by Sam Mariano
“Was she upset?”
A moment passes, then my phone brightens and I read the text he sent back, “Yep.”
I take a seat on the edge of my bed, raking a hand through my hair. Of course she was upset. I was fucking mean.
His curt response triggers the need to defend myself, so I send back, “She chose to lie. I didn’t make her do it.”
It only takes him a moment to respond. “Maybe she isn’t lying. You had sex with her, didn’t you? Maybe no one told you this yet, but sex is how you make babies.”
I don’t bother arguing. I know I didn’t impregnate her. Knowing I like my life child-free, birth control is one thing I do not fuck around with. I use only condoms I provide myself for added insurance. No holes poked in condoms, no birth control that doesn’t work because of a prescription—no possible accidents. There have been a couple times over the course of my adult life I’ve had one snap. I’ve experienced the constant anxiety that followed for weeks after, waiting for a call that thankfully never came.
There were no mishaps with Laurel. I never even had to change condoms mid-fuck, so there’s not even a remote chance I might have touched her with cum on my finger. There is literally no chance she’s telling the truth, and that fucking sucks.
I don’t know why it sucks. I certainly don’t want to have kids. I just also don’t want Laurel to be a liar. I don’t want my image of her tarnished, the sweet, curious eager-to-learn girl Mateo sent me to play with. Laurel was a good memory, and now I have to put her in a different box. An uglier box. It makes me feel more jaded to think of someone so young and sincere pulling a dirty fucking trick like this one.
As much as I want to shove her out of my head and never think about her again, my mind keeps getting stuck on the details. If it’s not the mental image of a less capable little asshole rooting around between her legs, it’s the knowledge that she must really not want to tell her sister if she came to me. Laurel was a stranger to me until we spent those few days together, but by the time it was all over, she knew exactly who and what I was. She has to know I’m not the sort of man you trifle with, and still she came here. What could breed that level of desperation? Vince is loaded now that his father is dead. They’ll never struggle for money again, so if Laurel was hard up for cash, she should be able to get it from them. Is it really so bad that rather than safely asking her sister or brother-in-law to help her, she came to me?
Mia surfaces in my mind—an old, unpleasant detail of her life, one I inadvertently stumbled across in Chicago. She’d been raped and a pregnancy resulted from the ordeal. Something like that couldn’t have happened to Laurel, could it? Something like that could make her desperate enough to lie. She doesn’t seem damaged, though. Then again, neither had Mia.
Well, that’s not true. Mia is crazy, but the endearing kind, not the sad, miserable kind of damaged. Laurel hasn’t weathered years with the most fucked-up of the Morelli men, so she would probably respond to an assault like a normal person.
A darker doubt surfaces. She won’t tell her sister, and she does currently live with Carly and Vince. The baby couldn’t be his, could it? That would damn sure explain why she would be so desperate to keep it from Carly. Since he’s my cousin, that may have given Laurel confidence to attempt foisting it on me. While she knows I wouldn’t be a match, I would still share DNA markers with a child of Vince’s. Morelli genes tend to run strong, so there would probably even be a passable resemblance.
It probably isn’t that. I would have noticed Vince paying more-than-appropriate attention to his sister-in-law if anything had been going on between them—or if he wanted anything to be going on between them—and I didn’t. Unless something started right after they left Vegas, Vince probably isn’t the father. Knowing the dark alleys of Vince’s past, I can’t stomach thinking about that. If he did impregnate Laurel, I am going to kill the little asshole.
Before I get lost too far down the rabbit hole of my family’s depravity, I try to stop inventing excuses for Laurel. Hell, I could have heard her excuse if I’d given her more of a chance to explain herself. Once we established I wouldn’t fall for that kind of shit, I could have punished her little ass and relieved the ache in my balls; then once we were both sated and relaxed, my pretty little liar could have told the truth.
