Life Before Damaged Vol 7 :The Ferro Family (Life Before Damaged #7) (7 page)

“
H
oly fuck
, Gina! Is that...?”

Erin doesn’t finish her question or maybe she does but I can’t hear her, the pounding in my ears is too loud.

I jump up from the couch and let the bowl of popcorn fall to the floor. In the background, a faint hum carries in tandem with the thrumming in my ears. Erin is saying things, probably very colorful expletives, complaining as she picks up popcorn from off of the floor--again--but that’s the least of my worries.

I’m in a daze of anger and envy. I walk slowly toward the window. No, it’s not a daze. I'm in shock.

The stripper has started her dance, spinning about the pole, but Pete’s eyes remain on me instead of her. His hands are gripping the armrests of the recliner and my nails are digging into my palms. The pain doesn’t register.

When I get to the window, unclench my fists and place a hand on the cool glass. Too many emotions are whirling around inside of me to make any sense of them all. I look down to the street and see his bike parked just outside of her building. Strangely enough, my chauffeur, slash bodyguard, slash spy isn't there.

I glance back up.

Pete’s still watching me.

The stripper is on her hands and knees, crawling toward him. I want to scream for her to stop.

She can't do this.

Not with him.

Soon, she’ll be undressing him.

Soon, she’ll be pleasuring him.

She'll be taking him in her mouth before climbing on his lap, and then she’ll be fucking the man I'm supposed to marry right before my eyes.

His gaze leaves mine to look at her, and he smiles crookedly. I don’t even want to imagine what's about to happen, let alone see it. I've seen him before with another woman, but that was different. I didn't know him then, and he didn't know me. It wasn't even deliberate.

This display isn't about his insatiable need for sex with random women. This show is for my eyes only. This show is purposeful. My jaw locks and my gaze narrows. I’m so angry that my jaw is going to crack.

I turn on my heels and rush toward the door, my hair whipping in my face as I do so.

“Hey! A little help here, Gina?” Erin stops and rests on her heels. She’s still on the floor. “Gee? Gina! What the hell? Wait! Where are you going? Don't you want to see how the show ends? Gina!” Erin’s face pops up over the backrest of the couch, but I can’t look at her.

"I need some air. Laugh at me all you want, Erin, call me whatever names you want, but I can't watch this. I'm going for a walk. Text me when they're done."

Erin stands up and places the bowl on the coffee table. "It's dark out there and way too late to go walking on your own. You'll get mug-rape-killed!"

I put on Pete’s old leather jacket and tuck my keys and cell phone securely in the pockets. After opening the door, I grab the baseball bat that Erin keeps there.

"Then I’ll take your bat for a walk." I slam the door behind me before Erin can stop me and bolt.

I fly down the stairs. I can’t even feel the steps under my feet as they land. Seconds later, I’m outside, taking in a huge gulp of the crisp night air. I start to walk down the street at a fast clip, with a baseball bat resting on my shoulder.

I don't know where I'm going. I just walk, stepping over trash that’s been dragged to the curb for pick up.

Pete did this on purpose.

I know he sleeps around, I just don't want to see it. The fact that he deliberately chose her apartment, knowing I'd be watching, just sends his message to me loud and clear.

‘I’m a player and I fuck—always have, always will.’ I just don't understand why he did it. He's supposed to be my friend.

We’re supposed to look out for each other, and not rip each other apart.

I wrap my arms around my middle tighter, trying to stay warm. The bat is still firmly clutched in my hand and I squeeze it until my fingers hurt. FML. How did I get in this spot?

Option one is Pete, my future fiancé and untouchable erotic dream come true, but also my worst nightmare, going against every single value I hold dear.

Option two is Philip, the fairytale, everything I've ever wanted in man just a few months too late.

Maybe it's time I take inventory of my values and do a little reassessing. Maybe I'm the one who has it all wrong. Would it be so bad to have a lover on the side, knowing that Pete and I won't ever have a real marriage? Can I go on living an entire life without the prospect of ever being loved?

