ROMANCE: Lion Protector (Paranormal Shifter BBW Military Romance) (Shapeshifter Alpha Male Short Stories Book 2) (16 page)

Chapter 7

              I was hungry, but the breakfast options at Anthony’s were limited now that I was pregnant. My list of foods that either wouldn’t stay down or suddenly smelled nauseating grew each day. I ate one of his bagels, a banana, and cubed some cheese off a block in his refrigerator.

As I sat at the bar in his kitchen eating in the button-down he had worn the previous day I remembered that I had seen him put something in his pocket after escorting Donte and Jerome from his family house last night. I needed an opportunity to see what that something was.

              For the moment, I continued to eat and scroll through messages in my phone. I rummaged the fridge one more time and found a few egg rolls that tasted even better after I dipped them in syrup. Pregnancy made normal food intolerable and unusual combinations delectable. As I made my way through his egg rolls, Anthony came to the kitchen and kissed my forehead.

              “How badly will it bother you for me to have coffee?” he asked.

              “You’ve always had yours black with sugar, so we should be fine,” I replied.

              “Good. Black and sweet is all I want this morning. First my coffee, then maybe a little more of you,” he said as he filled the coffee pot with water and added grounds to the machine.

              I excused myself to shower. Anthony grabbed some fruit and looked over the remains of my breakfast.

              “Make sure my last egg rolls are still here when I get out. There isn’t much for me to nibble on here today,” I called over my shoulder.

              Once I reached his bedroom, I popped in the shower to get the water running at the right temperature. As it heated up I tried to feel around his pockets as best I could.

              Empty.

              I saw his wallet and keys on the dresser, but nothing unusual. Whatever he received had already been put away or discarded. I made one last quick search of his drawers. They were so neatly arranged I could tell quickly that nothing had been disturbed.

              I didn’t want to get my hair wet, but I didn’t have anything to wrap it in or pull it up with so I had to adjust the head of the shower and stand farther back so water didn’t hit and splash above my shoulders. When I finished bathing I wrapped the nearest towel around myself. I styled my hair as best as I could with Anthony’s comb and my fingertips. As I opened the drawer to replace his comb, I saw what Anthony must have received the night before.

              A handkerchief was folded around something and had slid forward from where it had been tucked toward the back. As I unfolded the cloth I began to feel nervous, not of Anthony catching me snooping, but of what I might learn he was keeping from me.

              Once the content of the handkerchief was in my hands, for a moment I was speechless. Then, I just wanted answers.

              “Anthony,” I called, sitting on the bed, holding the kerchief and what was inside.

              “Yeah,” he called back.

              “Anthony, please come here,” I said.

              I heard his footsteps coming quickly down the hall.

              “Are you okay?” he asked, looking concerned.

              “I am, but someone is not,” I replied.

Chapter 8

              “What’s the matter?” Anthony asked.

              He still hadn’t noticed I was holding anything in my hands. I guess he thought I felt sick or maybe something was wrong with the baby, because he knelt and started putting his hand on parts of my face as if checking for a temperature.

              “Why were Donte and Jerome at your family house last night?” I asked.

              “They just wanted approval to follow up on a lead,” he replied, shrugging like it should have been obvious.

              “No, why were they at the house last night,” I repeated myself without changing tone or position.

              “Jayne,” he said.

              “Anthony,” I replied.

              He could tell this was the calm before a possible storm. He sat back and thought to himself. Then he sat beside me on the bed, took the handkerchief and its content, and spoke.

              “This is a pair of pocket knives,” he said.

              He opened the smaller knife.

              “The tip of this one is recently broken,” he said, showing me the damage, then closing it again. “I need to make sure it is properly discarded to ensure it does not find its way into police evidence. I have a few things I was going to pack up and ship today. I think you should join me.”

              He stood and began pulling other small items from things in his room that I didn’t even realize had openings, storage, or compartments. Then again, when I was in his room I was typically otherwise occupied. There were dirty icicle-style earrings I remembered Cassidy from the office saying she’d lost, a woven leather belt that someone had unraveled and cut cord from, bloody shoe laces, and more.

              I was still sitting on the bed. I felt nauseous. Every item he pulled out had blood, hair, or worse visible on it. I had become a reporter to warn the world about crimes and explore the inexplicably unsolved. Here it all seemed to be in the bedroom of my boyfriend and boss.

              He noticed that I had not moved.

              “Jayne, I’m still me. I just need to show you a few things and talk to you. I think it’s time you got to know me better. Our relationship has…progressed,” Anthony said, trying to smile, but clearly recognizing that the day had taken an unexpected turn from even what I had thought when I attempted to confront him.

              “Can I have some ice water, please?” I asked, still not really moving or changing my expression.

              “Of course, baby. Stay here I’ll be right back. You look a little pale, too. I’ll get you some crackers and see if I still have some olives or capers,” he said, heading toward the door.

              Once I heard him rummaging through his kitchen cabinets I slung the items he had gathered into the large purse I had been carrying. I put my clothes from the day before in as well. I tiptoed down the hall in his button-down, carrying my shoes in my hand, and slipped out the front door.

              As I was waiting for the elevator I heard a muffled version of Anthony’s voice yell my name. I couldn’t wait to ride the elevator and dreaded the flights of stairs for his high rise, but I had to do it. I heard a door open and knew Anthony was coming to find me, so I ran for the stairs as fast as I could.

              “Jayne, baby, I can explain,” he called into the hallway, but the door to the stairs was already closing behind me.

              It shut more loudly than I expected and, as I reached the bottom of my first flight of stairs, I heard it open again. I looked up to see Anthony in slacks, unbuttoned, with a shirt and keys in his hands.

              “Jayne,” he called once he saw me.

