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Chapter Four – Cade
When I’d told my father I was going to the party Luca Moretti was throwing for Giselle Santos, he’d looked at me like I was crazy. It was the second time I was going to something Luca was throwing, the second time I’d shocked him by it. After all, we were not a family that went out and partied it up. My father, Isaac, had taught me and my brothers everything we’d need in life.
My sister was going to take over the family business, but that was only one thing we did. My brothers and I were going to take over the more underground aspect of the business, as Guild members. The great dragon had birthed many sons to take the bloody helm once his time to retire came.
Being on the Black Hand would be a bonus. Besides, you could always use more hitmen, right?
In the end, my father didn’t stop me, mostly because he knew he couldn’t. I wasn’t a child anymore. I hadn’t been a child for a long, long time. I could do what I wanted—and sometimes I did things to get others off my back.
Take my brother, Archie, for instance. The fucking tool. He thought I should relax more. Have some fun while I was here, really live it up, see what Cypress had to offer. He didn’t come with us, but that didn’t stop him from inserting himself into my business, applying to a certain club for me, and insisting that I go and let loose.
Because apparently I didn’t do enough of that.
I didn’t want to go. Oh, fuck no, I really didn’t want to go, but I could only take staying at that hotel with my father for so long before I went a little nuts. So, I’d gone to the damned club, learned their rules, signed whatever it was I had to, and went in, not expecting anything.
The Playground was a sex club, a place my brother would love to frequent, but me? It wasn’t really my thing. Nameless sex with strangers might be fun to some, but to me? Nah. In fact, I didn’t really do relationships, either.
I’d tried, but the girls… the girls were just not enough to keep my focus. Nice to hold, more than nice to fuck, but that’s it. Everyone always wanted the money or the power; very rarely did I stumble upon anyone, man or woman, who wanted me for me. So, I guess, Archie’s thought process was sound. If I was sick of relationships that went nowhere, why not try something with no strings attached?
The first night I went, I didn’t do anything. I watched, took mental notes. Really got the feel for the place. No one called out to me. I was approached and propositioned by more than a few women—and men—but I declined each and every one. I wasn’t going to force myself to do it without feeling the urge.
I’d told myself I wasn’t going to go back, but… I don’t know. It was like something drew me out that night, something instinctual, like I’d known someone else was going to be there. And, shock of shocks, there had been someone new there—I could tell by the way she’d dressed.
When you did what I did for a living, you had to have a good memory. You had to make mental notes of people, always be aware of their possible reactions. Just like exits. You always had to make notes of where the nearest exit was, in case everything went to shit.
Why didn’t I realize right away who that girl was? I didn’t know. Maybe, deep down, I’d wanted to pretend she was just a stranger in need of a man like me. Someone who could help her feel again, and she, in turn, could revitalize me. Maybe I’d wanted the impossible.
She was young. Gorgeous, beneath that mask. Not a scar on her body, not a flaw anywhere to be seen. The sounds she’d made while coming, both when my fingers were inside of her and when my cock speared her… they were unlike any other sounds I’d heard. She was a fucking angel, and knowing that she’d never been with anyone she’d chosen herself filled me with something I couldn’t begin to describe.
Not then, anyway.
And then I’d found out how old she was, and that’s when it really hit me. The gloves had been my first clue, but I’d willingly been blind, too drawn to her to care. Then everything she’d told me had been clues numbers two, three, four… you get the idea.
She’d said I could have the gloves to remember her by, and I’d kept them. Didn’t know why. I took them home, stared at them an awful lot. Did a whole lot of thinking, too. When I saw Giselle at the bonfire, I was too busy wrestling with myself and everything I’d let myself feel for her during the time we were together at the club.
She was as off-limits as someone could be. It could only end in disaster, after all. Our fathers were going head-to-head, so to speak, for that position on the Black Hand. Plus, she really was too young for me.
So I’d barely said two words to her at the bonfire. Or maybe I didn’t say anything that night. I didn’t even remember. I’d gone to that club again with the intent of wiping my brain of her, getting Giselle Santos out of my head for once and for all—except, what would you know, Giselle was there again, and unlike the first time, she was furious.
Not quite like herself that first time, she’d taken me into a private room because I let her, even though I’d known it was a bad idea to have her again. You could only do drugs so much before they started to become everything you thought about, before they began to consume you completely. Until you got addicted.
She’d taken charge, handcuffed me to the bed. Giselle did whatever she wanted to me, and I let her. I let her, knowing full well that I was fucked every which way from Sunday.
And she’d left me there. She left me on that bed, handcuffed, as she fucked me and then ran away without looking back. I’d tried to call after her, but I didn’t stop her. She left, and it took me a while to break that bed frame and get myself up. I had to offer to cover the damages, of course, saying that I’d done it on accident.
Yeah. A fucking lie to cover Giselle’s pretty ass.
I’d gone home that night pissed off. Pissed at Giselle, but more pissed at myself for allowing it to happen again. But I’d had her twice, and I couldn’t shake the thought of her out of my head, just like I predicted. I’d fucking dreamt about her that night. I mean, what the absolute fuck was that about? I blamed my brother.
When my father had told me that Giselle was in the hospital, that she’d gotten shot, it was like the wind had gotten knocked out of me, like the world had suddenly stopped turning beneath my feet. I’d thought I didn’t hear him right, but then he went on about getting her flowers and possibly visiting her—to keep up appearances, lest anyone in the Hand think we had anything to do with it, since we were hired killers, among other things.
She really was shot. That night, as she left the Playground. If she wouldn’t have handcuffed me to that bed, I would’ve run out with her. I would’ve stopped her… and she wouldn’t have gotten shot. Someone had tried to kill Giselle, and the asshole only did it because she’d been alone while running away from the Playground, from me. I could’ve stopped it, could’ve killed them instead and saved her some pain.
Giselle didn’t deserve any more pain. I’d learned more about her in those two Playground sessions than I did outside of that club, and I’d bet I knew more about her than most of these other assholes.
So, yeah, I didn’t exactly want to go to another party Luca was throwing, but it was for Giselle, so I knew she’d be there. I took a pair of her gloves—I didn’t need to keep them both—and tucked them into my pocket, told my father I was going, and then headed out. And when I got to the club in downtown Cypress, she wasn’t there yet. I got a drink, wandered up to the second floor of the club, and waited.
I waited for what seemed like an eternity for her to show her face, and when she did, it was with Luca. They went into one of the other booths, far enough away from me that I couldn’t hear them. It looked like they were close, though.
