“Fuck!” I growl in frustration before launching the glass in my hand at the wall.
Vicky flinches, her brown eyes growing wide at the outburst. I glance at her, an apology on my lips.
“Sorry, sweetheart but you’re going to have to leave.”
She recovers fast, her hand going to hips, “But baby, I want you.”
I shake my head, “Not tonight.”
Eventually, I get her to put her clothes on and one of my men leads her out of the house. Once she’s gone, I request for a partner in the boxing ring at the center of the basement. I really just want someone to beat the shit out of me.
But none of them measure up. A few punches to my ribs that have me winded are all I get. But they’re going to have to be enough.
I just need to get her out of my head. Her voice, her smile, her taste.
Fucking everything.
* * *
I cave a week later. A boring day has me driving to the bar, seeking something to fill the emptiness in my chest. I park across the street and wait for Liliana to show up. Just like that first night when I waited for her for several hours.
This time it’s only thirty minutes before I catch sight of her strolling to the doors of the bar. My heart lurches in my chest as I watch her. The heels of her ankle boots click against the ground as she strolls. The baby blue dress she’s wearing stops right above her knees. She looks even more stunning than in my memories. Memories I’ve been trying hard to blot from my mind.
She’s completely distracted as she walks, her eyes unfocused which annoys me a little. Anyone could walk up to her and knock her out in a manner of seconds. She could be in the back of a van before she blinks, bound and vulnerable.
She needs to be more conscious of her environment.
Almost like she hears me, her head lifts up at the last minute and she turns around, looking for something. I lean downwards in my car but it doesn’t matter, I’m shrouded by darkness and too far away for her to see anything. Eventually she shrugs and walks into the bar. I exhale a soft breath when I lose sight of her.
What the fuck are you doing here, Rafaelle?
Despite my irritation with myself, I go back to see her three more times. Space out my visits. One night I get close enough to hear her singing through the doors of the bar. But most of the time I just watch her arriving at the bar and leaving at the end of her shift. Like a fucking stalker.
Three weeks later, I notice she stops coming. It’s business as usual at the bar. But when someone else puts on a performance on a night she was meant to be there, I immediately know something’s wrong.
I send out a text to my guards, knowing I might need backup.
The brown haired man behind the bar doesn’t blink as I walk up to him. He’s a couple years older than me, with wrinkles around his mouth and a hard look in his eyes. He knows exactly who I am and he’s undoubtedly not a fan.
“Where is she?”
“I’m not sure who you’re talking about,” he says dryly.
My eyebrows rise and in the next breath I’m grabbing a gun from the inside of my jacket. I raise it in the air, not even hesitating before I take a shot. Pandemonium ensues, the people in the bar run for their lives. Some of my men rush in, offering protection. I don’t take my eyes off the man behind the bar.
“What’s your name?” I question.
“Carlos,” he replies tightly, though there’s no missing the way his eyes flash with fear. “I own this place and if you don’t leave in two seconds, I’m calling the police.”
“Go ahead,” I state. “But first you’re going to tell me where Liliana is.”
“She’s gone,” he says and I hear a note of triumph in his voice.
Anger slices through my skin, hot and uncomfortable.
“What do you mean gone?” the words are heavy as they leave my throat.
“I mean she’s left the city. Escaped you and everything fucked up about your life. You’ll never find her.”
