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19
Karma
As it turns out, his idea of making it up to me is to transport me back to his island. He’d first driven me to a house in Palermo where a doctor—one he trusts, apparently—had checked me out. He’d checked out the wound at the back of my head, treated it, then given me a shot to help ease the pain. Guess Michael didn’t want to risk taking me to a hospital, though the doctor had been competent and very professional.
Then he had driven straight to the pier and whisked me up in his arms, despite my protesting that I’m not some stupid, helpless female. To which he’d retorted that he had rescued me, so perhaps I am more helpless than I thought. Which had promptly upset me more, but he’d ignored my reaction. He’d marched to his yacht… Yeah, there was a freakin’ yacht that he’d had anchored at the pier. He’d carried me aboard, parked me in a chair in the captain’s cabin, then had shrugged off his jacket and wrapped it about me. I had shoved one arm, then the other, into the sleeves, pulled it close—even as I had hated myself for snuggling into the comfort it offered, even as I had berated myself for being stupid enough to turn my nose into the collar and sniff, drawing his dark, edgy, masculine scent into my lungs. As he’d started the boat and steered it across the water, I had watched his broad back, his powerful shoulders, the corded strength in his arms as he had steered the boat, and my heart had stuttered. Hell. I had just told him that I wanted nothing to do with him, yet watching him maneuver the boat with that innate confidence that defines my Capo had turned my insides to jelly. I had slipped off the chair, walked up to him, and he had pulled me close to his side.
I had slid my arms about his lean waist and clung to him as he piloted the craft to the island. By the time we had reached it, I could barely keep my eyes open, thanks to whatever it was that the doc had given me, I guess. He had swung me up into his arms again, and I had fallen asleep as he’d carried me inside, only to wake up in the middle of the night screaming.
In my dream, I was back in that room, with that same gorilla of a man on top of me, threatening to…not only kill me, but first, to do much worse. He slapped me about, tore my clothes and… That’s when I woke up and found I was clinging to Michael.
His arms around me, he held me close enough for my breasts to be crushed against his massive chest. "Shh!" he soothed me, then rocked me and made these rumbling noises that seemed to emerge from deep within his chest. It soothed me enough to fall asleep, until I woke up this morning, alone…in his bed...in his room. Huh?
I stare about the space, wondering what it means? The last time I was on the island, I was his prisoner. Well, I still am, considering he said that he’s not letting me leave, despite my stated desire to do so.
I roll out of bed, trudge to the bathroom, and make the mistake of looking at myself in the mirror. I look terrible, downright frightening. The dark circles under my eyes are almost as dark as my favorite goth make up, which I don’t have with me to cover the ravages of my recent ordeal.
I shower, carefully wash my body, then shampoo all of the filth from my hair, wincing only a little when my fingers encounter the bump on my head. When I emerge, I find a set of newly-laundered and folded clothes, along with fresh underwear.
Was it him? More likely, Cassandra, assuming she returned to island as well. I pull on the jeans and T-shirt (both black), along with the socks and the sweatshirt (both grey), and walk down to the kitchen to find Cassandra at the stove cooking.
She turns to me with a smile on her face, "How do you feel?"
"Not too bad," I concede as I take a seat at the breakfast counter. "When did you get here?"
"Earlier this morning." She pours out a glass of orange juice, then places it in front of me.
I glance at it, then fold my hands in my lap.
"The Capo wants you to drink that."
"No doubt." I scowl at the glass of juice, "Where is he, anyway?"
"He had some business to see to."
"Is he still on the island?"
She nods.
"So why isn’t he here?" Jesus, why do I sound so whiny, so needy? Everything I had sworn to myself I never would be. Summer had taken good care of me, and had ensured that she had moved me out of the state’s foster care system as soon as she was old enough to be able to do so… Still, the time we had spent apart had taught me that, ultimately, the only person I can depend on is myself. "Forget I said that," I clear my throat.
"No need to explain." She slides a plate of pancakes in front of me, then places a jar of honey next to it, along with butter. As well as a cup of espresso. "I’m just glad you are safe."
"So, you heard what happened?"
"The Capo was beside himself. He didn’t rest for one second, not until he had found you. He contacted me early this morning and told me to get here so I could help make you more comfortable."
"Oh," I glance down at the pancakes, "maybe that’s what he wants you to believe." I raise a shoulder. "Or maybe, it’s just that he can’t bear the thought of anyone else getting ahold of what he considers his."
"And is that so bad?" She murmurs, "I’d give anything to have a man look at me the way he looks at you."
"What do you mean?" I frown, "I am not exactly his favorite person."
"That’s not true, you—"
"Cassandra." His hard voice rings out from the doorway.
Both of us turn to face him. I expect Cassandra to get nervous, or at least be startled at having been interrupted half-way through a conversation, which I am sure would have shed some more enlightening details on the Capo. Instead, there is no change in expression on her features. Huh?
