Page 6 of Captive Vows (The Dubinin Bratva #1)

GAbrIELLA

S leeping on the bench at the dance studio wasn’t comfortable.

I tossed and turned. At every little noise I heard, I panicked and couldn’t return to any semblance of drowsiness.

Sometime throughout the night, I gave up trying to stay on the narrow bench.

Using some yoga mats from a closet and a few clean towels from storage that people used for sweat rags, I made the best bed that I could.

And I slept in it.

That was the story of my life. I made my bed and slept in it. I tried to make the best choices that I could, and I stood by them. I owned everything like that, including the crap I’d had to put up with yesterday.

It was only my fault that I got the hare-brained idea to hit on Oliver. And it was only my fault that I might face backlash from that. He could spread the word about me in a terrible way, and that would backfire epically. But there wasn’t anything I could do about it now. It was done.

I also partly blamed myself for thinking I could be safe in my own home.

It had been my choice to stick with my dad after I became a legal adult.

Four years had passed after the milestone of my eighteenth birthday, the date when I was no longer a minor.

I didn’t have to stay with him. I could run away and start over somewhere new, on my own.

Yet, I chose not to leave. If I ran and tried to control a new life of my own elsewhere, I’d be further from Juilliard and my dreams to dance on stage.

Taking off to live in a different area wouldn’t increase my odds of succeeding in ballet.

I owned my mistakes. I always would.

As I woke up, stiff and sore from trying to sleep on that bench and the floor, I was determined to own my next mistakes, too. Because I’d always make them. That was simply part of being human.

After I stowed the yoga mats and towels back where I found them, I left the dance studio before Amy or her mom could show up to open for the first class of the day.

My stomach grumbled, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten since lunch yesterday.

My skin was grimy, another unwelcome reminder, one that I needed to shower, and badly.

Heading home, I tried to keep my head held high and concentrate on what I’d do if my dad wasn’t there.

I had to be smart about the possibility that Tony, or any other friend of my dad’s, could be loitering there.

Depending on how bad my dad’s hangover was, he should’ve shown up by now.

Like something the cat would drag in, he’d be there, grumpy and dehydrated, but likely not rethinking his choices like I always tried to do.

If Tony was still there, I’d have to wait him out. Calling my dad was useless. It had gone straight to voicemail. I tried his number as soon as I got to the studio last night.

There was no way in hell I’d go into the apartment with that creep in there.

The closer I came to the building, the hotter my anger ran at the idea of his being in my home.

The audacity to let himself in just so he could try to force me into having sex with him.

The nerve of barging in and preventing me from reaching my room, the one lockable safe haven I thought I could count on.

When I reached the building, I moved cautiously.

Tony had been in the apartment, not out in the open and stalking me.

Yet, as I walked up the stairs and continued down the hallways to reach my unit, I couldn’t help but fear someone could be watching.

A sixth sense to be alert was triggered.

I couldn’t shut off this need to be on guard.

Anxiety would stick with me until I knew that no one was in my home, until I could lock a door between me and the rest of the world.

This need to be on and never relax dragged me down, but there was no other option for how to survive.

No one approached me in the hallway. Not a single jump scare reached me or had me flinching.

Still, I paused at the door. I knocked. I knocked on my own damn door, as if I were a guest, not a member of the “family” there, not a person who contributed to the rent.

“Hello?” I called out after my knocks.

Nothing came. I didn’t expect Tony to answer, anyway. He’d enjoyed catching me off guard last night. He wouldn’t get away with that again. My hope was that if he were still here, I could know and retreat before going inside.

I knocked again. “Hello?”

Nothing. I tried the doorknob, finding it locked.

Narrowing my eyes, I used my key to unlock it all while hanging on to a hammer I’d found in the closet at the dance studio.

I’d bring it back. It wasn’t like I wanted to steal it.

I doubted Amy or her mom would need to even use a hammer today, or any time soon.

