House Rules

by Wick, Christa

  "Luke." Opening my eyes, I growl his name at Vincent. "I'm worried about Luke."

  "Don't." He moves along the back of the couch, his hand almost menacing as it brushes the piece of furniture. Stopping at the massive window, he looks out over the Vegas skyline where it fades into the desert. "He can handle himself around scum like Solandro."

  Trying to contain my anger, I start to shake. "Then why are you interrogating me?"

  "Because you're not Solandro." With his cold gaze on my reflection, he laughs and, for a moment, I am more afraid of Vincent Masters than I have ever been of any man.

  "Let her be, fratellino."

  Hearing Luke's voice, my head dips back and something breaks inside me. Tension -- it is tension that breaks but it does so too quickly. I grab the arm of the couch, lurching as my vision grays at the edges. My body slides toward the floor. Two strong arms wrap around me and stop my fall. Pulling me with him, Luke sits down, his arms a comforting cage.

  "Really, baby, you're picking now to faint?"

  Behind us, Vincent growls.

  Luke glances over his shoulder and the growl falls silent. "Leave us."

  Once I hear the door shut, I bury my face against Luke's chest. A hard puff of air leaves him and I immediately jerk back. He wears a dark cotton t-shirt and I can barely make out the raised outline of something square beneath the fabric. A bandage, perhaps.

  "What's this?" With the t-shirt tucked into his pants, I try to tug it up.

  Wrapping his hand around mine, Luke kisses my fingertips, the gesture telling me he doesn't want to allow my inspection.

  "But you're hurt." I close my eyes against the tears ready to fall. If I cry, he will try to comfort me and I don't want that. I want to comfort him. "Please, I need to see."

  The kiss moves from my fingers to my lips as he tries to distract me. "You haven't asked about Rose."

  I stall, momentarily surprised as I realize he's right. I haven't asked a single person if Rose is okay. Nor did I ask anyone to deliver a message to Tommy that I am uninjured. For more than two hours, I haven't thought about anyone other than Luke.

  Inhaling, I nod and brace for bad news. "How is she?"

  He captures my face in his hands, his gaze narrowing as he answers. "Fine, physically, but she's in jail -- and staying there."

  I nod again. I will have to explain things to Tommy later, but Rose brought this on herself. "Was anyone else injured?"

  He shakes his head, his mood lighter for a second. "Just me and a mild concussion for the guy I knocked out in the bathroom."

  He leans forward and rubs his face against mine like an affectionate cat. My head rests against his. I want to be relieved, but my lips quiver with a question I am afraid to ask.

  He brushes his fingers over them, acknowledging that something is wrong. "You want to know what happens next for you and Tommy?"

  I shake my head and close my eyes again because I don't want to see Luke angry or indifferent. He pulls me closer, ignoring the pain as my shoulder pushes against the bandaged area on his chest.

  His hand rubs reassuringly along my jaw then curls behind my ear. "Ask me, baby."

  I struggle to start. I am afraid he will think I am accusing him with my question because, deep down, I am. But he waits so patiently, so I push on. "Why did you leave the bathroom?"

  What I really mean is why did he leave me in the bathroom with strangers and why have I been kept from him these past few hours.

  He drops his arms lower and tightens them around me. When we are torso to torso, he pushes gently at my head until I rest it against his shoulder. "I left to provide forward cover while Brooks and Martinez got you out of the building. That's what they do, Marie."

  My fingers dance along the sleeve of his shirt, wanting to fist the fabric as I press a little harder against him. "I'm sorry."

  Luke shushes me as if I did nothing wrong.

  Knowing better, I protest. "You were right about Rose. I couldn't see it...I put you and your men in danger--"

  "You put yourself in danger." His gentle attempts to comfort me evaporate. Gripping my hair, he forces me to arch my neck back. The dark brown eyes glare down at me. "Don't ever do that again."

  I blink, but I don't look away. "I won't. I promise."

  "You've broken one promise already. You said you wouldn't leave the casino alone."