              I ran down two more flights and could tell without looking back that he was getting closer behind me. As I rounded the next lap of stairs I could feel his hands reaching at the shirt and nearly grasping it.

              “I won’t say anything. Just leave me alone,” I said, still trying to get away.

              He caught me at the next landing, wrapped me in his arms, and pulled me to sit on the floor with him. We were a crumpled mess with my bag, his shirt, and my frightened tears. Scared as I was, he was still my safety. I buried my face in his chest crying.

              “Please don’t kill me. Just let me leave. I don’t know anything. You can have all this stuff back and I will forget about it,” I said.

              “I’m not going to kill you. Just calm down, be quiet, and come with me,” Anthony said, putting a hand under my chin to make me look into his eyes.

              I believed him.

              A security guard appeared a floor below us calling, “Who’s there? Is everything alright?”

              Then he looked at us.

              “Mr. Ferrara. Ms. Clinton,” he said, giving a nod to Anthony and then leaving as suddenly as he came.

              Anthony kissed my forehead, then carried me down the remaining stairs. He took me to the garage and sat me in the passenger seat of his car. He got in on the driver’s side and left the shirt he brought with him in his lap.

Chapter 9

              “Jayne, you know my family is important,” Anthony said after a few minutes of us driving in silence.

              “Yes,” I replied. “They started one of the original newspapers in the area as well as one of the first news stations. They syndicated early and have connections all over the country to stay on top of domestic affairs.”

              “All that is true, but it is also a cover. It’s a means to an end,” he said, picking up speed as we headed toward the south end of town toward the docks.

              I just listened, feeling a little dizzy and very confused. He touched my forehead again. I guess I looked about as good as I felt.

              “Our involvement in the news industry has always been more about having access to events, people, places, and information. Journalists can get in anywhere with a press badge. People will talk if they think they have a story for you, and even more if it’s juicy and off the record, but not really. Controlling the news lets you control the people. My family decides who knows what, and controls what is known. We dictate perception, if you will,” Anthony said, trying various explanations to balance some point he was getting at.

              He got quiet, seemingly to allow that to sink in for the remainder of our ride. I still hadn’t caught on to what he was trying to drive home, but he did have good points about the power of controlling the media. I just needed to understand why.

              When he finally turned the car off we were at the docks. I saw a variety of ships and workers. Nothing I thought looked too strange except for Anthony and me.

              As soon as he stepped out of the car a worker rushed over to give him packaging supplies. As that one left, another ran over and gave him a few folders and whispered in his ear.

              “Jayne, my family also owns a few shipping companies – land, water, and air – to help us move things without hassle,” he said.

              He helped me out of the car and then took my purse from me. I kept tugging the the shirt I was still wearing down so my bottom didn’t give these guys a free show. He rummaged through my purse, pulling out the things he had gathered from his room. I didn’t even try to protest. Once everything was in the box, he taped it up and marked it with a sticker that said “fragile.”

              He put the box under one arm and took one of my hands in his free hand. He handed the box to a worker and gave instructions about “losing” the package while the crew for a particular boat was at sea today. He looked through the files. Each one had a small portfolio on a person with a brief data sheet and two photos, one alive and one dead.

              My stomach turned and I doubled over, vomiting on the dock. Anthony picked me up again and a worker came immediately with a hose to clean up my mess.

              Anthony carried me to a small building that served as the main office. When he came in carrying me, everyone inside greeted him but quickly made themselves scarce.

              “Anthony, are you a murderer? Do Jerome and Donte work for you?” I asked.

              “The short answers would be ‘yes’ and ‘yes,’” he said, sitting me in the most comfortable chair in the room.

              He stepped into a different room and I heard water run. When he returned he had a paper cup with water for me to drink and a damp paper towel that he patted around my face.

              “Is the shock too much for you and the baby?” he asked.

              “I’m always nauseated now, and running away from you this morning took a lot out of me. Not to mention you brought me to the smelliest place in the city aside from the waste water treatment facility,” I replied.

              “Do you think you will be okay?” he asked.

              The concerned eyes only I ever saw were still there. Now, I realized just how real his bad-boy exterior I was. I had always been drawn to it, but now it concerned me. I knew I still didn’t know everything, though.

              As I rested in the chair with the cup of water and damp paper towel over my eyes, I listened to Anthony pacing the room telling me how his family came from Italy a few generations ago. He told me how they had protected their neighborhood and how that grew to a few blocks. Soon it was whole sections of the city. Then they started a newspaper and bought out a few others with some shady backroom deals.

              Long story short, as their crime family grew, so did their media conglomerate. They owned more businesses in a greater variety of industries than I realized.

              He told me things tying his family to all kinds of political events, city development, dates, names, and numbers. Finally, he worked his way to the present.

              “And, that kid you were so worried about in the hospital? He’s a distant relative. The footprint found was from another family’s weak attempt at ruffling our feathers. We knew about the whole incident before any kind of news or cops, but we missed a witness at the scene. We had no proof to tie it back to the other family until Donte and Jerome found out about someone recently complaining about breaking their knife in a scuffle. I had them handle the situation, but I wanted the knife brought to me,” he said.

              “Why?” It was the one question I could finally bring myself to ask.

              “Why get the knife? So the police don’t get involved in family matters. Why do we do all this? Because the world runs more smoothly when people feel like it runs without being personal. In truth, it’s always personal. People sleep better at night if they can call things hate crimes, gang violence, or delinquency,” he said honestly.

              I couldn’t necessarily say I disagreed with him after I let it all sink in and thought about the viewers at home. No one wanted to be a victim unless they could write it off as being a victim of circumstance or society and culture.

              We sat in silence for a while until my stomach growled. It was late afternoon.