They wouldn’t even know that I’d borrowed it for the sake of self-defense.

I pushed the door open and waited.

No one lunged at me.

I blew out a deep breath and waited anyway. This anxiousness was going to drain all my energy on top of the shitty sleep I’d gotten last night.

I took one step in, hammer in hand. Once I was all the way in and no one showed, I exhaled another careful breath. I didn’t release the hammer until I checked the entire apartment.

Tony was gone.

My dad hadn’t returned.

I was alone, blissfully by myself. At last.

Without a second thought, I hurried to get in the shower. The hammer came into the narrow, stained stall with me. Just in case.

I stood under the hot water for as long as I could.

It didn’t erase every ache and pain, but the steam sort of soothed me.

The longer I could calm down and try to relax in my own space, the more clearheaded I felt.

Instead of being on guard and in a defensive mode, I could allow myself the chance to think back to all that happened.

Never minding my error in attempting to seduce Oliver, I dwelled on the fact that my dad hadn’t come home. Tony hadn’t counted on his coming home either, but somehow, I doubted my parent was dead.

He’d be alive if for no other reason than to trap me in this life.

But am I trapped?

I can leave. I can get dressed, walk out of here, and never come back.

I could just go and figure out how to get money and start a new life.

Doing so would end my chance of being near the resources to dance, though.

It wasn’t much, but each time my dad paid for a lesson, it was one step closer to the dream I never wanted to quit on.

If I ran, I’d have no backup to pay for any lesson at all.

I doubted I’d meet another friend like Amy, either, and I wouldn’t be able to show up at a dance studio like I could now.

“Why does life have to be so hard?” I mumbled to myself as I got dressed in loungewear to make myself a late breakfast. Lunch.

Whatever. I was so hungry that I’d lost track.

Preparing food would only be feasible if anything was in the kitchen, and with Tony helping himself to this place last night, I doubted I’d find much.

“Thanks a lot, Dad,” I muttered as I walked into the kitchen.

It was his fault he’d befriended an asshole like Tony who’d try to rape me.

I wanted to blame him for my mother’s death too.

Because he hung out with the wrong people, she’d been near the violence of a drive-by.

Out of the goodness of her heart, she’d tried to help someone who was wounded.

And what did she get for it? Death.

I’d never forgiven my father for exposing her to a violent life. And I wouldn’t be quick to forgive him for not showing up last night when his presence might have prevented Tony from trying to get me.

As I scrounged in the kitchen for the bare basics to slap together a sandwich, I sighed and wished I could be more like my mother.

To hang on to beauty and sweetness like she had and not let the anger and frustration eat me up.

My mom would’ve wanted me to be sweet and not so jaded, but in my opinion, she might have been too sweet.

Too na?ve. Too caring at the expense of her own safety and life.

Being raised like this, depending on no one but myself, I’d learned to always fight. To be abrasive and determined. To be cutthroat and scrappy. That was the only way to survive.

That was why when my dad showed up, I was ready to fight like hell.

The door opened right when I realized we had no bread. Not a single slice remained, and it sucked to put together a sandwich with two slices of cheese and pickles. The deli meat I’d bought was gone too. Hungry and angry, I spun at the click of the door’s hardware slotting into place.

I faced him with a serious scowl, but I struggled to keep a straight face like this.

He walked in slowly, limping like he could barely move his body. His face was littered with the evidence of pain. Bruises. Red, swollen blotches. Open cuts that looked like they’d bled a lot. One eye was shut, but he slitted the other one open enough to peer at me.

“What in the hell?” I demanded. Propping one hand to my hip, I looked him up and down.

It even smelled like he’d peed his pants.

“Dammit, Dad.” I shook my head. Just seeing him renewed my fury.

Seeing him like this , a pathetic and hungover mess, enraged me.

He was good for nothing, too stuck on associating with deadbeats and getting high without a regard for anyone else.