  He strokes the edge of my mouth, not quite touching my lips. I realize he hasn't kissed me since sometime before he entered the room. Really, he hasn't kissed me since we argued over my meeting with Solandro and I threatened to call the police if he wouldn't let me go.

  "I know. I'll keep this one." I strain up, trying to reach his mouth with mine. He shifts his fingers so that they rest against my lips and block any chance of a kiss.

  "Your old warrants are gone and Solandro is cutting a deal against his boss."

  Understanding the implication, I nod. I won't have to testify. But it doesn't mean that Tommy and I are safe from any of the men on Solandro's crew or above him. More than one of them will want to make an example out of me. I don't care about any of that right now. I want to know that I haven't broken whatever has been growing between us.

  "Please, Luke…" They are the only words I can get out. My throat constricts too tightly to speak because, deep down, I know his feelings have changed and I'm afraid I can't fix them.

  "Don't worry, Marie." Luke lightly taps his forehead once against mine. "I promised to keep you safe."

  I glance down, losing faith for a second before I look back up. "How?"

  "Don't ask how." He dips his head, his kiss a short, sweet benediction that lasts only as long as our lips touch. "Just complete your part of the deal."

  ********************

  From the living room, we move to the bedroom. Luke strips me, kisses and caresses me, but he does not take me. I fall asleep in his arms and wake to an empty bed. A stranger brings me breakfast, another takes Tommy and me shopping for anything we might require for the rest of my month with Luke. Two bodyguards escort us on this trip. When we are done, one stays with Tommy and the other takes up a spot in the entry room of the penthouse.

  I feel something is wrong. When the day goes by without any direct word from Luke and I head to an empty bed for a long, sleepless night, I know it in my bones.

  Three more days pass in similar fashion with just a short call each day from Luke. He does not tell me why he is staying away. I do not ask, even if the question is on permanent rotation inside my head. On the fifth day -- I don't answer the phone the first time it rings. Or on the next call. After the second call, the bodyguard sticks his head inside the penthouse and sees me staring out the window. He leaves and there is no third call.

  I am still staring out the window thirty minutes later when Vincent Masters appears. I acknowledge him -- barely. His hostility remains fresh in my mind and the look on his face tells me his feelings haven't dissipated. For some reason, he thinks I am a threat to Luke. I am not. I want Luke safe and Vincent's appraisal of my ability to bring harm to his brother is ridiculous.

  Laughable, really. A week hasn't passed since I needed rescued by commandos while stuck in a dingy stall with my panties down. I am no Mata Hari, Salome or Delilah. I'm more like Lucille Ball and Vivian Vance in the Chocolate Factory episode, but at a much larger size than either woman.

  Vincent moves to the window. "What's so funny?"

  Realizing that I laughed, I laugh again then cut him a side look. "You are."

  Not the best way to make friends with the man, but I have kept my head down for twenty-six years. Today, I'm not only spoiling for a fight -- I'm ready to have it.

  I turn, so he knows he has my full attention. "You came here to say something, so say it."

  His mouth gives a little side twitch that would almost be a smile if his gaze didn't simultaneously narrow. "Nothing personal, Marie, but I want you to leave."

  I don't respond immediately. He has said "he wants" -- not that Luke wa
nts or the more forceful "get lost, bitch" that would indicate a solid decision has been reached between brothers. It is impossible for me to care less what Vincent wants.

  Relaxing, I smile at him. "Hard not to take that personally -- you must have your reasons."

  He shifts, his mass briefly moving from left foot to right before it returns. It may or may not be a tell -- but the blinks and the slight new tilt to his head are. Vincent Masters is not agitated or angry, he's nervous.

  Standing, I move until I am half an arm's length from him. Like his brother, he cuts an imposing figure -- handsome, muscular, resolute. His height means I have to look up at him at this distance. The dynamics should make me feel like I'm in the weaker position, but I don't. So I look up, my smile closed-mouth and soft, and then I speak.

  "Surely, you have had to share him before."

  His body tightens and I can feel the heat of his anger as his skin flushes, but that is the only outward physical reaction I get. He forces his body to relax then smiles back.

  "How much do you want to go away?"

