The Villain Duet by Bella J.
Chapter 23
Charlotte
A few weeks earlier
Italy’s winter cold had nothing against the chill that lingered in my spine. Elijah had been behind that closed door for almost an hour with the man who called himself Saint. He sure as hell didn’t look like any saint to me. The man had malice and mystery plastered all over him—a lethal combination, in my opinion. Something Elijah had as well, but for some reason, I was drawn to his darkness, lacking the aversion I had toward the stranger who now occupied my thoughts as well.
I hadn’t moved since they closed that damn door, my stomach twisted in knots as I rubbed my palms up and down my arms.
Elijah told me not to move. And Saint had instructed James not to let me out of his sight. I glanced up at the bodyguard who stood by the door, arms crossed and chest buff. The sheer size of this man was enough to make a person want to shrink into oneself. I was convinced he had intimidation bottled and used it as aftershave every goddamn morning, readying himself to fuck the world in the ass with a simple glare. But right now, I was more afraid of what was being said behind closed doors than the man standing in front of me like a giant brick wall.
I placed a hand on my belly, remembering what Elijah had said. “…maybe my seed has already started to bloom inside you.”
God. I still couldn’t believe how damn stupid I was. How irresponsible. What kind of person would I be if I brought a new life into this dark world I found myself in? What kind of mother would I be to a child when I was incapable of making good decisions for myself? Everything was twisted, turned upside down ever since Elijah took me.
Kidnapped.
Abducted.
Seduced.
Three words I never thought I’d put together in one sentence. One thought. Yet here I was, abducted, seduced, and maybe even in love if the flutter of nervous energy and the flicker of excitement inside my stomach was anything to go by.
God, this was all so fucked up. But I was a grown woman who knew better than to fight the inevitable—and falling deeply and completely in love with Elijah Mariano was undoubtedly unavoidable, if I weren’t already.
James cleared his throat, and I glanced in his direction. “I don’t suppose you’ll give me an answer if I ask you how Elijah and Saint know each other?”
He merely lifted a brow in a silent yet extremely fucking loud ‘no.’
“Of course not,” I huffed and leaned back in the chair. “Do you know how long they’ll be? My ass is getting numb.”
No answer.
“Can I at least go to my room and take a nap while these two catch up?”
“I’m sorry, Miss Moore. But Mr. Russo and Mr. Mariano made it clear you are to remain right here.”
I scoffed. “You make it sound like these two men own me. Just,” I held up a hand, locking my gaze with his, “let it be known that even though I’m here under questionable and extremely odd circumstances, I am still my own person. I still make my own decisions whether there are two men behind that goddamn door, discussing God knows what.” I stood, my spine straightened and feet firmly on the ground, yet nowhere near to looking James in the eye. “I am a person, goddammit. And I am allowed to get my ass off this uncomfortable chair and go take a nap if I want to.”
Determination clung to my every word, my squared shoulders broad with confidence. But James remained unmoved, glancing at me like a rottweiler would a chihuahua. It took one facial expression from him to tell me exactly what I was to him.
Insignificant.
Inconsequential.
Small.
My shoulders slumped, and I glanced down, defeated. “Ugh, I’m nothing but a goldfish in this sea of sharks, aren’t I?” I sat back down in the chair, massaging my temple with my thumb. “It’s just a matter of time before I get chewed up.”
James shrugged. But he might as well have said, “Yes, you are nothing but fish bait dangling from a little hook waiting to be eaten.”
So many nights I spent staring at the ceiling of my crummy apartment, wishing that somehow, somewhere, there’d be more waiting for me. More happiness. More love. More life.
Within that space between when my mom died and Elijah stormed in, days were nothing more than this tiring war of survival from sunup to sundown. My life was one constant struggle to get from one moment to the next without sinking, without drowning. And what made it worse were all those thoughts of wasting away with no one out there to fight for me, to help me, to not let me lose myself.
People always said nothing was as scary as death. But I disagreed. There was nothing more terrifying than the kind of loneliness that could make you disappear without another soul even noticing you’re gone. There would be nothing left of you. No memories. No thoughts. Not even the tiny space you occupied in this world. It would be as if you never existed. Never laughed. Never loved.
Nothing was worse than the fear of not leaving a mark.
If I had to die today, would my absence leave a scar on Elijah’s heart forever? Or would it simply ache for a moment, only to be gone the next?
I let out a breath, rubbing my palm across my forehead. I was never like this. Never thought of having the kind of influence that would handicap someone else. A person who would rather be a source of another’s pain than a distant memory that would eventually fade forever.
The selfish bitch in me preferred the scar—the disfigurement of what once was an oozing open wound. But I wanted him to feel something for me. Something intense. Feral. Like I felt for him. I craved to be his blessing and his curse.
