Bend Me, Daddy

VEDA

Eight Days Later

The day I walked out of Luca's house was the hardest day I'd ever had in my life, but it was something I'd had to do. I knew that. It had taken me a few days, but I'd finally gotten arrangements made to fly both me and my parents out of the country. I'd spoken to my father every day on the phone, checking on them. And every day he'd told me the same thing, that they were being well taken care of.

I'd also talked my father into coming with me when I left. He'd finally agreed, and I'd located a real estate agent to put their home up for sale and spent the last week packing up more of their things and cleaning it up for photos. Some of it I put in storage, and their luggage I took with me back to Sammy's. We would sell the house with all of the furniture included.

Two days after I'd left Luca's, I realized Enzo was following me everywhere I went. I never said a word to him. Honestly, I was glad for the protection. And when it was time for me to get my parents, he was the one who picked me up at Sammy's just before dinner and brought me back to the lake house.

However, this time when I arrived, Luca was outside waiting for me when I got out of the SUV. I eyed him warily, squinting my eyes against the bright afternoon sun. The air was humid with the promise of rain that would probably never come. "Enzo, what the hell is this?"

Luca approached me from the direction of the garage, and I could see even from where I was in the drive that he was sweating from the heat of late summer. He wore his normal daily attire of black slacks and a white buttondown shirt, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing off lean, muscular forearms. But that was where the similarities ended.

His hair was wild, like he'd been combing his fingers through it repeatedly. And his bright blue eyes were crazed, lit from behind by a manic light as they hungrily took in my face, my hair, and then roamed over the rest of my body. I suddenly wished I'd worn more than bike shorts, a gray cotton tee, and sneakers.

Gradually, I noticed there was blood splattered on his face and shirt. And the longer I stared at him, the more injuries I saw. One eyebrow was split open, and his eye was swelling, along with one side of his mouth. His knuckles were swollen, a few of them cut and bloody. And there were dark stains on his pants I assumed was more blood.

He stopped a few feet away, and I took a step forward before I could stop myself, barely resisting the urge to run my hands over him to search for more injuries. My heart thudded hard in my chest, making me a bit lightheaded. Was this even his blood? Or someone else's? But I forced myself not to go any closer. "What happened?" I demanded. "What have you done?"

"I got you a gift, amore," he told me. With a nod at Enzo, he turned on his heel and walked into the garage.

Enzo placed a hand on my elbow to lead me inside, but I dug in my heels. "No. No. Enzo, please. I don't want to go in there."

He ignored my pleas, forcing me to put one foot in front of the other on the gravel or be dragged.

We entered the garage through the same door Luca did. Once out of the brightness of the sun, it took a minute for my eyes to adjust to the single dim light bulb that hung from the center of the room. I was reminded of the movies once again. The ones where the bad guys brought someone into a place like this to intimidate them or torture them into making a confession.

But this wasn't the movies. This was real life. And Luca was covered in blood...

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As Enzo closed and locked the door behind us, I blinked, and the room slowly came into view. I quickly lowered my eyes and kept them on the floor. I was afraid of what I might see. But I smelled metal and oil. The air was thick with it in the heat and humidity. Too thick. I couldn't seem to get enough oxygen into my lungs and I opened my mouth to take a breath, tasting the copper scent of blood on my tongue. The only sound was from the air conditioning unit running full blast in the far window. It did little to nothing in such a big space.

"Look at what I got for you, amore."

But I couldn't. "I don't want anything from you." Spinning around, I tried to leave, but Enzo stuck out his arm and stopped me, then took me by the arms and forced me to turn back around. I could try to fight my way out, but I knew in the end, I didn't have much choice.

"I never took you for a coward, Veda," Luca taunted me. "Open your fucking eyes and see what I brought you."

I tried one more time to reason with him. "Luca, please," I whispered. "Whatever it is. I don't want it. I don't want to see. I just want to go home. And you can do that. I haven't seen anything, so it's okay to let me go." I was rambling, hoping something I said would get through to him.

"OPEN YOUR FUCKING EYES!"

His voice rang through the empty space. Filled with anger and desperation, it echoed off the walls and vibrated through my bones. My eyes flew open.

Luca stood in the middle of the room like a blood-covered, vengeful god. The light bulb swung back and forth over his head, creating light and shadow on his face, turning him into some kind of monster. Not a god. A demon, perhaps. Beside him was a metal chair, and there was a man sitting in it.

Mario.

He was tied to the chair much like Luca had once done to me, only with zip ties instead of silk scarves. I could see where they cut into the skin of his wrists and ankles, his pant legs pulled up so they would be tight. His head was slumped forward on his chest, and the front of his white T-shirt was soaked with blood and plastered to his chest.

Funny, I felt nothing at all seeing him sitting there like that. He'd obviously been beaten. Maybe tortured. But there was just... nothing. No sense of empathy. No anger. Not even a feeling of satisfaction. And when I spoke, my voice was level and even. "Is he dead?"

Luca grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head up. His brother's face was a swollen, bloody mess. Mario's low moan told me that he was, in fact, still alive.

"Oh my god."

"I tied him up after I beat the fuck out of him," Luca told me. "He had a fair chance."

"Why didn't you kill him?" There was genuine curiosity behind my question.