Demand (5 page)

“Should he be in a hospital?”

“What he needed was blood. We got that for him. The question is whether it was soon enough.”

“An hour ago, I didn't want to know where that blood came from,” I say. “Now I do.”

“Kayden donates generously to a hospital nearby,” he supplies.

“That was a fast answer.”

“And an honest one,” he says.

“If it is—”

“It is,” he says firmly.

“Then it's a better answer than I'd expected.”

He studies me a long moment, his intelligent brown eyes weary. “You're very calm about all of this.”

“Considering I drew a gun on Kayden, I doubt he'd agree,” I surprise myself by saying, not sure what I hope to get in reply.

“There's a new twist on foreplay,” he says, and any other time it would be funny. But not now. Not in this room.

“You aren't going to ask why I did it?”

“Having someone's life in your hands is a lot of pressure,” he says, getting right to the crux of my emotions.

“Says the doctor covered in the blood of the man I tried to save.”

“He wouldn't be alive right now, if not for you. What you did took a level head and training.”

“Tell me that if Enzo lives.” I glance at his blood-soaked clothes. “Do you want me to get you something of Kayden's to change into?”

“My clothes are the least of my worries right now,” he says, a hint of his native Canadian accent in his voice I've never noticed before. It must be stress induced. “But thank you.” He studies me intently. “Where did you get medical training?”

“My father was some sort of Special Forces and trained as a medic. He taught me.”

He arches a surprised brow. “Did you get your memory back and forget to tell your doctor?”

“Small pieces of things are slowly coming back to me, as you said they would. But I'm a little concerned. Tonight I blacked out in the middle of my flashbacks.”

“Define ‘blacked out.' ”

“I was angry at Giada for calling Gallo and—”

“
She's
why he was here?”

“Yes, she is. I was furious at her, and it triggered a memory. One minute I was giving her a piece of my mind, and the next I was shaking her shoulders without any memory of doing so.”

“She's the reason we had to move Enzo. She's lucky it wasn't me. What else?”

“When I was walking up the stairs to find you, I got lost in a memory, and then I was at the top level and I don't remember the steps. It also happened about an hour ago, when I was changing clothes.”

“Has it happened before tonight?”

“No. Not like this.”

“Then I'd say it's stress and trauma. If it continues for more than twenty-four hours we'll run tests, but I don't think it will.”

I give a nod, comforted by his lack of concern, and by the easy friendship I feel with him. “I know Kayden hasn't told me everything.”

He doesn't so much as blink at my sudden change of topic. “In our world, everyone is an enemy until they're not. And sometimes even then, they are.”

It's not the answer I want, but perhaps, as Kayden said earlier, it's the one I need. “Does it ever get to you?”

“It gets to all of us.”

“Then why do it?” I press.

“I believe in Kayden.”

“Why?”

“Do you know how many men in The Underground would be criminals, if not for Kayden? He shows them another way. He wants more for them and the organization, and he keeps order in his two countries in ways you can't even begin to comprehend yet. So my answer is, I'm here because he's here.”

Footsteps sound and I push to my feet, standing next to Nathan. A moment later Adriel appears in the doorway, his hands on the frame, still dressed in black, still wearing guns, his gaze flicking to Enzo, then us. “How is he?” he asks.

Nathan gives a grim shake of his head and Adriel inhales sharply, his expression hardening, and I have a sense of him trying to rein in the emotions he never shows. I wonder if those emotions are why he's not dealing with Giada right now.

“Do you know what happened with Giada and Gallo?”

“I know,” he confirms, “and I'll deal with her. But it's not in my sister's best interest for me to do that now.”

It's at that moment that the machine next to Enzo starts screeching and the green lines go flat. Nathan is on his feet in an instant, running across the room and pulling some sort of cart with an electronic box on top of it to the edge of the bed. “Get the sheets off of him,” he orders, yanking open a drawer in the cart and removing paddles that begin to hum in his hands.

