Reaching beneath the fabric, she grasps a hold of me, stroking a few times as she releases me from my pants. I open my eyes just as she shifts position and drops her head toward my lap.
"Karissa..."
Her eyes dart to mine, but she doesn't stop, doesn't waver, as she takes my cock into her mouth. The wet warmth soothes me, and I want to protest, I should protest, but it feels too good.
Too fucking good.
My hands settle on top of her head, lightly running through her hair. She sucks... and sucks... and sucks, teeth grazing and tongue stroking until my head starts spinning and I feel like I'm going to explode.
I should warn her.
I should stop her.
I should end this, but I'm weak.
I'm fucking weak.
I'm regaining my strength, but the woman still has the power to destroy me.
I come hard, my body tensing, pain running through me. It hurts. It hurts. But this pain feels better than anything I've felt in years. I grip on to her hair as she swallows, not letting go until she releases me from her mouth. I close my eyes, breathing deeply. "I told you never to do that..."
"No, you told me I don't belong on my knees, and I wasn't on them," she counters, sitting up, her gaze on my face. There's a twinkle in her eye when I look at her. Amusement. "You know you should always say what you mean."
She tries to move away them but I grab a hold of her, pulling her onto my lap. I grunt when she straddles me, pain stabbing my side from my injury as her knee hits it.
"Shit, sorry," she says, panicked when I wince, but I grip tightly to her hips to keep her there, shaking off her apology.
"It was my fault," I say, clenching my jaw. "I should've known better."
I stare at her, hands shifting from her hips, running up her back. I grip the back of her neck, pulling her to me, and kiss her as ringing echoes through the room. My phone. I try to deepen the kiss, but Karissa pulls back. "Do you need to get that?"
I shake my head, kissing her again and again, as she whispers against my mouth, "don't you... need to... at least see... who it is?"
"I know who it is."
"Who?"
"My mother."
She pulls away completely as the ringing stops, her gaze briefly darting across the room toward my phone. "How do you know?"
"Because it's my birthday."
I try to kiss her again, but she resists, her palms flat against my chest.
"Your mother," she says. "Is she as pleasant as your father?"
"Few people are as pleasant as Giuseppe Vitale." I shake my head. "My mother's a good woman. You'll never meet a nicer person."
"So why don't you ever see her?" she asks. "Why didn't you take her call?"
"Because she's better off without me," I say. "When you love people, you want what's best for them, and sometimes what's best for them isn't you."
"You said that about me once," she says. "You said you loved me, and you wanted what was best for me, even though you thought what was best for me wasn't you."
"I meant it," I say. "But I'm also in love with you, and I'm a selfish son of a bitch. It was wrong, but I wanted you… I want you. So I'm keeping you."
She laughs dryly. "You're keeping me."
"Yes."
"You ever consider maybe your mother wants to keep you, too?" she asks. "I don't mean that in a creepy kind of way, you know… I mean, like, just because someone's bad for us doesn't mean we don't want them in our lives, anyway. I was still willing to give up everything for you."
"You were."
"Yes."
"Past tense."
Her brow furrows. "What?"
"You said you were willing," I say, "not that you are willing."
She considers that as she climbs off of me, getting to her feet. "Yeah, well, I guess I'm still deciding."
"Deciding what?"
"Whether or not I want to keep you."
My phone starts making noise again as Karissa grabs our discarded pudding containers to throw them away.
"You should answer that," she says. "Talk to your mother."
I don't correct her as she walks out, but it's not my mother this time. The ring is different. It's vague, barely noticeable, but it's a different tone. Ray.
Sighing, I get to my feet and shuffle across the room, snatching my phone off of my desk. I stare at the screen for a moment before pressing the button to silence the ringing.
Unlike my mother, he's not calling to wish me a happy birthday. He probably doesn't even realize it's today.
"Let's do something," I call out to Karissa when I hear her move around the kitchen. "Grab some lunch or something."
