A Twist of Love Page 4

  “Shh,” she said in a sloppy voice. She continued her unsteady path toward her door. Her toe caught the rug, and she stumbled, catching herself against the gold fleur-de-lis covered wall. “Shit,” she whispered.

  She huddled against the wall and stayed very quiet, expecting Marco to burst from his room like a super-hero and spank her.

  “Spank me,” she whispered. The thought made her laugh. “Ooh, Brutus, spank me some more.” Her body contorted with effort, trying to hold back gales of silly laughter. “So I’m a little drunk. The date of that contract said thirty days starting today. I started drinking yesterday night. I’m good, right? And the real today doesn’t start until I get up.”

  Even her logic sounded hilarious. Before she collapsed on the hallway rug and belly-laughed like a toddler, she fumbled in her pocket and found her key. It took a few tries, but she finally managed to open the door.

  She staggered to her bed and fell on top. Grabbing the bedspread, she rolled over, winding herself up like a booted burrito in a fake-suede tortilla.

  The pain of her bruises stabbed at her awareness.

  “An intervention, for Christ’s sake.” She shuddered. “Fucking mortifying,” she whispered into the dark. “I’m a fucking mess,” she decided. “But at least I’m numb—sort of,” she added touching one of the purple marks on her arm.

  She let her eyelids close and drifted into a swirling, room spinning sleep.

  Ice cold water shocked her awake. She shot to sitting, gasping, ready for a fight.

  Marco stood over her, dressed in jeans and a skin-tight t-shirt, holding an empty stainless steel pitcher in his right hand. His left hand held a full one.

  “Ready for round two? I don’t think you’re awake yet.” Without waiting for an answer, he poured pitcher number two over her head.

  “You asshole! You fucking asshole!” She scurried away from him like a crab. “Get out of my room!” She pointed at the door with a trembling hand. “Get!”

  “Don’t think so, honey. You signed a contract. For thirty days, I own your ass. Now get up, get showered, and get dressed. You stink.” He lifted his powerful arm and indicated the bathroom.

  “Who’s going to make me? You?” She scrambled off the mattress, keeping the king-sized bed between them. “Think you’re going to get me to sober up? Think again.”

  She inched toward the mini-fridge. Using her toes, she swung the door open. She stared at the empty shelves. Empty. I ordered it to be fully stocked last night.

  Marco folded his massive arms and stared at her.

  Feeling like a cornered cat, she hustled to the closet. Her hands pushed the iron and the ironing board away, seeking the booze she’d hid in the corner. Gone. She crouched and seized her carry-on luggage, unzipping the secret compartment. Nothing.

  For one terrifying split second, a blizzard of panic swirled through her heart. I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know if I can stop drinking.

  She bolted to her feet and glared at Marco, resuming her go-to tough girl attitude. “ You cleaned me out.”

  “This isn’t my first rodeo, sweetheart. While you were out last night getting wasted, I let myself in and got busy. I know all the tricks,” he said, a superior look on his handsome face.

  Gia’s face fell, her face reddening with shame. “So you knew I snuck out?”

  “It’s not exactly sneaking if someone knows you’re doing it, is it?” he said, adding a stupid smirk. “I figured you’d have one last go.”

  A sly smile crept along her face.

  He cocked his head, narrowing his eyes. “What?”

  “It’s not my first rodeo either.” She fished in the pockets of her skinny jeans, pulling a set of rental car keys free.

  “You took my car keys?” he said, blinking. His neck and face grew red.

  “Yeah, last night when we checked in. You were flirting with the staff. You set them on the counter. You were so taken with the blond chick checking us in, you never even noticed they were missing.” She hoped she looked cooler than she felt. Inside, that same overwhelming urge to race out of here, same as when the concert ended a few nights ago, made her heart start to rev into high gear.

  “I wasn’t flirting. You weren’t exactly happy to be here. You’re not exactly easy to manage when you’re not happy.” His hand shot out for the keys, but she snagged them out of reach.

  “We need to get to the airport. You’re definitely going to get on that plane today,” he said. “We have a date with a treatment center in the states.”

