DAMIEN: Book 2 of The De Luca Brothers Series [COMPLETED]

9:

"Are you sure you don't want me to come to work with you?" He asks from my mattress as I step into the bathroom with my work clothes.

"Hah! And watch you watch other girls that aren't me? No thanks," I reply back, stripping off my clothing articles. I notice the beginning of a swell in my tummy and I pause, realising that it's growing. Biting my lip, I ignore the swell of emotions and continue putting on the lingerie.

"Is that a la jealousy?" He teases from behind the door. "Three dates and a hell of a night, you're already catching feelings?"

I bite my lip, "You're the baby daddy sweetie pie, don't get your hopes up too soon. Wouldn't want to crush those precious dreams of yours."

"You don't want to know what occurs in my dreams. It often involves you, my bed and my big di—"

"HEY!" I exclaim. "I don't want to hear that, or are you the one catching feelings for me?"

He goes quiet for a second, "Would that be such a bad thing?"

I halt putting on my vest top, my mind wondering over what he asked. Would it be such a bad thing? Us getting along in a happy relationship? I can't deny my bubbling feelings towards him, especially with a child on the way things might turn out alright, "No, I suppose it isn't."

"Well I'm glad 'cause your arse looked great in those jeans you wore tonight," he flirts.

I laugh beside myself, slip on a pair of joggers before exiting the bathroom. Putting my evening clothing in the washer, I brush my hair and pick up my bag.

He looks me up and down and nods in appreciation, "Got to love a woman in a pair of sweats."

"What is with you and these compliments?" I question amusedly. "You don't see me gushing over your handsome looks every second."

"You think I'm handsome," he wiggles his brows. "At least you know good art when you see it. Let me tell you, it takes numerous hours to get into this shape, I also met a really good dermatologist a while back who made my skin glow and clear, emphasising my perfection even more."

"Egotistical much?"

He gasps, "Exposed!"

Rolling my eyes, I hurry him out of the door before locking it and walking around front to escort him to his car. He frowns at my basement before turning to me, deep in thought, "You should move in with me."

My brows shoot up, "Sorry?"

"I said you should move in with me. It would be a lot safer since I'm me and you're pregnant with my child."

"Um, no."

It's his turn to look surprised, "Huh?"

"I've worked my arse off to be independent, I'm not going to be suddenly living off of you and your gang."

"You can keep your job," he continues. "Although there's no real point, you can stay safe with me since we offer protection. You're involved with me either way, so it's best if you stick with me or else you could get..."

"Get what?"

"Hurt."

My throat dries but I can see the reason in his argument, despite me disliking the situation. After what happened at home which involved me moving away, I devoted so much time and energy into independence, college and work, even finding myself a home, despite how small and shitty it is. I purse my lips and shrug, "I'll have to think about it."

"Please Chloe, just to keep me feeling more sane."

"Is it a gang mansion?"

His brows crease, "Well... Yeah. I mean, where else would I live?"

"It's a gang mansion Damien," I breathe. "I'm not apart of the gang."

"That shouldn't be a problem. I can get you a room close to mine and people won't dare question why—"

"Why won't people question you?"

"Because I'm the brother to the gang leader," he responds.

I scoff, "You really think I'll belong there? Nobody will give a shit about this random pregnant girl who's living underneath a roof? You can fuck off if you think I'm going to join a gang. I'm not going to live with that commitment."

"Like I said, gangs aren't all about the drugs. They're about protection. Family, belonging, a sense of well-being. You can carry on with your studies, but you'll be apart of something else. From what I've read, you're pretty lonely currently, aren't you?"

I freeze, my eyes snap to him whilst his eyes widen. "Y-you read? As in... you've researched about me?"

He sighs and runs a hand over his face, "It's not what it sounds like."

"Oh, so you didn't just violate my privacy, or dig around in my past to try and get to know me."

"I need to know who I got pregnant."

"IS THAT YOUR EXCUSE?!" I scream. "What happened to me is personal, Damien! I expected more from you, patience of some sense of humanity!"

"I know it sounds bad but this is my way of feeling safe—"

"Bullshit," I growl. "This is your way of fast forwarding a fake relationship because you got a girl knocked up and you don't know what to do about it! You couldn't wait for me to tell you o-or do it the old fashioned way, no you had to be rude and inconsiderate and horrible and vile—"

He reaches out for me, I smack his hand away. "Don't fucking touch me you piece of shit! I-I need to go to work, come near me again and I will fucking stab you, you hear that?!"

A genuine look of hurt flashes across his features, and it takes all of my restraint to not apologise to him, however stubborn me turns away quickly and storms off down the street. My breathing comes in quick, sharp pants as a tear rolls down my cheek. What the fuck is wrong with me and all of this crying? Gosh, get a grip Chloe! I think, brushing past strangers with simpler lives than mine and hastily wiping away the falling tears as if they burnt.

Pushing into the strip club, I make my way to the back and quickly sort out my appearance, covering up the pain and puffy eyes with concealer, as well as curling my hair and pulling it back into a neat ponytail. After finishing off the look with mascara and a bold lip, I strip off and walk behind the bar with Roger, attempting a false smile.

"What's wrong?"

My lip quivers, "You know Gufo?"

"Yup."

"H-he did a backstory check on me, he went against me and played it off as not a big deal," I mumble.

His brows raise in surprise, "Wow Crow, that's..."

"Shit?" I scoff. "I know."

"How is your personal life?" Asks Roger. "I know I shouldn't pry, but I'd like to think we're friends. You should trust me."

"I think I trust you, although I'm not sure what trust really is anymore since people keep on breaking it."

"Hey," he says. "Just because there's a couple of rotten apples in a barrel doesn't mean that they're all ruined."

I purse my lips, "I'll tell you one day. When I know I'll be okay."