by T. L Smith
I look to the floor to see Marcus again and close my eyes to keep myself from vomiting, although my body is reacting strangely, and I’m starting to get hot.
“I thought you’d finished selling yourself. If you need money, you could have asked.”
I look back at him, taking a step back like he just slapped me and my mouth falling open in shock.
Hot.
Cold.
Hot.
This man has issues.
Issues I can’t help him with.
“I don’t need nor want your money,” I bite back. “Now, remove your hands, or it will be the last time they ever touch me.” My voice sounds even, but it’s not. It’s shaky, and I don’t know what I just said, but it works.
Lucas’ hands drop from my body.
“Now, why did you have to go and say that? I enjoy touching you.”
I go to speak, but he cuts me off.
“And you enjoy my touches.”
“Just because I like something doesn’t mean it’s good for me.”
Lucas’ beautiful head drops to the side, the corner of his lips lifting up in a smirk, and I almost forget about what he did. About everything he’s done. Almost.
“You disgust me.”
“Not the first time a woman has said that to me, but I do hope you are the last.” He steps toward me, but I move and trip straight over Marcus’ body. Falling face-first, I manage to put out my hands to stop myself from hitting the floor, but I slip in the blood and brains, still ending up face planting into the floor, my cheek now covered in blood. A scream rips from me as I try to get up, only to slip again and again.
“I would help you, but you insisted I not touch you,” he remarks with a smirk.
Pushing up slower this time, my face and chest covered in blood, I look over to Marcus. “This is my fault,” I whisper to him, a hiccup leaving me. I bite the inside of my cheek to try to and keep from crying, but I am not sure how successful I will be.
Hands touch my face, and I feel Lucas’ thumb stroke over my blood-covered skin, not even caring it’s someone else’s.
“No, it’s mine. I killed him.”
“But—”
“No buts.” He pauses. “And I’d do it again.” He drops my face and I glance at him.
“I don’t want to see you again.” I rush to say the words, just trying to get them out before I falter.
“Well, we can’t have that happen, can we?”
“I hate that you’re in my life.”
“You don’t, not really. You just aren’t used to me yet.”
“I hope I never will be.” Taking a deep breath, I turn and run out the door into the pouring rain. The drops of water cause the blood to run in rivulets over my dress and down my legs onto the dark city street.
I walk as quickly as I can to my car and get in.
As I speed past the bar, I see Lucas standing in the doorway, watching my escape with a small smirk still planted on his lips. It makes me sick.
23
Lucas
I’m sitting behind the bar, staring at a bottle of tequila, when Sergio walks in a few hours later.
“Fuck. Well…” He scratches the back of his head as he looks on at the mess surrounding me. “… You had to go and kill the bartender. Do you know how hard it was to find a decent one to run this place?”
“You have Brody now. Train him up, he’ll do well.”
“And when he asks what happened to Marcus?” He nods to where Marcus still lies, the blood starting to dry in a perfect circle around his head.
“You tell him I put a bullet in his brain for touching something that’s mine.”
“Let me guess…” he pauses before he says, “Her.”
“Ding, ding, ding.”
Sergio shakes his head, walks out the back, and returns with a tarp. I watch as he rolls the body up, then drags it out the back before he comes back with bleach and a mop and a dozen other things, I have no idea what they do.
“Do you think me a fool?” I ask.
Sergio stops what he’s doing. “Never. I think the opposite.” He goes back to mopping.
“She hates me,” I tell him, pouring myself a drink.
“You don’t understand women,” he states. “You are a taker, but you can’t take something that doesn’t want to be taken, sir.”
“She likes the things I do for her.”
“In the bedroom only?” he asks, and I nod. “So not in real life.”
“I wasn’t meant to have her…” I pause, “… to want her. I’ve had my taste, and I should move on.” My fingers tap on the counter. “I should move on, correct?”
Sergio stops again and looks to me. “I don’t think you want my answer to that, sir.”
“Tell me…there’ll be no repercussions for you,” I say with honesty.
He takes a deep breath before he speaks again, “I think you should do what you were meant to and move on. She isn’t worth it. She’ll be considered a weak link. You don’t have any of those, aside from your mother. But even then, I feel like you would raise hell for Chanel—”
“Hell’s already awake.” I smile at him and take another sip. “Carry on.” I nod to the mess he’s cleaning.
He focuses on his task, leaving me stewing in my own thoughts.
“Tell me you didn’t,” Keir says the next day as he steps into my office.
“I didn’t,” I reply, having no idea what he’s talking about.
“When you request a clean-up crew, they tell me about it. You understand that, correct?” His face is hard. He’s pissed off, and his emotions are showing with his sweeping arm gestures. “And have you dealt with Romarc’s men, yet? I left that to you, Lucas. Do not disappoint me.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“I don’t give a fuck. Just deal with it.” Keir turns away, walking to the door. “I’m sure you have some steam to release. So, fucking release it.” He leaves my office in a huff, and Sergio enters along with a few of my men.