She appears in the doorway. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
My phone starts ringing again right away, once again blaring Ray's tone. Karissa eyes it curiously. "You don't have anything else you'd rather do?"
I send the call to voicemail and turn off the phone as I shake my head. "No. Nothing."
"What's Cobalt?"
My eyes turn to Karissa when she speaks. I'm not even off our street and she's already asking questions out of nowhere. "Cobalt?"
"Yeah, Cobalt."
"Where'd you hear that?"
"That detective," she says. "I heard him mention Cobalt, that it's where the shooting happened. I know it was weeks ago, but I was just thinking, and well... what is it?"
"It's a chemical element," I say, "and a shade of blue."
"Yeah, and it's also the name of a Chevy car," she counters, "but that doesn't tell me where you were shot."
I fight a smile at her brusque tone. "You didn't ask where I was shot."
"Fine," she says. "Where were you shot?"
"In my side."
"Naz…"
"In Greenwich Village," I say, knowing she's not going to drop it. "Cobalt Social Club."
She curves an eyebrow at me. "A social club?"
"Yes."
"You're a member of a social club."
"Yes."
"Is that a euphemism? Like a gentleman's club?"
"No, no strippers. No women at all, generally, although sometimes they bend the rules. It's more of an exclusive hangout that you need membership to get into."
"And what do you do there?"
"Socialize," I say. "Drink."
Conduct business.
Plot schemes.
"So it's a special kind of club," she reiterates. "Where you drink and hang out with other men like you."
"Essentially."
"You know that sounds a lot like a gay bar, right?"
Laughing, I cut my eyes at her. "I suppose, when you put it that way, but it doesn't really matter what it sounds like. It is what it is."
She shrugs, looking away from me to gaze out the window. "Can I see it?"
"See what?"
"Cobalt."
"Uh, like I said, women aren't generally allowed…"
"I don't want to go in," she says. "I just… I want to see where you were... where it happened."
I don't have a response for that.
I'm not sure why it matters.
Neither of us says much else on the ride into the city. She eventually pulls out her phone, swiping her finger across the cracked screen to send colorful birds flying through the air at little green pigs.
She needs a new phone. I'm not sure how much longer that one's going to survive. As much as she drops it, I'm surprised the thing still even works.
I don't know why I'm doing it, but I drive straight to Cobalt to satisfy her curiosity. I pull through the alley, into the back lot, and swing the car around, idling there. There's no sign outside, nothing to indicate what the building is. "Cobalt."
Karissa's brow furrows, and I can see she has more questions as she turns from the building to look out the side window. "So it happened here?"
"What?"
"This is where you were shot."
"Oh." I glance around. "Yeah, over by the light."
She nods, lookin
g at the light for a moment before turning back to me, offering a small smile. "Thanks."
I don't dawdle, putting the car into drive again to leave. I pull out of the lot and hit the breaks when I reach the end of the alley. I'm about to merge into traffic when a sleek black limo swerves like it's going to pull in beside me, instead coming to a stop near the entrance, blocking my exit.
My stomach sinks, my insides coiling as I grip the steering wheel tighter at the sight of it.
Ray.
He gets out from the back of the limo, holding the door open after him for Brandy, apparently trailing along yet again. Ray shuts the door after she steps out, his gaze shifting my way, eyes meeting mine. He looks as if he's going to walk away, to let the fact that I've avoided him slide, until he takes a look at my passenger seat and his expression shifts.
Shit.
Ray hesitates, his arm around Brandy, his focus going from Karissa back to me. Leaning over, he whispers something into his girlfriend's ear, her face perking up when she looks at my car. She starts waving frantically, excitedly. I just sit there. From the corner of my eye, I see Karissa offering them a slight wave.
That's the only invitation the blonde needs.
Brandy rushes over to the car, motioning for Karissa to put down the window, but she doesn't move. Begrudgingly, I lower it for her, my eyes fixed on Ray as the man slowly strolls over to join his girlfriend.
