Broken Promises: (Broken Duet #2)

Piles of papers litter the coffee table: lecture notes that Rookie kindly brought for me courtesy of Jane. I haven’t missed much yet, but there’s no telling when I’ll attend classes again, so I’d rather stay on top of the material while I have time.

Despite the ambitious plan to study, I only managed an hour before I was forced to call it a day, pushing the papers aside. Now, I’m at the breakfast bar with my laptop. Three pretty faces watch me from the screen. When he stopped by earlier, Rookie explained that neither he, Nate, nor Cai want to risk their girls’ safety by letting them pay me a visit.

The comforting news is, they want to visit.

Since we can’t make a girl’s night happen in reality, we settled for a virtual chat with a very real glass of wine. The three of them met at Bianca’s house, dressed as if we’re hitting the club later.

“Jeez, I’m glad you’re back, girl. We need a night out! The last time I danced was with you in Delta.” Bianca adjusts her pink, strapless dress, which barely contains her large boobs.

“That sure won’t happen anytime soon.” Luna pulls a face. “Layla’s not allowed outside the front door. No way Dante will let her out of the house until the hit is closed.”

“True. I don’t know how you keep so calm! I’d be freaking out if there was a bounty on my head.”

Jane elbows Bianca under the ribs, offering me a tight-lipped smile. “Don’t listen to her. She’s already drunk. You’ll be okay. Dante will skin the fucker who’s overseeing the hit, and we will all go dancing soon.”

Surprise, surprise. I’m not the only naïve one out there.

“Don’t hold your breath.”

They stare into the camera on their laptop and consequently right at me.

“Oh, hell no. What was that supposed to mean?” Jane frowns. “Where’s the negativity coming from?”

“Can we please change the subject?” I grab a bottle to refill my glass. “Anything but the hit. It’s bad enough. I think about it twenty-four seven. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Sure, and I know just the topic!” Luna bounces in her seat, spilling a bit of red wine down her cleavage. “Bitch, you’re engaged to Dante fucking Carrow! We want to know everything!”

“Yeah, but first, show us that big ass rock!”

I raise my hand, showing off the diamond, still not quite accustomed to the thought that Dante wants me forever.

They bombard me with wedding ideas, shouting one after the other as they devise the most insane settings. Monaco, Hawaii, Seychelles. The last one does have a ring to it, and once I check the pictures online, I’m officially in love with the idea of a beach wedding.

It’ll remain just that: an idea. There’s no way in hell Dante will share my enthusiasm.

Ten o’clock comes and goes; the bottle of wine beside me is almost dry. My mood lifts while alcohol silences my screaming mind and pushes the problems to the background.

“Oh. My. God!” Jane giggles, polishing the last of the fourth glass of red. “Get this! A themed wedding!”

“Yes!” Luna claps, spilling more wine down her cleavage. Those stains might not come out. Pity, her dress is stunning. “How about Disney? You could be Belle!”

I burst out laughing. “That makes Dante the Beast.”

“Well, he kind of is, isn’t he?” Bianca wiggles her eyebrows. She’s been asking inappropriate questions about our sex life for the last half an hour. “Oh, come on! You’re such a prude! Give me something! Is he rough? I bet he likes it hard. I bet he eats pussy like a pro!”

I bite the inside of my cheek, toying with the glass. Is this what girl talk is usually like? I’ve never had a group of girlfriends. The learning curve is real.

Our childish giggles are cut short at the sound of tires squealing and metal bending outside. Despite the closed, bulletproof windows, the commotion that just erupted out front floods the house as if the chaos is happening two rooms away. A blend of different voices screams orders for a few seconds before a round of gunshots rumbles above all else.

My legs turn weak. Dread fills my lungs like cold mud.

“Are those gunshots?!” Luna cries, eyes wide and tearful.