“It’s time we go and blow some shit up.” I stand, and they all look at me and smile.
“Yes, sir.”
They weren’t hard to find, nothing stupid ever is. Romarc ran a good business, and at one stage, we had him on our side. Then he decided to get cocky, and Keir decided he no longer needed to breathe. So here we stand in front of three men, all on their knees, hands tied behind their backs, as they stare up at us.
“I saw this thing in a movie once…” I stride over to the workbench, spot the drill, and pick it up, “… where they used this. Can anyone guess where and what for?” I ask them, smiling like it’s some sort of quiz show and that some lucky shmuck might actually get the answer and a prize.
“That’s sick,” one of them mutters.
“Wrong.” I shoot him in the leg with the gun held in my other hand. I point the gun at the man next to him and wait for him to answer, “Time’s ticking,” I say, smiling.
“The mouth.”
“Ding, ding. I thought when I saw it, why on earth haven’t I done that before?” I shake my head. “Imagine the drill spinning at full speed in the mouth? Can you just imagine the pain and the fixation someone would have with watching that? Goddamn, why haven’t I thought of it before?”
“She made us.”
Now those words have me pausing the drill to look at the last man in line. I step over to him and drop down into a crouch in front of him.
“Who made you do what?” I ask.
“Angela,” he responds, looking about ready to piss himself.
I look over my shoulder to Sergio, and he merely shrugs.
“You’ll have to elaborate on this, my man.” I tap his shoulder, and he looks to where my hand is, then to my eyes.
“Romarc’s wife. She wants payback and has taken over his drug running. She wants your boss to pay for killing him.”
Standing up, I pull out my cell and call Keir—he answers straight away.
“You’ll never guess why the
y’re causing trouble in my part of town,” I say to Keir, happier than ever.
“Lucas,” he warns.
“Because of you.”
He’s quiet on the other end.
“You fucked his wife, didn’t you?” I bite out at him.
“No, she sucked my cock.” I hear Sailor gasp and then the cell goes silent for a moment before he comes back. “Pretty sure she sucked your cock too,” he adds. “Find her, kill her.”
“You sure you don’t want one last go at her?”
“You really fucking have issues, Lucas.” He hangs up on me.
“Seems our time has come to an end, gentlemen. Thank you for your assistance. I would say it’s been a blast, but it really hasn’t.” I turn and walk out, and the last thing I hear are their screams before the sound of a bullet meets each of their heads.
I wonder what I’ll have for dinner tonight.
Pasta?
Pizza?
Maybe something sweet.
Maybe her.
24
Chanel
“Are you going to talk to me yet?” Merci asks from my door.
“Probably not,” I answer.
“Well, I need to know why you came home covered in blood. Brody is worried.”
“I’m sure you helped him with his concerns,” I snap.
“That was cruel.” She shakes her head and goes to step away.
“I’m sorry. It’s all just been so much,” I tell her honestly.
“Whose blood?” she asks.
“I can’t tell you.” And I won’t because the fewer people who know anything, the better.
“Okay, well, are you going to work today?” she asks, looking at my clothes scattered all over the place.
“No, I’ve taken the day off.” She doesn’t ask why, and I’m thankful. I haven’t spoken to Brody yet about what I found out, and I guess now I should. Getting up from my bed, I walk out with Merci next to me and address Brody, “How did you get the job working for Lucas?”
His gaze flicks up to us, then lowers. “I was offered it.”
“Where were you?” I dig a little further.
“Walking home from school. A few of my friends knew who he was, but none ever spoke to him. He called me over and then offered me a job.” He shrugs.
“How did he know who you were?” I ask.
“No idea. But, Chanel, you shouldn’t worry about that. He pays well, and we’re doing way better for ourselves now. Aren’t you happy with that?” he argues back.
“I’m going to go for a walk,” I tell him without answering his question.
I don’t know why Lucas would want me, or why he’s after me because it’s clear he is. You don’t just hire someone’s brother for no reason. Lucas is a man with a motive, and I have a feeling the only way I’m going to get to that motive is the same way I got it out of Marcus.
Fuck. Poor Marcus.
At least Lucas can’t kill himself if I use him.
But is it really using him if I enjoy it? That right there is the dilemma.
Wrapping my arms around my waist, I stop when I see a familiar car parked out front of my building.
“Perfect timing.” He smiles.
“Not really, stalking doesn’t look good on you.”
He turns slowly in a circle, as if to show himself off. “You don’t think so?” He raises a brow when he’s facing me again.
“No, still doesn’t look good.” This man is unbelievable.
He walks to the passenger side of the car, opens the door, and nods for me to get in.
“That’s a no.”
“Get in, Chanel. It’s time we talk.” I scoff at him and go to head back to my apartment when his voice stops me. “Chanel, get in! And I may think about deleting that photo.”
“I deleted it already.”
“You did, but you didn’t get to the deleted folder in time. Now, what do you say? Will you get in?” He waves to the open door, and because I really want that photo gone, I stalk over and get in. He shuts the door behind me, shoots me a wink as he walks around to his side, then slides in. I think about all the ways I want to kill him.
