Hold You Against Me (5 page)

My sister takes it without question. “Thank you.”

“Don’t tell me where you’re going,” he says.

I can only stare at him.
Don’t tell me where you’re going.
As if he’s not coming with us. As if he might get tortured for information. I grab Gio’s arm. “What are you talking about? You need to come with us.”

“Security,” he says. “They’re staying farther back from the house, but there’s even more than usual around the gate.”

“That means none of us can get out.”

He shakes his head. “I’ll cause a diversion. Distract them long enough so you can get out.”

What?
“No way.”

“It’s the only way.”

I look at Honor. “This is crazy. Tell him he needs to come with us.”

Her eyes are sad. Sadder than I’ve ever seen them. But also accepting. Of all people, she understands about sacrifice. “We don’t have much time. The party is the best time to run, when they’re distracted, when it will be hard for them to search the house. Especially if he can pull the guards away from the gate. We need to go now.”

“No.” I take a step back. “This can’t be happening.”

Gio looks at my sister. “Can you give us a minute?”

Her dark eyes study me. After a beat, she nods. “I’ll go scout the best path out of here.”

“But the guards?” I tell her.

A ghost of a smile crosses her face. “I still have some friends here.”

Then she’s gone, leaving only Gio and me. Alone together. Just like we have been every night. Except totally different. Because this time tomorrow I’ll be gone. And Gio will be…where? Here. Except if they find out he helped us, they’ll hurt him.

And once Javier wakes up, they’ll kill him.

“Gio, no.”

He runs a hand down my arm—so lightly. His fingertips barely brush my skin. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m serious. We aren’t doing this. I’m not kidding.”

“I’m not joking.” He sighs. “You don’t know they’ll take me. I’m not going to go easy.”

“Yeah, but up against Byron?
Against all of them?
”

His gaze dips to my chest. “This dress, Clara.”

The scarf is long gone, and all the running and freaking out have left my breasts almost popping out. I look like some kind of bombshell. I don’t feel like a bombshell, though. I feel like a bomb that’s about to go off if someone doesn’t
listen
to me. The two people I love most are making plans about my life without me. Very serious plans that involve Gio getting hurt.

And I’m afraid nothing I say can stop them.

“You can’t,” I say, my voice soft and desperate.

“I just need a minute,” he says, still staring at me in this dress.

“To what?”

“To remember this.”

Fear grips my heart tighter than anything before. This can’t be happening. I’d have let Javier touch me if I knew it would lead to this. I would let Javier do anything if it meant keeping Gio safe.

I can’t stand him looking at me. Not because I don’t want him to see. Because he’s looking at me like a dying man would—as if he knows it’s his last sight. As if drinking his fill.

My breath stutters. I need to be closer than this. This place we’re in—this is water. And he is air. I push up to him, pull him down to me. I meet his lips in a gasp.

Then he’s kissing me back, his lips demanding, tongue fierce. And his hands. Those large, beautiful hands that have done violence tonight—for me. They cradle my head so sweetly. How can something so good feel like pain? How can this be the end?

I shove him back. “We’ll find another way. Something. Anything.”

“There is no other way. This isn’t the first time I’ve thought of how to get you out of here. And if you stayed here, you’d condemn your sister too. Byron would make everyone suffer.”

And now it will only be Gio suffering. The canapés from the party turn in my stomach. My hands curl into fists, useless. “You wouldn’t let me do this. You wouldn’t let me sacrifice myself for you. So how can I let you?”

“You’re not letting me do anything, Clara. You don’t have a choice.”

Angrily I shove the tears aside. This isn’t a time to be sad, because this is
not
happening. We’re not leaving him behind. So why can’t I stop crying?

Why does it feel like I’ve already lost?

“Gio,” I say, my voice breaking.

His forehead touches mine again, his hands cradling my face. I feel so delicate when he holds me like this. I feel loved. “Let me do this for you,” he says roughly. “I couldn’t protect you before. I don’t have anything to offer. I never did. But this?”

“No, no,” I sob.

He pushes me tighter against him, cheek to cheek, and I swear these tears aren’t only mine. “You care too much, Clara.”

