A Twist of Love Read online

  The kid with the smoke deftly caught the crumpled bills. He removed the cigarette from his mouth and fingered the cash. When he unfolded the wad, he grinned.

  “No problem.” He nodded to his companions. “Let’s roll.”

  Marco dragged Gia toward the vehicle. He hauled open the passenger door and shoved her into the seat.

  “Ouch! Quit being so rough with me,” she said, noting the same new whine as yesterday.

  “Apparently you like it rough if those sleaze-bags I just tossed are any indication.” He reached down for the glove box, opened it, and retrieved a set of handcuffs.

  Gia’s eyes grew large. “What are you going to do with those?”

  “Sex games, what do you think?” Marco said, a glint in his eye.

  For a fleeting second, hope flitted through her woozy brain. Might be nice.

  He grabbed her wrist and fitted one of the cuffs over it. He clicked it shut. He fitted the other end over the door handle before slamming the door shut.

  She tugged against her restraints. It didn’t give. She let out a sigh and slumped against the interior.

  Marco climbed in the other side, blasted on the ignition, and took off.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, as they headed out of Peckham.

  “You’ll see.” His lips pressed tight.

  Gia stared out the window at the London cityscape. When it yielded to rolling hills and quaint cottages, her brow furrowed.

  “Where are we going?” she asked again.

  The big guy stayed quiet.

  “So, I get to know nothing?” she asked. She started to cross her arms at his silence, but the restraint pulled at her wrist. She let out a huffy sigh.

  He drove through a silly little town full of shops and tourists and then headed toward the hills. He hooked a hard right into a gravel-lined driveway, leading up to an innocuous-looking house at the top of one of the hills.

  “B&B?” Gia said, grinning. “Is this where the sex games commence?”

  Marco pulled the vehicle to a stop in the driveway. He turned the engine off, got out, and strode to her side. He opened the door, unlocked the cuff attached to the door, and affixed it to his giant wrist.

  That looks like it hurts, Gia thought, noting the snug fit of metal around his beefy wrist.

  “Come,” he said.

  “Ooh, I love it when you talk dirty to me.” She eased from the passenger seat.

  He grunted.

  “I could make a big scene,” she said, being dragged beside him once more.

  He said nothing.

  “Is this your idea of commitment?” she said, lifting their conjoined wrists. “All you had to do was ask. I’m pretty easy when it comes to sex games.”

  Still silent, he hauled her up the steps toward the front door.

  She glanced up at it. It looked suspiciously like her father’s homey clinic in Larkpur, California, a pretentious city if ever there was one.

  “Oh, no. That looks like a clinic. You’re not taking me in there,” she said, backing away from the door of the too-cozy looking country house.

  “Want to bet?” He scooped her into his arms as easily as if she weighed an ounce.

  “Put me down!” she yelled, kicking her legs, oblivious to the feel of his strong muscles—sort of. “You big brute, put me down,” she said, unaware of the heat he rocked—more or less.

  “Put me down!”

  Marco maneuvered down a hallway, somehow managing to twist a brass doorknob while still holding her.

  He fiddled with the lock of the cuff between them, setting his wrist free. Then, he strode across the plainly decorated bedroom and dumped her on the bed.

  “Stay,” he said.

  “Like hell, I will!” She scrambled up to sitting, ready to bolt from the room.

  He snatched the cuff dangling from her wrist and affixed it to the bed railing.

  “You asked for this, Gia.” He turned and strode toward the exit.

  “What? You’re just going to leave me in here? I’m your prisoner? You big fuck, release me.” Her mouth fell open like a fly-catcher.

  He put his hands on his hips and looked at her with soft eyes. “The next few days are going to be hell for us both. One, because I’m an asshole and a hard-ass. And two, because you’re going to go through withdrawal. That’s going to be a bigger bitch than the both of us combined. I can deal if you can deal.”

  “I don’t want to deal. Let me go. I hate to be restrained. Let me go, you big butt-head.” She tugged against the handcuff, her sweaty wrists sliding against the metal.

  Marco sighed. “Someone will be in to unlock you shortly so you can use the facilities.”

