78

Allison
The next hotel room isn’t as nice as the first. “Best we can do for now,” Gregory says, unlocking the door to a dingy motel suite. We’ve got the corner spot, furthest from the parking lot. There’s a sitting room with a separate bedroom, but it’s all rundown and ugly. “Paul won’t come looking for me here.”
“I suspect Paul’s familiar with this side of town.” We’re in a bad neighborhood, one of the worst in Portland, but there are dispensaries even in this area. Which means the Debarcio Bratva’s got contacts and control.
“He thinks I’m a fancy Callahan, like I’m afraid to get my hands dirty.” Gregory strips off his jacket, tossing it aside. “He’s very wrong about that.” A phone appears in his hands. He unbuttons his shirt without looking at me. “I have some calls to make.”
“Who?” I ask, voice shaking. I keep thinking about the gunshot in the stairwell and my father standing with the thugs that tried to kill me.
Has it really gotten so bad?
“We need clothes. You need shoes.” He glances down at my feet then back up, expression grim. “And I need muscle.”
“I thought your family didn’t know you were doing this.”
“I have my own resources. Enough for us to survive this situation, at least. But yes, for an actual war, I’ll need more. A lot more. Plus, political contacts.” He turns to me and I stare at his muscular chest and abs. “Don’t go anywhere. Don’t leave this room, no matter what. I can’t protect you if you decide to do something stupid. I’ll be in there.” He disappears into the bedroom area, shutting the door behind him.
I collapse onto the couch. I groan, squeezing my eyes shut, fighting back tears.
Everything hurts. My ears ache, my foot is killing me, my legs are heavy from the run. I have a dozen bruises from banging into walls.
But none of that matters, not compared to seeing my father’s face in that parking lot. The fear, the anger. The disappointment. He wasn’t with the thugs in the hotel, which means he might not have known they tried to kill us, but how could he have gone along with something like that to begin with?
He’s not a stupid man. He’s aware of what Paul does.
I don’t understand what Papa’s thinking.
Slowly, I raise my phone. There are more messages from him. Back to pleading again.
This time, I call him back.
“Hello?” He answers on the first ring like he was staring at the screen waiting for my call. “Allison? Is that you?”
“Papa.” I have to fight against the tears. Hearing his voice is both an enormous relief and more painful than I ever imagined. I love this man-I loved him at least-and I can’t understand why he’s doing this to me.
“Allison,” he says, sounding exasperated. “My little girl. What were you thinking, running away from your wedding? Did that Callahan man force you to do it? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say, staring at the ceiling. What am I supposed to tell him? What could make him understand? “Gregory didn’t force me to do anything.”
Silence for a beat.
“Why would you run?” he asks, voice soft. Like he doesn’t want to be overheard.
“Papa, you know why. I never wanted to marry Paul to begin with. And Freya-”
“I don’t want to hear your silly stories anymore,” he says. “We know what happened to Freya. You think that doesn’t kill me every day? You think I don’t miss my oldest daughter?”
“Papa,” I say and have to clear my throat. “If I marry Paul, he’s going to kill me too.”
“No, you’re wrong. Paul is a hard man, yes, that’s true, but he needs a wife to soften him up and give him children. If you marry Paul, maybe things will be hard at first, but your life will be so much better.”
“Why? Because I’ll have babies?”
“Sweetness-”
“No, tell me, Papa. How will my life be better?”
He sounds frustrated. “You won’t have to work ever again. Everything will be provided for you.”
“I want to work. I wanted to be a part of your business. Why do you think I went back to school?”
“Allison-”
“I agreed to marry Paul because I was terrified he’d hurt you if I didn’t. But standing in the house, it was obvious he’d hurt me if I did. I’m sorry if running made things worse, Papa, but if I married Paul, I’d be dead in a few years.”
Another silence. This one strained. “Please come back.” His voice is weak, like he doesn’t even believe himself. “We can figure this out. Speak with Paul. A longer engagement-”
“Listen to yourself-”
“You can get to know the man-”
“He’s a monster! He killed Freya!”
“You don’t know that,” Papa roars, his anger slipping. “You don’t know that, and you’d be smart to watch your mouth. What did I teach you? Did you learn anything from me?”
I sit, ears ringing like the gunshot from earlier. Tears leak down my face. “I learned a lot from you.”
“Then come back. Paul is a reasonable man. He understands these circumstances are stressful-” Papa keeps talking, but I tune him out.
All I can see is Paul’s face in the hallway. His ugly sneers. His horrible words. Whatever Papa thinks of the Bratva boss, he doesn’t know the truth.