My questions go unanswered, and the loud, aggressive rumble of a motorcycle passing on the street jostles me from my thoughts. The sound is thunderous, especially when the bike comes to a stop right ahead of me and the rider gives the engine an extra revving. I look down at my feet and keep on walking, doing my best to ignore Pete. He's probably only here to bring me back home since my leash is nowhere to be found. I'm the Ferro pet running stray through the streets. I manage to pass by him, but not for very long.

Pete puts his hand on my shoulder, stopping me.

"Gina!" Pete's angry voice is muffled from inside his helmet, but it's no less menacing.

"Get away from me, Pete!" I don't bother to turn around. I don't want to see his face.

"Gina, get on the bike."

I feel my self-control slipping away from me, bit by bit. I close my eyes and try to stay calm, but my hands start to shake, so I grip the bat tighter. I try to talk calmly, but my teeth won't unclench, my jaw is locked in anger.

"Get away from me, Pete, I mean it."

"Sulking around the streets alone is dangerous. Stop acting childish and get on the bike. I'm taking you back to your place now."

I spin around to face him.

"Childish? Do you want to see childish? Here! This is childish!"

I lunge toward his precious bike and do what comes naturally. Holding the bat firmly, I take a swing. It comes crashing down on the headlight. Little plastic fragments go flying everywhere. A car drives by and slows down, but doesn’t stop. I take another swing, letting out a scream.

“I HATE YOU!”

And I do hate him, just as much as I care for him, too—and I hate myself for it. I put all my emotions into the swing. The bat hits the metal frame. On contact, a resounding gong echoes down the adjacent alley. The bat sends painful vibrations up my arms.

“Have you gone fucking insane?” Pete screams from behind me and circles me with his arms, preventing me from taking another swing at his bike. My chest is heaving and my whole body is trembling with rage.

I stare back at the bike and the bat in my hands, horrified. Oh, my God! What did I just do? I release it as if it were poison. The sound of the metal bat falling to the ground resonates as I watch it bounce from the tip to the handle a couple of times before it comes to rest in the gutter.

Pete has this effect on me and I hate him for it. I hate him for all of it—the erotic passion, the violent jealousy, the attraction that won’t disappear no matter how much I wish it weren’t there.

This isn't me. I’m not this lunatic. It scares me that Pete can push my buttons so easily. I don't want to be this person.

Pete keeps a tight hold on me for a while. My rage simmers down. My voice is calm, but the words are still filled with raw emotion.

"I hate you, so much. You lying piece of shit."

Pete lets go of me. My feelings are so out of whack that I immediately start to miss his arms holding me tight. His answering voice is stern but lacks conviction.

"Good. You should hate me."

I turn to face Pete. With his helmet on, I can only see the top part of his face, but his eyes show everything. Hurt and sadness. I point toward the general direction of my apartment building and try to talk past the dry lump in my throat.

My body is still so tense that I’m shaking. I want to scream at him, but I keep my rage in check enough to speak.

"Why? Why would you do that? I thought we had a truce?"

Pete unfastens his helmet and takes it off. He has little imprints on his cheeks from where the protective padding was pressing into his cheeks. He runs a hand through his messy helmet hair and lets out a sigh.

"The truce wasn't working for me. This is who I am, Gina, and despite what anyone says or thinks, you can't change that. What do you expect?" He places a palm flat on his chest and smiles as if he’s proud. "I'm my father’s son. We don't get to choose who we are. We're born into this world and we inevitably become who we are destined to be. This is me. Whether you like it or not, you'll have to get used to the women.”

I step toward him, eerily in control now, and shove a finger into his chest.

“You may be your father's son, but I am most definitely not your mother. I am not made of ice and if you deliberately provoke me, you should expect retaliation. This," I say, motioning to the broken bike and discarded bat, "is not how I will spend the rest of my life.” I shove his chest, unable to find another outlet for my frustration.

Pete doesn’t move. Instead, he lets out another huff of air, but this time it sounds more like a laugh than a sigh.

"You really are a rose, aren't you? Beautiful at first look, but riddled with thorns." His eyes crinkle a bit and his mouth quirks up into a small grin.

“And you're a fucktard, so I guess we're even-steven.”

Pete laughs louder, wrapping his arms around me and holding me close to him. I swat at him and try to pull out of his embrace.

