by Sweet, Izzy
She shakes my hand off and scoops up Fluffers the cat. Then she does a zombie-like shamble down the hallway, down the stairs, and into the living room. Where she sinks herself into an old and worn leather recliner.
Like everything else she’s done since I got her out of the bathroom, she does it all without a word or noise.
Shock has probably set in.
Sighing, I look around the living room then back to her. It’s well into the evening now and I wonder when the last time she ate was.
“Sophia, would you like to eat anything?” I ask her.
Not responding to me, she just sits there.
Fuck.
A buzzing from the phone in my now very wet pants brings me out of the mode of just staring at her, willing her to do something.
Thank fuck we buy the good waterproof phones. Surprisingly, this isn’t my first time in a shower with one.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“I’m going to fucking end your soul, little man. I swear to fuck I’ll eat every single fucking piece of it,” Johnathan snarls through the phone in a most unpleasant manner.
Well… I guess he’s not happy.
“Where you at?” I ask.
“Outside the front fucking door, dick-breath. You better fucking get here pronto or I’ll make little Mitzy a fucking orphan,” he growls again.
Staring at Sophia’s catatonic body for a moment, I try to figure out if there’s any risk of her leaving the chair. I end up determining it’s highly unlikely.
She didn’t even respond when I took the phone call.
Walking to the front door of the house, I internally debate on how long I should take before opening it up. I mean, honestly, everything that’s happened to me during the past seven months is this fucker’s fault.
Taking a deep, happy breath, I then look down at myself and sigh. Soaking wet suit pants. That’s all I’m wearing. Johnathan’s wife, Beth, will probably have an aneurism when he tells her what I look like, but it’s all I’ve got to go with right now.
Opening the door, I see the big burly motherfucker waiting in old jeans and a leather jacket. His big bushy beard and long hair completely soaked. He’s got scratches all over his face. And from the way he’s holding my poor Mitzy by the scruff of her neck, at arm’s length, I can see his hands also have bite marks all over them.
Really, he does deserve the pain.
But my poor Mitzy...
Taking my tiny Yorkie from his hands, I pull her into my arms and start murmuring calming words to her. “Poor baby, did Uncle John get in the way of your french fries?”
“I should have known you and Simon fucking set me up,” Johnathan snarls as he bends over and lifts up a gym bag.
He tosses the bag at my bare feet.
Nuzzling Mitzy on the top of her head, I feel her finally stop shaking long enough to lick my chin.
She loves her daddy.
“Any issues getting into the neighborhood?” I ask as I motion for him to come inside.
“Nah,” he says walking in. “Uriel found a good hole for me to slip through.”
I nod.
Then I tilt my head to the side and jerk my chin in Sophia’s direction while muttering quietly, “KISS.”
KISS is an old military term: Keep. It. Simple. Stupid.
He knows we have ears listening, even if she looks like she’s tuned out the whole world.
Peeking in on Sophia, he frowns and then looks at me with a very pointed question.
He can see her wet hair.
Shaking my head, I make a motion of showering, snapping a stick, and then of crying.
Nodding, he says, “I’ve got the phone. The laptop will be brought in tomorrow by Uriel.”
“Good, I need to get to work. I’ll be trying to do an evac tomorrow, if at all possible,” I say and then give another slight head tilt to Sophia.
“Where to?” Johnathan asks.
“Mine. It’s secure and there’s enough space surrounding it for me to see anyone deciding to drive up to my doorstep,” I say and take the bag from him.
“She ate yet?” Johnathan asks.
“Going to see what I can do about that,” I say.
“Good. Beth said she wasn’t able to get much down her throat these last couple of days,” he says before taking another look in on her.
Shaking his head, he turns back to me and points a finger. “Your dog should be put down.”
Flipping him the bird, I motion him to the door. “Get out. You’ve already upset one of my girls.”
Grumbling at me as he shoulders me out of his way, he warns, “Don’t fuck up here. Beth will have me kill you.”
“Yeah, if I don’t hit you first.” I smirk.
Shutting the door behind Johnathan, I murmur down to Mitzy, “I’m sorry, baby. Was that bad man scaring you?”
Nuzzling her little head, I walk us into the living room where Sophia and Fluffers still sit on the old recliner, both burrowed deep into the chair.
I have no clue what to do here.
I fucked my way through any grief I’ve ever had. If it had a pulse and could dance, I fucked the shit out of it.
Just the thought of Sophia doing anything with another man has my blood boiling. Nah, she’s not allowed to get through her grief like that.
Not unless it’s with me.
“Sophia, what do you want for dinner?” I ask quietly.
No response.
Getting closer to her, I kneel down and ask. “Sophia what would you like to eat? Are you hungry?”
Mitzy begins to fidget in my arms, squirming and twisting to be let down.
“Sophia, how’s Fluffers with dogs?” I ask as I carefully set down my little baby.
Still no response.
Mitzy doesn’t seem to care about the cat sitting on Sophia’s lap. She hops onto the chair and moves right up to the pair. Sniffing around them both, she gives Fluffers a firm stare down before plopping down beside them on the lifted leg part.
