“Yes, it is very much my business. You are my daughter. Your actions reflect on this family. And you will do as I tell you.”
I can’t help it; I glance at Carmine, too. His face looks worse than it did last night, his eye swollen, his cheek a purplish color nearly down to his chin. All that with just one hit. The thought makes me absurdly pleased. My man did that to him. To protect me. “I won’t marry him,” I say, and my voice is quiet, too. “I won’t.”
“Jessica. You’re not going to have much choice. Cain’s a dead man. I need him for one more fight, and then he’s going to pay for touching my daughter.”
“It’s my choice, Pop—” But there’s no chance I’m going to get a word in edgewise. My opinions don’t matter here.
“And it was a bad one, Jess. Cain’s being taken care of. Right now. And when he’s gone, then you’ll do what I tell you. You’ll marry Carmine, and you’ll pay attention to this family, the way you should have been doing from the beginning.”
I clench my fists. “I will not marry Carmine. You can’t make me!” I feel—and sound—like a five-year-old. God. How has he managed to turn me into this?
Pop just shakes his head. I can see Carmine smirking out of the corner of my eye. That son of a bitch. I want to punch him in the face myself.
“No.” I can’t help it—the tears are back. I hate myself for it, but I’m so angry, so infuriated, and so afraid. Terrified. For Cain. For myself. My voice rises to a shriek. “If I want Cain, I’ll have him! There’s nothing you can do about it! I already slept with him!” I take a step backward toward the door as Pop takes a threatening step toward me. “Face it. I’m damaged goods. And I will not let you run my life!”
I whirl and head for the door, half expecting one or both of the men to stop me. But I hear Pop mumble something to Carmine behind me, and neither of them makes a move. I shove through the office door and head for the garage. I’ve got to get to Cain. Whatever’s happening to him right now, I have to stop it.
#
I’m not sure how I make it to the garage, much less to Cain’s place with the tears filling my eyes, blurring my vision, and the rage in my chest making it damn near impossible to breathe. But before I can quite process what’s happening, I’m powering down the road, and within ten minutes I’ve pulled up in front of Cain’s house. There are two black cars in the parking area that I know don’t belong to him. Pop’s men, I’m sure, and my heart beats even harder, if that’s possible. I feel like it’s about to explode.
He won’t kill him. It’s a weak reassurance, but I know it’s true. Pop won’t have him killed quite yet. He said he needs Cain for one more fight. Then, I’m sure, all bets will be off.
I run up the stairs to the front of the condo and bang on the door like an idiot. Sure, somebody’s going to come answer it. Good call, Jess. It’s unlocked, though, I realize, and I push it open.
I can hear what’s going on before I even get close. The sound of fists on flesh, rawer even than the sounds of the fighting ring from last night. I hear helpless grunts—Cain. Low, menacing voices—whoever’s beating on him. I run toward the sounds.
Cain’s got one knee down on the floor, and two men in dark suits are pounding him. One of them has brass knuckles on; I can see the glint of the metal as he swings at Cain. Cain ducks, though, and the blow slides just past the point of his jaw. He’s bloodied up, but not much worse than he was last night. Apparently he’s been holding his own. Barely.
“Stop it!” I scream helplessly. “Stop it! Leave him alone!”
The men turn to look at me. One of them has hold of Cain’s shirt collar, and he doesn’t let go of it as he gives me a feral grin. “Ah, Cain, I see you need your girl to rescue you.”
“Fuck off,” says Cain, and lands a hard punch to the man’s jaw. The man crumples, and Cain lurches to his feet. The other man lunges toward him, but Cain ducks again, grabs him by the back of his jacket, and swings him into the nearby couch. I hear a cracking sound as the man’s head hits the couch’s wooden framework. He’s down for a few seconds and then staggers halfway to his feet. I head for Cain, even though he’s waving for me to stay still. I move in to help support him, but he’s got most of his weight balanced back on his feet again, and doesn’t really seem to need the assistance. I can smell the blood and sweat on him.
“Get the fuck out of my house,” he says to his attackers. The men both make their way back to their own feet. The first one, the one who took the punch to the jaw, straightens his jacket.