Page 19

EIGHTEEN

Inaya

Dante is back. It only took a few more days before he was fully functioning; the only sign of his injury is a faint limp toward the end of the day. After his official statement of gratitude for nursing him back to health, he slipped back into his quiet, stoic place while giving all the appropriate side-eyes when I talk too much. He’s been rearranging things…actually, it looks more like he’s packing. I’m not sure if I should be worried or hopeful.

He hasn’t touched me since my forced nap three days ago, but it’s not like I know what to expect. The sex could have been a side effect of his guard being down from the painkillers or because he was on the verge of getting sick. It’s a mystery only he can solve, and I’m not going to ask. I would think I’d be more comfortable around him, but he keeps me off balance. Every day is a new Dante, it seems.

It’s weird, but I miss his occasional smiles. I’d be lying if I said I was having a terrible day since his desire to get back to normal has him half naked and sweaty as he works out. I’ll accept the eye candy since nothing else is going on right now.

Dante inhales and exhales deeply as he pumps out his pull up reps. All his muscles contract, showing that it really is a full body effort. He stops, allowing himself to hang as he gives me a pointed look. After a few seconds, I roll my eyes and get up to go back inside. I didn’t have to stay hostage on the inside, but I wasn’t exactly going to explore the island. Dante didn’t care where I went as long as I wasn’t staring at him while we worked out.

I pick up the tablet and open the book I started right before his illness got the best of him. It was interesting before his health went to hell. I’m halfway through the chapter, when he passes me, completely nude on the way to the shower. My post period horniness is kicking my ass, and he has the audacity to be mean and naked.

Rolling, I grab the pillow and scream into it as the water runs in the next room. My imagination was one thing, but he has given me the reality of what he can do, just to take it away, leaving me in the real version of our dynamic. I’m his hostage. I shouldn’t lust after my future murderer. Every day, even when he was sick, I’ve tried to think of a way out of this, but there isn’t one.

Sighing, I opt to go back to my story. The tablet shuts off, making me realize I don’t remember where I left the charger. It doesn’t help that he has rearranged almost everything. I walk around, checking the usual spots since it’s not that big of a space. Eventually, I turn toward the cabinet that holds all his passports. I’m happy the charger is the first thing I see on the shelf, all I have to do is grab it, then go back to minding my business.

My hastiness, however, knocks something over and I rush to grab it, so I don’t upset the beast. I inch closer, hoping that it’s as innocent as it looks.

“Please be a simple child’s toy and not an undercover spy gadget or grenade,” I whisper as I pick it up.

It’s a Rubik’s cube, but it’s not the usual blue, green, white, orange, and red combination. Each side is a different shade of purple.

“I had a cube like this,” I say to no one, but as quickly as my smile appeared, it dropped as my brain started to drag out long forgotten memories.

My mom gave me one like it for my birthday; it’s one of the last gifts she gave me before she died. I briefly wonder if he stole it, but as my thumb glides over my initials, I remember exactly what happened to it.

I sat on the edge of my bed, swinging my legs as I twisted the cube in all different directions, not sure what I’m supposed to do with it. My mom folded some of my shirts while she softly hummed a song.

“Mom, why doesn’t my brother like me?

She stopped humming and gave me a puzzled look. “You don’t have a brother, honey.” Placing the shirt in my drawer, she sat down next to me. “Why do you think you have a brother who doesn’t like you?”

“Because kids at school get to play with their siblings. Dante doesn’t talk to me. I heard Dad say he’s getting Dante a special birthday gift, but I wasn’t invited to the party,” I explained while I pouted.

My mom’s big brown eyes tilted in sadness. “Oh, honey. Dante isn’t your brother.”

“He lives here like I do. You’re not his mommy?”

My mom held me close. I don’t know how to name her scent, but I love the way she smells.

“No. I’m just your mommy. Dante is here because he doesn’t have parents.” She sighed hard as she tried to think of a way to explain it to me. “It’s complicated, sweetheart, but he’s not our child or your brother.”

I perked up, no longer feeling rejected. “That’s probably why he doesn’t talk. He’s too sad.”

“I can imagine, baby.” My mom dropped a kiss on my forehead and hugged me tighter.

I held up my toy. “I’ll give him this for his birthday.”

She laughed and shook her head. “I got that custom just for you.”

“I know,” I said with a nod. “That’s why he needs it.”

“Explain,” she asked slowly.

“The love, Mommy! It’s made with love from my mommy. He needs a mommy’s love.”

I stared at my mom as she wiped tears from her eyes. Her sadness seemed so out of place. It was Dante’s birthday; we should have been happy.

“What’s wrong, Mommy?”

She smiled to distract me from her tears. “You’re such a sweetheart. You’re right. He needs love.”

My chest hurts, limiting my ability to breathe. If my memory is correct, the hate he has for my father can only mean terrible things.

“What are you doing?” he asks, pulling my attention to him.

I’ve been zoned out for so long that I didn’t hear the shower end. His chest is bare, but he’s wearing lounge pants as he dries his damp hair.

“Where did you get this?” I inquire softly because I’m scared of his answer.

He drops the towel across a chair, looking unbothered while the rest of my world falls apart.

“It was a birthday gift.”

Tears attack me, each drop hurting that much more. I may not know everything, but I know enough about my dad to draw a conclusion that shouldn't be anywhere near my brain when thinking of a parent.

“He kidnapped you.” Just whispering burns my throat.

“Yeah, and I found out recently that he also killed my parents in the process.”

I sink down to the floor because it’s beyond me how Father could be so cruel. What could a small child have possibly done to warrant such destruction of his life? The article I read said he was missing, and his parents were found dead but, apparently, my dad shielded him from the media. He probably took away Dante’s desire to know the truth.