I pull down the sheets and Adriel appears at the end of the bed, helping me get them all the way down Enzo's body.

Nathan shocks Enzo with the paddles, and Enzo's body lifts and trembles. Seconds tick by and we watch the monitor, but the green line remains flat. Nathan shocks him again, and again without success. The next few minutes become a blur of shocks and failures, until the dreaded moment arrives.

Nathan shoves the paddles into the drawer and announces, “It's done. He's gone.”

He pulls the sheet over Enzo's face, and watching it is like being punched in the chest. I sink against the wall, squeezing my eyes shut, fighting images that I can't escape. Suddenly I am transported into the past, leaning over that bleeding man again. I try to hone in on his face when I hear Adriel say, “I'll call Kayden.”

My eyes snap open and I shove off of the wall. “You can't call Kayden when he's with Raul. He'll be furious with Raul. He'll get killed.”

“Like I said,” Adriel replies, “I'm calling Kayden.”

“You're going to get him killed,” I accuse.

“Because you fuck Kayden,” Adriel bites out, “does not make you an expert on how he wants things done.” He rounds the bed, heading for the door.

“Adriel!” I shout. “Wait!” And when he doesn't stop, I turn to Nathan. “Stop him, before you're covering another man with a sheet!”

He shakes his head. “Kayden's orders were specific. He wanted to know any news on Enzo immediately.”

“You have to see why that's a problem!”

“He
wants
to know. Let it go, Ella.”

“I won't let it go,” I say, dashing for the door and the hallway to find Adriel nowhere in sight until I reach the stairs. I see him in the foyer below, his back to me. I run down the stairs, and watch as he slips his phone into his pocket and turns to face me. “You told him, didn't you?” I demand, walking up to him.

“I left him a specific message. Yes.”

“If he dies—”

“He won't, because he's not dictated by his emotions. And if you can't remove yours, to stand by his side,
you
will get him killed. You will be no different from Giada, who doesn't belong here.”

“I'm not—”

“This is
not
your world,” he says from between gritted teeth. “And people who don't belong in this world, but stay here, end up like Enzo.
Dead.
” He steps around me and starts walking, his boots sounding on the stone floor, no longer covered in a rug, and each booted step echoes, not like a warning, but a threat.

I decide right then that my uneasiness with Adriel isn't going away, no matter how much Kayden trusts him. But now, when we're all riding an emotional roller coaster, is not the time to go to war with him. Especially since I'm fairly sure that the only thing I'm objective about right now is the fact that I'm not objective.

Inhaling, I walk to the front door, open it, and exit, a motion detector triggering lights that cast the porch in a dim glow. Ignoring the cold night air, I shut myself outside, sit on the top step, and dig my phone from my purse, noting the ten o'clock hour. I tab to Kayden's phone number, my finger lingering above it, but I remember my vow to only call in an emergency so I don't hit it. And I quickly rule out a text as distracting and potentially dangerous.

The door opens behind me, and I twist around to find Matteo joining me. “What are you doing out here?”

“I need a few minutes of air.”

“It's cold.”

“Is it?”

He studies me for several beats and shrugs out of his black leather jacket I don't remember him wearing, offering it to me. “Kayden will kill me if I let you freeze.”

Kill me.
I hate those two words right now, though of course I know they aren't literal. It's just . . . oh God. He doesn't know. I accept the heavy weight of the jacket and manage a soft “Thank you,” hesitating to add, “Matteo . . . I . . . Enzo . . .”

His eyes shut, his chin falling to his chest, a guttural curse sliding from his lips, his reaction chilling me way beyond the cold breeze.

“I'm sorry,” I say. “We tried. . . . Nathan—”

“I know,” he says, looking at me again. “I know.” He scrubs his jaw. “Don't stay out here long.” He doesn't wait for a reply, turning away.

“Wait!”

He turns to look at me.

“They told Kayden.”

Understanding fills his eyes. “He's The Hawk, Ella,” he says, as if that should explain everything. And I never get the chance to ask for more. He enters the castle and shuts the door firmly behind him.

