by Danae Ayusso
Shit. How do we get out of this one without lying since you promised not to? Goddamn you and your Big Sky conscience!
I know!
“Mikhail, Simian will take you home. I have to see to something,” Price said.
I nodded.
Price walked past me, as if he didn’t see me at all, and out the front door.
Through the windows I saw his truck take off, peppering the other vehicles in the parking lot with rocks as it went.
“This is bad, isn’t it?” I whispered.
Simian squatted down in front of me. “Yeah, but it isn’t your fault. I’m sure I had something to do with it.”
I looked at him curiously. “How so?”
“I pissed Matthieu off and his little mini me is always trying for his approval so who knows what the little bastard would do to get it,” he said with a shrug.
Uh, what? I’m confused.
“Who and who?”
Simian shook his head. “That’s a story for your father to tell you. Let’s get you up off the floor. I want a few more stacks before we head back. By then, Price will either be home or I’ll be bailing him out of jail. The things you do to that man, Mikey,” he teased.
I’m even more confused than I was before.
You and me both.
I sat on the far side of the booth, as far away from the window as possible.
“You see those, right?” I asked.
Simian looked between me and the window then nodded before shoving another pancake in his mouth.
“And that doesn’t freak you out?” I pressed.
“No,” he said. “Just bored assholes trying to mess with you. It’s nothing to worry about, Mikey. Now, if they touch you or actually hurt you, or try to, you tell us. That’s crossing the line and they know it.”
This can’t be me…
I mean… Yeah, I’m at a loss.
“What?” Simian asked with his mouth full.
I shook my head.
He gave me a look. “Mikey, have you been seeing shit and you didn’t tell anyone?”
Quickly, I shook my head.
Hey!
You promised not to lie to Price. The rest of them are fair game.
True.
Simian chuckled. “You’re a terrible liar, Mikey. If it makes you feel better, when milling around the property, take one of the dogs with you. The little bastards are terrified of the dogs. Especially Cujo… Oh yes, I heard all about you going ghetto on a dog and giving it a bitch slapping she won’t soon forget,” he said before roaring with laughter.
I shook my head.
I honestly don’t know who the child is.
No shit.
Once Simian was done gorging himself and sexually harassing the waitress that was easily old enough to be his mother, we headed outside.
“Sorry for spazzing out,” I said, walking with him towards the police jeep.
“You’ve yet to see us drunk,” he teased with a wink. “Just wait until we all get together at Thanksgiving and Easter. Nothing but drama and trips in the pond.”
If he says so.
I went to the front of the jeep and put my hands on the hood then spread my feet.
Simian gave me a look. “Uh, Mikey, you can sit in the front seat. No handcuffs required.”
“Oh, sorry. Bad habit,” I said, making a face and he laughed, opening the front passenger door for me.
Chapter Fifteen
Daddy’s Demons – Mikhail’s Companions
“Ellie, you have anything to eat?” Simian called out when we walked through the door. “Birdie didn’t feed me enough,” he whined, heading to the kitchen.
I shook my head.
How anyone could eat after the seventy pancakes he put down at the diner is beyond me.
Price’s truck wasn’t back and Nick was tending to the horses alone so I closed the front door behind me and headed down to the fountain.
The sun was up, not overly high in the sky, but up enough that it chased the darkness from the woods, and that was usually when he showed up.
Absently I wandered around, waiting for him.
I needed to talk, and he was the only one, other than Simian, that didn’t look at me as if I’m completely insane when I start talking about weird stuff that Justice keeps warning me to keep to myself.
Along the fence line I walked, my hands in the front pocket of my sweatshirt, the slouch beanie I wore caused my bangs to flatten against my eyebrows, but I didn’t mind. I missed wearing beanies, and now my hair wasn’t too long to stash in them. Sure, I missed braiding my hair back, but I didn’t mind the new cut at the moment. My hair grew quick so by winter it’d be past my shoulders.
A strange sense of contentment flooded me and it caused a smile to pull at the corners of my lips.
“I was starting to think you stood me up,” I said, not looking over at him.
On the other side of the fence my Frenchman walked, his hands shoved in his pockets, eyes on the ground.
I didn’t need to see him to know he was there, I felt him.
“I was tempted,” he said, to my surprise. “So much drama and fighting that I had to get away from it, and where else would I go but to you?”
I shouldn’t have, but I smiled.
I liked the way that sounded much more than I should.
“I’m glad you came by,” I said, folding myself down to the grass and he did likewise on his side of the fence. “I don’t know what I did to upset Price. Is he mad at me for the glass at the diner?”
His head tilted to the side and he regarded me curiously. “Oh no, he blames someone else for that. Sadly, I don’t think it’s who he thinks it was and that scares me.”
“Because it means it’s something else, something scary?” I surmised.
He nodded. “I haven’t seen anything that would confirm or deny that-”
“Yes we have. The creepy white bitch in the woods that goes by Dandy,” I interrupted. “The annoying bitch keeps popping up whenever I’m out or she’s bored.”