Brandy starts rambling, endless, pointless chatter. Hey! What are you doing? How are you doing? Where are you going? Karissa stammers through answers, offering what little she can, what little she knows, as Ray stiffly nods to me. "Vitale."
I return his nod, not saying anything.
"Ray and I were just going to grab something to eat," Brandy says. "You guys should have lunch with us. What do you say?" Before either of us can respond, she turns to Ray, grasping his arm, a hopeful look on her face. "What do you think, Ray?"
"I don't know, Baby Doll." He lets out a deep sigh, eyes fixed squarely on my face. "I'm sure Vitale has better things to do today."
I still say nothing.
It's a test; I'm sure of it. A test as to whether or not I'll prioritize him, if I'll put the man who's like a father to me, the organization that made me a wealthy man, a family that saved my skin time and time again, above everything else going on in my life.
I want to.
I should.
Even when I had nothing, when everything good had been torn away, leaving a gaping void of blackness, one thing persevered: my loyalty. I dedicated what was left of me, every last fiber of my being, to the man in front of me, to honor his bloodline, to make right how they were wronged.
I should park the car right now, get out and go have lunch with the man who picked me up when I hit bottom, who gave me purpose to keep on living. I don't go to church, I don't even know if I believe in a just God, but I always believed in Raymond Angelo.
He was my savior.
But now I'm starting to lose faith in him, too.
Tempted by the evil beside me, the original sin… my forbidden fruit. I took a bite of her on a whim and realized, despite what the world led me to believe, she wasn't rotten to the core. He wants me to toss her aside, throw her away, let her decay into the ground where he thinks she's meant to be, but I'm not sure anything else could ever sustain me.
I drank from the Holy Grail.
He's not taking that away.
My gaze shifts from Ray to Karissa, who sits quietly beside me, hands folded in her lap. As deep as my loyalty runs to the Angelo family, something brews even deeper, something so strong it momentarily startles me.
The love I have for this woman.
A woman who's finally giving me the time of day again.
I look back at Ray, and I still say nothing, but I don't have to. He sees it in my eyes. I know he does, because I see it in his, too. I see the sense of betrayal he's starting to feel, chipping away at our allegiance.
"Another time then," Ray says, taking a step back, pulling Brandy with him before she can object. "Do what you gotta do, Vitale."
I watch as he backs up, serious eyes fixed on me for a moment, before he finally turns around. Sighing deeply, I close my eyes as I shake my head, before brushing it off. I can feel the tension in my muscles, tension him retreating won't ease.
I should've gone with him.
I should've picked loyalty.
But I couldn't, not this time.
I failed his test.
"Where to now?" I ask Karissa, reopening my eyes. "Anymore suggestions?"
She sighs, slowing putting up her window. "How about somewhere where nobody knows either of us?"
"I think we'll be hard pressed to find a place like that in New York."
The stock ticker scrolls by along the top of the laptop screen as I jot down a few ideas on a scrap piece of paper. I'm trying to pay attention, to riddle out a potential new scheme to get Ray off my ass, to try to placate the man, but movement in my peripheral keeps distracting me.
Karissa has abandoned her usual seat in the den, opting to scour the shelves near me instead. She pulls books off, glancing at their covers, flipping through the pages before shoving them back on. Sometimes in the same spot, other times wherever they'll fit.
I had them alphabetically ordered.
I'm trying not to be irritated by it.
My gaze flickers toward her, breathing a sigh of relief when she bypasses War & Peace without even hesitating. She ultimately settles on something further down the room, clutching it to her chest as she turns away from the bookshelves. Catching my eye, she smiles before strolling past me, her gaze flitting to the computer screen.
She tends to mind her own business, but what little she sees is clearly not what she expected.
Her footsteps falter as she looks back at me. "Do you have a portfolio?"
"A portfolio?"
"Yeah, you know, an investment portfolio. That's what it's called, right? When you buy stocks and stuff?"
