Trapped in his End Game (Series)

The moment the cold air stings my cheeks and I’m out of the casino, I dig my phone out of my purse to call Vince. After dropping it into my purse a million times, I realize that the screen is black. No battery.

Another letdown. Another failure.

It’s cold. I wrap my arms around myself and shiver as a breeze chills me to the bone. I just cannot fucking believe how badly I’ve failed Vincent.

I’ve killed him.

I’ve killed all of them.

Hopeless fatigue settles over my shoulders. It’s late, and I’m exhausted. I haven’t eaten all day-but all of my pain drops away when I think of Vince’s lifeless body.

I sprint towards the metro and decide take it to Manhattan. At least, I’ll be able to warn him. I only hope I’m not too late.

Failure. Loser.

How could I screw this up so badly?

Because you were fucking afraid. Your fear of screwing up made you screw up.

Clenching my fist over my dress, I let out a strangled yell that makes half the subway car’s inhabitants glance at me. Then I get out at the wrong stop and I walk six blocks as I wrap my coat around myself. Finally, when I get there I stare at the high-rise apartment with a suffocating sense of loss.

I can’t.

I can’t just give up now, when I’ve barely tried. Vince is counting on me, whether he knows it or not.

My heart races when I realize that I’m giving up on running back to him. I won’t be able to see him again. I won’t hear his loving whisper in my ear, or feel the warmth of his hands stroking my naked flesh.

The giant Macy’s across the street catches my eye and I feel a sudden impulse to go inside. It’s just starting to open. Six a. m. I feel like my head was beaten with a bat.

The bright lights inside the store pierce my eyeballs. Once I walk into the women’s section, my fingers start to itch. It’s been a long fucking time since I’ve stolen something. I never really tracked the exact moment when I stopped, but I know that it had something to do with Vince.

Of course it would. I was fucking happy with him. We were fine, getting ready to be married, and then all of a sudden-boom. It’s all gone. My support system. Gone.

Brightly colored silk shirts shimmer in the harsh lighting. They’re beautiful. I run my fingers through the fabric, which flows between my fingers like water. I grab a few and stuff them into my jacket. I do it so quickly that I don’t even realize what I’ve done until I feel the lump near my stomach. My eyes dart towards the exits and the familiar thrill creeps inside me, driving away all nervous thoughts. I tear the safety strips from the fabric, not caring about the huge holes I’ve made in them. And then I want a huge drink, too. I want a whole bottle. It doesn’t matter what, they all do the trick.

More. I want more.

The brightly colored blouses attract my eye like flashy billboards: STEAL ME! Kate Spade, Michael Kors-they’re all conquests. Bright leather slips into my jacket and I work quickly to wrench the strips out.

“Can I help you?”

A burly African-American man stares at me, his hands resting on his hips.

Oh, shit.

I’m halfway between tearing a security sensor, and my heart stops. “No, I’m good. Thanks.”

He purses his lips, his eyes lingering on a carelessly discarded security sensor on the ground. His frown deepens. “Miss, you’re going to have to come with me.”

“No, I think I’ll be going.”

I take several steps towards the exit, and his arm shoots out to grab me. The sudden jerk of his arm jostles me and a purse slips under my jacket, smacking loudly on the floor.

“You’re going to need to come with me,” he repeats.

My face burns and I feel close to tears as he drags me away. It’s the most humiliating moment in my life. He frog marches me into the manager’s office through a series of doors and calls the police. After several minutes of sobbing in the office, I open my coat and fling all of the stolen crap on the floor. They lie on the floor like beautiful, ruined things.

“What’s wrong with you?” the guard asks aggressively. “Stealing wasn’t enough? You had to ruin all the clothes?”

I don’t answer him. I’m too ashamed to look at him.

Then the police officer shows up and handcuffs my hands. I’m led outside the store into the back of a squad car like a common criminal, which I am.

I can’t handle this. I can’t take this. Everything is fucked, and it’s my fault.

