Amplify (24 page)

He nods. "A little. You frustrate the hell out of me, Serafina."

Ah, Serafina again. Yes, he’s still angry.

"All we need to do is communicate, Fee," he says softly, his fingers sliding up and down my back now.

I nod. "I was scared."

"Are you still?"

I shrug. "A little."

"Fee—"

I press my finger to his lips. "A little fear is good, I think. It means there’s a healthy respect for what I stand to lose. Before—well, before it was a very unhealthy level."

He nods and I move my finger back to his bearded face.

"Do you trust me?" he asks again.

I nod. "I do."

"Then there’s no reason why you can’t tell me anything, everything."

"I agree. And no more kid gloves," I tell him, giving him a look.

He smirks. "I think the heat of your ass should tell you those are long gone."

I nod and my mind thinks back to what we just did. Holy smokes that was incredible.

"So..." I begin.

He lifts a brow. "So?"

"Will, uh, you be talking dirty like that a lot?" I ask, glancing at him then quickly looking away.

"Did you like it, Fee? Did it turn you on hearing me tell you what I wanted to do to you?" he asks, his tone deepening.

"Uh-huh," I admit.

"Then far be it from me to deny you anything that brings you pleasure."

"Mmm, I don’t think you should deny me anything either."

He chuckles and when I think back again to his cock between my breasts, watching him come all over my skin, my cheeks flush.

"That’s a pretty shade of red you’re wearing. Care to tell me what brought it on?" he asks.

I shake my head.

"Come on, Fee. Tell me."

I huff out a breath. I know he’s not going to let up until I do, so why bother fighting him on it? "Fine. It was hot the way you took control, the way you, uh, marked me as yours." My gaze lifts to his, his eyes darkening with desire again.

He rolls me to my back, his eyes roaming over my chest and breasts covered in his dried cum.

"You claimed me," I tell him and his mouth kicks up in that sexy half smirk. Jesus, he’s so sexy.

"I did. I should have done this the first night, but I didn’t know if you were ready for it. I waited so long for that night, Fee. So fucking long and it was incredible. And then that bitch Carina fucked it all up."

"She planned that, didn’t she?" I ask.

He nods. "She planned everything that’s ever gone wrong between us. I don’t want to involve you in this, but both Giovanni and I agree you need to know everything. There’s too much risk if you don’t."

I stiffen but nod. "That doesn’t sound good at all."

"It’s not."

And then he tells me. All of it. How she screwed the guards to gain access to places she didn’t belong, how she fucked Emilio in his bed in the green bedroom—Jesus, and how she stood over me while I slept, holding a knife.

I’m not afraid. I’m pissed.

"Are you alright?" he asks.

"Oh yeah. I’m fine. But she isn’t going to be when I’m done with her."

He smirks. "I figured you’d say that. Giovanni said you get first choice."

"What does that mean?"

He taps my nose with his finger then traces my lips. "It means that when the time comes, if you want a piece of her, you get it. You’re first in line."

"But—that’s breaking the rules."

He nods. "Who better to break them than the man in charge?"

I nod. But I wonder—

"Would you think less of me if I stepped up? If I hurt her or maybe even killed her?" I need to know.

"No." No hesitation. "I understand, Fee. You just need to be sure you can live with whatever actions you take."

I nod. "I can."

He nods back. "Then when the time comes, do what you need to do. I will never, ever judge you, Sera."

I grin. "My mama told me that."

He frowns. "What do you mean?"

"You’re going to think I’m crazy."

"Fee."

"My mom and dad come to me in dreams sometimes, and they were with me while I was unconscious at the hospital."

His brows lift. "Tell me."

"They’ve always come to me in my dreams. They’re as real as if they were sitting right in front of us. Earlier today while I was napping, my mom came to me. She scolded me about you."

"I think I’d really like your mother."

I snort. "She knows things, Cage. Like, she knew about the baby, about you wondering if maybe it was Ben’s." He stiffens and I soothe him by kissing him softly. "She told me I should have waited and listened instead of cutting and running. She lectured me and then she asked me why I always run and until then I didn’t know. I thought self preservation but that was only part of it, and when I blurted out to her that I was scared, it all became so clear."

I pause to look into his eyes. "Go on."

"She told me a long time ago, just after they were killed, to always trust my heart. It would never betray me. She reminds me of this every time I see her. She reminded me when I was in the emergency room or surgery or wherever I was then," I murmur.

"Dead."

"What?" I ask.

"You were dead, Fee," he says softly, sounding so broken.

"I was there a long time, Cage. I wasn’t dead that long or I would never have made it back," I tell him.

He shrugs. "I don’t know how these things work. Maybe time is different?"

I nod. "So she was mad about that. She was also mad that I left the way I did that day, that I didn’t give you a chance to explain. She said you’d never judge me and I know that, I knew it then..."

"You were just scared. Especially after how intense it was when we made love that day."

I nod.

"Never be afraid of what you feel for me, Fee. I won’t hurt you, never on purpose."

"I know. It wasn’t that. I realized the reason I was afraid wasn’t because of how much we love each other and it wasn’t because I didn’t trust you, it was because—what if something happens to you? Then you’re gone. I lose you like I lost them. I don’t think I’d survive losing you. I just don’t," I admit, fighting the tears that threaten.

"Fee," he whispers and pulls me close, our foreheads touching. "I wouldn’t survive without you either, which is why I want every minute we do have together to be spent loving one another."

I nod and sniffle.

"We should shower," he mutters, picking me up and carrying me to the bungalow.

"Your, uh, marking will get washed off," I remind him.

He nods. "I can mark you again. Besides, I’d like to put some cream on your ass so it doesn’t sting as much."

