Page 55 of Owning Nicci

SAVIO

Every few minutes, on the drive up to the cabin, I look over to make sure that Nicci hasn’t fallen asleep. I tell myself that it’s only that I don’t want to lose something that cost me so much to something as foolish as a concussion—but deep down, I know I’m protesting too much.

I’m exhausted from today. It feels like it’s been three days in one—the meeting with Yashkov and Gallagher, finding the guard in Nicci’s room, her confession, and the hit on Vince. I’m bone-tired, and it’s allIcan do to stay awake as we head upstate, but worrying about her keeps my eyes open. I’m prepared to shake her awake if I see her fall asleep for even a second, until we get to the cabin and I can check her for a concussion.

I have the urge to tell her that she won’t be going on any other jobs with me. The sight of that brute of a man slamming her head into the floor made me feel rage like I’ve seldom ever felt in my life.

And every other moment that I’ve felt it has been connected to her. Just about.The only other time I ever recall feeling that angry was when Barca took Sophie from me. When he ran his hands through her hair, knotting it in his fingers, and kissed herin front of me, shoving his tongue down her throat just to make a point. When I heard her fuckingmoanin response.

I flex my hand as if I can still feel the sting of my fist hitting his face afterward. I can still hear Sophie’s scream. Hear all of it—the fight that came after, the sound of my father ordering me to leave. Me telling him I’d be glad to, if only so that I didn’t have to watch his blood run red once Gallo figured out his plans.

I was right about all of it. They’re all dead now—all three of them. But I’m not faring any better. My head is on the chopping block, too, if I don’t leave on the timetable that Yashkov and Gallagher gave me. And I don’t know what my options are otherwise. I haven’t had a chance to figure it out yet, because every fucking time I start to try to think about it, something happens that puts Nicci front and center—and I forget about everything else.

I turn to look at her. Her eyes are closed, but I can see from the fidgety movement of her hands that she’s not asleep. Her delicate face is in profile, barely visible in the dark interior of the car—but it doesn’t stop me from thinking how beautiful she is. Not classically beautiful, with her narrow, fox-like features and delicate bones. But beautiful, all the same. She’s so slender and fragile-looking that she seems breakable—but I, of all people, am aware of just how untrue that is.

I haven’t been able to break her. No one has. And I no longer want to. In the quiet darkness of the car, with her not looking at me and no one to hear the thought but me, I admit to myself that that’s true, at least. I have no desire to hurt her any longer. I’m not hurting Barca by punishing her. I’m not even punishing someone who deserves it. After what I learned today, I know she’s not the villain I thought she was—not the femme fatale that I imagined plotting with my brother to kill the fiancee of the man who spurned her.

She was forced into all of it—if she’s telling the truth. And if all of that today was a lie, then she’s a better actress than I could possibly have imagined.

So there’s nothing to punish. I’ve been in the wrong, thinking that I was meting out some kind of twisted justice, punishing the bitch who worked with my brother and fucking her to get back at him. Instead, I’ve only blackened my own soul a little more—and found that I’m more like him than I ever wanted to think I could be.

I don’t know how I can make it up to her. I’m not sure that she wants me to. I don’t think she wants my apology or my penance, and I can’t blame her for it. But taking her somewhere safe while we figure out what to do next is the least I can do.

It’s nearly three in the morning when the car pulls up to the tiny cabin, nestled well away in the middle of nowhere. I get out of the car and open Nicci’s door for her as the driver gets the bags I had him put in the trunk. I touch the small of her back as she steps out.

“Can you walk?”

“I’m fine,” she says groggily. “Things aren’t spinning any longer.”

“I still want to check you for a concussion when we get inside.” I steer her towards the door—and I notice that she doesn’t shrug me off.

I unlock the door, and we step into the cabin. It smells of cedar, slightly musty from having been unused for years, and I flick on the lights, looking around to see if everything is still as it was the last time I was here. It’s been a long time, and everything looks a bit dusty—no housekeeper to keep this place up—but it’s all basically the same.

Nicci looks around, blinking in the light, and I can see her taking it all in. It’s very small—just the living room downstairs, with a worn plaid couch, a coffee table, several bookshelves, anda fireplace, with a door going to the downstairs bathroom and another leading to the kitchen. There’s a set of wooden stairs that lead up to the upstairs bedroom, and something tightens in my stomach as I remember that there’s only one bedroom here.

“Come on,” I tap my fingers against the small of her back, resisting the heat that flickers through my body at the thought of sharing a bed with her. I could give her the bed and sleep downstairs on the couch, of course, but I’m not that much of a gentleman. I’m exhausted too, and the couch looks as if it’s seen better days.

Nicci sucks in a breath, but walks with me to the kitchen. It has an old-fashioned range and slightly worn appliances, a breakfast nook near a large window overlooking the backyard. And a large wooden dining table with several seats at one end of the room, near the entrance to the mudroom. I gesture for her to sit down, and she does—narrowing her eyes at me.

“I just want to check and see that your eyes are alright.” I go to a drawer, fishing around in it, and find a small flashlight that, surprisingly, still works. I walk back over to her, gently tipping her chin up. I can see the marks on her face where that bastard grabbed her—and I’ve never been more glad that a man is dead.

I’ll be even more glad, I expect, when her father and brother join him.

I flick the light into her eyes, checking her pupils. When I’m satisfied that she’s not concussed, I take a step back. “I can show you upstairs to the bathroom,” I tell her, seeing the blood still splattered over her face and clothes. “I’m guessing you want a shower. I could use one, too.”

Something flickers over Nicci’s face, but she hides it quickly. “What am I going to wear after that shower?” she asks crossly. I have half a mind to say something to her about her tone—but I bite it back. I don’t really have the heart to reprimand her. She’s just as exhausted as I am, and I think we’re past all of that now.It doesn’t feel right any longer. It hasn’t for a while now, and I just didn’t want to admit it.

“I had some of your things packed before we left,” I tell her. “The driver just brought in our bags before he left.”

“He left?” Nicci looks at me curiously, and I nod.

“It’s just the two of us out here. It’s safe,” I reassure her. “This place is about as tucked away as it gets. No one will find it. It belonged to my father, and he didn’t tell many people about it. I think anyone who knew about it is probably dead now.”

Nicci swallows hard, wrapping her arms around herself. “I don’t know if that’s a relief or not,” she says with a small laugh. “But okay. I do want a shower.”

She gets up slowly, although I can see she’s not as wobbly as she was before. I reach out to steady her, and she shakes me off, a look of annoyance crossing her face.

“I told you, I’m fine.” Her mouth thins. “I don’t need help. I’ve been fine for a while now.”

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