"Uh, yeah, it is. You learn about that from Melody?"
"Pfft, no, what would she know about that stuff?"
"Well, her father's an investment banker, isn't he?"
She stares at me, blinking a few times as she considers my question, but she doesn't answer it. She doesn't have to.
Rhetorical question.
"You know, it freaks me out how much you know about people," she says, retreating to the other side of the den. "And for the record, I learned about portfolios from that talking E-Trade baby."
She's dead serious as she says it. I let out a laugh, shaking my head, as I turn back to the screen and try to focus again.
It's pointless, though.
Even across the fucking room she still distracts me.
Sighing, I close the laptop and stand up, strolling over to where she sits. She has the book she snatched from the shelf open in her lap. I sit down beside her, curious about what she settled on.
J.M. Barrie's Peter Pan
Huh. "Ever read that before?"
"Nope," she says. "I figured you had a copy around here somewhere, though, since you could quote it."
"Yeah, it's a good one. I have most of the classics."
"I noticed." She stares down at the page for a moment before glancing at me. "Can I ask you something?"
"If you really must."
She laughs. "Yes, I must."
"Then I'm listening."
"You have all these books and all these movies, this massive entertainment set-up, but you don't have any music."
She grows silent, eyes regarding me like she's waiting for an explanation about what she just said.
"That was an observation," I point out. "That wasn't a question."
She rolls her eyes. "Why is that, Naz?"
"Why don't I own any music?"
"Yes," she says. "I mean, you don't have a radio or anything. You don't even listen to music in the car when you drive. No Mp3s or CDs or eight-tracks or whatever kind of wind-up phonogr
aph shit they had when you were a kid."
"Phonograph? How old do you think I am?"
She rolls her eyes. "Practically ancient. I'm already starting to see some gray in that hair of yours."
She's being playful, but it wouldn't surprise me with the stress I'm under. I'm aging every fucking minute dealing with her. "First of all, if I'm going gray, it's because of you. You make me crazy. And secondly, I don't have any music because I find it pointless."
She gapes at me.
Gapes at me like I just confessed to being a murderer.
Scratch that, she didn't seem this damn distressed when she actually realized I was one of those.
"How the hell can you find music pointless?"
"Because it's just noise," I say. "It serves no purpose except to fill the silence, but I happen to enjoy the silence, personally."
The more I talk, the more horrified she looks. "Are you fucking with me?"
"No," I say. "But I'd like to be—"
"Fucking me," she interjects, cutting me off. She's finishing my thoughts. I'm getting predictable. "I know you would. But I just... wow. Really, Naz? My mind is blown right now. How can someone seriously not like music?"
"Why do you listen to it?" I ask, raising an eyebrow as I motion toward the tangled earbuds she has lying on the arm of the couch. "Why do you walk around here with those always in? Other than the fact that it keeps me from trying to talk to you, of course."
Her cheeks tinge pink as she rolls her eyes, like it's the most absurd accusation she's ever heard, but the blushing tells me I'm right. "Whatever, I listen to music because there's so much emotion in it. It feels like I'm tapping into another part of my soul, like some part of the universe actually understands me. It makes me feel alive. Like, I can literally feel the music when I listen to it. It doesn't do that to you?"
I shake my head. "I feel nothing."
Except for annoyance because I can't think straight.
And sometimes a raging headache to accompany it.
She stares at me with what feels eerily like pity.
Karissa Reed… Karissa Rita… pities me.
Unbelievable.
"But, wait... you understood my Tupac reference when we talked about Machiavelli, didn't you? I could’ve sworn you did."
"Just because I don't enjoy it doesn't mean I know nothing about it. Tupac was around back in my wind-up phonograph days, you know." I cast her a sardonic look, which makes her laugh and shrug, as if to say 'hey, not my fault you're an old ass man.' "I'm surprised you know anything about him, actually. He died around the time you were born."
Torture to Her Soul Page 17