“No! You can’t have me and have her too. You can’t touch me like you care, and then do shit like this!”

“Gina, what do you expect me to do?” His tone is clipped and those blue eyes are wild.

“Anyone and everyone, just not in front of me! I don’t want to see you pleasuring other women. I don’t want to see you crawl between some chicks legs!”

“Why? Who cares?”

I shove him again, and he takes a pity step back. “I care! Me! I do!”

He takes my shoulders and looks down into my face. “Why?”

“I don’t know! I just do. Let go of me.” I try to shake out of his grip, but he only holds me tighter. I stiffen against his chest. “You can’t do crap like this. I can’t take it. I can’t.”

“Okay, okay. Calm down. It was just a joke.” His words sound sincere, but I can’t see his face.

I suck in air and keep struggling, trying to pull away, but Pete puts a hand on the back of my head.

“I can’t live like this, Peter. I have a heart, and I can’t hide it. Even if we aren’t together, I don’t want to see you having sex with someone else.”

His voice is a whisper. “Tell me why, Gina, please.”

My stomach flips at the gentle way he says my name. I scold myself for feeling so attached to him and make something up. I know why, but there’s no way in hell I’m telling him. He’ll rip my heart out of my chest if he knows.

“Because I don’t want to see my friends having sex. Ever.”

“So, that’s a hard, fast rule?”

I nod, and he holds me firmly. I start to relax in his embrace. A smile plays at the edges of my mouth.

Pete rests his head on top of mine and takes a deep breath.

“What the hell am I supposed to do with you?”

“Well, according to page three, paragraph two, article five of your mother’s contract, I believe you’re supposed to marry me.” It was meant as a joke, but it comes out sounding like something more profound, deeper, like a proposal.

I look up and it’s a huge mistake. His face is so close to mine now. His smile is gone, and his eyes fill with sorrow. There is so much depth and emotion locked up behind those eyes and I want to help him unleash it. That irrational sliver of hope keeps poking through, making me think that maybe, with time, he’ll come around and let himself feel something other than rage and lust.

I can see it. It’s right there below the surface.

He looks like he’s debating if he should kiss me or not, looking down at my lips and then into my eyes. I’m starting to know that look all too well and, as tempting as it may be, it's my signal to push away.

My phone vibrates, shattering the moment like a mirror smashing to the ground. Pete and I let go of each other and I take a step back. The phone vibrates again and I take it out of my pocket to see who it is. The name Phillip Gambino flashes across the screen. I look up toward Pete, who’s now staring at the phone.

“Aren’t you going to answer?” he asks softly.

I shake my head, unsure of what I want to do. The phone vibrates a third time. One more and it will go to voicemail.

Pete makes the decision for me when he swipes the screen with his finger, answering the call for me and backing away. I hear Phillip’s voice on the other end of the line calling my name, and I put the phone to my ear.

“Hey, Phillip. Yeah, I’m here... No, this isn’t a bad time.” I look at Pete, wishing he hadn’t answered. There’s more to say, but it’s clear it won’t be said now. I clear my throat and take a step away from Pete.

“I was about to call it a night. There’s only so much studying I can do... A drink?” My attention is half on the conversation, half on Pete. He’s crouched in front of his bike, his boots crunching the plastic shards on the ground. He’s assessing the damage, shaking his head.

When I mention going to have a drink, he looks up at me with a sad smile and nods. He mouths, ‘Go.’

I tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear and look away from him. I'm not being chaperoned by the Ferro chauffeur tonight. I'm actually free to spend an evening with Philip without any repercussions. We could stay together all night. I could take out every painful moment of the day on Philip's beautiful body, but…

I glance at Pete and know I want something I can’t have. He won’t change. Not for me, not for anyone. I plaster a fake smile on my face.

“Sure. That sounds great. Text me the address and I’ll meet you there. See you soon.” I tuck my phone back in my pocket.

Pete stands up and walks toward me. He jabs a thumb over his shoulder, toward his bike.

“I’d offer you a ride but you see, something happened to my lights. They don’t seem to be working for some reason. It might be dangerous.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets and looks down at the ground.