"You seriously have a thing for my ass."

"After our shower I’ll show you just how much of a ‘thing’ I have for your ass," he winks.

I’m speechless again. My mouth opens and closes and he chuckles. He lifts me into his arms.

"Trust me, baby, you’ll enjoy it."

I think of his cock size and I’m not so sure.

I
STEP OUT OF THE SHOWER
and as I dry off I hear some soft music playing in the other room. I close and tie my robe and head into the living area of the bungalow, stopping dead in my tracks when I see Cage sitting on the bed, his back against the pillows, his eyes closed, while he sings softly and strums a guitar.
Cage plays the guitar?
What? And, wow, he can sing.

I slowly make my way toward him, trying like hell not to interrupt him. I recognize the song:
Make You Miss Me
by Sam Hunt. Holy smokes that’s hot.

"Join me," he tells me. "And you can pick up your jaw from the floor."

I snicker and sit in front of him, cross-legged on the bed.

He starts singing and I lift a brow. He smirks.

"Clever."

He nods and I start singing the chorus with him. When the song’s over, I just look at him. Who is this man?

I laugh out loud.

"What?" he asks with a smirk.

"Who
are
you?"

"Cage Nichols, man of many talents."

"Mmm, that you are."

He winks.

"I had no idea you could sing and play guitar. Why didn’t you ever mention it?"

"It’s private. For just me and you," he tells me while strumming the chords.

"When did you learn to play? Who taught you? Oh my God! This is amazing," I laugh.

"I learned to play when I was about seven or eight. I had only one close friend, Billy Meyer. His family was great. Typical all-American family with 2.5 kids, a dog, and a white picket fence. Anyway, his dad was a songwriter and he was playing guitar one day. Billy went and started playing the piano. That’s when Billy’s dad called me over and showed me how to play a guitar. We started having regular lessons three, four times a week. I couldn’t take my guitar home, the one Mr. Meyer gave me. My old man would have sold it for smack. So I left it there and went there every day. Billy and I learned how to play some really great music together. Then my mom died. I stayed with them a couple of weeks but I didn’t want to keep mooching off them so I just packed up my shit and left," he tells me, then goes quiet.

"I bet Billy was really sad when you left."

Cage nods. "I was too."

I narrow my eyes and he grins.

"You’re talking about Billy Meyer from Caving In. And his dad, Steven Meyer? Holy hell. It’s no wonder you went into the music business. That’s some role model you had," I shake my head.

"I was lucky."

"God. Even with all the shit you’ve been through, how shitty your dad made your life and your mom’s, you can sit here and say you were lucky. I have never met anyone like you. You’re always so positive. How do you do it? Don’t you ever just want to throw shit and scream or give up?" I ask, knowing I want to do all of those things more often than not.

"There was a time when I did. Then I figured out it didn’t really pay. Wasting your time on all that negative shit will just bring you down. But then again, I didn’t experience what you did, Fee. If someone had murdered my parents, I can guarantee I’d be exactly where you are."

"Where is it that you think I am?"

"Wanting revenge. Wanting to see those murdering fuckers get what’s coming to them. They didn’t only take your parents’ lives that day, they also stole yours. I understand why you’d want to take theirs," he nods.

"Is there anything about me you don’t ‘get’?"

He smiles and shakes his head. "Nope."

"Where did you go after you left the Meyers?" I ask, more than a little curious to find out the entire story.

"I lived on the streets, stayed in homeless shelters until they realized I wasn’t there with an adult and tried to involve protective services. No way in hell was I going into the system."

I nod while he absently strums.

"Then one day I happened upon a bunch of kids who didn’t have anywhere to go."

"Like you," I muse.

"Yes. Like me. Some had worse stories than I did and others just hated their parents. One day this older kid came around. He was maybe fifteen, sixteen, and he taught us how to steal." He meets my gaze. "I’m not particularly proud of this part of my life, but I did what I had to do to survive."

I nod. "I understand."

"We stole small things. Loaves of bread, jars of peanut butter—soap. Only things we needed. Then one day one of the little girls got sick. We didn’t have any money to buy her the medicine the doctor at the free clinic gave her."

"Apparently, medicine wasn’t free?" I ask.

"No. There were a lot of sick people around that time so they didn’t have any free samples of the antibiotics. So, I stepped up and told them I’d steal someone’s purse, someone who looked like they had a lot of money, and we’d be golden," he smirks.

"Joan."

He nods. "Joan. I almost had that purse but once she wrapped her hand around that strap, it was like trying to get a bone from a pitbull."

I snicker. "I imagine it was."

"I tried to run, but she grabbed my hoodie and asked me what I needed that was so important I needed to steal to get it. She thought it was drugs. I told her not the kind she thought. Intrigued, she asked what she could do to help. Not having much of a choice, I told her. Then I took her to the abandoned building where we were living. The other kids were so pissed—until she went to pick up the prescription and medications the girl needed. Her name eludes me. I can’t remember, but she was this cute little red-headed girl with an attitude a mile wide so when she said she was sick, we knew it was bad."

"Go on," I encourage.

"I don’t know how much Joan told you?" he asks.

"Only that you two met when you tried to steal her purse," I answer.

"Joan took in foster children. She cared for them in a way I never knew existed. Then she took in the six of us, making her total nine kids. We were so afraid we’d get shuffled around to some screwed up place where they’d beat or molest us, but Joan vowed she’d fight for us."

"And did she?"

"She did. Every one of us stayed with her until we came of age. All except one."

"What do you mean? Did their parents come for them or something?" I ask.

He smiles sadly. "No, nothing as happy as that. One of the guys got diagnosed with cancer. Leukemia."