“How is that too much? It’s the right amount. I care too much to leave you here. How is that wrong?”

He is silent a moment. “It’s not wrong. But I care too much to let you stay.”

His arms come around me, holding me in. They feel unbreakable. They are castle walls, his arms. They are a drawbridge rolled up and a moat. They keep everyone out. Only with him do I feel completely safe. Maybe I’d always known how much he’d do for me. He’d fight for me. He’d die for me.

And that’s what he’s going to do. And at the end only rubble will be left.

“I’ll be fine,” he says, but we both know it’s a lie.

My hands clench in his shirt. “How can you be?”

“Just go,” he whispers fiercely. “You think this is about me sacrificing for you? No. I need you to do this for me, Clara. I need you to stay safe.”

I cry until his shirt is dark and wet. These are silent tears. They fall without my consent, while my face is solemn. I can be stoic for him. I won’t beg now. I won’t plead.

Not even when Honor comes in and tells me it’s time to go.

It feels like dying to walk away. Feels like dying to look back and see him watching me go. Feels like dying as I cross the dark lawn.

Honor holds my hand, but doesn’t say anything.

I think she knows. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever felt, to leave him behind. And it’s nothing compared to what he’ll go through.

We’re near the gate when we hear the explosion behind us.
Fireworks.

Those are the fireworks that would have celebrated her engagement.

Only fitting that they’ll end it.

It’s not hard to find Gio’s beat-up Pontiac Grand Am parked down the side lane. The radio is broken. The gas tank is full. We drive in silence until the blasts fade to nothing.

There is only empty road in front of us and empty road behind.

I need you to do this for me, Clara. I need you to stay safe.

And so I do.

*     *     *

That’s the end of the prequel Tough Love! I hope you loved meeting Giovanni and Clara. Turn the page to begin reading Hold You Against Me, the novel-length conclusion to their story…

—Frida Kahlo

Giovanni

T
he sound of
running water pulls me out of the darkness. Soft and pleasant, like a babbling brook. That’s how it seemed the first time I heard it. Only the clench of my gut told me it would be different. And the sight of the black-soot concrete ceiling.

It’s become my sky, that ceiling. Instead of finding shapes in clouds, I see skulls in the dark growth and water stains lining the top of the room. The walls and floor are similar, but I don’t get to see them much.

They only take me down from the table when I pass out.

They only put me back on the table when it’s time for another round.

A faint whoosh is my only warning before ice-cold water lands on my face. I sputter, coughing, feeling a thick liquid in my mouth that isn’t only water. Blood. Old blood. The metallic taste is almost the same as the rancid water they use.

“Time to wake up, you stupid fuck.”

My vision clears to reveal my tormenter, one of them, holding a bucket that used to be blue. Now it has black growth all around it.
Unsanitary.
I think I said that to him once. It’s dumb to antagonize the men, but sometimes it’s impossible not to. After hours of questioning. Days? I can’t be sure. It feels like an eternity.

“Did you miss me?” I say, my voice thready and rough.

His large nostrils flare. “So it’s going to be a hard day, is it? You stupid fuck.”

That’s always what he calls me.
You stupid fuck.
Not a very imaginative insult, especially when he says it fifty times a session. I’m pretty sure I told him that once, too. And I lost a tooth for my trouble.

I’d never seen him before I woke up strapped to this table the first time. I nicknamed him Troll in my mind, because I imagine him living down in this torture basement, never seeing the light of day.

I don’t mind this one much. As torture goes, his is predictable.

A handful of bruises, another broken bone. Could a single bone break in more than one place? I’m running out of things to hurt, but I’m sure he’ll find something.

The sound of footsteps on metal stairs makes me tense. My body remembers something worse than pain. That’s all Troll can dish out, but the other man messes with my mind.

Javier Markam strolls into view, his suit impeccable, his smile deceptively charming.

I want to rip his throat out. My fists tighten, wrists straining against the bonds holding me here.

He laughs in a way that is sickeningly pleasant. “Good evening, Mr. Costas. I see you’re eager to get started.” His smile fades, his eyes as flat as a snake. “I am too.”