  “Think so?” she said, dangling the keys in the air. “I’m not going. And neither are you.”

  Her heart began beating in a panicked cadence, as her mind sought some sort of control. She didn’t want her freedom taken away. She didn’t want to have a sober companion, even an uber good-looking one. And, deep inside, whispers of icy fear at the challenges ahead made her unable to speak or even think of a good plan of escape. On impulse, she bolted for the door. She kicked a chair in front of the beast’s path.

  The chair didn’t hinder him, merely slowed him.

  Still, she managed to get the door open and slammed shut before he could exit the room behind her. She sprinted down the hall, heading toward the west elevator. He might be a workout addict, but I’m skinny and wily. When she reached the elevator, she repeatedly jabbed the lift button.

  Marco’s thundering footsteps made her pulse race. She heard the elevator whooshing toward her floor. Eyeing the nearby stairwell, a plan formed in her brain. When the doors opened, she reached in and slapped the close-door button. Then, before Marco arrived, she snuck into the stairwell and softly closed the door.

  A thwack, thwack, thwack sounded like he was beating the crap out of the elevator button, as she tip-toed down the stairs. The tip-toe action proved a feat in itself as she still wore her shit-kicker boots. She let herself onto the next floor, should he figure her out and take the stairs. Think you’re smarter than me, buddy? Think again. You weren’t raised by an asshole psychologist. She sauntered toward the east elevator, nodding at an elegant elderly couple exiting their room.

  Their eyebrows shot up, and they flattened against the wall as if she might hurt them.

  “Don’t worry,” she said, far too used to this kind of reaction to her rocker chick persona. “I don’t bite...too hard, anyway. Besides, I’m famous,” she added. “I could never get away with anything like assault.”

  Their eyes widened. They looked so comical, dressed in their fine attire, Gia wanted to laugh. She lunged and snapped her teeth at them.

  The older woman shrieked.

  “Relax,” Gia said. “Hold your prejudice in check.” She shook her head and continued toward the east elevator.

  Once she reached the ground floor, she cautiously poked her head out of the elevator, looking right and left.

  Marco stood at the front desk, gesturing wildly.

  She ghost-walked through the short hallway toward the elevator to the garage, willing it to come quickly.

  Marco’s head whipped in her direction, right as she stepped into the lift.

  “Oh, shit. Here we go.” She jabbed the button for P3.

  Once she landed on P3, she exited and trotted toward the row of cars parked facing the street, on the opposite side as the hotel entrance. Gripping the concrete railing, she peered over the edge to the street below.

  “It’s kind of far,” she said to herself.

  She let out a deep breath and climbed over the side, anyway.

  Clutching the railing, she let her feet dangle until they met something solid. She released her grip and caught her balance on the edge of the wall lining P2. Shaking like a leaf, she proceeded down the next level until she landed on the street. Once her feet touched the concrete sidewalk, she let out a sigh of relief.

  A couple of frat boys sauntered by, staring at her and grinning. They both wore t-shirts that bore some fraternity letters.

  “What? Never seen anyone escape a parking g
arage?” She brushed off her jeans.

  “You’re Ms. Styx, aren’t you?” the taller one asked.

  “Yeah. What of it?”

  I really need to get out of here.

  “Can we, like...get your autograph?” the shorter one said. “Holy shit. Wait until the rest of the fraternity finds out. No one will believe us. We missed your concert. Couldn’t get tickets. It sold out in, like, two seconds.” His face looked so bright Gia thought it would explode.

  “I’m, uh...” Her eyes darted right and left. “I’m kind of in a hurry.” She spotted Marco rounding the corner. “Shit.”

  The tall frat boy followed her gaze.

  “Oh,” he said, knowingly. “Got into some love trouble?”

  Marco’s speed increased when he saw her.

  “Gia, stop!” he bellowed.

  “Kind of, yeah,” she said, looking for her exit.

  “Follow us. Our ride’s parked around the corner,” the tall guy said.

  “Okay, but let’s hurry,” Gia said, already preparing to sprint.

