Those Boys Are Trouble

by Willow Winters

  “When you wake up tomorrow, this will all be over. Everything will be perfect,” I say, trying to sound reassuring. I listen to her feet moving slowly behind me as I enter the modern kitchen. I turn to look at her as I reach the pantry. “You won’t remember anything, and everything will be just as it was.” I fill a glass with water and set it on the counter. I debate against showing her what I'm about to do, but ultimately I decide to show her. I don’t want to trick her.

  I reach in my pocket and pull out the bottle with the tablets. I pop the top off and drop one of the tablets into the glass.

  I pick up the glass and watch as the tablet quickly dissolves into nothing. Her full, plump lips frown as I take a step toward her. “Drink this, sweetheart.” I hold out the glass and her small hands reach out to accept it from me. Her fingers overlap as she lifts the glass to her lips. I’ll have a good hour to hour and a half with her before she should pass out with this dose.

  She stares at the glass for a moment and I consider pushing her, but I don’t. Thankfully she puts it to her lips and downs the water completely. With the glass empty, she gently places it on the counter, with her eyes on the floor and drenched in defeat.

  Her mouth opens as her fingers toy with the loops on her shorts. But she slams it shut and instead focuses her gaze on the slate tiles on the kitchen floor. She looks so beaten down. She looks hopeless. She’s covered in dirt and scratches. I’m going to need to bathe her. She can’t wake up like that.

  Her eyes reach mine with sadness and her mouth opens and then closes again. “What is it?” I ask, with patience and comfort.

  “Please don’t touch me.” Her shoulders rise and her body trembles as she swallows thickly and moves her gaze back to the floor. She clasps her hands in front of her. My forehead creases with confusion, and then I realize the meaning of her words. I close my eyes and give myself a moment.

  When I open them, her hands are covering her face as she stands there in the middle of my kitchen. She doesn’t belong here. It’s so fucking obvious to me that this is fucked up.

  “Elle, sweetheart...” I walk over to her and wrap my arms around her so that she can lay her head against my chest. She’s stiff at first, but I rub up and down her back with comforting strokes. “I would never do that to you.” I kiss her hair and continue rubbing soothing circles on her back.

  “I promise you. I won’t hurt you.”

  Elle

  “I’m not leaving you alone again, and I’ve already seen you naked, so just strip.” I stand with my back to Vince as I face the shower. I can’t believe he’s serious. I can’t believe any of this. He tried to get me to eat, but I’m so sick to my stomach. And now he wants to bathe me. I can’t wash myself, thank you very much.

  “I can--” I start to say the words in the softest, most respectful tone I can manage, but he cuts me off.

  “I’m not leaving you for one second.” I turn around slowly. His muscular arms are crossed, pulling his tee shirt tighter over his chest. It makes the muscles in his shoulders and arms bulge.

  I look up at him through my thick lashes. “I promise--”

  “I’m staying right here.” His words are absolute. “You’re going to be tired soon. You could pass out in the stall. I’m not leaving.”

  I take in a deep breath and close my eyes, and pull my tank top over my head and unhook my bra, removing them both quickly before I hurriedly shove my shorts down. I step out of them and quickly walk underneath the hot cascade of water. I wince as the heat bites into the small scrapes on my body. They aren’t that bad. Tomorrow they’ll start to scab over and not look like much of anything. I open my mouth and let the water hit my face.

  Tomorrow I won’t remember. I hope I don’t.

  I feel like a coward for thinking that. But I really don’t want to remember this. I’ve given up. If I do remember, I’m going to pretend like hell that I don’t remember.

  “Here.” I jump at the sound of Vince’s voice and nervously watch as he hands me bottles of cheap shampoo and conditioner. They’re small bottles like you’d expect to find in a hotel bathroom. I reach out and take them both with one hand. I have to close my eyes as our fingers touch. I feel so alone. That must be why I want him. It’s the only reason I can think of as to why I’m feeling this way.

  I don’t know which emotion is stronger. The fear that he’s going to kill me, or the desire for him to fuck me. My conscience is raging war within me. One moment I want him to use me. Yet the next moment, I’m afraid he’s going to touch me. It’s as though my fantasies and nightmares have combined into a reality. And I’m not sure which is which anymore.

