Furore (The Night Skulls MC #1)(5)

I should never try to reach him again, but logic didn’t stop me from grabbing the burner phone I kept on at all times, in case he reached out, and calling his number in the middle of the night. I was desperate.

“It’s Tirone. Do your thing. I’ll call back when I feel like it…or not.” Beep.

My skin broke in goosebumps at his voice. Squeezing my eyes in the darkness, I sank back in bed, my mouth open with all the things I wouldn’t bring myself to say.

Quickly, I hung up, cursing at myself. It wasn’t like he was going to answer. He’d never answered or returned any of my calls in the past seven weeks, and it was so reckless of me to dial his number that late at night.

I buried my face into the pillow, wetting it with my stupid tears. I was exhausted and afraid and heartbroken and alone. No sleep was deep enough to take any of it away or escape the nightmares. Those, along with the horrible emotions that had been piling up my soul, were ingrained in me and would always be part of who I was.

The darkness and grief within me would never be erased. Just like the past. My fate was sealed, and I was only delaying the inevitable. Sooner or later, I’d be found. Someone would spill the beans to the ruthless king, and he would come to finish what he started to protect his blood kingdom. Whether it’d be my bad luck or a mistake I’d made…like that name…

What the fuck was I thinking? How could I have made such a stupid mistake? Why hadn’t I researched it or asked any of the Italian kids at school or even Michele?

I thought if I’d had chosen the name by myself and never told anyone about it, it’d have been safer. No one could be tortured into telling what they didn’t know. But here I was, thinking I was a fucking genius, coming up with that name, making it officially mine since I moved to California and went to San Francisco for college, living with that name and on my own for five years without a single incident, and bam. It took one tattooed convict with no high school diploma one second to figure out I had a fake ass name and harbored a secret the size of Texas.

Without secrets, we’re fucked. You of all people should know and respect that.

Furore’s words rang in my ears, and the suspicions I’d been pushing aside all day snuck back in. What did he really mean by that? He couldn’t be on to me. He couldn’t be on to anything. He wasn’t even from around here or anywhere I’d been. I’d read his file. It couldn’t be anything but the unlucky coincidence of pushing the buttons of a smartass, Italian inmate. He wanted to rile me up for forcing him to write that assignment. Nothing more, nothing less.

Right?

“Way to go, Jo.” All those years, cutting ties with the dreadful past, building this fiery, strong-minded persona to keep people at arm’s length, hiding my fear and despair behind quick wits and a sharp tongue, getting a degree and a job and an apartment away from New York, away from Chicago, all that hard work, could vanish in a heartbeat all because of one stupid mistake.

Great. Should I start packing already, uproot myself from my new home and find another one? Where to this time? Fucking Alaska?

I dragged my butt out of bed again and went to my desk. Going through my purse, I pulled out Furore’s note. His darn assignment I had to accept in its poor condition.

My eyes landed on the four words on the sheet paper. Per il mio figlio.

He had to write it in Italian, of course, to prove a point. It wasn’t hard to translate, though. For my son.

As simple as the words were, they carried a lot of meaning behind them, heavy and deep. My curiosity was over the top. I wanted to know more. Furore’s story wasn’t about an outlaw who had gotten into a fight, hurt a man and went to prison for it. There was much more to it, and despite my fear, I wanted to know every detail.

Why was he in my class, studying Creative Writing for his son?

Why when the tip of Furore’s finger caught the side of my knuckle did a burning jolt of heat shoot deep into the pit of my stomach?

Why did I not reprimand him for touching me in the first place?

Why did I know, if the situation had repeated itself, I still wouldn’t have told him to stop?

I shook my head, shoving the piece of paper back into my purse. “You can’t do this. Not again. Never again.”

More reason to leave. Now. Before it was too late.

But what about Ty? What if he came back and didn’t find me?

He left you. He’s never coming back. He’s never coming back to you.

That inner voice nagged at me, but my mind refused to believe he’d just leave without even saying goodbye. Part of me was still wishing for his return, even if we should have never been together, even if we would never be again.

No. He had to come back eventually, even if it wasn’t for me, and I’d wait. Running away now would only incite more suspicions, if there were any in Furore’s head, anyway. I had to stay put and pretend nothing had happened, at least, until I knew for sure the vague threats behind his words were empty.

Lying back in bed, I sighed against the pillow. Would my life ever get easier?

I begged for sleep to swallow me. Suddenly, the nightmares felt like the lesser evil tonight. But when I closed my eyes, all I could see was Ty’s face. I couldn’t bring myself to blink it away. I didn’t have any pictures of him or us together to go to when missing him was too much to bear; it was too risky. My memories were the only proof of his existence and the time we’d had together. Those I vowed never to forget. I’d forever cherish them even if they were wrong or never meant to be.