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It wouldn’t be the first time I snuck off to a dark corner somewhere to take a nap when things at the bar were running a little slow. Most of the rooms upstairs are usually empty when I’m working, and after the internal battle I had with the Genoveses, I deserve a nap.
Although, I wouldn’t mind having a repeat sometime soon.
Willing my eyelids to open, my mind goes back to my time spent in room twenty-three. My entire body lights with need as I remember the way Matteo played my body like a finely tuned instrument, making me feel things I’ve never felt before. He looked at me as if I were the only woman on Earth, making me feel powerful, like I could take on the world. When he wrapped me in his arms, I felt safe and secure. The exact opposite of my feelings ever since I got into this mess.
I should be ashamed of how I acted, turning from a relatively levelheaded college student to acting like a dog in heat. The moment he touched me, it awakened a part of me I never knew existed, making me feel alive for the first time. Clenching my thighs together, events from last night play through my mind on a movie reel.
Each moment flashes in my mind, mingling with new fantasies as fast as my brain can conjure them. I want to know what it would feel like to have Antonio licking my pussy the same way he did with that woman. I want to know what it feels like to have Salvatore’s hands wrapped tightly around my throat, cutting off my air supply while Matteo watched, wanting to join in but being too aroused to do anything but shove his cock so deep down my throat I’d gag.
Would he grip my hair tightly and fuck my mouth like he promised earlier, or would he take his time dragging out both of our needs until we were ready to explode? My body tingles as I try to imagine what he’d taste like, a mixture of our cum coating his skin.
Sighing loudly, I will my eyes open and bring myself out of my fantasy world and back to the present. I groan loudly as I roll over and stare up at my ceiling.
How did I get home?
The last thing I remember is walking out of room twenty-three with sopping wet panties and the female equivalent of blue balls. After an internal pep talk and a reminder of why I was trying to get close to them in the first place, I headed back to work when—
The realization of what happened hits me right in the center of my chest like a ton of bricks. I shoot up out of the bed, immediately regretting it as the room spins. My head is throbbing in pain as I blink a few times, attempting to calm the pounding of my heart but failing miserably.
This is not the time to panic, Celia.
My argument with Mr. Black, the information he gave me about my sister, his threat—all of it comes flooding back to me. I want to scream, cry, and vomit all at the same time, but I’m unable to do any of those things. Right now, I need to focus on what happened after my brain shut down.
My hand flies to my chest, clutching my shirt tightly in my hand as I force myself to calm down. Passing out again isn’t an option, especially with all the cameras hidden around the apartment, recording my every move.
“Since you’re watching my every move, do you mind sharing with me how I got home last night?”
I pause for a few moments, waiting for the voice to come across the speakers hidden in the walls of my apartment. I’ve tried everything but cutting into the drywall to find them but keep coming up empty. I know they have cameras in all the common areas, but the bathroom and bedroom are the only rooms I think don’t have cameras, but I have no idea. When I hear nothing, I fling my legs over the side of the bed and stand.
My chest heaves as I try to control the wave of nausea that washes over me. I’ve dealt with the fallout of panic attacks before, but this is a whole new level. Body aches, headaches, dizziness, and exhaustion are signs I had a panic attack the night before, but this is the first time just moving is painful.
Get it together, bitch! One foot in front of the other.
“Of course, the one time your creepy cameras could be of use, you aren’t listening.”
Shuffling out of the bedroom, I search my small apartment for any signs of how I got home last night. Not only did someone bring me home, but they cleaned. My apartment is immaculate, probably cleaner than the first day I woke up in the bedroom. I’m not a messy person by any means, but I’m not a neat freak either. However, it’s nice to smell something other than the burrito I’m pretty sure I left on the counter before heading to work last night.
Other than being clean, there doesn’t seem to be a thing out of place. My bag is hanging on a hook beside the door, my front door locked up tight.Maybe I came home on my own.But I don’t think that’s possible. My mind broke the moment Mr. Black told me what he planned to do with my sister. Everything after that is a blur. I vaguely remember someone picking me up off the floor, warm, protective arms carrying me somewhere before I passed out. I doubt with the way Mr. Black was acting last night, he had anything to do with ensuring I arrived home safely. It had to be someone else, but then, who was it?
I continue wracking my brain for who could’ve possibly gotten me home last night, but not one person comes to mind. There must be some way to know who brought me home, but how? There’s no doorman in the building that I’ve seen, but I keep weird hours. Mostly only leaving the apartment late at night to head to the club and coming home after the sun rises most days doesn’t leave time to meet the neighbors.
The only other place I go to is a little bodega at the end of the street. They have the best breakfast burritos that I’ve ever had. Since I can’t really cook worth a damn, that place keeps me fed. My stomach rumbles loudly just from thinking about those burritos. May as well go get something to eat. Thinking on an empty stomach is the worst.
Having decided, I check my watch to make sure the bodega is open before glimpsing my reflection in the mirror and freezing. Instead of the tight-fitting black dress I wore to work last night, I’m in an oversized gray sweatshirt, exposing my right shoulder. All makeup has been cleaned from my face, but my hair looks like a haystack. I look down and notice a pair of soft black leggings hugging my body.
How fucking out of it was I last night?
Shaking the cobwebs from my mind, I try to focus on the task at hand. Food. Whoever brought me home last night didn’t do anything untoward, thankfully. Although the details are fuzzy. If they wanted to do anything to me, they could’ve. I was vulnerable in a way I never want to be again, and that terrifies me. The how and the why they did what they did can wait till I find them. No sense stressing myself out, trying to figure it out on my own. I have more important things to worry about.
My stomach growls again, bringing my mind back into focus. “Food first. Panic attack later.” I grab my bag off the floor and head out the door. The street in front of my apartment is almost empty because of the time of day. This part of Chicago is up-and-coming, mostly hipster families looking for a trendy and safe place to live and possibly start a family. At this time of day, I won’t see anyone besides a few joggers and nannies pushing strollers on their way to Millennium Park.
It only takes me a few minutes to reach the bodega. The tiny bell above the door rings as I pull open the door and head inside.
“Buenos dias, CeCe.” Mr. Gutierrez waves at me from behind the counter.Good morning, CeCe.“Mi hermanaput fresh burritos in the warmer for you.”My sister.
“You guys are too good to me.” I giggle, making a beeline for the warmer on the counter.
Mr. Gutierrez and his sister, Maria, have been running this bodega for years. It’s been in his family since his great-grandfather immigrated here from Chile when they were young children. The entire family helps run the bodega—heck, I’ve even watched the store a few times when they’ve had an emergency. After coming here every day for almost a month, we’ve gotten to know each other. They ask me questions about myself, but I only answer basic questions, keeping as much information as I can about myself hidden. The last thing I want to do is say too much and put Mr. Gutierrez and his family at risk. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something happened to either of them.