  I open my eyes and I find him staring at me. He looks like a caged beast. His hands grip the edge of the stall and he leans in just slightly. “Do you need anything else?” he asks. I know exactly what he’s asking, and the answer is no. I quickly shake my head no and open the first bottle. The other I set down on a shelf. He pushes off the wall and steps backward, but I can feel his eyes on me.

  I clean off as quickly as I can. I’ve already submitted. I can only hope tomorrow I’ll forget. Tomorrow I’ll wake up, and he’ll take me back home. Then all of this won’t even be a nightmare.

  It simply won’t exist.

  I close my eyes again and feel a fog set in. I welcome it.

  I lean my back against the cold tile wall and vaguely hear Vince’s voice speaking. But it fades in the distance, and suddenly his face is in front of me with that handsome smirk. “I’m Vince.” I hear his confident, masculine voice. I see him lift his head away from my heat and stare up at my body as a wave of heat rolls through me. Another flash, a mix of memories. And then my body seems to go weightless.

  Darkness sets in.

  The last thing I hear before I pass out gives me a sense of peace and calm that I’m not sure I’ve ever felt. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

  Vince

  I park in front of my house and sit in the car to take a quick mental inventory of everything before I go in there. It took a good bit to get over here, but I still haven’t had enough time to process all this shit. Pops’ car is out front. I know he’s waiting for me inside. I sent him a text letting him know I had something I needed to talk to him about, and I know he’s gonna be sweating his balls off with worry. I grip the wheel with both hands, remembering how I left her at the safe house.

  She’s only in an old Henley shirt of mine. Both wrists are tied to the bed frame. I think she’s comfortable. I hope she is. I hate leaving her like that, but I have to get my dog. I already picked up some food for breakfast, and some clothes for her to wear. But right now I have to talk to Pops. The Don. I tap the wheel a few times and finally get the fuck out of the car. I might as well get this over with.

  He’s standing in the living room, and I see him as soon as I walk in. His eyes are on me as I toss the keys on the table and bend down to greet Rigs. My black lab is all muscle, with a long-ass tail that thumps onto walls as he wags it. He licks my face and I try to smile. But I can’t.

  “You alright, son?” My father’s words wipe my pathetic attempt to smile right off my face. A thick feeling of sickness settles in my stomach.

  I stand up and head to the living room. “I think everything’s going to be alright. I just have something to tell you.”

  His facial expression doesn't change when he hears this. There’s a hint of worry in his eyes, but other than that, nothing.

  “What’s going on, Vince?” His voice is hard, like it always is. Pops is old now, with grey in his hair, and wrinkles around his eyes. But he’s still got a hard edge. Anyone who's ever met him wouldn’t find it hard to believe he’s the boss, 'cause he looks like and acts like the boss. I’ve always looked up to him. But right now, I’m finding it hard to look him in the eyes.

  “It’s basically taken care of, but I fucked up.” I take a seat on the sofa, and Rigs hops up next to me and tries to sit in my lap. He’s 6 months old or so now, not exactly the little puppy he was whe
n I first got him. But, I really don’t mind it. He can still keep thinking he’s a tiny lapdog when he’s 80 pounds for all I care. I give Rigs a few pats, then look my father square in the eyes.

  “I fucked up and because of me a broad walked in on Tommy and Anthony.” There, it’s out. My father’s expression stays flat.

  “I see. That’s very disappointing.” His jaw is clenched tight and he keeps his eyes on me as he takes a seat to my left. “And it’s basically taken care of?” He cocks an eyebrow at me.

  “I couldn’t let them fix it the way we normally take care of that.” Witnesses don’t exist to us, because if they see anything that could threaten the familia, they’re dead. That’s just how it works.

  “What do you mean?” His eyes narrow. “What all did she see?”

  “She walked in at the end of an interrogation.”

  “And where is she now?” Although his words are calm, I can practically hear his heart racing and waves of anger rolling off of him.

  “At the safe house. The cabin.” The look of sheer disappointment from my father crushes me. He leans forward with his head resting in his hands and his elbows on his knees. “Pops, she’s not going to remember. Tommy gave her some of the roofies we use.”

