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The uncertainty is driving me to the edge of insanity. Only a sociopath would want to toil with someone like this only to kill them in the end.
“The point is that I don't need you to feel safe.”
Chapter Two
BENEDETTO
Why, why, fucking why?
Why am I on this side of the fucking fence?
I guess it is true what they say, that no matter how much you fight it, the heart just always wants what it wants. And unfortunately for the both of us, I can't stop wanting her.
Fuck me. Fuck her. Fuck whoever made that disturbingly truthful quote. Fuck my fried brain for not being able to stop fixating on her.
I bite down on my lower lip, conjuring the pain to rush to my brain and quiet my twirling mind.
Pain is a tool for the tumult.
I'm close to going berserk with the rampaging thoughts of regret after losing myself and acting on impulse instead of logic.
I shove my phone back into the pocket of my black jeans, after sending a text to Orazio, my childhood best friend and my right-hand man, to explain the situation as best as I can with my right hand, while my left-hand does the driving.
I cannot believe I am fucking doing this.
I tighten my grip around the steering wheel as I drive us to my city, my territory, Boston, to keep her safe from the one man I should be taking sides with and delivering her to for her betrayal.
I should be going in the fucking opposite direction. I should be doing the fucking opposite from what I'm doing right now.
Someone, please tell me why the fuck I decided to get myself into this mess? This girl is a cheat. She mocked my family with Tiziano, that was seen tongue fucking her in the open.
My grip around the steering wheel tightens some more as the images of them captured by the press and all the videos that became a trend start to swing past my mind. My knuckles start to turn white from how hard I'm gripping the steering wheel. If I clench any fucking harder I'll see my knucklebones tear their way through my skin.
“Damnit,” I grit under my breath. It's fucked up. It's going to get a lot messier than this. I can feel the many ways that this can come back to bite me hard in the ass. Mark is dead.
This party is about to get fucking wild, but I still can't fucking stop driving. Instead, if there's were a way this car can drive faster, or maybe turn into a fucking airplane, I'd appreciate it.
I steal a look from my side eye and notice she has her head resting on the window frame and her hands folded across her chest.
She looks different from hours ago. She is no longer quivering as much as before, and her breath sounds a lot calmer from the whizzing ragged tempo it had when I took her out of the rave.
She was so sure she would be dead.
Poor thing.
I turn to look at her for a quick minute and see that she is sleeping. Shoot me already. One minute she is talking about being killed and not sure of her safety with me, and the next she is curled into a comfortable position and sleeping like this is some family vacation road trip.
She makes a soft sound in her sleep, then sweeps her cascading caramel waves off the side of her face to the back of one ear, and hugs herself tighter than before, making her skimpy dress drag up a bit to show velvety flesh.
I clear my throat and focus my attention back to the somewhat hazy road ahead of us. We are out of New York now and have reached Boston. Driving all night must have worn her out, that and the fact that she didn't speak again after she entered the car, which by the way I'm grateful for.
I can't deal with her breathy dulcet voice that makes words sound like lyrics. It's sickening how good her voice sounds, it’s like she could hypnotize with words. And it's not what I need. I don't need an extra voice adding to the ones in my head. Those are enough, especially with no weed in sight to filter them and make them go quiet.
I make a swerve and she jumps from her seat, almost hitting her head against the dashboard but my hand stretches in front of her to protect her and her forehead hits my palm instead.
“Easy,” I say right after I sprang into action on reflex.
I don't have to look to feel the death glare she is giving to me. If looks could kill, I'd be dead already.
