Page 16 of Claiming Veronica

Inside, a delicate rose gold bracelet. Simple but beautiful. And it was for me.

E & V

The small jewelry sat on my desk but wasn’t forgotten as I showered, rinsing the conditioner out of my long hair. Mornings weren’t my friend, and if I was drivingmyself to Phoenix tomorrow, I wanted to ensure that my hair was washed and dried.

Steam rolled through the bathroom, which sometimes helped me when I struggled to breathe. I felt good as I scrunched water from my hair and wrapped the towel around my waist.

My fingers were fairly itching for my computer, the keyboard beckoning me to search for the name Maxim had given me. I’d done some preliminary research on Mr. Spato but hadn’t found anything juicy. Opening the door, I went to step through and came to a screeching halt, grasping the towel tightly.

“Why aren’t you wearing it?” he asked. A black bandana was wrapped around the lower half of his face, but I knew who it was. This was Eli. He’d been lounging on my bed reading one of my romance novels — a spicy one. “Looks like you’re a little kinkier than I expected.” He raised an eyebrow, and my cheeks flamed.

I wasn’t sure if I was outraged that he was in my room or if I was scared. Excitement pulsed through me, and I battled my embarrassment at the book he was holding.

“What are you doing? You can’t be here,” I snapped, pulling the book out of his grasp, but my mistake was that I’d come too close, and heyanked me forward into his lap. I struggled to maintain my balance and my grip on the towel; confusion about which task was most important meant that I lost both, the towel slipping as I tumbled onto his hard lap closer to him.

“Look at how beautiful you are with your tits out. You should be naked all the time. I could tie you up and leave you on the bed like this.” My eyes widened, and I renewed my struggles but knew it was no good. I shouldn’t like his words as much as I did. My heart hammered in my chest as his eyes roved over me.

His arms around me weren’t bruising, but they kept me in place. The fact that his face was obscured just turned me on even more as his fingers removed the rest of my towel. “You’re wet for me, aren’t you, little goddess? Don’t deny it. If I slid my fingers between your legs, what would I find? Hmm?”

“Nothing. You’re disgusting.” His eyes narrowed at my words.

“Wear the bracelet, or I’ll punish you, little liar.” I wiggled, but he moved, dumping me unceremoniously onto the bed where my limbs splayed, probably flashing him in a very unsexy way.

“Asshole,” I muttered as he left, but not too loudly because I knew Luca and Enzo were stillin the house, which was my guess on why he had worn the bandana. Thankfully, they were leaving early tomorrow.

Maybe he’d be back. I hoped so as I pressed my thighs together and flopped back on the bed.

Chapter 9

Eli

Ileaned back against the leather sofa in my apartment, staring at the burner phone in my hand as it buzzed to life. I’d put a call out to my old pal Luther as soon as I’d met with Matteo. The familiar name flashed on the screen — Luther. Finally, the bastard had taken long enough to call me back.

I answered with a grunt. "You're late."

A deep laugh came through the speaker, rough around the edges but familiar. Fuck, it was nice to hear from him. “You’re one to talk. I haven’t heard from you in, what, a month? Maybe two?"

Luther was my only remaining friend. Once upon a time, I’d had two friends, Victor and Luther. We’d been inseparable, the three musketeers rolling around the neighborhood, pick-pocketing and stealing from the vendors, crouching in the corners under the eaves, and eating scraps like the street urchins we were. The most important part of it was that we were free.

"Been busy,” he mumbled. I wondered if he’d heard that Victor was dead. I knew I hadn’t told him, although I wasn’t sure he’d care too much. Victor had a mean streak in him that had only worsened as he’d gotten older, but he’d also been obsessive and strange. I wondered how I hadn’t seen it — had I been too lost in my own past to realize Victor’s sickness? Luther and I tried to discuss it only once, and neither of us was willing to say the words we were thinking.

Victor and I had been kindred spirits in some ways. We’d been about the same age and in the same boat when we found each other. We didn’t trust each other at first but realized quickly that having someone who was just as ruthless to run with was handy. Survival was hard work. He knew I’d leave him if it came down to it, and I knew he’d leave me behind if his skin were on the line. That was fine with me.

It was Victor who told me that going by my real name was a bad idea. He said I needed a new name if we were hiding from people. Well, he’d told me that he couldn’t hang with me if I was going to be running around like anidiotic baby, giving out information for free and bringing the cops right to us. He’d had a valid point that I’d not considered. Victor had given me the name Havoc after I’d rolled through the docks on a motorcycle we’d stolen— said I was causing havoc. It was our word of the day.

“You know,” he paused and looked at me with that dead fish glare as we peered around the dumpster, watching for the police. We were only ten, but we’d been absolute hooligans. “The word today is ‘havoc.’ That’s what you are. That’ll be your new name.”

“What? No.” I was still deciding what I wanted to be called. I’d been making him call me ‘E’ until I could make up my mind.

We had decided that since we couldn’t go to a real school, we’d steal books from the nearby public school. We hoarded them and went over them together, trying to puzzle them out. Victor had decided that we would have a word of the day that we’d learn from the dictionary. He was obsessed with not being stupid. He said that it was the only way that we could become like those rich a-holes who had their own fancy houses and could buy whatever they wanted.

“Havoc: lay to waste, devastate. Or,” he cocked just one eyebrow, an ability I was jealous of. “Widespread destruction.” He waved towards the docks. “You just,” his brow furrowed. “Made havoc? Created? What’s the word?”

“I don’t know.” I was exhausted.

“It’s right anyway. That’s havoc. You’re Havoc.” And it stuck.

Ihad managed to turn my feelings off after being locked up with Lonnie Kent, who had abused me horrifically for years until I’d managed to run away when he’d dragged me to Seattle. It’d been a rare opportunity. Even at nine years old, I recognized it for what it was. The streets didn’t scare me, but I knew I’d die if I stayed with Kent any longer.

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