Life Before Damaged, Volume 9 Read online

  He’s not in love with you. Ferros are incapable of love.

  The spell breaks and I drop my hands. I can’t.

  He sees me as that silly girl who still believes Prince Charming will sweep me off my feet and ride off into the sunset. The time for fairytales is over.

  "Why tell me now? If it's been that long, why didn't you say anything sooner? Why the games? Why did you keep on pushing me away?"

  "Come back with me, and I'll tell you everything. Please come home with me, Gina. Don’t go in there." Pete is pleading with me, his voice stern, but obviously worried.

  I turn to look back at the club, where warmth and friendship are waiting for me. I can’t see what he’s telling me. I don’t see how they’re bad, using me, or anything else. It’s a place to dance and laugh. It’s a place that makes me happy filled with people who care about me.

  I push the jacket and the helmet away from me, shaking my head. “I can't trust my feelings when I'm around you. I need space and some time to think. I'm sorry, Peter. I’ll be back later tonight, and I promise we’ll talk. Will you wait up for me?” I place a hand on his cheek, and he leans in just a tiny bit and closes his eyes.

  "Of course I will. Go in there and have fun, but be careful."

  "I will."

  I take a step back and break the contact between us. Pete puts on his jacket and helmet. After lowering his visor, he revs up the engine and takes off. I stand in the cold parking lot, watching his taillight disappear into the night until I can no longer hear the roar of his bike.

  MR. RIGHT

  November 16th, 9:57pm

  Walking back to the club takes forever. It feels like I fell down a wormhole and got spit out in Jersey. Pete’s words swirl together in my head until I feel like it may explode. I tug on the door, but it won’t open. It's locked. There are cars in the parking lot, so the club should be open. I knock a couple of times, peeking in through the window. I bounce up and down on the balls of my feet and rub my arms some more, in between knocks. Philip's handsome face peers through the glass door. He smiles warmly at me before unlocking and opening the door.

  I step inside into a rush of heat, but I don’t feel any warmer. My skin is still pebbled with goose bumps and no matter how much I rub my arms, the heat won't reach my bones. It feels like I'm in shock. Philip takes me into a brief, friendly hug, but that's all I get. No tingles, no giddiness. Maybe I'm still just too numb after everything that just happened with Peter.

  Philip cups my face with his hands and searches my eyes. I want to look away, but I can't. Guilt at how we parted the last time forces me to make eye-contact with him. I just hope I'm not misleading him again. I'm not going back to his place tonight after all.

  “I’m so glad you were able to make it, Gina. You look frozen. Did you walk all the way here from Ferro's house without a coat?”

  I force a smile at Philip, shaking my head. “No, I drove.” I look down at my left shoulder. “Trying not to let anything touch this. Hurts like a bitch.”

  Philip takes in my new ink job. “Wow! It looks amazing. Come on in and warm up. The guys are here and can’t wait to see you again.” Philip locks the door behind me and places a hand on my lower back, escorting me inside.

  I wander into the club, still dazed and confuzzled by Pete’s outburst outside. It’s like walking through thick fog. You only notice things once they are in your face. There's no music. In fact, the club is empty, save Philip and his skydiving crew. They sit around a table, playing poker and smoking cigars while Ricky busily mixes drinks and loads them on a tray.

  “Oh, hell yeah! The pussy has arrived.” Zeke, Philip's disturbingly gross friend, seems much too enthusiastic at my arrival. I suppress a disgusted shiver when I hear his voice. He puts both hands behind his head, props his feet on the table and balances back on the two hind legs of his chair. He winks at me and makes a disgusting, suggestive flicking gesture with his pierced tongue. I hope never to be alone in a room with that guy. I’d mace him in the face.

  Philip’s grip on my back tightens, and he leans in close to say, “Don’t mind Zeke, he’s being a prick as usual tonight.”

  I wave toward the table, “Hey, guys! Good to see you again.” I answer back lightly. I don’t want Zeke to see just how much he gets to me. Most of the guys acknowledge me with brief waves and mumbles.

  Zeke, however, looks at me intently, overtly checking me out from head to toe. “Oh, I’ll be seeing much more of you later, babe.” He points toward all of the guys sitting at the table, calling their attention to him. “I call first fuck!”