  Pops looks pissed.

  “What was I supposed to do? Kill her? It was my fault, I know, but I’m taking care of it.” My voice raises in anger, and I almost regret it. Almost.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” he asks with disdain.

  I press my lips into a tight line and shake my head. “What were you doing, Vince? What was so important to you that you let a broad back there to see that?”

  “I said I fucked up.” I’m getting more and more pissed off listening to him tear me a new one. Yeah, I know what I did was wrong. I shouldn’t have taken her back there, back at the bistro. I fucking forgot what was going on.

  “And if she remembers? When she wakes up, if she remembers, are you going to kill her?” I look over his face and I have no clue what he wants me to say. My gut roils and I know I wouldn’t want to kill her. But what choice will I have?

  “All this, just to get your dick wet, Vince?” He asks sarcastically. God damn, does he have to twist the knife?

  “Pops, you don’t understand.”

  “Explain it to me then. I’d love to know what was going on in that head of yours that you failed to do the one thing you were in charge of.”

  I lay my head back against the sofa and stare at the ceiling. I run a hand over my face in exasperation. “I can’t tell you. I just felt like--” He cuts me off.

  “Like what? Horny? Is that it?” He’s still pissed and I get it, I really do. I’m pissed, too. But give me a fucking break. I didn’t let it get out of hand. I’m fixing this shit.

  I open my eyes and stare back at my father with daggers in my eyes. “It was more than that.”

  His brows raise in disbelief. “Oh? Is that right?” He looks at me expectantly and still I don’t know what to tell him.

  “I told you, I fucked up. But I’m taking care of it. Tomorrow she’ll be gone.”

  My father stares back at me with a look of contemplation. I wish he’d just give the okay. That’s what I need from him, but instead he pushes me further. “How are you going to know for sure that she doesn’t remember?”

  I don’t. That’s the fucked up part. If she’s a really good actress, I could be fucked. But I’m not going to tell him that. I can’t. I don’t want her dead. But I know I shouldn’t be taking risks like this.

  Pops looks at me like he can read my mind. “Bring her to dinner tomorrow.”

  “Pops, I don’t want to hurt her.”

  “Sounds like you already did, Vince.” He stands up and waits for me. I have to move Rigs to get up, and he doesn’t like it, vocalizing his displeasure with a soft whine.

  “I feel like shit.”

  He smirks at me. “That’s exactly how you look, too.”

  I roll my eyes, but he’s probably telling the truth. “I’m going to make this right.”

  He nods his head and then looks out the window. “I hope she forgets, Vince. I really do.” He gives me a quick hug, coupled with a stern pat on the back. His hand goes to my shoulder and he squeezes. “If it means anything to you, I think you made the right decision.” He releases me and breathes in deep. “It’s not her fault.” His eyes find mine again. “Let me know before dinner if she’s coming.” He purses his lips thoughtfully, but then he frowns. “If not, and you need help, you can call me if you need.”

  My blood chills. I know that’s the only other option. But I fucking hate it.

  I finally answer, “She’ll be at dinner.” He nods his head with a grim smile as he walks me to the door.

  He watches me leave, and it's not until my house is out of sight that the true weight of the situation settles heavily against my chest.

  I’ll go back and untie her ass, but I’m staying close. I just have to wait until she wakes up. Then I’ll know what I have to do.

  If she remembers, I’m going to have to kill her. I don’t have a fucking choice.

  Elle

  Oh. My. God. My head is fucking killing me. I roll over onto my side and throw my hand out to my nightstand for my water. Every night I put my glass in the same spot, right after taking melatonin to help me get some rest. When my hand falls onto nothing, my heavy eyelids open slowly. I jackknife off the bed. Oh shit, I forgot I’m at Mom’s. I rub my eyes and then look around. This is not Mom’s.

  My heart races in my chest. I look down at myself and see small marks on my wrists that burn slightly to the touch. There are a few small scrapes on my knees. Most importantly, I’m wearing a very large grey Henley shirt that’s not mine. What the fuck did I do last night?