  A simple question for which I have a simple answer. I return to the window and sit down. My back to him, I watch his reflection in the glass. "I want what's left of my thirty days."

  Crossing half the distance to where I stand, Vincent stops and folds his arms across his broad chest. "One hundred thousand dollars and whatever else Luke agreed to give you."

  At this, I glance back, but only for effect. My gaze travels down his torso to stop at his crotch. I smirk and shake my head, only half feeling the gesture. "Sorry, you're not my type."

  This brings him directly to my chair.

  I brace for violence.

  Vincent drops down to one knee. His hand curls around the top edge of my chair. He remains mute until I look at him. He is solemn, all the anger evaporated, and suddenly I am uncertain.

  "I told you it was nothing personal, Marie. Hell, I even like you." His hand rubs at the chair's fabric and I sense that he wants to touch me, if only for the veracity the contact will give his words. "But there are people out there who want to kill you. Luke risked his life once to save you. He'll risk it again."

  He chooses this moment to touch me, his hand brushing against my cheek. "Sorry, baby, you're just not worth that -- not to me at least."

  I can feel the tears coming hard, but I won't let them erupt. Vincent's valuation of my worth hasn't hurt my feelings. I agree with him -- I would put Luke's safety above my own, just as I would put Tommy's and, even now, Rose's.

  His hand cups my cheek and I lose the fight to contain my tears, but I don't agree to leave. Brushing his hand away, I turn my attention back to the window.

  "I'm staying."

  ********************

  I sit and think for another two hours, wondering if I could really be the death of Luke Masters. As wealthy as he is, he will always be a target for violence. That is the nature of money and power -- everyone else wants what you have and some people are willing to kill for it. But revenge is a different beast. With my betrayal of Ortiz and his crew, I may have a very big bull's eye on my back for decades.

  Alone, I start to wonder if there is a different deal to be made with Vincent. He wants his brother safe. I want Tommy and Luke safe, and maybe that means I cannot be around either of them. If I promise to leave, will Vincent look after Tommy with the same care he has for Luke?

  The question brings me to my feet and carries me the distance to the front of the penthouse. I am about to open the door to the entryway and ask the guard to summon Vincent when the knob turns in my hand. I let go and step back.

  Luke enters. Brushing by me with barely a glance, he gives me a terse order and I know my opportunity to bargain with Vincent is gone.

  "Take a seat on the couch, Marie. I will join you in a moment."

  I look through the open door at the guard, but the man is deep in his zone of professional indifference. Closing the door, I slowly make my way back to the living room. With each dragging step, I tell myself to stay calm and not let Luke see how much he is hurting me.

  He saved my life -- he doesn't deserve my recriminations over his rejection.

  I sit, eyes on my knees and rolling my lips, as I wait for his return. When he comes, he doesn't sit by me. Instead he lights a fire and sits on the marble base. In his hand, he holds the picture frame from his office.

  He picks at the frame's backing, bending the small, flat pieces of metal to remove the picture it holds inside. When it is out, he holds the photograph in his hands and looks at me.

  "Do you know how I got this?" He sweeps his head so that I know he is talking about the casino and not the picture.

  "No." I haven't had access to a computer in a week and my phone doesn't do internet browsing. Nor did Ortiz give me time to research the casino -- he just gave me the lenses and told me the name, expecting me to go straight to the tables from his warehouse. "All I know is it's a couple of years old."

  Luke nods briefly, his thumb smoothing one wrinkled corner of the photograph. He stands, crosses to the couch and hands me the picture. It is a young man, with blond hair that falls almost to his shoulders. He looks about Tommy's age, but there is a certain vulnerability in his expression that makes him seem much younger.

  "Who is he?"

  "Carl Haberlin. He was twenty-four when the picture was taken."

  I shake my head. The name is unfamiliar. "He looks younger."

  "He was autistic." The words come out raw. He takes the photo from me and returns to the fireplace. "His father owned 40% of the Zurich Gaming Group."

  This time, I nod, I know the company, but not its stakeholders.

