Chapter 58: Chapter 58

C H A P T E R - T W E N T Y - F O U R

The tears landed in my cheeks.

Enrico was dead on. When a man stepped all over you with combat boots, it hurt a lot more.

"You promised," I said quietly, and he did. He made a pledge. He said he'd handle me with care not even twenty-four hours ago.

I let go of the column and moved back as he stood.

"This is me keeping my promise to you, Gia."

"You're so full of shit," I continued to murmur.

"Better now than when you're attached to me more tightly, sweetie."

"You... are..." I leaned forward, froze in the middle of a sentence, and yelled, "So full of shit!"

"Sweet Pea-" he began, but I cut him off while still wailing.

"You fuckingasshole, don't call me that!"

”

Then I sped up the steps, whirling on my foot.

Falcone followed, and he moved quickly, but by the time he reached the bed platform, I was pulling up my pants.

"Gia, pay attention to me," he ordered.

"Fuck you," I said as I zipped my jeans.

His fingers curled around my upper arm as he rotated me to face him, but I wrenched my arm free, put both hands on his chest, and pushed.

He grabbed my forearms and shook them together.

"Gia, have a look at me."

"You organized this," I shouted at him. You worked hard for it. Then I gave you myself, and you only had it for a day before throwing it away."

"If you listen to me, honey, you'll-"

"Go to hell, Falcone," I wrenched at my forearms, yelling.

"Babe, listen," he hissed again, shaking my arms. I yanked again, one of his hands slipped down to the bruises and wounds on my wrist, a little, sharp, instinctive cry of agony left me, and he suddenly released me.

I took advantage of the situation and ran around him for my baggage. I bent over them but was dragged up and in by an arm around my waist, my back brushing against Falcone's front, his other arm wrapped around me, and his mouth came to my ear.

"Baby, listen to me," he said quietly.

Something about it destroyed me, leaving everything inside me, everything that was me, in rags. I yanked violently from his arms, spun around, and moved into his space, my finger out, up, and aimed in his face.

"Please don't call me a baby. Yago Cabrera, don't even think of calling me baby in the five minutes we have left together."

And I knew exactly what it was. That was why I was shattered. I knew I liked it. I knew the first time he called me baby in my kitchen that the hope I hadn't allowed myself to feel in a year and a half was not only genuine, but also achievable.

And, just like Jonas, I was way, way wrong. Completely wrong.

He opened his lips to say something, but stopped, his taut body stiffened, and he mumbled an angry, "Fuck."

That's when I noticed it. Pipes. The thunder of Harley-Davidson pipes. It wasn't just one bike. It wasn't even two. There were a lot of them.

Falcone turned, bent, and snatched his tee off the ground. He'd tugged it over his head and was pushing it down his abs when he pointed at me and said, "Stay here."

I didn't say anything, but there was no way I was staying. As far as I was concerned, the cavalry had arrived, and I was out of Dodge.

I crouched over my suitcase, pulled on socks and boots, then grabbed underwear, a bra, a tee, and rushed to the restroom, grabbing anything I needed, then dashed down the stairs, stuffed everything in my handbag, hooked it over my shoulder, and dashed out.

When I arrived outside, I found Falcone, dressed in cargos and a shirt and bare feet, engaged in a standoff with Finn in front of a shitload of Harleys, their spotlights lighting the situation. Some lads were standing beside their bikes, while others were riding them. Only Finn was faced against Falcone.

I saw Big Ben and rushed directly to him, not glancing at Falcone or Finn as I passed.

"Babe, maybe you should go inside," Big Ben said, looking down at me.

"Please take me with you," I pleaded, and his body jerked and he questioned, "What?"

"Take me with you," I said again, reaching out to grip his arm to indicate my sincerity.

He looked at me for half a beat before lifting his head and whistled forcefully. I didn't glance behind me because I was trembling and clutching his arm for dear life, as well as fighting back tears by the skin of my teeth.

I watched as he abruptly raised his chin before moving and swung his leg over the bike. I assumed this meant he was taking me along, so I wasted neither time nor an opportunity. I leaped on behind of him, tightly wrapped my arms around him, placed my cheek on his shoulder, and forced my eyes to close.

I heard the Harley growl, and then I heard us move. He made a wide arc in the enormous patch of crumbling cement next to Falcone's warehouse, which used to be filled with semis and staff parking but is now empty. He stepped out of the bend straight, and we took off.

It took me some time to realize I was sobbing since I didn't open my eyes once, the wind was rushing by me, and I was trying to block out the agony with my body.

Big Ben's hands delicately pry mine from his tummy as he suddenly stops and pulls over.

My head raised, his torso shifted, and at last my eyes opened.

He said, "Babe, exchange bikes."

“What?”

He jerked his chin, and I looked up to see Finn standing next to us. His head was turned our direction, and even in the pitch-blackness, I could see that he was looking at me.

Shit.

The drama was something I didn't want, but I wanted to stay on Big Ben's bike. I couldn't deal with the drama, so no. For one day, I had had enough drama, thank you very much. I had actually had enough drama in the previous week to last me a stinking lifetime.

I thus swung off, changed bikes, swung on Finn's, and tightened the strap holding my handbag to my shoulder.

We took off as soon as my arms encircled his midsection and my cheek brushed against his shoulder blade.