  My eyes dart across the bedroom. Judging from the décor, I'd guess that this is a man’s bedroom. The walls are a dark grey. The comforter is a slightly lighter shade of grey, while the bed sheets are white. The furniture is modern; a mix of clean lines and dark, stained wood. There isn’t a single thing out of place. Nothing that really denotes any personality, either. No picture frames, nothing. There’s a gun safe in the corner. It’s taller than me.

  Where the fuck am I? I pull my knees to my chest as I scan around the room some more, searching for my purse or clothes. I don’t see anything. My gut churns with nausea. What the fuck happened last night?

  I close my eyes and try to remember. Ugh. Mother. I’m so fucking pissed at my mother. The very thought makes my head hurt. My temples throb with pain. I remember being pissed off and leaving, but that’s it. I wanted to study.

  That’s a fucking lie.

  I wanted to get away. Just like I always do. Run and hide away in my books.

  Shit! Thinking about work and studying reminds me that I have to study those chapters for my presentation in class. Where the hell is my stuff? I remember leaving, but I can’t think of anything else.

  The sound of the door opening startles me. I watch as the most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on walks in with a silver tray in his hands. His eyes stay on the cups on the tray while he kicks a foot behind him to shut the door. He takes a few steps toward the bed and my mouth falls open as I stare at him.

  He’s a fucking sex god. He’s wearing blue plaid pajama pants that are slung low on his hips, revealing how cut his body is. That sexy “V” at the hips that I've only ever seen before on porn stars or male underwear models is on full display, and right smack in the middle is a thin happy trail of hair. His broad chest is very impressive, but it's his shoulders that get me. Holy fuck. I have a thing for shoulders. His dark eyes meet mine, and he grins at me.

  “I’m surprised you’re not drooling, sweetheart.” His deep, masculine voice makes my clit throb with need, but more than that, it triggers a memory. A cocky smirk, then his handsome smile. “I’m Vince.” I hear his voice in my head.

  “Vince?” I feel awkward asking, but I really don’t remember a thing.

  His
smile falters for a moment and it makes me feel guilty for forgetting whatever happened. Oh. God. What did happen? I clench my thighs and I don’t feel any different. I feel horny as hell. But not… sore. Another memory flashes in front of my eyes. Oh fuck. He totally ate me out. My cheeks flame with embarrassment.

  “You alright, sweetheart?” He sets the tray down on the nightstand. “You’re acting a little off.”

  I swallow hard and look at him, and then down at the tray. Aw. He made pancakes and cut up some fruit. There’s orange juice, plus the distinct smell of coffee. Thank fuck! My head is killing me. I could really use the caffeine. I hesitate to tell him I don’t remember last night. Instead I crawl on the bed toward him and quickly grab a cup of coffee. I make sure my ass stays under the covers, though. For all I know it's just my hormones that are making me so horny over this guy, and he doesn’t want me like that. Although the way his eyes follow my body as I move, suggests that he does.

  I sit back and get settled. I have to tell him. I feel awful for practically forgetting his name. Obviously something happened between us. And that flicker of memory warms my chest, so it must be something good.

  “I have a really bad headache right now.”

  His eyes look over my face. “You want an aspirin?” When I shake my head gently and blow on the coffee, he sits down on the bed. “I brought up sugar and creamer too if you’d like.”

  I smile into the steam rising off the cup and take a small sip. Damn, that’s good coffee. “No thanks, I like it black.”

  He grins at me. “Low-maintenance, I see.”

  A nervous laugh leaves my lips. It’s quiet for a moment while he grabs his cup.

  “Hey Vince?” I ask. My questioning tone has his eyebrows raising in response.

  “Yeah, Elle?” He sets his coffee down without taking a sip. “What’s up, sweetheart?”

  God I feel like an asshole. He’s so sweet with the breakfast and the nickname. I just blurt it out. “I kinda think maybe I drank too much last night?” I’ve never been blackout drunk before, but my friend from undergrad Viv drank till she was shitfaced all the time. It scares me that I was so reckless last night. I was so pissed off. I should be smarter than that. But at least I’m still alive and I didn’t get into any trouble. I clench my thighs again. At least I don’t feel like I did, anyway.