Inked: A Bad Boy Next Door Romance (20 page)

I
'd like
to say that I was able to throw myself back into my studies without any problems. I'd like to say that I was supported by everyone, who took me having an escort and bodyguard in tow with no problems. I'd like to say that the next week was productive and helpful, and that I was enjoying being an upperclassman in college.

I'd like to say all those things, but I can't. Instead, my first day back on campus ended within an hour of my arrival, with me jumping at nearly every snapped shut book or glittering object that came into my line of sight. Considering that I was walking around the arts building of a major university, that was a lot of books.

Finally, after my first two classes, I couldn't take it anymore. Both of the professors had given me the hairy eyeball when Daniel came in, to the point that I had to threaten to call the campus registrar about it with my photography professor. The other students stared, with more than a few whispered comments and understated conversations that I knew were about the murder, jacking up my stress levels even more. The final straw came when a door slammed, and I jumped nearly a foot in the air with a small scream in my throat before Daniel had me, holding me in one arm while his eyes constantly scanned the hallway around us. “Come on,” he said, talking softly in my ear and walking me along.

We ended up going all the way out of Seattle and south a little bit, stopping along the coastline at a random resort town and picking out a cafe. “You looked like you could use the break,” Daniel said when he got on the Interstate. “There was no way you were getting any more learning done today, not with the way you're looking.”

“Thanks, I guess,” I said simply, resting my head against the headrest of my seat and letting him drive. I dozed off until we got off the Interstate and was charmed by his choice of where to take me. “Where'd you find this place?”

“I've never been here before, and I bet neither have you,” he said. “You know the coastline is filled with little spots like this—there's gotta be a cake and coffee shop somewhere along here. It's something I learned in the past few years. If you really want to disappear, just do something you've never done before. You'd be surprised at how most people are just creatures of habit.”

The shop was actually not all that great, with easily identifiable store-bought cake and coffee that looked and tasted like it had been found in a glass jar along with its freeze-dried cousins five minutes before we ordered it, but it was exactly what I needed. We sat on the back porch of the cafe, listening to the sound of the ocean in the distance. The sun was warm, and I felt myself relax as I sipped at the mug. “Thanks again, Daniel. How'd you know this would help me?”

“Part of what makes me good at what I do is judging people. See who would be worth giving a little bit of slack to, and who needs the stick. And of course, other things,” he said evasively. I understood though. I knew what Daniel was and what he'd done. There was blood on his hands for sure.

“Can I ask you some questions about what you do for my Uncle?” I asked. It wasn't that I was ignorant, but everyone liked to keep me at an arm's distance from the criminal side of the family. Despite Carlo’s utter disregard for the law and those who enforced it, he knew that he led a life that ended with a high chance of death by violence. After what happened to my father, he didn't want that for me.

“I’ll tell you, but not here,” Daniel said simply, taking a forkful of his slice of cake.

I nodded, realizing it was probably a stupid question to ask in public.

We finished up and left our plates along with a fifty cent tip on them in order to hold down the napkins in the coastal breeze, driving the two blocks to the beach. Summer vacation was over, so it wasn't too crowded, and walking along the sand, we found a spot after ten minutes or so that was relatively isolated. “Here’s fine,” Daniel said, sitting down. “What is it that you want to know?”

“What exactly is your
duty
for my Uncle?” I had an idea, but I wanted to hear it rather than just assume.

“Any and everything he wants me to do,” Daniel said simply. “Are you trying to ask if I’ve done hits for the Don?”

“Actually, I wanted to know how much you've done, or how many,” I replied. “I figured by this point, you'd have messed at least a few people up.”

“I have,” he said, no guilt at all in his voice. Instead, he talked about it like any other sort of professional with a slightly distasteful job would talk about their work. “And more. I haven't kept count, but I've intentionally done four so far.”

“So far?” I asked, shocked. “You're planning on having to kill more?”

“If I’m asked to. I owe him my life, Adriana. And I will say, all four were not the sort of people who were worth much in terms of being noble members of society. All were people who deserved what they got, in my opinion. Don't take me wrong, Adriana. The Don is a ruthless, cold-blooded man when it comes to business. He's not a man to trifle with. But he's also a man of honor, and he will make sure that only those who are guilty of great crimes get a visit by men like me when our guns are hot. Even when he had me visit the motorcycle club up north a few weeks ago, it was only to intimidate, not to kill. The shots fired were because they decided to get aggressive when I'd only come to pass on a fair warning.”

I turned and watched the ocean and the waves come in. Maybe it was low tide, or maybe the waves on that part of the coast weren't all that large, but it was calming, and I reflected on it. The more I did, the more I realized it didn't matter to me. I still loved Uncle Carlo, and despite his put upon arrogance, I liked Daniel too, blood on their hands or not. I only had one more question. “How far would you go to protect me?”

“I'd give up my life for you,” he said immediately, with an undertone in his voice that left me wondering if he was saying that because of his sense of honor to my uncle or something else. “But I won’t have to—not from a fifty-year-old professor.”

I leaned against him, at ease. “All right then. Let's go back, and we can focus on getting me back to class. I can't exactly keep skipping out on it. Some of those teachers don't give a damn what happens in your life. An absence is an absence, and if you pick up enough of them, you fail the class.”

Daniel grunted softly and jokingly elbowed me in the ribs. “Just give me their names, and I can pay them a visit.”

I got up and dusted the sand off my shorts. “That’s not necessary, but thanks.”