He gave me a look.
“Don’t give me that look, I hate that look,” I complained.
He chuckled. “Very well, how would you like me to look at you?”
I looked at him. “The way you always do.”
He smiled.
“I told Price about Justice,” I whispered.
His smile fell. “How did he take it?”
“Price already knew. He said he could tell the difference between me and Justice, but he enjoys both of our company and he isn’t concerned. If I feel the line is becoming too blurred I have to let him know and we can get professional help.”
He groaned, making a face. “Ugh! Therapists suck,” he whined, causing me to giggle. “No therapist. If needed, we’ll make it three times a day self-therapy.”
“You promise?” I asked before I could stop myself.
His eyes widened. “I dare say, are you crushing on me?”
“Shut up,” I groaned, causing him to chuckle.
Yes, yes I was crushing on him.
“Yes, I promise,” he said.
It was a very good possibility that I’d take him up on the seeing him three times a day offer.
“I got to ride in the front seat of a cop car, jeep, whatever,” I said. “That was a first!”
Again, he chuckled. “A memorable milestone,” he agreed. “Though, I have to say, you were most likely the most mature one in the jeep.”
“To be sure,” I agreed. “Simian’s a good guy, I can’t believe they gave him a badge and gun though… You don’t even want to get me started on his taste in older, wider women. Ew!”
He roared with laughter, falling back in the grass.
“Yes, laugh it up,” I said. “The entire drive he was telling me of his many diner conquests. I can’t believe I didn’t throw up what little I ate,” I huffed.
He sat up and looked at me with a small smile on his face. “Yes, Simian is an acquired taste and a very, very
special guy. He has a good heart though and only means the best, even if it’s questionable at times. I’m sure he was telling you of his many questionable liaisons to distract you from Price’s hasty departure and sudden change in demeanor. Price, when cross, is truly scary to behold. I am happy that he left before you saw the full extent of it,” he said, and a soft accent started to flare in his speech.
I noticed it does when his guard slips…
Which is strange since my guard is constantly down around him.
Perhaps it’s subconscious projecting; he’s being inflicted with my guard and walls since mine are notably absent when he’s around.
“It scared me,” I admitted. “I’ve always had a temper. I could never figure out where it came from because Mom was so chill about everything that it made me a target and left me exposed and vulnerable. Price, that I’ve seen, has been rather laidback and going with the flow, but I’m starting to realize that it was because he was walking on eggshells.”
“With good reason,” he pointed out. “From what I’ve seen, you’re really damaged.”
“Hey!” I complained, throwing a handful of grass at him and he chuckled. “Not cool.”
“But it’s true. You are his biggest fear and weakness, which is a first for him. Yes, he will walk on eggshells until he knows with absolute certainty that you won’t hurt him as she did, that you won’t leave him, won’t hate him… Never has Price had an exploitable weakness, until you. Something to think about.”
I rested my elbows on my knees and held my face between my hands and looked at him.
He mirrored my position and looked at me in return.
What he was saying made sense to a messed up kid from the streets that is in a new home and environment. The exploitable thing I’m accustomed to since that’s how it is on the streets: you did what you could to get ahead. But how would that apply to Montana? Price wasn’t a pimp, regardless of what De’Von keeps saying… Even though he apparently got Mama Jones laid with his FBI buddy…
Ew.
I’m sure that was unintentional though.
Perhaps there are business ventures that Price has that require him to have a hard, impossible to read, exterior and I’m causing that exterior to fall? Thus, opening him up to being exploited?
“Speak it aloud,” he pleaded.
“Why?”
“Because I like to hear you talk,” he said, as if it were obvious. “You are accustomed to keeping everything inside, we both are, but know you do not have to do that with me.”
“It isn’t easy to do something after religiously practicing it for nearly eighteen years,” I pointed out.
“That is why we practice it in the privacy of each other,” he said with a smirk.
“Seriously, you have to stop flirting with me,” I said. “It’s creeping me out.”
Again, he roared with laughter.
“I’m glad I’m amusing you,” I grumbled. “Should I apologize to Price for making his dark side come out?”
He shook his head, trying to keep from laughing over my shitty Star Wars’ reference.
“You have that who farted face going on,” I pointed out.
And that was it.
He fell back in the grass laughing.
“If you bust out with the body glitter, I’m leaving,” I complained, crawling over to the fence so I could see his face.
When he laughed like that, it made me smile.
There was something carefree and sexy about it.
I draped my arms over the fence, hanging on it, and looked at him, watching him hold his stomach from laughing so hard.
A part of me envied him that he found amusement in the most simplistic of things.
Softly he nudged my knee with his foot.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked, sitting up, the distance between us disappearing.
“Because I can,” I teased.
He draped his long, muscular arms over the railing I was hanging on, and caressed the back of his finger against my arm. “I’ll remind you when I please you said that,” he whispered before licking his lips.
I nodded, not entirely sure why that mattered.
“Why French?” I asked.
The look I got from him was one I hadn’t gotten before.