Cai’s still here, securing the house, while Dante’s at Delta with the V brothers and Julij. Nate went home an hour ago, and I guess he’s the one Bianca tries to reach, pressing a cell phone to her ear.

“Get back to Dante’s!” she yells a second later, catching me off-guard. I didn’t expect her to send Nate back here where he might get hurt. “Something’s wrong. Go back there, someone’s shooting outside!”

“If anything happens, hide, Star. Understood?”

Dante’s words bounce in my head, but Luna’s tearful gaze has me running to the nearest window overlooking the driveway. Dante’s men back away toward the house, shooting at a black van that battered down the gate. Its back door stands open. A man dressed in black fires a series of shots from a machine gun bolted to the van’s floor.

I scan the driveway, searching for Cai and Spades to check if they’re okay, but before I spot them, a movement behind a row of bushes on the left side of the house catches my eye. In the mayhem of bullets flying in all directions and a disorderly rumble of screams, no one noticed a group of men running toward the back of the house.

The van is just a diversion.

I spin on my heel, rooted to the spot. My mind is going as fast as my heart slamming against my ribs like the kickback of a gun. The sounds become muffled, distant, an unclear obbligato of blood whooshing in my ears. I stare at the glass wall on the other side of the living room. My reflection stares back at me, and the clock ticks slower and louder.

Two hands slam on the glass. I nearly jump right out of my heels. The gunshots become louder, and my breaths shorter, faster. Bianca’s panicked voice hits my ears, but I can’t make out words. Whoever’s outside takes a step closer. A hooded silhouette like a modern-day reaper. The only thing standing between us is a sheet of bulletproof glass.

“Layla!” The high-pitched shrill of Luna’s voice cuts through the haze. “What’s happening?!”

I don’t answer. Blood in my veins turns to cherry slurpy as I watch the hooded reaper raise a saw—the kind firemen use— and press it against the glass. I hope it won’t work, but the blade penetrates the glass without a hitch. The man tramps down, cutting a vertical line to create a doorway.

My heart leaps to my throat. All my instincts rebel against such an effortless acceptance of death. I run back inside the kitchen. “Cai’s okay. Someone’s trying to get inside.”

“Hide!” Jane screams. “Now, Layla!”

I take two steps at a time, slamming all doors shut behind me until I burst into the bedroom and halt in front of the armored door to the walk-in-wardrobe. My fingers hover over the keypad on the right, but I fall short of tapping the digits.

I can’t lock myself in there defenseless. If whoever’s coming brought tools to break through bulletproof glass, it’s wise to assume they have tools that’ll penetrate the steel door.

From the nightstand on Dante’s side of the bed, I retrieve his spare gun and flip the safety with trembling fingers. Memories of the last time I held a gun threaten to weigh me down. For a second, my mind just blanks.

The code to the door plays hide and seek inside my mind. I can’t focus among the chaos of bullets flying outside, and my concentration is put to the test when the sounds become louder. Whoever was trying to barge inside did.

“Here-kitty-kitty-kitty. Come out, come out wherever you are!” Resonates throughout the house.

Fear tries to choke me. My mind ceases to work, to stay in the moment, to focus on the task. Heavy footsteps on the stairs elevate my panic to the nth degree. A click of the alarm being disarmed sounds above the anarchy happening all around. The front door slams against the wall: the only bang that fills me with a sense of relief.

Four digits pop into my head, and I burst inside the walk-in-wardrobe, slamming the door behind me, and backing into the corner. I slide down the wall, aiming at the closed door as I force even, deep breaths into my lungs. The one thing keeping me sane right now is that Dante’s on his way. I can feel it in my bones.

He’s coming.

He’s close.

He’ll be here soon, and I’ll live to fight another day. The thought calms me down right until more shots ring close by. The unruly riot of my pulse starts again when three bullets smash against the metal door, forcing my back to press further into the wall as if I can fuse myself with the concrete.