“Where are we going? I don’t have a phone.”
“I got you a new one.” He places a box with a new iPhone on my lap.
“I don’t want one of those. I don’t even know how to use it.” I try to give it back to him, but he just pushes it back into my hands as he drives.
“Take the damn phone.”
“No.”
“It’s yours. Do as you wish with it.”
“Okay.” So I roll my window down and throw the box out onto the road.
Lucas slams on his brakes and turns so he’s fully facing me. “Did you really just throw a brand-new iPhone out the fucking car window?”
“You told me to do what I want with it. I didn’t want it, so…” I shrug.
“Fucking hell, you infuriate me.”
“Ditto,” I bite back.
Lucas shakes his head and drives off. “You need a new phone.”
“No, you think I need a new phone. The one I have works perfectly fine.”
“Yours is something my grandparents probably had, that’s how old it is.”
“If you say so.” I cross my arms over my chest and sink into the seat. He has the seat warmers on, so my ass is nice and toasty.
It isn’t long until he pulls over and gets out. He comes around to my door, opening it and waiting for me. I take my time just to piss him off, looking around and realizing that I don’t even know where we are. I don’t think I’ve been in this neighborhood before, but it’s not far from where I live. The houses here are a little run down, but not as much as my neighborhood.
“Come on.” I get out with a huff, and he shuts the door, locking it before walking down a sidewalk to a single-story house. He glances back at me when he reaches the blue door. “Do you plan to stand out here all day?”
“Depends. Where are we?” I ask.
“My house,” he says, pushing the front door open. This is nothing like Keir’s house or anything like where I thought Lucas would live. This place has mowed lawns and flower beds. It’s old, but it’s cute, and it has a front porch with a swing. Glancing at the house next to his, I see it’s completely run down, so much so it looks like the outside walls are about to peel off and crumble.
“You live here?” I still haven’t moved.
“Yes. Now, stop standing out on the sidewalk and get your ass inside.” He walks into his house, and I wonder if it’s a smart move to follow him inside. I could be walking into my own death for all I know.
I weigh my options.
I could start walking home, which would not be a good idea in this neighborhood. I can walk in my area in relative safety because I know most of the people. I wouldn’t recommend it if you were a stranger, though. You’re more likely to get a gun pulled on you and robbed. Or something far worse.
My other option is to walk into that house and see what the viper has in store for me.
He’s already stung me once, and I lived, so what’s a second time going to hurt.
Putting one foot in front of the other, I walk to his small porch and step up to the front door. I look at the swing. It appears like it’s used because it has a throw rug and a pillow placed neatly on it. I just can’t imagine Lucas sitting on it, with his gun in hand, swinging on that seat like some sort of serene scene straight out of suburbia.
“I do use it.” His voice pulls me from my thoughts. Lucas is now standing in front of me. “My mother had one when she was young, then we had one when I was growing up. It’s what you call a creature comfort. Something I’m used to. Something I like to do when I need to calm myself.”
“Do you clean your guns on it?” I ask because that’s the picture I have in my head when I imagine him sitting on it.
“No, typically I read.”
“You read?” The strained uptick in my voice doesn’t do anything to hide my shock.
“Yes, quite a bit.”
“Well, color me pink. I did not expect that from your mouth.”
“Come in.” He steps farther inside and I follow. My feet are met with hardwood floors, which are polished to a brilliant shine. The house, surprisingly, feels warm. Which is odd, because Lucas is anything but warm.
“Do you ever bring people here?” I ask, truly curious to know because if he wants to keep up appearances on the street, then this place should stay a secret. It’s the opposite of scary.
It’s normal.
Two white two-seater sofas sit in the living room in front of a large television hung on the wall. Under the television is a gigantic fireplace with what looks like an oak mantel. The windows are gorgeous, with their wood sash bars and stained glass at the arch above. A large coffee table with a few books scattered across the surface sits in front of the sofas. The walls are mostly bare, but there are a few paintings scattered around. There are no pictures or photographs anywhere and very little of anything else. Minimalistic would be the word that springs to mind.
“No, you’re the first to come to my home.”
“Oh, so it’s new?”
“No, I’ve had this house since I moved out of my mom’s.”
“Not even your parents have been here?”
“Not even them. I go to them if I want to see them.”
“So why am I here?” My hands lift to cover my midriff, feeling suddenly sick at a realization, and his eyes catch the movement. “Or is it because you don’t expect me to live?”
For all I know, he brought me here to kill me.
“Now, why would you say that?” He turns and heads off behind a wall at the back of the living area. I follow and find it’s the kitchen. Now this kitchen’s impressive, even if it has that old-world charm. A large oven and range stand in the middle of the huge wood cupboard space. This moves into a breakfast bar where a few white stools with high backs are lined up.
Lucas starts pulling out food and then a knife. I take a step back, but he doesn’t seem to notice me as he starts cutting food. When he’s heated some pasta in a pot of water, he looks up at me.