Sold to Moretti Mafia

Claire

Lucca half shrugs. “The fucker got a lucky shot. It’s nothing but a flesh wound. I’ll have you clean it once we get into a room.”

A flesh wound? He’s kidding, right? A flesh wound would not leave a blood spot like that. Lucca’s inside for ten minutes before he walks out of the office and approaches the car.

I climb out and wince when my bare feet touch the cold pavement. Suddenly, I realize just how exhausted I am. Lucca goes around the back of the car and opens the trunk, retrieving something before stopping beside me.

In his hand is a duffel bag. At least he came prepared. “I’ve got some clothing for both of us in here. We can pick up a couple things for you while we’re on the road tomorrow.”

I nod and wait for him to walk, but he steps closer to me. Confused, I take a step back, but he reaches out, places his hand on my hip to stop me from moving.

My skin burns where his fingers touch me, and a sensation I’ve never felt before develops in my lower belly. It’s warm and makes me shiver. My nipples harden, and a warm flush works its way up my face. Now I’m confused for other reasons, like why I’m feeling this way and why he’s touching me.

“You don’t have any shoes, so I’m going to carry you,” Lucca says.

I try to cover up the hormonal feelings I’m having by ignoring them altogether. “What about your flesh wound?” Lucca gives me a look that says, shut up. “Seriously, you don’t have to hurt yourself for me. My feet are the least of my worries. I’ve been kidnapped and shot at, and…”

I don’t get the chance to finish what I’m saying as Lucca takes it upon himself to grab me by the hips and toss me over his shoulder like I’m a rag doll. I’m not even given the opportunity to object before he is walking, carrying both me and the duffel bag. With a gunshot wound.

His actions would be admirable had he not been the cause for all the problems. When we reach the room, he places me back down on my feet and uses the keycard to unlock the room. The door creaks open, and I walk in, Lucca following behind me.

The room smells of stale cigarette smoke, but I’m happy to find two queen-sized beds and a bathroom. Lucca closes the door behind us, and I walk over to one of the beds and sit at the edge. He tosses the duffel bag onto the other bed and unzips it, pulling out a small first aid kit, as well as a pair of boxers and a T-shirt.

He wastes no time and pulls his bloody shirt off, discarding it on the floor. My eyes bulge out of my head when I see his naked torso, every single indent and sculpted muscle. My throat tightens at the image before me. I’ve never seen a man naked, not that he’s naked but half-naked. His toned body is tan, and the V leading down to his nether region makes my heartbeat pick up. If Hope were here right now… I force myself to look away and think about anything but those well-defined muscles.

“Use the alcohol pads in the kit and clean the wound for me,” he says and gives me his back. I take a moment to gather my thoughts before I move from the bed, making sure I don’t brush against him when I reach for the alcohol wipes.

Using my teeth, I rip open one and hesitate for a second when I come face to face with the wound. The antiseptic smell makes my nose wrinkle, and I breathe through my mouth as I inspect the wound.

What I thought would be a bullet lodged in his skin is exactly as he said: a flesh wound.

“You were right.” I croak and clean the area.

Lucca doesn’t even flinch as I press the wipe a little harder, trying to clean the edges of the wound. “Don’t worry about hurting me. I can handle it. Pain doesn’t bother me. An infection does, so make sure the wound is clean.”

What is he, a real-life GI joe or something? He gets shot at, is bleeding, and then doesn’t even flinch as he gets the wound cleaned. I guess it shouldn’t surprise me.

Not after all that’s happened.

Even though I’m afraid of hurting him, I do as he says and cleanse the area, using two wipes.

“Good as new,” I say, and drop the wipes into the trash can.

Lucca turns around and smiles at me, and my stomach does this little somersault. It doesn’t make sense to me. I shouldn’t be attracted to him, but with my hormones racing like Mario in Mario Kart, I don’t know what else to expect. He is a man, and I’m a young woman.

These emotions happen, right?

“The shirt and boxers are for you. Go take a shower, and then we can go to bed.”

I advert my gaze as best as I can and grab my clothing off the bed before rushing into the bathroom. As soon as the door is closed, I click the lock into place. It makes me feel safe, even though deep down, I know it wouldn’t stop him from getting inside.

Exhaustion clings to my bones, and I strip out of my clothes quickly, not even glancing in the mirror and instead moving to the shower. The pipes creak when I turn the water on, but it doesn’t take long for the bathroom to fog up.

The feel of water on my skin is heavenly, and I sigh into the misty air. I let my eyes fall closed for a moment while running my hair under the water. It’s scalding hot, but it’s never felt better. I clean myself as best as I can and step out of the shower, grabbing one of the towels hanging up.

The material is scratchy but does the job. I grab the clothes from the counter and stare at them. I want to sniff them. It’s stupid, but I can’t help it. The longer I tell myself not to, the more I want to. My resolve cracks, and I bring the shirt to my nose and inhale.

A woodsy scent fills my nostrils and calms me immediately. Goosebumps blanket my skin, and I breathe the scent into my lungs one last time before putting the shirt on. It falls to my knees and looks more like a dress than a shirt. I put the boxers on and roll them to fit my waist.

Lucca isn’t a huge guy, but he’s a lot bigger than me.

Once dressed, I pick up my clothes and unlock the bathroom door. Lucca is sitting on the edge of the bed in a clean navy shirt and a pair of sleep shorts. His phone is in his hand, and there’s this peculiar look on his face, like he’s plotting some type of world domination.Belongs to NôvelDrama.Org - All rights reserved.

“Hey,” I say, making my presence known.

His head jackknifes up, and his gaze collides with mine before slipping down my body.

Is he checking me out? I doubt it.

“Ready for bed?” His voice is deeper, almost smoky.

“Sure,” I whisper and place my clothes on the floor at the edge of the bed. I pull the sheets back on the mattress and then slip under them.

Lucca moves about the room for a few minutes before shutting the light off.

“Goodnight, butterfly.”

Darkness surrounds me, and I panic. I fist the sheets in my hands and blink my eyes rapidly to keep the tears at bay. Ten minutes pass, then twenty, and I’m barely holding onto reality. After being in that cell, having all this freedom, a bed to sleep in, a pillow to rest my head on. I’m afraid it isn’t real, that someone is going to pop out of the dark and tell me it’s a joke.

Unable to sleep, I roll over and look at the other bed. My eyes have adjusted to the darkness enough to make out Lucca on top of the covers, lying flat on his back. I wonder if he is sleeping? The worst idea ever hits me. Or maybe it’s the best idea ever.

As quietly as I can, I slide out of my bed and climb into his. My gaze stays glued on his chest, rising and falling in a slow and steady rhythm. I lift the blanket gently and crawl underneath.

Even with the thin comforter between us, his body heat radiates into my skin. My whole body relaxes knowing Lucca is close. At least for tonight, I am safe. Exhausted, I let my eyes drift closed. I can’t hear him, but I can feel his body next to mine, and with that thought, I finally fall into a deep sleep.