  "Long story short -- I rescued Carl from a group holding him for ransom." Luke opens the fire's grate and slowly feeds the picture into the flames. "An earlier team botched the first attempt and the kidnappers took it out on the boy before I reached him."

  I don't ask what the kidnappers did as retribution. Anyone going after a billionaire's family likely is both an expert and a sociopath -- a criminal's criminal. Instead, I get up from the couch and sit next to Luke. I place my palm against his back, wordlessly asking him about Carl's fate and how it is connected to mine.

  "I gave the old man two more month's with his son before Carl committed suicide because of what they did to him." Another gesture at the walls surrounding us. "He was grateful for the time."

  I cannot hold back the small cry that escapes me. I have only spent a few days in Luke's presence, but I know his intensity and professionalism. That he has kept the picture tells me the loss affected him on a deeply personal level, as if, despite rescuing the boy, Luke somehow let him and the father down.

  Turning, Luke embraces me and strokes my hair. "I didn't tell you the story to make you cry, baby."

  "I know." I burrow closer, my hands snaking and pushing until my arms are around Luke's waist. "I'm sorry."

  I truly am sorry -- sorry for poor Carl and his father and that Luke has opened up this wound for some reason connected to me.

  He kisses my forehead and my heart hurts even harder, if that is possible.

  "Vincent thinks I'm chasing ghosts, Marie." He pulls back and cups the sides of my face. "I'm not."

  He kisses a spot on my cheek wet from the lone tear that has managed to escape me. He kisses lower, a thumb's width above the corner of my mouth. I tilt my head back before he can break contact with my skin.

  His tongue teases my lips with a slow lick at their center. I open to him, heart galloping in my chest after the painful absence of his touch. Continuing to kiss me, Luke runs his hands down my arms. One hand captures my hip and the other a breast as the heat of the kiss burns hotter.

  I lean into his touch, my breast filling his palm and my hip flexing against his hand. Grabbing the lapels of his jacket, I hold on as if my life depends on not letting go.

  The kiss ends and Luke pulls back to stare at me. The scrutiny, as gentle as it is, undoes me and I start to softly cry.
/>   Between sobs, I ask him, "Do you want me to leave?"

  He pulls me in for a longer, slower kiss that will take all night to finish, but not before he answers.

  "No, baby, I want you to stay."

  ********************

  Stay doesn't mean forever. Foolishly, I thought it might, but three weeks have passed and Luke has not repeated the request. He has fucked me, pleased me, taught me more about my needs and endurance than I learned on my own in the last twenty-six years -- but he has not asked me to stay beyond the thirty days of our original agreement.

  Sitting on a padded bench a few feet from his bed in nothing but black silk panties and thigh high stockings, I know that tonight is my last night with him. Tomorrow, I will be somewhere else, although I don't know where that will be.

  Finished lighting the last candle, Luke turns to me and I lift my gaze. His lips purse as he stares at me and blows out the match. "You know how I realized you were cheating?"

  I straighten my spine, my breasts lifting as I square my shoulders. "I can't even imagine how many mistakes I made."

  Clearly I made a lot, not only that first night at the table but all the nights I have spent with him since then. Otherwise, tomorrow would not be a giant question mark.

  "This many." He raises his index finger and briefly touches it against his nose. "You were damn near perfect, Marie."

  Lowering his hand, he places his palm against his flat, muscled stomach. He has on black silk pajama bottoms and nothing else. Looking at him and knowing it will be the last time I see him like this is too painful. My gaze sinks down his body until it settles on the carpet in front of his bare feet.

  Emotionally exhausted, I take a random guess. "Was it my clothes?"

  He walks along my line of sight until he stands directly in front of me. Placing one finger beneath my chin, he tilts my head back. He studies me for a second then his shoulders push forward in an almost shrug. "Sort of. Most cons come in camouflaged in mediocrity."

  He strokes my cheek, my attention diverted from his explanation by the simple act.

  "But you, baby..." He lightly squeezes and pinches the side of my face, a growl rumbling inside his wide chest. "You came in like a 1950s' screen goddess. You kept the dealer -- and my security camera -- focused entirely too much on these."