I don’t want to know about the amount of brainwashing and conditioning involved. I’ve seen some cases as a nurse, but nothing on this level. There weren’t details on how they died. Even after finding out that my dad wasn’t on the up and up, I simply thought Dante’s parents were some sort of associates of his who got caught up in the wrong thing and he took care of Dante because he somehow cared.

Now, I know I have no idea what happened because I was always away, and I never saw Dante when I visited home. Something Dante said to me rambles around in my brain as I lie down and try to remember how to breathe.

"Is killing fun?"

"To some. It's just a part of my missions. My adrenaline spikes, but I don't get pleasure from it."

"Then why do it?"

"Because I can. It's what I was raised to do."

"By who?"

He never answered that question, and now it’s clear why. My sperm donor did all of this to him.

“Oh, no,” I groan as Dante watches me.

He seems so far removed from all of it, but this is the life he’s lived since he was six. I push myself up, my legs wobble and I feel capable of fainting, but I make it to the bed to sit down.

“Why?” It’s not a question I’m asking him. It’s for the universe, for the man I thought was my dad. Hell, how do I know I’m his daughter?

“I ran your DNA,” he tells me like he read my mind.

I cover my ears, although it’s not new information. There’s no way I can associate myself with such a monster at this moment. Snuffing out the pure innocence of a child, no, as children so young can only be achieved by a special kind of monster. He was supposed to be in the arms of his loving parents and not locked in Antoni Wójcik’s cold mansion and trained to do his business.

My hand does its best to calm my chest, but it’s not working. I’ll pass out at this rate. Antoni - I can’t even think of him in relation to me - created the very assassin who plans to destroy both of us.

"None of this would have happened if he would have let me complete my mission when I was eighteen."

"How? Who was your target?"

"Me. I'd taken a bunch of pills." He smiles, but there is so much pain in his eyes. "I was happy when everything went dark." He looks at his hands for a beat. "He couldn't even grant me that. I awakened in my room, hooked up to machines as the doctor on his payroll looked over me. Father came in and slapped the shit out of me and told me to stop acting like a bitch."

The sick feeling in my stomach returns. The more I know about Antoni, the sicker I become. Dante struggles with his anger, his hands wrapped so tightly into fists that they start to turn white.

"He brought in another kid. He looked to be around eight. I understood the terror in his eyes. Father told me that he went and got me a brother. Our lives were tied, and my death would kill him."

His laugh has no mirth. "He told me to man up like being in his care for twelve years was easy. Like he didn't constantly attack me after my thirteenth birthday because a six-year-old learned my name and wanted to give me a birthday gift."

My head snaps up at that information. Guilt floods my system, even knowing it’s irrational to blame my younger self for my dad's callousness.

"No," I whisper as more tears fall down my cheeks.

"Yes, and every birthday attack after that was a reminder that knowing my name meant you knew too much about me. From my thirteenth up until last year, he'd deliver his reminders like I knew where the fuck you were. I never bothered to look, but when you keep getting accused of the same thing…"

Dante lets the end of that thought hang between us. He didn’t need to fill it in; I was kidnapped, after all. He pops up and starts pacing while pulling at his hair. "When you ran, he knew exactly where you were, but instead of relocating you to keep you safe, he-with a few others-stormed my house and jumped me. The kid I'd stayed alive all these years to protect led the charge. It was yet another time I made excuses for Father. I refrained from killing all of them with the rationale that this was a ritual for him…a fucked-up way to show that he cared. A method to keep me focused on my goals. He'd brainwashed me so thoroughly that I was in my thirties, still making excuses for his abuse! Then when I confirmed that he brutally murdered my parents and kept pictures of their bodies like some sort of fucked up trophy, the hold he had on me shattered."

Everything hurts. My feelings, body, and soul. The only parent I have left is a kidnapping psychopath. Now, I'm not confused about why I was kidnapped. I'm wondering why no one has attempted it before. If for nothing else, I'd think they'd want to end his bloodline.

My body runs hot as tears cloud my vision again. I need cool air. I run toward the refrigerator and open the door, hoping that it will help. After a few breaths, the overwhelmed feeling leaves but the heartbreak remains, squeezing my chest with an iron grip. I grab a bottle of water and hold it to my neck.

Turning, I verify that Dante isn't far behind me. He probably ran when I did. He studies me with a slight tilt to his head. Tears stain his cheeks, but he doesn't make any effort to wipe them again. It's just another reminder that the man who helped make me is the worst kind of predator.

"It's too much, Dante. It hurts."

"How does my life hurt you? None of it happened to you. I had to live it."

There isn't any judgment in his voice. He just doesn't understand why it hurts me.

"It's empathy. I don't hurt for me. I hurt for you. Yes, it's terrible knowing that I was raised by a monster, but I consider him that because of what he's done to you and others. I hate it. I don't remember much from that time, but I remember the boy who looked sad and lonely. I wanted to fix it. I wish it never happened to you. You didn’t deserve any of it. If it were in my power, I would have NEVER allowed this to happen. None of it.”

Dante closes his eyes like he’s trying to shake away a thought. He hits his head a few times as he chants fuck. I’m not sure what to do, but I’ve seen enough to know he needs a moment.

When he opens his eyes again, there is a storm of emotions swirling too fast for me to keep up. His expression looks like his thoughts pain him as he takes a step forward. He pauses again and for a few intense moments, I’m his only focus. A take a sip of water to ease the ache of my dry mouth. This could be it for me. An emotional Dante is harder to read and much less predictable.

“Dammit, Inaya,” he growls when he grabs me.

My yelp is muted by his lips. I was so prepared for panic mode that it took my brain a moment to realize that Dante is kissing me. My body soon catches up. His kiss contains a level of passion I didn’t know he could possess, yet he pulls away with another curse, then walks outside without another word.

What just happened?