Three more minutes until her plane takes off. It’s too late to bring her back. It’s a bad idea anyway, but I’m curious so I text Sin one more time, telling him, “Get me her number.”
“Her phone number?” he texts back.
“Yes. I’m annoyed that she lied and I want to know the truth.”
He takes a full two minutes before he texts back, “Why does it matter?”
“Just get me the phone number.”
“Fine,” he texts back. “I’m going to bed. I’ll get it to you in the morning.”
I bristle impatiently, wanting it right now, but there’s no harm in waiting until morning. Her plane is taking off as I plug my phone into the charger, so it’s not like she could text me back right now anyway. The flight back home will be long, and Sin said she was upset, so I’m sure she’ll go straight to bed when she lands.
Tomorrow Sin can get me her number. Tomorrow I can text her and drag the real story out of her. Then, once I know, I can feel a little better about it. I can recover at least enough pleasantness to remember her fondly.
I should probably be glad I’ll never see her again.
I don’t know why I’m not.
10
Laurel
My head rests against the car door and I struggle to keep my heavy eyelids from drifting shut. My mind was so fraught with anxiety last night; I tossed and turned much more than I slept.
What a horrible, no-good day.
Feeling myself drift off, I jerk. In an attempt to stay awake, I shift my weight, trying to invigorate myself. I only have to stay up long enough to get on the plane, then I can sleep through the flight. When I wake up, it will be like this whole awful day was little more than a dream.
My head is convinced this is a good plan, but my body struggles to keep up its end of the deal. Maybe I can close my eyes for just a minute. I lean my head on the door again and close my eyes, thinking to rest them so they aren’t dry as the desert anymore.
I feel myself falling and jolt awake, rearing back from the arm that kept me from tumbling right out of the car. Bleary-eyed and momentarily discombobulated, I look up at the ominous-looking man holding the car door open for me.
“Are we here?” I murmur, looking around for my purse before finding it on my lap. Clutching it, I push my legs out and reach for the door frame to pull myself out of the car. I sway, still bleary from sleep, and Sin places a steadying hand around my waist, pulling me away from the car so he can shut the door.
I frown, looking past Sin at the brown roll-down door in front of the parked car. Wait, this isn’t the airport. It’s a driveway. The car is parked in front a residential garage. I turn to look past the car, and sure enough, there’s a small yard in front of a tan stucco home. Orange tile lines the roof and a gated brick wall creeps around the house like a fence.
“This is not the airport,” I state, needlessly.
“Guess he wasn’t lying about you being smart,” Sin says, dryly.
He attempts to usher me toward the house, but I dig my heels in and pull back. “This is a house. You were supposed to take me to the airport.”
“It’s my house,” he says, easily. “We’ll get to the airport; I needed to stop home first.” Glancing toward the road, he says, “It’s safer if you come inside with me. Didn’t want to leave you asleep in the car and chance something happening to you.”
Safer? I don’t know anything about Vegas, or the neighborhood we’re even in, so I suppose it makes sense to take his word for it. There’s no reason Sin would want to hurt me, right? Rafe flashed me a flight confirmation screen on his phone, so I know he was actually booking a plane ticket. It wasn’t some kind of gangster code for �
�kill this pregnant bitch.”
“What do you have to grab?” I ask, still wary as he keeps a hold on me, guiding me past the car and around to a sidewalk leading to the entrance of the house. There are two brown double doors on the front of the house. I see Sin reach into his pocket, but there’s no jingle. He pulls out a single key. He doesn’t keep his house key and his car key together? Distracted by the oddness, I ask, “Why don’t you have a key chain?”
Glancing at me like I’m wearing him out, Sin asks, “Do you ever stop asking questions?”
I shrug. “You have at least two keys. A key chain would make your life easier, that’s all I’m saying.”
“If a key chain would make my life easier, I would have a key chain, now, wouldn’t I?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you enjoy making your life harder. Have you ever lost your key? I bet it’s easy to lose when it’s not attached to anything.”
