Page 9 of Enzo

Alessandro and Pacey shove past the crowd that’s now hanging around the open door. “Get rid of him before I fucking kill him.” I shove the would-be rapist towards my cousin, knowing all too well how Alessandro’s going to deal with the guy. Then I bend down and scoop up Kayleigh’s limp body.

“Where are you taking her?” Pacey asks.

“Home.” I walk out of the frat house with Kayleigh in my arms, so fucking vulnerable. She mumbles something incoherent before her eyes close, and her head falls against my chest.

Kayleigh doesn’t stir as I put her in the passenger seat of my car, nor when I set her on my bed a quick drive later.

My eyes catch on the black leather attached to her thigh. Lifting her skirt slightly, I unclip the holster, removing the knife its holding in place. I slide the small blade into my pocket.

“That would have actually been useful if you weren’t drugged out of your mind.” Moving down her legs, I grab one ankle, then the other as I remove her boots, chuckling when I find another concealed knife. “What else are you hiding?” I ask her, knowing full well she’s not going to answer.

I tug the blankets over her and look down, debating if I should leave her here to go and deal with that fucker who would have taken advantage of her. Tonight could have gone a lot worse and she doesn’t even know it. My chest aches at the thought of what could have happened.

“Piccolo ladro, it isn’t yours to take and yet you’ve gone and stolen it anyway,” I whisper. “Piccolo ladro,” I repeat the words,little thief, as I walk out of my bedroom. I have two guest rooms in this apartment, so why the fuck did I put her in my bed?

Chapter Six

Thump. Thump. Thump.Someone is stomping around inside my head. Reaching up, I circle my fingers over my temples, trying to ease the pounding currently warring within my brain. It doesn’t work. Whatever is going on in my head, the pain only intensifies the more the consciousness seeps in.

I keep my eyes closed and bury myself under the covers. Maybe if I go back to sleep, I can wake up again without this pain. The soft fabric engulfs me. I feel like I’m lying on a cloud. The bed is warm, and the sheets are the silkiest thing I’ve ever felt.

My eyes snap open, and my hands run down my body, checking for clothes. They’re still on. I breathe a sigh of relief when I do a mental rundown and don’t feel any injuries or like I’ve had a whole lot of fun. I would want to remember, if you know what I mean. My vagina feels normal, not like I’ve spent a night fucking someone. But that only leaves me with more unanswered questions.

Why am I not in my bed? Where exactly am I?

I listen and hear the faint voice of someone singing. Whoever it is, they’re not in this same room.

I pull myself up and reach for the knife that’s always on my ankle. It’s not there, so I check my leg where I know I put one last night, and again it’s gone. Looking around the room does nothing to make the weapons appear. What the movement does achieve is the rolling of my stomach.

I spot an open door that I’m hoping is a bathroom and rush as quickly as I can through the door. The cold, hard tiles grate on my knees as I collapse in front of the porcelain throne. Just in time for the contents of my stomach to make an appearance. Once I don’t think I can possibly bring anything else up, I pull on some toilet paper and wipe my mouth before flushing the toilet.

I drag myself upright again, leaning on the vanity, and start rummaging through the drawers until I find some toothpaste. I squirt a small amount onto the tip of my finger and rub it over my teeth, doing my best to scrub them clean. Then I rinse out my mouth and stare at my reflection in the mirror.

I look like shit.

I splash my face and reach for one of the folded towels on the shelf next to the vanity, doing my best to free myself of last night’s makeup, and then comb my fingers through my hair. “It will have to do,” I mumble to my reflection. I’ve spent far too long in this person’s bathroom, in this person’s house, whoever this person is.

Guess there’s no time like the present.

I look around the bathroom again. I don’t like not having a weapon on me, something to defend myself with. Although, with the way I feel right now, an ant would be able to knock me on my ass. There’s nothing I see that I can use, so I open the cabinet and shift through bottles until I find a small pair of nail scissors.

“Not the best, but it’ll do,” I murmur while clutching the scissors in my hand. I do a quick scan of the bedroom when I walk back in. My shoes are nowhere to be seen, and my socked feet slide a little too easily on the smooth hardwood floors. I peel them off. If I have to force my way out of here, socks won’t help me stay upright.

Taking a deep breath, I try to calm my nerves. Whoever I heard singing isn’t making any noise now. I tiptoe down the hall, and my eyes spot what I’m praying is the front door. Maybe I can get out of here without even being seen. That would be ideal. Then I could call for an Uber or a cab.

I pull my phone out of my bra where I stuffed it last night, tap the screen, and silently curse when nothing but blackness greets me.

“You got anything else hiding away in there?” a deep, gravelly voice says from behind me.

I quickly turn around, only to find the last person I expected to see. Enzo Valentino. A shirtless Enzo Valentino. My eyes travel down his bare chest, all the way to where that delicious V forms at the low-hung waistband of his basketball shorts.

Shaking my head, I internally curse myself. I am not checking out a Valentino.

“W-what? Do I know you?” I ask, catching myself. I’m not supposed to know who he is.

Enzo’s eyes spark. There’s something there that I can’t quite pick up. This guy isn’t the easiest to read. Whatever he’s thinking, feeling, he’s a master at disguising it. “I’m Enzo. Is this a common occurrence? You waking up in the homes of men you don’t know?” There’s a little tick in his jaw when he asks the question.

“No, I don’t. How did I get here exactly?” I scan the room, the tiny pair of scissors gripped in my hand like a lifeline. I’m alone with a Valentino.

---