I face forward to stare across the dark expanse of the yard, settling the jacket around my shoulders, and while Matteo might have given it to me, in doing so, he made it clear that Kayden is looking out for me even when he's not here. He is The Hawk. The protector of his people.
I would die for you
, he had said to me, but the word
die
shifts me back to the moment Nathan said, “He's gone,” and tears prickle in my eyes. He's gone. He's gone. Damn it.
He's gone
.

My cell phone rings and I glance at the caller ID, hoping it's Kayden. But it's the number from Gallo's business card—and like Kayden, I question his timing. My gaze lifts, scanning the darkness, looking for a way he might be able to see me. But there's really no way to know, thus no certainty he won't know I am ignoring him. I decide it's best to avoid any more of his wrath.

I hit the “answer” button. “Hello.”

“We need to meet,” he says. “Tomorrow morning for coffee. There's a place in the neighborhood called Caffè del Cinque. Be there at eight.
Alone
.”

“I can't do that.”

“Do you want me to take a photo of my badge and text it to you? Or perhaps your temporary visa?” He doesn't wait for a reply. “You can meet me, and you will.”

“What is this about?”

“You.”

“What does—?”

The line goes dead.

Though I'm certain Kayden has more power than he does, I am afraid that Gallo will deport me, but I don't think he has anything substantial on me, or he'd be dragging me out of the castle right now. It's a game. He's always playing games. I shove my phone back inside my purse and zip it up, glancing around the expansive yard, darkness consuming the walls blocking us from the public. Eerie silence surrounds me, the inky black almost a living creature, and suddenly I feel very exposed out here. I stand up, the leather draping my shoulders heavier than moments before, and hurry to the door.

Once I'm inside I lock the door, rush to Kayden's private tower, and punch in the security code. The instant the heavy wooden door starts to slide up, I impatiently want to duck under, but Matteo's jacket is too big and awkward. Forced to wait, I replay Gallo's words, wondering why he didn't insist on meeting tonight, since he knows Kayden is gone. Maybe he was baiting me, or us. Maybe he thought I'd panic and go somewhere he could follow? Perhaps to Kayden? Whatever the case, he's playing head games and it's working.

The door opens fully, a pool of light pouring in from the hall, and I hurry into the private foyer of the tower, pausing to push the button on the wall to shut the door again. And though normally I'd head right up the stairs, and let it close on its own, I'm antsy enough to watch it slide shut and know that I'm alone, considering Kayden guards our entry code like gold. Hurrying up the winding stone staircase, I reach the landing and pause, glancing down the hallway toward the bedroom, but the idea of being secluded in that room without Kayden hits all the wrong spots. Instead, I find myself walking straight ahead into the dimly lit living area, where I claim a seat on the couch, two chairs framing me, a big-screen television on the wall in front of me. The gas fireplace glows in the far left corner, warming the room, but it can't thaw the chill deep in my bones and my soul from the death of Enzo.

Pulling my purse over my head, I set it on the floor by the couch, then lie down and cover myself with the jacket, staring at the high ceiling without seeing it, tormented by the death I've lived through tonight and taunted by Gallo's phone call. I replay the important part of the conversation, honing in on my query about tomorrow's meeting: “What is this about?” I'd asked.

And his reply: “You.”

It's then that images flash in my mind, as if in answer to some question I haven't asked, and I close my eyes, knowing even before I fully visualize the scene that this is the memory I was having right after Enzo died.

I am in the hotel room where David and I are staying. The room where I ripped the butterfly necklace off my neck and found the note inside. The phone rings and I rush over to it, hoping it's David, who has been gone for an hour.

“Hello?”

A female voice says, “He's at Seventy-fifth Avenue. . . .”

I open my eyes, frustrated that I can't remember the address. Seventy-fifth Avenue what? And who was it who called me? The voice was strongly accented, but was it Italian? My brows furrow. I don't think it was. I shut my eyes again, and will more to come to me.