“Where the fuck have you been?” I shouted.

He winced. Or maybe he didn’t. It was hard to tell with how his face looked.

He must have gotten so high and messed up that he’d fallen somewhere. I didn’t care. I was running out of patience, let alone compassion. He never gave any to me, and I was too burned to want to be “sweet” to him.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Dad. You were out all night?—”

“Gabby, that’s not true.” His voice was slurred, as if something was wrong with his tongue.

“That’s not true?” I parroted with every bit of seething anger I could muster. “That’s not true? The hell it isn’t. You weren’t here last night when I got home. But Tony was. He knew you were out all night doing whatever the hell you wanted while he let himself into our home.”

“What?” He stopped walking into the room, staring at me seriously. “Tony was here?”

“Yes! And he tried to rape me. Your buddy tried to take advantage of me the second I got home.” I crossed my arms, too livid to stand straight without hugging myself.

“He tried to rape me.” Saying it out loud made it all the more real.

It wasn’t just a thought or a figment of a possibility.

Speaking about it cemented it as a fact.

As something that had happened. It was every woman’s faraway fear, but it had almost happened .

I struggled to accept it, wishing I could just be mad and yelling at him like this to avoid thinking about what if Tony had succeeded.

“He—” Dad took another step but had to put his hand on the table to support himself.

I furrowed my brow at the bruises and cuts there. It looked like he’d tried to fight with a clawed animal or something.

“Did he touch you?” he asked.

Like you care. “He tried to.”

“But did he?” He lowered his head before staring me down. “Gabby, did he do anything to you?”

Not for one second did I think he was asking because he cared. Because he was worried. It seemed more like he needed a factual retelling, nothing more.

“No. I got away. He came on to me and was ready to take advantage. But I fought him off and ran away.”

“Good.” He exhaled a wheezy breath. I couldn’t convince myself he was relieved for me, though. “You’re still…” He cleared his throat, as if it was hoarse from screaming. “You’re still a virgin, aren’t you?”

I narrowed my eyes, ready to add to the bruises on his face. How dare he ask me that? How dare he prioritize my “purity” like that? Anger spiked in me all over again, and I wondered if it was possible for a person to combust from being so mad.

“Fuck off,” I told him, sick of this. Sick of him. And sick of this life. This was his reaction? Just to make sure I remained a virgin?

“You can be as mad as you want, Gabby,” he said, almost mockingly, “but it won’t change anything.”

I didn’t need him to tell me that I was stuck in this life with no hope. I didn’t understand what he was trying to say, though. I could be mad, but too bad, so sad?

“What?” I watched him lower his head again. As he stood there without a reply for me, I realized he hadn’t closed the door behind him.

In the void of the doorway, another man appeared behind him. Dressed in a suit and wearing a somber, serious expression that warned the world not to mess with him, he strode right into the apartment.

“Dad?” I lifted my hand to point at the intruder. He moved too fast, though, and the urgency of him entering my home triggered that fight-or-flight response in me.

I backed up, smacking my hip on the counter. I couldn’t fight this guy. He was too big. Too sinister. Just one look at him had me worried he was with the Mob.

“No. Get back! Dad?” I shot him a panicked look.

He didn’t stop the man as he rushed toward me. He didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch.

“Dad?” I backed up into a corner where the counter met the fridge. “No. No!”

I had nowhere to run. My heart raced as the man pulled out a syringe from his pocket. Darting toward me and capturing my wrist, he moved too efficiently, jabbing the point of the needle into my upper arm.

“Dad!”

He didn’t react. He didn’t move.

Staring at me as the man struggled to hold me still, he witnessed my being captured right before his bloodshot eyes.

“No!” I screamed it as loud as I could, praying someone might hear and give a damn enough to intervene.

My own father wouldn’t.

Deep down, I knew that no one would be coming to save me.

The only person who’d ever tried to accomplish that was myself.