  “Zeke! If you don’t shut the fuck up now, you're outta here. Got it?” Philip's tone is threatening. He wraps a protective arm around my waist and pulls me in close. Funky weirdo-vibes are setting off every alarm I have and sending chills down my neck. I touch it gently and feel the hairs standing on end. Peter freaked me out with his warnings, and this is just me acting on his paranoia. Zeke scares me, but as long as Philip and Ricky are here I'm safe. I peel Philip’s arm off of my back and politely excuse myself to go to the bar, where my good friend is still busy filling up the guys’ orders.

  “Gina? What the hell are you doing here?” Ricky whisper-yells the moment I get close to the bar. He deposits the last glass on the tray and starts to wipe down the bar with a rag.

  “Philip asked me to come over. Why is this place closed tonight?"

  "Because sometimes we close, Gina. It's my club, and if I decide to close it one night so my friends can hold a private meeting that's my prerogative." His reply takes me aback. I've never seen him anything but happy and welcoming. He's usually the human equivalent of a Chihuahua, always bouncing around.

  "What’s wrong, Ricky? Why are you so upset? I thought you’d be happy to see me, not pissed. What gives?”

  Ricky shakes his head. “Never mind. Could you bring this tray over to the guys? Thanks, doll.” His voice is detached, not the usual boisterous, energetic Ricky that I’ve come to know. Chills creep up my spine. There’s something eerily wrong here.

  I nod, give Ricky a weak smile and take the tray. I walk around the table, each one of the guys retrieving their drink as I pass. As I walk past Philip, he gives my backside a little pat. It's supposed to feel fun and flirty, especially considering this is why I agreed to see him in the first place. I wanted to push Pete out of my heart by replacing him with Philip, but this only feels dirty--especially after Zeke’s earlier comments and Pete’s warning. I don’t say anything and just keep smiling.

  After I finish serving the drinks, Philip pats his lap, inviting me to sit. There isn’t any room for an extra chair at the table. I hesitate. I can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t right, and suddenly regret having come in at all.

  I'm acting crazy. This is Philip Gambino. He's my fun, cute, thrill-seeking, sweet, caring man. He's my Mr. Right. Damn the Ferros and their trust issues. I shake off the feeling and sit crosswise on Philip’s lap. His hand rests midway up my jean-clad thigh.

  I sit in silence, watching the guys play poker, drinking, smoking their cigars and passing newspapers around. My mind starts to wander.

  Pete loves me. After everything we've been through, how can I believe him? Most importantly, how can I forgive him for all the times he's hurt me. Will he be able to stop sleeping around if we’re together or will the other women always be there, a distraction to spice up his boring love life? He already tried to convince me that love kills lust and Anthony shared what a horrible lover I am.

  Still, he’s sacrificing himself--his freedom, his fortune, his entire family’s reputation—to protect me. Is it out of love or to ease his conscience? Part of the blame is mine, but he destroyed that evidence. Pete is guilty of many things, but so am I. He's giving me back my freedom, my life, my family's name and company, while he condemns himself to a lifetime in prison over what? A few shed tears and my bruised ego? That can't be right.

  My mind goes in circles for a while, and no matter what thoughts occur,
it comes down to one thing:

  I can't let him do this.

  I need to hear him out, and the only way is to go back to him, now. Tomorrow will be too late, and I'll regret it forever. If he's lying, I'm going to lose it, but if he's telling the truth, we could have a shot at being happy together.

  A voice inside of me is quick to reply, but what about all those other women? The woman from earlier is still very fresh in my mind, but he never once mentioned her. There are too many questions with no answers. I'll never know if I don't give him a chance to explain his side of the story. I need to leave. Now. I have to stop Pete from turning himself in.

  I start to stand up, but Philip pulls me back down on his lap, taking me by surprise. “Where do you think you're going?” He says teasingly, spreading his hand over my stomach. His touch is unwelcome, and his fingers feel like little spiders crawling all over my skin.