“Key chains jingle,” he states, clearly tired of hearing about this. “I can’t stand the jingle.” Sliding me a pointed look, he adds, “I like quiet.”
I draw an invisible zipper across my lips, then I turn an invisible key for good measure. Then I can’t help holding out the invisible key and breaking my silence. “See, if you had a key chain, you could put this on it. It wouldn’t even make any noise.”
Sin shakes his head at me, pushing his real key into the lock and turning it. Since it’s so late, the front door opens up into a predictably dark room. Sin moves me aside and steps past me to turn the light on. I flinch at the sudden brightness, looking to him to see what he does now.
He shuts the door and walks up a few carpeted steps into what must be the living room. I follow behind him, looking around as I go. Sin gestures off to his left as he makes it into the living room. “Have a seat, I’ll be a minute.”
I walk over and take a seat on the edge of his olive green couch, looking around the room. There’s a flat-screen television mounted to the wall across from me and a whole lot of empty space everywhere else. For a home, this place is sparse.
“Not so big on furniture, huh?” I call after him.
He sighs heavily, like I’m a real headache. “I have all the furniture I need.”
“You don’t have a coffee table,” I point out.
“I don’t like coffee.”
I draw my phone out of my purse to check the time and find my battery is nearly dead. Of course I didn’t think to bring my charger with me. Maybe he has the same phone and I could use his. “Hey, do you have a car charger? I really need to juice this thing up. What model of phone do you have?”
Sin comes back in the living room muttering under his breath. “Why aren’t we at the airport? Why don’t you have a key chain? Why don’t you have a coffee table? What kind of phone do you have?” He stops and stares at me. “Just stop talking.”
I side-eye him. “Has anyone ever told you you’re not a very nice person?”
“Never,” he says, flatly. “I’m usually the belle of the ball.”
I crack a smile, trying to picture this grim man at a ball. Glancing down at my phone again, I light it up to check the time. “What time is my flight?”
He throws his hands in the air like he can’t believe I just asked another fucking question. I bite back a smile as he turns and storms up the stairs. Even though he told me to stay put, I’m tempted to follow him. I’m curious by nature, and now here I am stuck in a new place with a new person—I want to know things. I want to explore the house and see if the other rooms are as bare as the living room.
Eventually, he comes back, and he must be done because now he comes straight to the living room and stops in front of me.
“Are we ready to go?” I ask.
“Why don’t you stay in Vegas tonight?” he suggests. “I’ll drive you to a hotel and get you a room for the night. You can get some sleep, and I’ll pick you up tomorrow when clearer heads can prevail.”
I frown up at him, completely thrown by his suggestion. “What? No. Why would I stay in Vegas?”
His gaze drops to my stomach, like all of a sudden it will protrude. “You said you’re carrying Rafe’s kid.”
I visibly droop. “Yeah, well, he made his feelings about that pretty clear.”
“You took him off guard. He was upset. I want to wait and see how he feels tomorrow before we take any kind of action.”
“Yeah, well, this is officially no longer your concern,” I tell him, pushing my purse strap up on my shoulder and standing. “I only came here in the first place because Vince said some stuff and I’m an idiot. I should have known Rafe wouldn’t care.”
That seems to snag his attention. “Vince knows?”
I shake my head, looking down at the ground instead of at him. “No, Vince doesn’t know. Nobody knows.”
“So, what happens if you go home tonight?”
“I do my best to put this whole trip out of my mind and never step foot in this god-awful city again,” I state.
“I meant with the pregnancy.”
That darkens my mood and I sigh again. “I don’t want to talk about this. We need to get going so I don’t miss my flight.”
“You’re planning to end the pregnancy,” he says, rather than asking.
