instead of the stairs, he carries me down the hall, deeper into the apartment’s layout. When he reaches a closed door, I can feel him hesitate before he finally pushes it open.
A spacious bedroom lurks behind it, one accented with navy walls and pops of scarlet. His sheets are red, his comforter black. Apart from a black wooden dresser, he doesn’t have much furniture, leaving the space almost utilitarian. Somewhere he sleeps, savoring his time alone.
Time to read the battered book I spy on a nightstand as he sets me down on the wide mattress, double the size of mine. I’m too stunned by the feel of the blankets to fully process the action. This whole room smells like him, a haven of smoke and coconut. But my observation is cut short when he pushes me down.
“Sleep.”
He turns, leaving the room and closing the door behind him.
Even now, he’ll bend his rule, but he won’t break it.
Chapter Twenty-One
I wake up so disoriented I know I’m dreaming. The bed beneath me is far too soft to be mine. Too big. Soft blankets shroud me in swaths of fabric, and it feels as though I could lie here forever.
But raised voices intrude my refuge, sounding as if they’re coming from directly below.
“…said you told him to stand down,” a man says, his voice so deep it seems to vibrate through the floor, up the bed frame, and into my very bones. “Since when do we cower in our territory?”
“He isn’t worth it,” a man replies, his voice so level I almost don’t recognize it. Rafe. He must be down in his shop, and the sound must carry easily in this old building. “There’s no point in—”
“No point in proving that we are not people to be fucked with?” the other man counters, his inflection conveying a dangerous implication. “I’ve given you more control than most men would,” he adds. “Don’t make me regret that, Rafael.”
“You won’t,” Rafe replies.
“And now with the missing Wen girl. The police will be buzzing around, sticking their fucking noses where they don’t belong. You need to get a handle on this. Now. Not toy with your fucking whores, or waste time doing whatever the hell it is you do in this shithole of a playhouse.” The vitriol in his tone makes my skin crawl. It’s cruel, directed at more than just this building, but at everything down to the drawings adorning the walls.
Every piece of art.
“I will,” Rafe says.
“And if you don’t… You know I don’t give second chances.”
The man must leave because I hear a bell chime as though the main door was opened. In his absence, heavy footsteps resonate, though muted from the distance. I recognize the slow, steady gait. Rafe. Pacing?
He must do so for what seems like hours, forming endless circles. Finally, the sound trails off only to be replaced by the louder thud of advancing footsteps entering the apartment. He comes close only to retreat without trying the door. Again, minutes later.
My brain reads into the action. His attempts to do what he did the first night I stayed here. Tell me to leave. Uphold his rule.
Pain shoots down my spine as I push back the covers and gingerly sit upright. I’m still wearing his shirt, my shoes removed, my bag nowhere in sight. I brace my feet on the floor and attempt to stand. My knees buckle, and I have to clutch the bed frame just to stay upright.
Bit by bit, I inch toward the door and push it open. My eyes scan the living room for my stuff. I find my bag on the couch and my shoes near the door. I start for them first and attempt to wrestle my feet into each sandal.
From this position, I have a clearer view of the apartment’s common space—including the figure standing in the kitchen with his back to me. He sighs heavily, rummaging through a pile of assorted items. I can tell from the set of his shoulders alone that he’s sensed my presence.
I don’t wait for him to turn around scowling or to dish out his trademark kiss-off.
Limping with the effort, I start for my bag. I barely get my fingers around the strap when it’s yanked from my grasp. A sturdy arm hooks around