  “I’m sorry. I know I only just got here, but I’m feeling guilty for taking one of the Ferro cars without asking. Mrs. Ferro is probably going to have my head if I don’t bring it back. I really need to go. Guilty conscience and all, you know me, Sergeant Buzzkill!”

  The men all burst out laughing. My joke wasn’t that funny. All eyes are on me, including Philip’s. The look he gives me is bizarre. “Forget about that witch," Phillip says, holding me tighter. "Stay and have a bit of fun with us.”

  The way he looks at me is all sorts of wrong. It’s suggestive, and those little spiders of his dancing up and down my sides make me feel a bit sick to my stomach. I wriggle around a bit on his lap to get off, but he holds me close, digging his fingers into me. Now I’m starting to freak out. I don’t like feeling trapped.

  “No, really, Philip.” I look over toward Ricky and see him watching us, an angry scowl on his face, but he doesn't move to do anything about it. I give him a quick ‘help me’ look, but he just turns his back and starts to dust off the bottles behind the bar.

  Philip slips a hand under my shirt, working his way up toward my breasts. His other hand creeps up my thigh. I cross my legs to keep him out of unwanted territory, but that doesn’t stop him from roaming upwards.

  “Here’s how things usually go down, Gina. During our meetings we have some paid female entertainment, but tonight, tag, you’re it. So, you’re going to be a good little girl, and you’re going to make sure we all leave here very happy men.” Philip’s voice is unrecognizable. It’s cold and threatening, and any trace of the gentleman I’ve come to know is gone.

  I laugh nervously, thinking this is some sick joke. “What?”

  His hand covers my breast and squeezes. My face burns bright red as embarrassment and fear drip through my stomach like acid.

  “It’s no big deal, Gina.”

  They use prostitutes. Oh my god. This can’t be real. Mr. Gambino is a trustworthy politician whose spotless reputation is the key to his success. He’s one of the biggest anti-corruption advocates around. How can his son be like this?

  Ice water runs through my veins. I look around the table, finding all eyes on me--ravenous, greedy eyes telling me I’m the biggest fool around and I’m in a shitstorm of trouble. My heart is pounding, and my palms are sweaty. I wiggle around some more, trying to pry Philip’s hands off of me, but he just presses me up against his crotch. I feel him, so hard beneath me and, this time, I feel like I may actually be sick.

  “It’s time someone taught the Ferros a lesson, don't you think? They cannot just take what belongs to others. You were mine, Gina, or at least you were going to be mine. We would have been the perfect couple, but Ferro just steps in and claims you for himself.” He tsks his tongue in disapproval. He manages to place a hand over one of my breasts and squeezes, painfully hard. I let out a painful cry, and the guys just chuckle. I look over at Ricky once more, but he’s still ignoring us, dusting his damn bottles.

  “I’m surprised he chose you out of all of his sluts. There’s not much to hold onto here, is there? But still, pussy is pussy.” Philip looks toward Zeke. “Sorry dude, I get first fuck this time around. You’ll have to wait your turn.”

  “RICKY!” I call out. This is his club, and he’s my friend. There’s no way he’ll let them hurt me. He’ll help me. He’ll fight them off, he’ll call the cops, he’ll...

  “Dammit, doll! I don’t like this, but we all have to make sacrifices to get by. I’m sorry. I’ll leave you guys to do your thing. Don’t forget to lock up before you go, and clean up your mess this time.”

  ...he’ll hand me over to a gang of rapists and turn his back on me.

  TURKEY STUFFING

  November 16th, 10:46pm

  The door closes behind Ricky, and I’m left alone with a half-dozen men who want nothing more than to rip my clothes off and take me one after the other--or worse, all at the same time. Erin tried to warn me. Hell, so did Pete, but I didn’t believe either of them. I never thought he was this messed up! Guys like Zeke should clue a girl in. The BFF is basically a reflection of Phillip. Why didn’t I see it?

  I need a plan. I’m small and greatly outnumbered. If I try to fight them off, it’ll just encourage them to be even more forceful with me.

  Philip kisses down my neck, still groping my chest in front of a pack of drooling assholes. My pulse quickens, but it's not from arousal. Fear is slowly seizing me. Every muscle in my body cords up tight, wanting to fight or freeze.