“Can’t wait to put your hands on me again,” I manage, though the memory of yesterday’s torture is still fresh enough to make me vomit. Luckily I haven’t had anything to eat in days.

His expression darkens. “I have a new game for us to play.”

Are you flirting with me?
I can’t force out a comeback, though. Not with my entire body twisting, fighting. It’s determined to survive even though I know I have no hope.

No, my best chance is with Troll over there. If he gets careless, hits a little too hard, I won’t wake up.

That’s the best case scenario for me.

“Fill up the bucket,” Markam says.

Both of them disappear from view, and there’s that water again. So peaceful. So horrific.

Then Markam is back, holding up a wet washcloth. “Do you know what this is?”

I want to tell him exactly where he can shove that, but my throat is too tight to speak. I’m guessing I know what’s coming, and the thought has me sucking in a deep breath.
Shit.

He smiles a little. “Where’s Clara?”

I hate that I’m trembling, but this is going to be bad. Fear. He gets into my mind. “Have you checked up your ass?”

That terrible smile is the last thing I see before the wet cloth slaps my face. One second. Two. That’s how long it takes for the air in my lungs to get used up, for my body to exhale and reach for me. Except there’s no more air, nothing but wetness—and it feels like I’m drowning. Every muscle fights, but I barely move at all. I only manage to use up more of my oxygen, to drown faster.

Then the cloth is gone, and I suck in air so sharp it slices me up inside.

I’m panting, staring at Javier with a promise to kill him. I know better than to think I’ll actually get to, but I swear on everything I believe that if I get the chance, I’ll do it. And I’ll make it slow.

“Where’s Honor?”

“Fuck you.”

The cloth is back on me, and I count. That was ten, and this is nine. It helps sometimes, counting.

Then my body fights again, and I forget everything. Forget numbers, forget anger. All I know is a bone-deep fear, the instinct that kept humans alive for thousands of years. Survival, except this doesn’t feel like survival. It feels like death.

The cloth disappears, and I choke on air.

“Tell me where they went.”

It’s a relief that they never told me. There are times I’m so delirious from the pain, I can’t be sure what I’ve said out loud. There are times I’ve actually seen Clara in this room like a damned mirage. But I can never give away her location. I don’t know where she is.

The cloth is more wet this time, and water fills my mouth, my nose, before I can take another breath. I’m fighting from the first moment.
This is eight,
I think.
Fucking eight.

He’s looming over me again. “You’re only making this harder on yourself. We’re going to find them, and then what use will you be? Tell me now, and I’ll show mercy.”

There is one sweet thing about this torture—while this happens, I know they haven’t found Clara yet. She’s safe as long as I’m in pain. I want it to go on forever.

“Clara,” I say, voice like rusted metal.

“Yes,” he says, soothing. “This is her fault. She doesn’t deserve your loyalty.”

She deserves more than I could ever give her. “You’ll never touch her again.”

His fist hits my stomach just as the cloth lands on my face again.
Seven.

And so it goes on, more questions. More fighting. Sometimes I think he knows I don’t know where they are, that he just likes fucking with me because I got in his way. Other times I think he must be really desperate. I know he wanted Clara. I saw the way he looked at her, the way he
touched
her in the garden while she told him no. Thank God I was there to intervene, even if it did lead to this.

Six. Five. Four.

But it’s more than that. He’s friends with Honor’s fiancé, who would have gotten power out of the alliance. I have no idea what Javier wanted to get out of the deal. He’s already the governor’s son, already rich and powerful. For men like him, it’s never enough.
Run, Clara. Never stop running.

Black spots dance in front of my eyes. I’m blacking out, muscles too locked up to do anything but clench. Javier is talking to me again, but my oxygen-deprived brain can’t make out the words.

Three.

Instead I see Clara’s face—wavery, as if I’m watching her from underwater. She’s smiling at me.

This is all she ever wanted, to be free.

Two.

“You’re going to fucking die in this room,” he hisses into my ear. “You’re going to rot in this basement until only your bones are left. And when I find your pretty little girlfriend, I’m going to fuck her until she bleeds.”