I don’t much appreciate the deeply judgmental vibe I’m getting off him. “I am a 19-year-old without a job or a degree. The father of my child is the head of some Las Vegas crime syndicate; he wants nothing to do with me and doesn’t even believe he’s the one who got me pregnant. If my protective, hot-headed brother-in-law finds out his cousin impregnated and abandoned me, it could potentially cause devastating ripples within this family that I don’t even want to think about. Also, I have less than $50 to my name.”
“Your brother-in-law just inherited millions,” Sin states, like I’m full of shit. “You telling me he wouldn’t give you some money?”
“I’m not his responsibility. My sister has been sacrificing to take care of me literally her whole entire life. I’m finally coming into my own now. Maybe you don’t understand that, but I don’t want her to have to keep taking care of me. I want to amount to something. I want to be someone she can be proud of. Not even 20 and knocked up by a Morelli of all fucking people? Not something she’s going to be proud of.”
“So, it’s not the money. You don’t want a kid at all.”
“I want kids,” I say, defensively. “Probably not a mobbed up manwhore’s kids, but, you know, someone’s kids. Someday.”
“That’s a dumb reason,” he states.
I shoot him a dirty look. “Well, I didn’t ask for your opinion.”
“I’m giving it to you anyway.”
“I see that,” I mutter, trying to step past him to head back to the stairs. “Can we just go, please? I don’t need you to approve of my life choices.”
Instead of moving out of my way, he moves into it. “Give me the night. Let me take you to a hotel and put you up—”
“I said no,” I reply, glaring up at him.
“Why?”
“Because this has been one of the worst nights of my life and I want to go home. I don’t want to spend another night here. I don’t want to see Rafe tomorrow. I’m done with all this.”
“I’m going to ask one last time,” he says.
“Please don’t. I’ll just say no again.”
He shakes his head, annoyed. “Fine. Do you need to pee before we leave?”
I frown, but just the mention of it reminds me I sort of do need to pee. I don’t know how far we are from the airport, but it’s probably better to go here than in public anyway. “I guess so. Where’s your bathroom?”
Sin takes a step back and nods up another set of carpeted stairs. “Up there. I’ll show you.”
I head up the stairs, but I’m acutely aware of him right behind me. The bathroom door is cracked open at the top of the stairs, moonlight spilling in on the shower curtain. I don’t know why he’s still following me when I can clearly see where I’m going. A wave o
f unease moves through me like earlier, but again I tell myself there’s no reason this man should want to hurt me.
“I think I can handle it from here,” I tell him, when we get to the top landing.
He nods and sinks back against the wall. I expected him to give me some privacy, but he’s clearly going to stand here and wait for me right outside the door. I watch him for a moment, tempted to ask why, but I know he won’t answer me anyway. I’ll just go pee so we can leave; the sooner I get out of here, the better.
Shutting myself inside, I hurry up and pee, then wash my hands. As I’m drying them on a soft hand towel, I look over at the shower. It’s fairly standard, but there’s a metal bar affixed to the wall. That’s a bit odd.
I pull open the door and flip off the light. Sin appears in front of me, startling the hell out of me. I jump and grasp my chest, even though I knew he was standing out there.
“Jesus, you are one stealthy motherfucker.”
He cracks a smile. “Yeah, I am.”
Clearing my throat, I cast a hopeful glance past him at the stairs leading downstairs—to my path out of this house. “Ready to go?”
His hand closes firmly around my bicep and he says, “One more stop before we leave.”
“For what?” I ask, not moving.
“Phone charger,” he says, indicating my purse with his finger.
Oh, yeah. I did tell him I needed to charge my phone. Jesus, everything he does feels so scary. I need to cool it. The man is just grabbing a charger I specifically asked him for.
Now I let him lead me down the dark hallway. It feels ominous with only the moonlight spilling in through cracked-open doors and large, barred windows. Wait, why are his windows barred? There’s glass beyond the bars, but that’s fucking creepy. He did say I should come inside because it wasn’t safe to wait in the car, but does he really live in such a dicey neighborhood that he needs barred windows?