  He shook his head and exited, closing the door behind him. The soft snick of a lock sounded before his footfalls disappeared out of earshot.

  Gia kicked her legs like a two-year-old having a tantrum. She yelled. She screamed. “Help! Let me out of here.”

  When her phone rang, she eagerly fished it out of her pocket with her free hand, hoping it was Dante and she could talk some sense into him. Her gaze landed on the words Carol calling. “No, I’m not talking to you!” She threw the phone at the wall and continued to wail until she cried herself into exhaustion.

  Chapter 7

  After what seemed like days of hell but was only half a day, the door lock snicked open. Gia sat up on her bed, hoping Dante would stride through the door.

  Then again, he’s the bitch who got me incarcerated.

  Instead, someone came in and unlocked the handcuffs, but he locked the door behind him when he left. The person only spoke German, so Gia hadn’t been able to pry a thing from his lips. After hearing the door lock again, Gia had screamed and pounded on the door, and then finally collapsed on the bed, her eyes managing a comatose stare.

  After that, the door snicked open again and a pretty red-headed woman, older than her, sauntered in the room holding a tray. Her hair hung down her back in a thick ponytail. She wore a skirt and a baggy sweater. Soft loafers covered her feet.

  “Hello,” she said with a bright smile. She set the tray on the nightstand. “How are you? Have you had a pleasant day?”

  “Groovy,” Gia snipped. “Being held against your will always brings out the best in people.”

  “My name’s Daphne,” the woman said, extending her hand.

  Gia eyed the hand suspiciously before giving it a brief shake.

  “Care to tell me where I am? If you don’t release me, I’m calling the police.” She got to her feet and strode to the small window, complete with bars. Outside the window, sheep dotted the green hillside. She spun around and leaned against the window ledge. “Don’t think I won’t do it.”

  “You’re free to go, Gia.” Daphne gestured toward the closed door.

  Gia brightened. She looked around the room for her belongings, ready to bolt to freedom.

  “But you might want to eat first. It’s a long walk into town,” Daphne said.

  “Please,” Gia said with a snort. She waved her mobile phone in the air. “Even a sheep town like this one will have cabs. You’re not that far from London.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you can try. But your band-mate...what’s his name? Dante?” Daphne smiled.

  “Yeah, that’s him,” Gia said, scowling.

  “Right.” Daphne nodded. “Dante said he’d freeze your accounts if you leave. And, you’ll lose the two-hundred thousand you earned from this tour.” She sat on the edge of the bed, looking all pretty and Disney-like.

  “Are you fucking shitting me? My accounts will be frozen? I’ll lose my earnings? No fucking way. He can’t do that to me.” Gia pulled her hair and then began pacing around the small room.

  “It was in the contract. Didn’t you read it?” Daphne placed her hands on the bed and leaned back.

  “Of course I didn’t read it. I was under duress! You try reading a contract when all your so-called friends are standing there, waiting for you to sign.” Gia threw her hands in the air.
“This whole thing is getting worse and worse. How did I land in hell?”

  “It might feel like hell,” Daphne said in a reasonable tone, “but it’s only Gray House.”

  She reached back and tightened the ridiculous bow holding her hair taut.

  “What the fuck is Gray House?” Gia asked. She stalked toward the tray, glanced at it, and picked up a piece of buttered toast. She shoved it into her mouth and chewed it ravenously.

  “We’re a detox facility. Marco has used us many times,” Daphne said.

  “Oh, I’m one of a long line of victims brought here against their will. Does he handcuff all of them to the bed?” she said. “Or am I the first?”

  “You’re the first, I’m afraid. Marco said you have some fire in your soul.” Daphne sat forward and smiled.

  A surge of twisted pride swirled through Gia’s heart. At least I put up a fight. “Well, Marco’s an asshole. Tell him I said so. Better yet, go get him and let me tell him face to face.” Her true opinion about the man flashed through her as a surge of arousal.

  The redhead’s smile turned into a frown. She stood up and did that hands on the hip thing that Marco did.