Just as fast as it all started, everything comes to a sudden stand-still. A deafening silence falls all around, spoiled by the violent tempo of my heartbeats throbbing in my neck.

“Layla!” Spades yells, and furious tapping on the keyboard follows. One, two, three tries. “Fuck!” He bangs something—his fist, I think—on the door. “Open up! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I rasp, my throat rough as if I suffer from a nasty infection.

And then Dante arrives.

His booming Layla! shakes the foundations of the house. His rushed footsteps clap on the stairs. Two more pairs of shoes follow suit. I put the gun down, trying to hoist myself up, but more tapping on the keyboard halts my efforts. Dante enters, a gun in his hand, worry on his face, blood on his shirt.

In a flash, I go back in time. I’m no longer in the closet, no longer an adult. I’m seven, in Frank’s house on the day my paralyzing fear of blood started.

I stand in the doorway to the kitchen, watching Dante. He sits on the table, his white t-shirt red, face white, twisted with pain.

“Get her out of here, Jess!” Daddy screams, yanking every cabinet door open. “Fuck! Where’s the first aid kit in this shithole?!”

My chin trembles when tears spill from my eyes. I want to run and hug Dante, but my legs won’t budge.

He turns to look at me too. He’s no longer frowning. Now, a small smile crosses his lips. “It’s okay, little bug.” He tugs his leather jacket closer to cover the bloody t-shirt. “Don’t cry. I’m fine.”

I sniffle, wiping my runny nose with the back of my hand, nodding vigorously. Tears still stream down my cheeks, but I know I have to be strong, or Daddy will scream and call me a wuss again.

That evening, I cried into my pillow for hours hoping Dante would be okay. I must’ve pushed those memories out of my system; buried them somewhere deep because thinking about him in pain was too hard. He was the only person in my life to show me any form of affection back then.

And he still is now.

He crosses the room, helps me up, and pulls me into his warm arms. “I’m here.” He takes my face in his hands. “You’re okay. You’re fine, Star. It’s over.”

I cling to the safety he offers. He acts calm, but the urgency of his touch and the way his eyes scan every inch of my body betray just how worried he is.

With a kiss on my head, he huddles me to his side and turns to Spades. “Everyone okay?”

My gaze travels further into the bedroom, and my barely regained poise snaps like a dry twig. I stand there, motionless, eyes trained on the hole in the forehead of a man lying on the floor. Blood seeps from the wound, marking the cream carpet with crimson stains. My stomach somersaults back. I can’t move; I can’t say a single word, despite channeling effort into remaining in control of my emotions while my mind traps me in a dark corner.

“Two dead,” Spades says in a rueful tone. “Cai and Rookie both got hit, but nothing major. They’ll be okay.”

“Get Carlton over here,” Dante orders, moving his attention back to me. “Hey, don’t look.”

But that’s just it… the first thing anyone does when told not to look is look. I can’t avert my gaze until Dante curls his finger under my chin, forcing my eyes on him. Simultaneously, he steps into my line of sight, blocking the gruesome view.

“Layla. Eyes on me. I’ll get you out of here. We’ll stay at a hotel until the house is back in order.”

He’s focused on walking me out of the house and down to the garage. My eyes fall shut to make things easier but fly open once the image of that man’s lifeless body bleeding onto the cream carpet flashes before my eyes.

Dante squeezes my hand tighter. “That’s exactly why I didn’t ask you to close your eyes.”

I take one cautious step at a time. Dante walks backward, steering me so I won’t trip over dead bodies. We’re downstairs when the door opens, and my head snaps in that direction. Wrong choice. Blood is everywhere. It looks as if someone tipped a bucketful over the floor and walls. My head starts swimming, and I hold my breath, transfixed.

Dante grabs my face to turn my head away from the horror-movie scene. “Breathe, baby. You’re fine. Just breathe.”

I nod vigorously, gritting my teeth

“Good girl.” His lips on my forehead work like Novocain.