  The two frat boys looked like they were going to pee their pants with excitement. They grinned at one another before grabbing Gia’s hands. Then, they all raced around the corner.

  “It’s the convertible. Right there,” the shorter guy said, breathless.

  “You guys have a fucking convertible in London?” Gia said through wheezing gasps.

  “Yeah. We believe in keeping hope alive,” the tall guy said. “Isn’t that what you Americans say? Get in.”

  He slid into the driver’s seat while Gia and the short guy catapulted into the back seat.

  “Go, go, go,” Gia said, as Marco closed the gap. He looked kind of hot as he pumped his arms and raced toward her like a military man.

  “Oh, man, this is blinding!” short guy said, using British slang.

  The tall guy got the BMW fired up and sped into the street, leaving Marco far, far behind.

  “Where we headed?” he asked.

  “I’m headed to a dive of a bar. I don’t care where you’re headed,” Gia said.

  “We’ll go with you,” short guy said.

  “Not on your life. If you’re caught with me, you’ll both be screwed. You might even get kicked out of school,” Gia said, making up a story. “Drop me off at the worst dive bar you can find. Now, go!”

  Tall guy caught the eyes of the short guy in the rear-view mirror.

  They both seemed to shrug in consent.

  “St Jacks?” the tall guy said. “In Peckham?”

  “That’s the one,” the short guy agreed.

  The tall guy veered to the right and headed in the direction of the worst part of London.

  Peckham had a reputation for crime, gangs, and dirty dealings. At the moment, that sounded far better than dealing with Marco. But, she knew in her heart she couldn’t escape him forever. And, deep down in some quiet place in her heart, she didn’t know if she wanted to.

  Chapter 6

  Gia leaned back in the corner booth of the sleazy bar, spreading her arms wide along the grungy vinyl, feeling like a badass bitch. Ever since she was little, she had to defend herself and act tough. Plus, hanging out with the boys in the band left her little time to act all soft and feminine like a frigging girl.

  She managed to get rid of Tweedledee and Tweedledum, those rich fuck frat boys, before they got into her pants.

  They thought they were going to have a go with me, she thought with a chuckle. I showed their asses. I’m a drummer for God’s sake. I’ve got bigger biceps than they do. And, quick reflexes. She let out another chuckle, remembering how she’d decked the first one who tried to kiss her.

  “Finding something funny?” a lanky tatted biker dude said, sitting across from her at the U-shaped table. He wore a leather jacket with a logo for X-Men Bikers in orange and blue on the back.

  “No,” she said, grinning. She squinted at him through the dim light. “I’m in a good mood, is all.”

  “Want another?” the biker guy asked, lifting his chin at her empty glass.

  “Why not?” She shrugged.

  The contract loomed in her mind. She told it to fuck off, and it vaporized.

  Biker guy slid from the seat and strode in the direction of the bartender.

  Gia’s eyes tracked around the room at the gloomy, dingy interior.

  Dark walls, dark floors, and dark tables surrounded her. A few beer posters hung on the wall. A television blared in the corner with a soccer match playing. The bartender leaned against the bar, arms folded, staring at it. The place was pretty vacant but then it was merely ten in the morning. Only one lone guy sat at the bar, a miserable looking frowning man with a black goatee, staring at the boob tube.

  Gia turned her attention to her phone, fiddling with it. No text from Dante. Weird. Does he think Brutus has things under control?

  She guffawed. She lifted her head to see biker dude and the goateed bar guy striding in her direction, each sporting shit-eating grins.

  Biker guy slid next to her.

  The goateed bar guy slid across from him, scooting around until he sat on her opposite side.

  “Hey, darling,” he said in a cockney accent.

  “Hey,” she said, frowning. “You’re too close. Back off.”

  “She thinks I’m too close, Byron. What should I do?” His grin revealed one missing tooth in the lower front.

  “I’ll protect you from the likes of him, honey,” Byron said, lifting his arm to place it around her shoulder.

  Gia stiffened. What are these two up to?

  “Where’s my drink?” she said, apprehension forming knots in her belly.