  “Don’t talk trash around him, Gia. That man’s been through hell and back, and I won’t tolerate hearing your insults. You can yell at me, pitch a fit about being here, but no more crap about Marco, you hear me?” She wagged a finger at Gia. “He’s a good, good man and after what he’s been through, you can cut the shit, got it?”

  Gia matched Daphne’s stance. “What, did he watch a buddy drop dead from an IED? Everyone’s got problems. That doesn’t give him the right to be mean to his victims.” She instantly regretted her impulsive statement. Watching a loved one die was the most brutal form of punishment on the planet.

  Daphne’s face contorted into a sneer, her Disney-like veneer gone. “Victims? Is that what you think you are? If I were you, I’d get down on my knees and say a hearty ‘Thank You’ to whoever will listen to you. You’re lucky to have Marco as your sober companion.”

  “Is he your boyfriend?” Gia held her breath as she waited for the answer, wondering why she cared.

  “He’s my none-of-your-business, is what he is.” Daphne’s hands dropped, and she let out a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I lost my composure. It’s a sore point with me to hear anyone talk poorly of him.”

  Gia nodded, letting out a matching breath, still wondering about these so-called hardships of Marco’s.

  “I’m, uh...I’m sorry, too. This whole thing...” She waved her hands in the air, indicating the room. “This whole thing has me a bit spooked. Besides, I left my manners when I left California as a teenager. Couldn’t get them out of the state. I’ve had to rely on my charm instead.” She snorted. “That and my skill as a drummer.” She cocked her head, studying Daphne. “But I must say,” she added, her lips curving in a wry smile. “A Brit losing her composure with that elegant accent makes the whole thing sound...” She thought for a moment. “Refined. Not very threatening.” She let out a laugh. “You should hear some of the people I hang out with. There’s no mistaking when they’re pissed.”

  Daphne smiled. “So we’re good then, right?”

  Gia shrugged. “As good as it’ll get, I suppose.”

  She grabbed the glass of water sitting on the tray and downed it. Then she refilled it from the shiny pitcher and downed that one, too.

  “Finish up your meal. You have someone waiting in the living room. You can come down when you’re ready,” Daphne said, smoothing the front of her skirt.

  “Someone’s here? For me?” Without waiting for an answer, Gia grabbed another piece of toast, held it between her teeth, and seized the door handle. When it opened freely, she almost wept.

  Daphne said, “The living room’s down the hall and to the right.”

  Gia speed-walked through the hall, munching happily on the toast. When she got to the doorway, she stopped.

  Dante sat on one of the comfortable, non-pretentious chairs. Sunlight shone on his hair, streaming through the huge window. A few paintings of birds and horses graced the pastel fleur-de-lis wallpaper covered walls.

  “You,” Gia said. “You son of a bitch,” she added, immediately on the defensive.

  “Gia, I...” Dante got to his feet.

  Gia bolted, searching for the front door. When she found it, she hustled down the stairs and sprinted along the walkway, going…where? To hang with the sheep?

  Dante raced after her. “Gia, stop!”

  He caught up with her, seizing her upper arm. Gia whirled around, hand cocked, ready to slap the shit out of him.

  He grabbed her wrist, his eyes wild with fire. “Stop. I’m not the enemy here. Just stop.”

  She pulled and resisted his restraint. “You’re going to take away my money, D? Freeze my accounts? How does that make you the good guy in this picture, huh?”

  “Let’s talk. We need to talk. Keys and Heat are already on a plane heading home. Kennedy and I decided to stay a few days to see how things go.” Same as when he stood by her hospital bed, his eyes were ringed with fatigue.

  Gia refused to allow a whit of sympathy for him. “Oh, you and Kennedy decided to stay, did you? That makes me feel so cared for, D.”

  His mouth puckered in that manner she’d grown used to lately. His eyes pointed skyward like he was seeking guidance from above.

  Gia waited, holding her breath. Finally, unable to handle the silence, she said, “You put the band before me, Dante. You swore you’d never do that. Remember the pact we made when you started the band? At my insistence, thank you very much. You said we’d always put the friendship first. And then you met Kennedy.”

  Dante shoved her hand away.