* * *

F
or the next week
, I slowly worked my way back into things. Daniel was with me every day, from sunup until nine at night, when another one of Carlo's men would take over, staying awake in the living room while I slept. Still, Daniel’s presence was comforting. Saturday, he escorted me to Carlo's house, where I had a family dinner together with my mom.

“So how has your return to your studies gone?” Mom asked. She’d been out of town in New Jersey but was back now, and we'd spent hours just talking. It was nice to catch up with my mother, since we'd only had the chance to exchange quick phone calls in the time after the attack.

“The first day was rough, but by Thursday, I was able to get back to work decently enough. It helps to have Daniel there.” I took another bite of my lasagna and reminded myself to use the house gym afterward. Mom could afford to eat spaghetti or lasagna every day. She's a widow with a grown daughter and no interest in remarrying. She hadn't blown up or anything, but she wasn't a size eight anymore either. I was a single college student who enjoyed maintaining her figure and didn't have the genetics of an Ashley Graham to be size fourteen with the weight in all the right places. “And before you ask, Mom, Daniel's been a perfect gentleman.”

“Really? I was worried he’d have his eyes on you too much to focus on anyone else,” Mom said. “But Carlo did vouch for him . . .”

“When it’s about business, he’s as serious as it gets. He's a good man, like Uncle Carlo said.”

“I'll mention it to him when he gets back into town. But still, like all good men, they are often nothing more than beasts under their skin. Be careful.”

I nodded, if only to get her off the subject. We finished our dinner and I went upstairs to my old room. It was exactly as it had been the last time I stayed overnight. I found an old t-shirt and shorts and pulled them on, a little bit of nostalgia sweeping over me. Angela had gotten me the t-shirt, and I had to wipe away a tear as I thought about her. She'd been a good friend.

I went down to the house gym, which was somewhat of an anomaly and a carryover from my father's days. Uncle Carlo wasn't the athletic type, having decided early on that he didn't need to focus on what were, in his opinion, shallow pursuits. My father, on the other hand, had been the athlete of the two brothers and felt that physical fitness was important for both him and his men. So, the house had a complete fitness center, even if it was a bit dated. None of the main equipment was newer than twenty-five years old, two years before I'd been born. Still, Mom and Uncle Carlo kept it in pristine shape, and everything was in as good a condition as it had been twenty-five years ago.

Going in, I was shocked to find that I wasn't the only person to have the same idea, as Daniel was in the room already, wearing a pair of compression shorts and his undershirt. “Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt.”

“It's your house more than mine,” Daniel said with a shrug, turning his back to me and going over to the squat rack. “I just wanted to get a workout in while it was still a decent hour today. Forgive the outfit. I forgot to pack a bag and only had this in the trunk of my car.”

“When have you been working out this past week?” I asked, knowing that as dedicated as Daniel was, he wasn't skipping his fitness just because he was babysitting me. “You look even more ripped than you were a week ago.”

Daniel un-racked his bar, holding it in front of him before lowering himself down until his butt was nearly on his heels before exploding up, pushing the bar over his head at the end and locking it out before slowly lowering it and repeating the process. He didn't say anything during his work, but turned around when he was finished. “I have a membership to a twenty-four-hour gym,” he explained. “It's my first stop after I leave your apartment. I go usually about five times a week and have a short routine that I can get done in forty minutes.”

Impressed, I went over to the stretch mats on the side of the room and began my limbering up routine. I felt my eyes constantly pulled back toward Daniel, whose muscles rippled and flexed underneath his clothing. His tight compression shorts were enticing, as whether he knew it or not, he sported a bubble butt that would leave most women envious. It was all muscle, and I knew if I saw him nude I could probably see each individual muscle fiber at work each time he exploded up from his squatting position. The artist in me was amazed and intrigued and wondered if I had the skill to recreate such physical perfection in paint.

But the woman in me had much baser interests. I felt the heat first in the pit of my belly, a feeling that I hadn't felt in a long time, before spreading up and down my body until my eyes were nearly locked on Daniel's body. When he finished his work with the bar and went to take off the plates, I couldn't help but gasp when he turned sideways and the bulge in the front of his shorts became more noticeable. He was hung like a horse!

He must’ve noticed me staring, because he turned his eyes back to me, concern in his eyes. “Are you okay?”

I quickly wrenched my eyes from his crotch to his face, feeling the hot rush of blood to my face and certain that my nipples were imprinted on the thin cotton of my t-shirt. “I’m fine,” I said, playing it off. “Just a little twinge. Guess I need to stretch out more often.”

He dismissed it and finished his work. He went on to his next exercise, and I climbed off the stretch mat to get on the VersaClimber. At least that was what the sticker on the center post of the machine called it, but in my private moments, I called it the Stairway to Hell. Working both your arms and your legs at the same time like some sort of unending ladder, the machine is one of the hardest cardiovascular machines I've ever seen, and in fewer than five minutes, I was already sucking air. At fifteen minutes, I was gasping to the point that I could feel the blood pulse in my temples.

But the intensity of the machine wasn't why I chose it, I realized as I stepped down and wiped my sweating face. I'd chosen it because it allowed me to watch Daniel. I'd used the same bench—someone had once told me it was called a glute ham raise—to work my lower back and butt, but Daniel took it to the next level. Putting the pad closer to his knees than I did, he started with his head hanging down nearly all the way to the floor before he lifted himself in an arc, curling his knees at the top so that he ended up nearly vertical, then lowered himself at an agonizing slowness before repeating it again.

“You're working your butt and hamstrings today, aren't you?”

Daniel grunted his assent as he reached the top of his movement and nodded his head. “And quads. Leg strength is vital to running and fighting.”