“Umm…” I say with a deep sense of instant loss. “Did you just steal my fucking girl?”
Neither Mitzy or Sophia answer, and I’m not sure who I was talking to anyways.
Fucking hell.
Shaking my head, I stand up and say, “I’m going to see what’s in the kitchen and find us something to eat.”
Walking past the couch, I catch sight of one those huge throw quilts folded up on the couch and grab it. Turning back to the chair, I settle it over the three of them as best as I can before heading to kitchen.
What the hell am I going to do?
* * *
Big thick couches are not for the faint of heart. Especially the one I slept on last night in the living room. It has so much cushion, I sank somewhere deep into the bottom and have to crawl my ass back out.
I’ve slept in some of the worst conditions in the world. From hanging in a tree to balancing on the sprawling ledge of a mountain.
That shit last night sucked twice as much.
My back hurts, my neck has a crick, and my dog fucking slept next to Sophia all night.
My fucking dog.
“Fucking hell, if I never sleep on another expensive-ass couch again in my life, I’ll die happy,” I groan as I roll over to my side and then continue to roll onto the floor.
I should have taken the floor last night, but after everything I tried to make or get Sophia to eat, I was worn out. Fluffers ate, of course, because she’s a chunk. Mitzy did as well.
But not Sophia.
She fell asleep late last night, and I know she got up to go to the bathroom, but that’s it.
What does she plan on doing? Withering away and dying?
All of this shit is beyond me.
Standing up from the floor, I stretch around for a couple of minutes, trying to loosen all my tight muscles. If Lucifer called me right now for a job, I’d have to call in a sick day. Make one of the other guys handle the sniping rifle.
“Fuck it, time for a Cajun pic
k-me-up,” I say to Sophia. “Ever had Cajun?”
She doesn’t respond. Not that I expected her to...
I’ve been talking to her though, regardless of a response. I’ve talked to her like I talk to Mitzy when I’m at home. Just because she doesn’t say something back doesn’t mean she isn’t listening.
And it’s been almost therapeutic in a way.
I talk and she listens. I’ve kept my ramblings to mostly mundane things, but I’ve slipped some stuff in there to see if she responds. The word Trent created a modest amount of annoyance on her face.
Which, if I’m being honest, I loved.
Walking into the kitchen, I get started. While I’m working on caramelizing the onions and peppers, I think about what I’m making her.
It’s my spin on a dish my mother loved to make on shitty mornings. Onions, garlic, bell peppers, cayenne, and jalapeño peppers. Add it all to some eggs and scoop it onto to some French bread, and you’ve got a meal that tastes so good, you’d hit your mother in the mouth if she took the plate away too soon.
It’s hot and spicy, and with a steaming hot cup of coffee it’s just about perfect.
Placing the bake in the oven for about forty minutes, I breathe in the spices flowing through the kitchen. Not too bad. My kitchen is set up much better than this one, but I can make do with just about anything really.
The new secure phone in my pocket vibrates.
Pulling it out and pushing connect, I ask, “What’s up?”
Uriel’s deep voice comes through. “I’m outside, sir,”
“Be right there,” I say with a grumble.
Heading past the living room, I look in on the trio of recliner potatoes.
“Uriel’s here, dropping off some work stuff,” I say before moving on to the front door.
Once I open the front door, I’m greeted by a man almost as big as Gabriel. He’s not as bulky or as prison huge as Gabriel, but he’s got the build of a former Army Ranger.
“Sir, Simon wanted me to make sure you know all the files from the police databanks are set up the way you requested. He’ll be in a meeting with Lucifer until five, but if you need him, don’t hesitate to contact,” Uriel says in a smooth, deep voice.
“Mile and a half,” I say.
His black skin turns almost ashen as he looks at me. “Sir?”
“If you call me sir one more fucking time, I can be a mile and a half away for an easy shot. If we’re closer to the two mile range, I might take an arm off or your nuts. Haneul would be pretty pissed about that if I think about it.” I grin at him.
Uriel shakes his head and frowns at me. “You know it’s not like that, asshole. Old military protocol and shit. Han… he’d be really mad.”
“How’s the hubby doing?” I ask him.
Uriel grins. “Good, I think. At least he hasn’t complained, not that he would. He’s in heaven over at the compound. He’s always wanted to have the freedom a personal chef has.”
I’ve known this man for almost a decade. We were never as close as we are now, as brothers, but we’ve been in the same killing pools for a long time.
I was pretty sure Han would love the opportunity, and I’m glad to hear he’s happy. While he was amazing in the restaurants he worked for in Korea, here he’s the chef to a small cadre of men and their families. Most specifically—Lucifer, Lily, Adam, David, and Evie.
“You doing okay? You know the ritual shit we said and the bonding… You’re in. There isn’t any fucking hierarchy in the circle. You’re in, no way out, and no sirs,” I say quietly.
Uriel is a guy I’ve been working on for a couple of years now. We were in need of more men when I joined the family, and it’s only grown worse with all the deaths...
Uriel’s been around the family long enough through the security end to know we aren’t good men. He knows what we do, and just like back in the sandbox, he knows how to be quiet.