  I scan the room, searching, trying to find the quickest escape route. I could run, but they’d catch up with me before I got to the car and then they'd beat the crap out of me. The restroom door doesn't lock, so that's a no-go. Ricky’s office door is close enough that if I distract them, I could lock myself up in there and call the cops. Provided these guys don't know the combination on the keypad to Ricky's office, once inside, I could be safe.

  Phil’s wandering hands busy themselves, trying to unfasten my jeans while I struggle to remember the code to Ricky's office door. I try to pry Philip's hands off as gently as I can without it coming off as a struggle. I need a distraction. It probably won’t be enough to stop him, but hopefully it’ll be enough to slow him down. For this to work, I need him to lower his guard which means I need to swallow my vomit and play along.

  I force a seductive smile toward Philip and lean in to whisper in his ear. "Are you sure you want to share me with your friends? You must know why I came here tonight. I'm miserable without you. I miss you. I wasn't planning on being this forward, but I want you to be my lover, Philip. Just you. I want to be yours and only yours. I told you I don't love Pete. Just think. Together, we can take down the Ferros, if that's what you want. I hate them, too, and I want to see them suffer for what they did to me, especially Pete." My voice is shaky. It doesn't sound convincing at all. I just hope that lust fogs up his perception, and he can't see my terror.

  His smile quirks up. The hunger in his eyes goes from predatory to possessive. He never breaks eye contact with me when he addresses the group. "Guys, change of plans." I try not to sag in relief. It worked. "Gina's mine. Except for tonight. She needs to prove her loyalty. I get her first, and then you all get a turn," his eyes rest on each man sitting expectantly around the table, "once." His eyes meet mine again. "Deal?"

  I nod and take a deep breath before leaning forward to kiss him. His kiss is nothing like I remember. Instead of being gentle and sweet, he presses his mouth forcefully against mine. The way he pushes his tongue inside my mouth feels like he's trying to stuff a turkey. His hands cling to my face, holding me locked into place. He's being too forceful, and I gag. I breathe through my nose, trying to stop the spasms that threaten to take over. Now would be the worst possible time to blow chunks. I try to block everything out and focus on my escape route. I need to loosen his grasp so I can get away from him. Placing my hands over his, I push them down, making him believe I want him to touch me lower. He takes the bait. His grip on my face loosens, and his fingers start to trail down my throat. He allows me to rise a bit in his lap to gain better access. He says a few crude
things as his hands travel up the insides of my thighs.

  I don’t know if I can do this. My heart is beating so hard, slamming against my ribs, and it’s all I can do to swallow my screams. I’m standing gingerly on the balls of my feet with my head tipped backward, as Phillip grabs my crotch and gropes my ass through my jeans. He’s laughing and he never sees it coming.

  I lift up my knee and bring it down right on Phil’s crotch. The movement looks innocent at first. It isn’t until his ungodly shriek fills the room that they realize what I did. Phil releases me, screaming, and folds in half while I jump off his lap and run. I don't look back. There are yells and feet pounding behind me. Someone is screaming and I’m not sure if it’s me. I make it to the door and start to key in the code. The footfalls are closer. The angry words get louder. I gasp for air, as panic strangles me. If this doesn’t work…

  The keypad makes a high-pitched beeping sound, and a green light blinks. The door is unlocked. I turn the handle and push the door open, shoving into the office.

  I’m frozen in place, startled. The office isn't empty. Two men are sitting at Ricky’s desk. I let out a sigh of relief when I see Congressman Gambino, Philip’s dad, sitting there. He’ll help me, he's one of the good guys. Both men look up in surprise. Mr. Gambino stands up quickly. The other man tenses in his seat, instinctively reaching for the inner pocket of his leather jacket.

  Bodies press up against my back. Phil and his asshat friends. They’ve caught up with me, but it's okay. I have Mr. Gambino to help me. He walks up to me and places his hands on my forearms, his eyes scanning over me, questioningly. “Regina? What are you doing here?”

  “Mr. Gambino. Your son. His friends. Help me. Please.” I’m breathless, unable to string more than two words together at a time, but I need to tell him so he can stop them.