“Because the French have superior bone structure and taste in the arts?” he offered.
I laughed. “Funny boy. I mean why are you French? Why was the little boy French? In Philly I didn’t know any French people. When I discovered Parkway Central Library, I used to spend hours and hours there reading. Especially in the winter when we were homeless because it was warm there, and they have bathrooms and drinking fountains. After the first few weeks, the head librarian and maintenance guy noticed me. I was nearly seven, coming and going alone in a large library that housed some of the most beautiful pieces of literature, nearly forgotten pieces of Philadelphia history, and instead of going to the kids section I was reading reference material because it was within my reach. They didn’t ask, they knew by looking at me, and soon I was having lunch with Ray the maintenance man, and early dinner with Dot Marie the head librarian. They started packing extra food for me.
“Ray got me a small rolling footstool to use so I could reach the upper shelves. Dot Marie put aside books for me that she thought I’d be interested in so they’d be there when I arrived since they were always being checked out before I could read them. For years, the library was my second home and that’s where I honed my understanding and knowledge in reading, writing, English, Latin, science, math, history and geography. When Dot Marie retired, and Ray passed away from a heart attack when I was twelve, I lost my second home and safe haven in the winter.”
His black eyes moved over me many times. “What does that have to do with the French?”
I smiled. “The French section is always where I’d end up. My French isn’t nearly as good as yours, but I tried. The art, the pictures of food… Oh God, the food looked so delicious. I used to dream, I think, of that food. At least I went to bed thinking about it and wondering if it tasted as good as it looked. The architecture of Paris, the châteaux and castles, the vineyards, the quaint villages… France looked so beautiful and peaceful, two things my life wasn’t, and I pictured myself running away from Mom, from Philly, from the monsters, to the safe, sequester life that France offered in pictures and books. It made me curious if my blanky was French because when I was a child it was a safe haven in my mind. That’s all,” I said, my words trailing away to a whisper.
Thankfully, he nodded his understanding.
“So it isn’t my phenomenal bone structure?” he teased.
“That’s a close second,” I assured him with a giggle.
“It better be, followed by my amazing ass,” he said with a wink.
“That should be at the top of the list,” I admitted, causing him to blush. “I always knew I was an ass woman, but never did I imagine finding such a round, muscular, I just want to sink my teeth in it, ass on a white boy.”
He snorted, rolling his eyes. “I am French, not a generic white boy,” he said in quite possibly the smuggest tone I’ve ever heard. “Though, I’m not entirely sure where my ass came from. But I’m pleased to hear you approve. I was worried.”
I chuckled. “Sarcasm noted. If you have extra, send it my way. I have no ass at all.”
He leaned up then looked over my head. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but it is rather flat.”
“Hey!” I complained, smacking him. “I know it’s flat. You don’t have to tell me. I’m already self-conscious about it. Tall and skinny without an ass or tits, no curves, and now with this butch haircut, it makes me look as if we’re batting for the same team.”
He got in my face, his rugged nose sliding along the length of mine before resting his forehead against mine. “Quand on a pas ce que l’on aime, il faut aimer ce que l’on a,” he whispered, each word that left his full lips was accompanied by a warm breath that tasted of
spearmint. “You cannot change what is beyond your control, so love what it is that you have.”
“It sounds so much better in French,” I admitted before licking my lips.
What would kissing a delusion that is surprisingly solid hurt?
“Oui,” he agreed before quickly kissing the tip of my nose then disappeared.
The breath I was holding rushed out of me and I slipped off the fence and fell back into the grass.
How that damn Frenchman leaves me breathless when he barely touches me is beyond me.
This crush is getting out of control.
“Mikhail?”
I leaned back, bridging off the grass and waved when Price headed towards me with a brown paper bag in hand.
He chuckled. “That doesn’t look comfortable,” he commented.
“It’s not so bad,” I said before rolling over to my stomach and propped myself up on my elbows. “Are you okay now?”
Price shook his head, joining me on the grass. “No, but I apologize for losing my temper and handing you off to law enforcement.”
I laughed. “Simian is the least law enforcement badge I’ve ever met. Though, he did find it rather amusing that I assumed the position out of habit.”
He chuckled.
“What’d you bring me?” I asked, sniffing, following the smell of something mouthwatering to the brown paper bag in his hand.
Price smiled and offered me the bag. “I went for a drive to clear my head. They are fresh out of the oven.”
I opened the bag and my eyes widened. “Shut up!” I gasped. “I was just talking about French food and if it was as good as it… It smells so good,” I stammered, tearing up.
Over some fucking croissants? Really?
“Can I?” I asked, looking to Price for permission.
“They are all yours,” he assured me.
I grabbed one of the warm pastries from the bag then shoved it in my mouth.
Moaning over food isn’t normal, not to the levels I was moaning, and the tears that accompanied the moaning was exceptionally weird, but I have never had anything so delicious in my life. So flaky, buttery, soft, a hint of almond from the delicate and creamy marzipan-like filling.