  “Keep Kennedy out of this! She’s one of the best things that ever happened to me.” He paced in a small circle, dragging his hand through his hair. “Gia, I did this for you. For you! Don’t you get that?”

  She grabbed his arm. “Stop with the tiger stalking. What I get is that I’m here and I hate it. Here is not where I intended to be when we came to London. But no, I’m here because of you and that stupid bitch.”

  “Quit it. Stop talking trash about my wife. We’re done here. I’m leaving.” Dante wrenched free his arm and turned to head toward his car.

  “Good for you,” Gia called after him. Stabs of regret lanced her heart. I should apologize. Kennedy’s not the enemy. A wave of nausea punched her in the gut. “Wait I’m sorry, D. I’m sorry. I’m...”

  Her belly suddenly seized. She dropped to her knees.

  Dante hustled toward her and crouched by her side. “What’s going on? Are you okay, Gia?”

  She put her palm up, unable to speak. Her mouth filled with spit.

  The front door thwacked against the wall, and Marco came thundering toward her.

  “I’ve got this, Dante,” he called.

  “What is it? What’s going on?” he said, as Gia collapsed to her side.

  She curled up in a ball.

  “Someone’s...stabbing the shit out of...my...insides.” She let out a long groan before releasing the contents of her stomach. “Fuck!”

  “Easy, girl. I’ve got you.” Marco’s tone emerged soothing and kind. “Dante, I’ve got this. Go ahead and go back to your wife. This is only the start.”

  Gia wretched again.

  Marco positioned her head, so her mouth sort of pointed toward the ground. He dabbed at her forehead with a damp cloth and tenderly wiped her mouth, covered with sick.

  “Oh, God,” she groaned. Her stomach contracted again, as bloody, ropey strings of goo rushed from her throat. Blood? Am I dying? “What’s happening to me?” she said, weakly. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Dante standing over her, looking like he might cry. “Get out of here, D! I don’t want you to see me like this.”

  Another mighty contraction seized her body, spilling nothing but wretched shame.

  “Dante,” Marco said. “Take her advice. This won’t be pretty.”
r />   With a look of desolation, Dante backed away from her.

  “Brutus...care to...tell me...what’s happening?” Gia managed.

  “The withdrawal has started. Better known as delirium tremens, or DTs. I’m sure you’re familiar with the term. Don’t worry. I’ve got you. We’ll get through it together,” Marco said, pushing a strand of hair from her eyes. “I promise.”

  A glimmer of that “down on your knees” gratitude Daphne mentioned pushed through Gia’s heart. Together. But then the shiny bright feeling got wiped out by the tornado of her heaving gut, making her feel like a piece of insignificant trash. And then came the fearful thought of what might be ahead. How bad can this possibly get?

  Chapter 8

  On day two, Gia woke up in her cheery room at Hell’s gate, drenched in a panicked sweat. Certain her ribs would crack from her insistently thundering heart, she rolled on the bed, moaning, trying to keep from free-falling to the floor.

  Marco kept coming in, murmuring soothing words as he checked on her. He patted her cheeks and forehead with a cool cloth, helped her sip water, and simply sat by her side in easy companionship. Daphne kept striding in, bringing meals Gia couldn’t stomach. Sometimes they came in together. As far as Gia was concerned, nothing mattered but her misery.

  The food she nibbled kept trying for a sloppy encore all over the floor or bed-coverings. The Librium they gave her to calm her anxiety made her lethargic, clumsy and drowsy. When she managed to get up from the mattress, she often stumbled like a sailor on a boat in high seas.

  Marco seemed to always catch her, steady her or state words of encouragement. Unused to such kindness, she hoped she managed some measure of civility, even though she felt like dog vomit.

  At night, fragments of nightmares pushed through her consciousness. They came as familiar, painful memories, wrapped in heartache. At daybreak, she could only remember the cold sweat resulting from the dreams and her hysterical breathing as she clawed toward consciousness

  At nightfall on day three, after more visitations throughout the day from Marco and Daphne, more drowsiness, and more clumsy movements, huge black spiders with glowing red eyes began popping out of the walls, one by one. They dropped on her skin and crawled, driving Gia mad. They burrowed into her ears and nostrils.