Once we’re at the police station, they shove me into a holding cell, and a bit of relief floods through me. Tony can’t get me in here, at least.

What about Vince?

My body slumps onto the stainless steel bed. I’m so tired that I can’t cry.

* * *

“Well, you knew what would happen if you didn’t do your job.”

Tony’s face lights up in the darkness in brief, red flashes as he lights his cigar. It’s like a giant firefly in the night, lighting the wisps of smoke around his face.

“I’m sorry, I tried!”

I’m against a brick wall, tied up in ropes. I can’t budge a muscle as Tony’s round face comes closer and closer.

“I said in the beginning what would happen. You didn’t take it seriously.”

We’re somewhere in the city. The streets are black and slimy with rain. Tony’s huge body blocks it all. His grinning face widens, it seems to go on and on and on.

“What did you say?” I stammer. “In the beginning.”

“I said you would get burned.”

And that glowing, red cigar? He sticks it right into my bare shoulder. I hear the sizzle of flesh, the sharp, burning pain-

Someone pokes my shoulder and I jerk violently, staring into the eyes of a very annoyed cop.

“Geez, kid. I just wanted to tell you that you’re free to go.”

I sit up blearily, my back aching from the rock hard bed. “What?”

“Charges have been dropped. Someone’s waiting for you.”

What? How the hell did that happen?

I walk out of the cell, privately thinking that there must have been a mistake. They caught me in the act. How could the charges be dropped?

Then I see him.

Carmine.NôvelDrama.Org holds © this.

Oh, fuck. This can’t be good.

He unfolds his arms, giving me a black look as I enter the station.

“Thank you, Officer Brown. I owe you one.”

“No problem, Carmine.” The policeman shakes his head at me and turns back around.

Carmine normally groomed hair looks slightly tousled, as if he just woke up. He’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt, looking out of his element in casual clothes.

“Quite an interesting morning you’ve given me.”

“I’m so sorry,” I say in a quiet voice.

He takes my arm, his grip a little biting as he leads me out of the police station. Once we’re out of earshot, he speaks.

“You’re fucking lucky he owed me a favor. Oh, and paying off the store department people is going to come out of your fucking end. How could you do something so stupid?” Carmine leads me to his car and opens the door. “Well?” he barks.

I flinch from the anger in his voice and beseech his eyes. “I was upset over our conversation last night,” I say in measured voice as I return his stare. “And I-I have issues. I used to have a stealing problem.”

The anger on his face doesn’t quite disappear. “Jesus,” he says after a beat. Then he lets out a long sigh. “Well, get in.”

“Where are we going?” I ask as I slip inside.

“My place.” He slams the door a little harder than necessary and enters the driver’s door. “You wanted my attention and you fucking got it.”

His place? Things are looking up.

“I swear to God, I didn’t want to upset you. I’m really, really sorry.”

He shakes his head as he pulls out of the parking lot. “You’re fuckin’ lucky you’re a woman. If any one of my guys pulled that crap, they’d be missing several teeth.”

Jesus. I’ve never heard him speak this way, but then again, I’ve never seen him pissed off.

I grip the armrests as the car as he guns it forward. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying, ‘sorry!'” He pounds the steering wheel in frustration.

I grimace as he leads us into Jersey, into a nice residential area where he stops in front of a home with a neatly trimmed lawn.

“This is where you live?” I expected him to live in an apartment, like Vince.

“Yeah, so?” He pulls into the driveway and yanks on the parking brake. When the engine dies, he leans back and momentarily closes his eyes. “Goddamn, I’m tired.”

“I’m sor-”

The sharp look he gives me makes me stop abruptly. “Get inside,” he says in a gritty voice.

Well, I’ve made it inside his house. Tony will be pleased. What does it matter about the circumstances? I scramble from the car and walk up the driveway as Carmine glowers at me. It’s such a quaint, unassuming house. Just like him, I guess.

Carmine steps in front of me to unlock the door and then he shoves it open. “In.”