Paul is an empty shell. He’s a devourer, a killer. He’ll consume, and consume, and kill anything that gets in his way.
I cut my father off mid-sentence. “Papa, tell me what really happened to Freya. Tell me the truth and maybe I’ll come back. I know you’re hiding something.”
I can hear him breathing. “There’s nothing to say.”
“Tell me the truth. If you ever loved her, and if you ever loved me, tell me what you really know.”
“Enough, Allison.”
“Tell me, you selfish bastard! Tell me the truth!” I’m shouting now. Hysterical, out of control. The bathroom door opens and Gregory appears. He’s shirtless, staring at me.
“Get a hold of yourself.”
“No, you fucker. You fucker. I hate you!” I stand, hands trembling. “You tried to sell me to Paul like you sold Freya. All for what, for money? You’re disgusting.”
“Watch your tone. I know you’re upset-”
“I’m going to hurt you. I promise, Papa. I’m going to hurt you.”
“I’d like to see you try,” he snarls. “Come back to Paul’s home by midnight tonight, or I’m going to kill you myself.”
“Good luck.”
I hang up the phone and throw it as hard as I can at the floor.
It bounces, tumbles, rolls, and comes to a stop at Gregory’s feet.
I’m breathing hard. Sucking in air. Head tight, dizzy, hands into fists, feet planted. I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything. I feel like I’m choking.
“It’s okay,” Gregory says, coming toward me. “You’re okay.”
“I’m not,” I manage. “I’m not.” Fear starts to replace the rage. “I can’t breathe.”
“You can breathe. You’re doing it right now.”
“I feel dizzy. I feel-”
He catches me as I stumble away, holding me tight to his bare skin. “Panic attack. Just breathe with me. Come on, princess. Breathe with me.”
The nickname pisses me off, but maybe that’s what snaps me back into my body. I breathe with him, falling into rhythm, my face pressed against his chest. I can hear his heart racing like he’s excited to have me this close. I stay like that, breathing his smell, that cinnamon and spice, before I finally pull away. My hands tremble, my lips are numb, but I’m under control again.
“This has been a very stressful day,” I say, walking a few feet away.
“I agree,” he says. “Not the most ideal afternoon.”
“Why are you shirtless?” I glance at him. “It’s a bit much.”
“I was sweaty from our run. Wanted to shower.” He cocks his head. “Do you mind?”
“Yes. I mean, no, it’s not-” I shut my mouth. “Do whatever you want.”
“You can join me if you like. I have other ways to ease your tension.”
“I am absolutely not going to shower with you.” Though a tight excitement spirals into my guts at the thought. Gregory’s body, his chiseled and magnificent chest, drenched in water as he pins me against the wall, his mouth doing unspeakable things, his fingers-
I shake my head to force the image away.
Gregory’s smirk suggests he knows exactly what I was thinking. And that he’s thinking it too.
“Are you sure? You look like you need a release.”
I rub my face. “You’re unbelievable. I was just having a panic attack. I’m at my lowest. And you’re trying to fuck me?”
“I never said anything about fucking you, princess. I can get you off plenty of ways.”
“My god. You’re sick.”
“Only an offer.” He turns away. “I’ll be in the shower if you change your mind.”
I watch him go. There’s a broken part of me that’s tempted by the offer. Let his lips roam my skin. Let him make me feel good, feel anything but this miserable wreck.
Except it’s all part of his game.
His manipulation.
This is what he wants. He needs me drilled down into the floor, smashed down to little bits, so he can pick me back up. And when he does, he’ll get what he wants from me.
He’ll make me his wife. He’ll drag everything I know about my father’s business from my skull.
Then once this is all over?
I’ll be left with nothing.
And yet.
What my father said rolls on a loop in my skull.
I’ll kill you myself.
My own Papa, my flesh and blood, the man that raised me, that treated me like his favorite precious daughter, threatened to murder me.
And I think he meant it.
All for that bastard Paul Debarcio. All for money, power, connections. I’m not sure if he believes his own bullshit, but he’s sick.
Gregory’s my only chance.
If I try this on my own, I’m screwed. Paul will catch me and my life will be a living hell.
But if I take Gregory up on his proposal, I’ll have some measure of power. I can get revenge on my father, on Paul, on anyone that hurt my sister.
The shower water starts running. I picture Gregory standing under it.
If I’m going to do this, then I’ll make sure I get what I want, even if it means making a deal with that beautiful monster.