A lot of times, back in training ops, he and I would play the game of love taps. If we were on opposite sides, we’d see who could sneak up behind the other and take them out. It was a good way to stay sharp, and it showed me that despite his size, the motherfucker is as quiet as a mouse.
He moved and could stay hidden until the end of the world.
“I’m good, James, and I owe you for the vouch,” he says. Then he glances back at the bright blue morning. “Going to get back out there, though. Dickers and Trent have been trying to tighten the patrol. They want to catch us, but stupid fucks don’t have a chance.”
“Alright, man. Give Han a hug from me. You want some casserole before you head out?” I ask.
Laughing loudly, Uriel shakes his head at me. “Han would accuse me of cheating on him.”
Shaking my head right back at him, I take the laptop bag and shut the door.
I’m glad I’ve got that fucker out there, same as Michael. Both are good men and will keep this shitshow from getting out of hand.
“Why are Dickers and Trent driving around the house?” Sophia asks as I pass her by.
Well… shit.
“You want some breakfast casserole?” I ask, ignoring her question.
“I’d rather give Johnathan’s biker buddies rimjobs than eat anything you’ve made,” she snarls at me while she stands up from the chair, dumping Mitzy and Fluffers off her lap.
Mitzy looks up at me with annoyance, as if it’s my fault her new lap left her.
6
Sophia
Last night was probably the hardest night of my life. Foolishly, I thought I had the strength to endure James and my grief at the same time. I thought I could get an idea of his involvement in my father’s death.
But the moment I walked up to the front door of my house and the realization that no one was waiting for me on the other side hit, something inside me cracked.
I held on as long as I could. I endured and used James’s unwelcome presence as a distraction from the empty ache that was eating me from the inside out.
But as soon as I was alone, everything inside me splintered into pieces.
The pain was so crushing, so all-consuming, I could barely breathe past it.
I thought for sure I was going to be crushed to death by my own emotions.
Then James was there… just like that night… catching me and trying to put me back together.
I remember vividly clinging to him. His warm skin against my skin.
His heart beating for mine.
He was the blazing fire in the blizzard of my despair.
Urging me to go on.
He was everything I needed in that moment. The pillar of strength holding me up. With his help, somehow I found sleep and a few hours of peace.
Then I woke up.
I expected him to be gone. To give up and move on.
Obviously, I’m in no shape or form to provide anything useful to him or his boss.
But he’s still here… still pretending to care…
Strutting around in his gray sweatpants without a shirt on and making himself at home.
And the fact that I’ve stupidly and weakly fallen not once but twice into his trap is not only scaring the hell out of me, it’s pissing me off.
The crude words about Johnathan’s biker buddies slip out of my mouth before I can even comprehend why I said them. “I’d rather give Johnathan’s biker buddies rimjobs than eat anything you’ve made.”
I don’t normally talk like this… but I just want to be alone.
I want to be left in peace.
I can’t deal with him sharing the same air as me and the pain at the same time.
James glances down at his dog then his gaze snaps back up to me. I watch annoyance flash in his eyes, but it disappears as soon as he takes a deep, calming breath.
Forcing a smile that looks more feral than friendly, he says through clenched teeth, “You need to eat, Sophia.”
I don’t understand what’s going on, and I don’t understand why he won’t give up and leave. When I got in his car
with him yesterday, I was under the impression he was doing it simply out of obligation.
That he really didn’t want to do it.
But he’s still here…
Still here and trying to push me to actually give a fuck.
And not only is it irritating, it doesn’t make any sense.
Why bother? Unless it’s some kind of scheme? Does he hope I’ll come to trust him or rely on him like I did that night we met?
Doesn’t he realize how much I despise him for what he did to me?
Despise that he made me need him, again.
“I’m not hungry,” I mutter.
Spinning on my heel, I stomp away. I need somewhere quiet. Somewhere I don’t have to see his unbearable face or hear him breathe.
Heading for my father’s study, I make it all the way down the hallway before I feel his touch.
“I don’t care if you’re hungry or not,” he says with exasperation. “You need to eat so you don’t get sick.”
Tugging on my elbow, he tries to turn me back around, but I manage to yank my arm away before he can.
“Go away, James,” I snap, “and take your little dog, too.”
Great. Now he’s turned me into the Wicked Witch of the West.
I sense him freezing behind me for a split second, and my steps quicken. I manage to open the door to the study before he lets out a low growl and rushes up behind me.
I try to slam the door in his face but he pushes right through it.
“What the hell?” I nearly screech as the door flies out of my hand and cracks against the wall.
Lunging forward and grabbing my wrist, he tugs hard on my arm before he grits out, “I’ve been very patient, Sophia. Very, very, patient…”
“Let me go!” I cry as he drags me forward.
Throwing my weight back, I try to slide my wrist out of his hand, but he only tightens his grip.
“You wouldn’t believe how patient I’ve been, even if I told you,” he grumbles.
“I don’t care!” I shout and slap at his hand with my free arm. “I honestly could not care less! Let me go!”
“Oh, I know,” he says with a rueful laugh as he drags me into the kitchen. “I know you don’t care. That much has become very clear.”