I quickly duck inside. What strikes me immediately is the mismatching, old furniture. It’s old and antique looking, but some of it is in bad shape. Stuffing poking out of holes. All of it looks like it used to belong to his mother and he’s had a hard time letting them go.

“Have a seat.” Carmine gestures towards the couches. He runs his hand through his hair, shaking his head as he walks past me into the kitchen.

I sink into a couch that looks the least frayed while Carmine does something in the kitchen-making a pot of coffee, perhaps? I smell it as he pours two cups in white, chipped mugs.

When I see the lines under his eyes, a swell of guilt rises in my stomach. He sets the mug down in front of me and sits beside me, closing his eyes and sipping.

This is an opportunity. To snoop. To get closer to him.

His arm stretches over the head of the couch and I run my fingers over his hand. His eyes fly open.

“Carmine, thanks for everything. You didn’t have to help me out like that.”

“Yeah, I did,” he sighs.

Something has been nagging at me this whole time. “How did you even know I was there?”

“I have connections. When one of the officers realized that one of my people was arrested, he called me immediately.”

I wrap my hands around the mug and take a sip. Chocolate mocha with a tiny bit of sweetness. It fills me up with warmth, and I feel better. I stare into its dark depths as I talk to him. “You were right about me.”

“About what?” he says, a faint note of irritation in his voice.

“I am scared all the time. Scared of Tony and what he’ll do to me if I don’t make enough at the casino to cover my family’s debts. He told me what would happen.”

I hear the sound of his head turning towards me and his hand drops down to lightly stroke my bare shoulder. I squeeze my eyes shut as my body inwardly recoils.

Don’t.

He shakes his brown head. “You don’t need to worry about Tony.” Firm fingers squeeze my shoulder. “Hey,” he says in a tone that makes my head turn towards him. “I mean that.”

“I do anyway.”

I can feel his eyes on me, searching my body for clues that I might be lying, but it’s the truth. Tony terrifies me. He just doesn’t know the real reason why.

“You’re such a delicate little bird, aren’t you? I still can’t believe what you did,” he says in a thundering voice.

I am disgusted with myself. “Me too. I’ve never really been caught before, but I’ve never had so much stress. It’s mostly under control.” My voice fades as his lips thin. “I have problems.”

“So do I, hon. That doesn’t mean you get to do something stupid that gets you time.”

My breath shudders when I inhale. “I was upset.”

A smile cracks over his face. “Over me?”

I’m embarrassed and afraid of the confident smile on his face. His hand curls around my shoulder as my face burns. My heart hammers as he strokes my bare arm. As uncomfortable as it is, as much as I wish another man was holding me, I allow him to pull me into his chest. My dress slips up my thighs as he pulls me over his lap. My heart jack-knifes against my chest, blood racing. I can see every line on his face, deepened by his smile.

“Is this what you want, Adriana?”

No, I want Vince. I don’t say a word. Let him draw his own conclusions.

A low growl rumbles in the back of his throat as his hand sweeps up my neck, his thumb gently massaging my jumping vein. My hands are frozen, but I force myself to touch him. I can look through his clothes at the same time. They flatten against his muscular chest and move over his lapels, down his neck and inside his jacket. His body isn’t as lean as Vincent’s, but it feels smooth. Powerful. He lets out a chuckle that I feel in the tips of my fingers. His face follows me, seeking my lips.

“Ah, all you had to do was ask, sweetheart.” His lips move along my jaw.

“I tried,” I breathe.

He pulls back and looks at me seriously. “Yes, you did. My apologies for not believing you.” He strokes the side of my face, tucking away strands of hair. He sucks in breath when his lips reach my ear. “I always liked you, Adriana. From the first moment I saw you. I thought you were beautiful.”

Beautiful. He thinks I’m beautiful.

I’m not. I’m a monster to use a man like this, to manipulate his emotions to get what I want-which inevitably will lead to his death. I don’t want him to give me compliments, or hear about his problems with his mother, or anything else that humanizes him. I don’t want to feel anything for him.