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

20:

"Owen, do you have a girlfriend?" I ask absentmindedly. It's been two weeks of the repetitive cycle of going to college, going to do nothing at the mansion then hang out with Owen. Damien's been busy with what that scrawny kid said coming to bed late at night, often waking me up. I'd try and have a conversation, but he's usually passed out as his head hit the pillow.

"No."

"Why?"

He sighs and doesn't respond, rather keeping quiet instead. The two of us have a silent agreement now, he'll remain patient with me as long as I don't push his buttons. Although, today I'm feeling particularly pregnant and annoying, especially since Damien and I haven't had a conversation for fourteen days.

"How's your cat?"

"Good."

I nod, "At least you have someone." With that, all the hormones whizzing around my body head to my tear ducts and my nose as suddenly, the overwhelming feeling of crying takes over me as I pull my knees to my fattening tummy. Tears flow down my cheeks as my bottom lip trembles, I place my forehead on my knees as a billion questions whirl through my mind: is this going to be every night? Am I forever alone? Is Damien a workaholic? What about the baby? Is he going to forget? Does he even care?

"Um, don't cry?" It comes out like a question which only makes me cry harder into my knees.

"You don't understand Owen," I sniffle. "He hasn't spoke to me in like two weeks. Zac is busy with appointments, Damien is off on some top secret tech-mission and doesn't talk to me, I literally have the baby and college to worry about! Now I'm lonely, fucking scared and you're the only company I have! Yet you don't even talk to me properly, giving me one sentence answers. Believe it or not, I have feelings Owen, it seems to me that you're disregarding them like I'm an animal."

A silence fills the car, my tears stop and an odd sense of clarity overcomes me; pent up anger from my shoulders release their grip and now I feel like I can breathe properly without holding in such rage. Ah yes, the power of venting.

"I don't like to talk," Owen mumbles hesitantly, eyes flickering to me. "It scares me to do so."

I try and masks my surprise but probably epically fail, "Why does it scare you?"

He breathes harshly through his nose, "Demons. They always told me to be quiet or else I'd get... punished."

"Have you tried therapy?" I ask quietly, realising how much of a sensitive subject this is. "Or would you rather talk to me about it? I'm open to listening."

He shrugs nonchalantly, "I talk to Il Topo a lot."

"...who?"

"Toro's boyfriend," he clarifies. "He gives me advice. Let's me talk, or not talk, he listens and that's what I need."

"That's good," I mumble. "That's really good. Are you overcoming your demons?"

"I've dealt with them," he answers shortly. "The gang helped."

"Oh," I swallow the forming lump in my throat. "Did they get what they deserved?"

"Yes and much more."

I let out a shaky exhale before nodding. Who am I to judge? I'm probably just, if not more fucked up than him. I hold my hands together, clasping them tightly as the sense of foreboding overtakes me. I always forget that I'm dealing with gangsters, too busy minding my business to realise that they are deadly people who have no issues in putting an end to other's lives.

I look up, my brows furrowing as I notice a black van behind us. It must be me and the anxiety of being surrounded by danger at all times, but the hairs on the back of my neck suddenly raise and my arms form goosebumps.

"Owen? There's a van—"

Just as we pass another road, a car speeds and viciously slams into the back of our vehicle. A scream escapes my lips as our car spirals out of control, skidding before flipping over. I'm jostled around, my arms shielding my head as pain envelopes my body, the seat belt biting painfully into my shoulder like a hungry wolf. Knees getting bashed into the sides, the car skids to a stop as I'm left upside down, my voice hoarse.

"...Chloe?" Asks Owen, he sounds hurt and strained. "You awake?"

"Yes," I gasp. "You okay?"

Grunting, he pulls out a knife and I can hear him working on his seatbelt. Quickly, blood rushes to my head and the forming pressure causes my eyes to strain. "W-what—"

Owen slumps to the roof of the car, he hisses and curses as his upper shoulders connecting first before he goes quiet. Forcefully, he pulls out a gun before looking at me, "I'm going to unplug you, ready?"

I barely respond before he reaches for my buckle and unplugs it. Instantly, my body slumps to the roof and I whimper; Owen continues, readjusting his position onto his knees as he searches my dash for a gun. Popping it up, a pistol falls out and hits me on the forehead. I groan but he shushes me before passing me the gun silently and indicating for me to move. My muscles scream in protest as I move, only I begin to hear footsteps crunching on the glass.

My eyes widen as my door is wrenched open and someone grasps ahold of my hair, dragging me backwards out of the car. I scream as my skull feels like a million fire ants biting at once against my tender skin; the person doesn't react, rather throws me to the floor as if I was nothing. Owen lets out a yell, two gunshots are fired and somebody lets out a dying scream.

I keep a deathlike grip on the gun and try to push myself up, only to fall back down onto my side. The person only laughs, kicking at my ankle and not realising the weapon in my hand. Finding this as my chance, I roll onto my back, the glass digging into my skin and point the pistol at him. The man is slender and toned, greying hair with icy blue eyes that hold a wicked gleam, only to be changed into a glimmer of fear as he faces the barrel of the gun in my hand. Without processing I pull the trigger, only for it to not fire. The man chuckles darkly before kicking my hand, my bones crack under the hit and all I can feel is agony. An animalistic scream leaves my lips and I cradle my hand, tears leak down my face. I head Owen's shouts of protests before he goes quiet.

The man cocks his head to the side curiously, "You're no fighter."

"Really Sherlock?" I croak. "You could be a detective. Like honestly, fuck Watson and bring you along."

His brows furrow as he nods at someone behind me, the person grabs me and covers my eyes with a blindfold.

"Oops, did I hurt someone's feelings? Sorry if I'm insensitive, I'm pregnant and lonely."