  “Oh, we’ve got something better than scotch. Show her, Ty. Show her what we’ve got,” Byron said.

  As Ty reached into his back pocket, the front door opened. The three of them blinked from the light assault.

  Marco strode through the door.

  Gia’s heart did a few somersaults.

  “Hey, honey!” she called, waving her hand. “Over here!”

  “What’s going on?” Marco said to the two males as he strode toward the booth. “You bothering my wife?” he said, playing along.

  “This slag?” Byron said. “She threw herself at me.”

  He lifted his angular shoulder, making the skull and crossbones on his puny biceps seem to leer.

  Gia’s heart beat a rapid pitty-patter cadence in her throat, of all places. She thought her heart might be trying to make an escape.

  “I’d advise you not to call my wife a slag. Do you even know who she is?” Marco asked. He appeared as cool and void of concern as her empty hotel mini-fridge was vacant of booze.

  Gia fiddled with her phone.

  “Some twat we found,” Ty said.

  Gia bristled at the insult, but she didn’t move a muscle.

  Marco scratched his jaw.

  “Let her go,” he said, in an even voice.

  “Make me,” Byron challenged.

  “You don’t want that, I assure you,” Marco said. He loomed over the scrawny biker called Byron.

  “Want to bet?” Byron said.

  Gia glanced down to see a switchblade sliding from his pants pocket, held by his bony hand. She lifted her shit-kicker booted leg and slammed it down hard on the guy’s foot. It wasn’t hard enough to inflict any damage through his biker boot, but it distracted him enough if his mewling cry was any indication.

  Marco pulled Byron from his seat, lifting him as if he were a toy.

  Ty scrambled out of the other side of the booth and launched himself at Marco. He clung to his back like a monkey.

  Marco hauled back his arm and slugged Byron in the jaw. He released him before turning to deal with Ty. He shook his massive shoulders until the guy let go.

  “Really, dude? You want to be next?” His gaze slid toward Byron, a crumpled heap on the floor.

  “No, not really,” Ty stuttered, visibly shaken.

  “Then walk away and leave my wife and me t
o sort out our marital difficulties.”

  Gia winced at the intensity in his voice. She eyed the door, wondering if she could make a run for it.

  Marco stepped toward her and seized her upper arm. “You’re not going anywhere until I say so,” he hissed as if reading her mind, still keeping his eyes trained on Ty.

  Byron moaned and pushed his upper body with his forearms, lifting his head.

  Marco placed his Nike tennis shoe-clad foot on top of the guy’s back.

  “Don’t move a muscle, got it?” he said to Byron.

  Byron slid back to the floor like a balloon with no air.

  “And you...” Marco said to Ty. “Why are you still here?”

  The whites of Ty’s eyes showed as he gaped at Marco. He inched toward the door.

  Satisfied, Marco hauled Gia free from the booth. He strode toward the bartender, reaching for something in his pocket.

  Gia stumbled along, trying to keep up.

  Marco flipped a business card on the oak bar top. “If you need me for anything...expenses or whatever...”

  The bartender put his palms up. “Forget it. Those guys are wankers...bar scum.”

  Marco nodded, turned, and dragged Gia from the bar, across the sticky tiles.

  “Stop it!” she protested. “You’re hurting me. I still have bruises.”

  Marco said nothing, shoving open the door.

  Gia blinked again, her eyes stinging from the late morning light. She glanced at the grimy sidewalk, covered with litter. “Where’d you learn to fight like that?”

  “Marines,” Marco said, in clipped tones.

  Her eyebrows flew up. I’ve got a Marine as my sober companion? Shit. I just thought him a fitness addict. Real fear made an appearance for the first time since this whole shit-storm began, like arms trying to crush her chest.

  “So, what next?” she said, still tripping over her feet.

  The guy had a long-legged stride.

  “New plan,” Marco said, approaching a shiny SUV.

  A couple of teens lounged against the vehicle, arms crossed. One of them had a cigarette dangling from his lips.

  “Thanks for watching the car, guys.” Marco fished in his pocket, pulled out a wad of bills, and tossed it in the boys’ direction.