“I’m going to give you a choice, Tony, and leave it up to you from there. I like you. I don’t know why, I think I must have a screw loose somewhere, but I do. However, despite the obvious loss of my sanity, I have retained some self-respect. I won’t be with someone I’m afraid of, and I won’t be kept ignorant. So—you can keep your secrets, and we can go downstairs and sit in the kitchen until your clothes are done, and then you can leave and stay out of my life. Or, if you want to be in my life, you can tell me what you did tonight, and promise not to get your ‘signals crossed’ ever again. Then, maybe we can see if there’s anything real we can build.”
He should simply say no. This was a terrible idea. He was better off alone, without anyone to make demands on him except the Paganos. He’d taken a vow. He’d already made his promises, and not to any woman.
But he didn’t want to go.
“I can make a promise not to hurt you. That’s easy. But I can’t tell you about my work, Billy. You say it’s a choice, but it’s not.”
“I’m not asking you to give me the GPS coordinates, Tony. I don’t need names. I won’t tell anyone anything you do tell me. But I need to know what fucked you up so bad that you’d storm into my home and attack me. You said you needed it. Where did that come from?”
He hadn’t come to attack her, and every time she said words like attack and rape, he felt another lash across his conscience. “It’s not that easy. I don’t know.”
“You don’t know what you did tonight? Please.”
“I don’t know if that’s what’s got me feeling like this. It was just work. What I do.”
“Being awash in blood is ‘just work’?”
He stared right at her and answered, “Sometimes.”
Her lips pursed, and she blew out a shaky breath.
“You knew that, Billy. That can’t be news to you.” She knew what he was, what that meant.
“I guess it isn’t, no.” She looked down at the gun in her lap. “What do you want? Why are you still here?”
It was an excellent question. Tony didn’t know what the fuck was going on with him, or with her, but it wasn’t good. They were wrong for each other. He was wrong, period.
He didn’t want this! He wanted fiery passion, not being raked over the coals. He wanted someone who gave as good as she got, who let him be who he was, made no demands on him but the physical.
And yet his answer was, “Because I don’t want to go.”
“Then help me understand who you are.”
The next words Tony said came from the deep shadow of his mind, unbidden and unwanted. “I killed a little boy.”
Billy went perfectly rigid. She’d been sitting still, and nothing about her moved, and yet the shift from tension to abject shock was dramatic. She turned to stone.
Equally shocked that he’d spoken words he hadn’t even been able to say to his priest, Tony was rendered mute and still as well, and they sat like that, staring, while the air seemed to crystalize around them.
“That’s what you were doing?” she rasped at last. Her mouth barely moved.
His neck creaked when he shook his head. “No. It happened last fall. It was an accident.”
She didn’t respond, but her cheeks were pale. Her hands had curled around the gun, and her knuckles had gone white.
The silence grew again, freezing around them, turning the loft into a glacier. The weight and pressure in Tony’s head expanded until he simply broke apart. He slammed his hands to his head, through his hair, grabbing hold, trying to keep himself together, but not even the pain where Billy had struck him could divert this explosion.
All his self-control burst apart, and the words poured forth through the breaks. “It was an accident! I didn’t see him! He wasn’t supposed to be there! I was doing what I was supposed to, and then he was on the floor, looking up at me, trying to breathe, but his throat was gone and he couldn’t breathe. He was trying and he couldn’t. He was so scared! I killed a kid! I killed a kid! I killed a kid!”
He stopped because he felt hands on his hands, and that touch drew his attention. He opened his eyes. Billy stood before him. She curled her hands around his wrists, pulled his hands down to his lap, and crouched before him. Her expression was opaque. No sign of censure, or of understanding. But her touch was compassion.
Tony didn’t ever cry. He hadn’t shed a single tear since he was in grade school, since the first time his father had lashed him with an electrical cord, and added five more for being a pussy. He’d been eight years old.
He didn’t cry now. But the lump in his throat was thick and heavy enough to dam up his breath. Each heave of air he accomplished chugged harshly and noisily.
Billy let go of one wrist and set her hand on his spasming chest. He felt her fingers graze his side, and he looked down. She was on his tattoo, the one he’d gotten at the end of last year. She’d gone right to it as if she understood the meaning of the foreign words. The sight forced a rough noise from his throat.
“What does this mean?” she asked. Her voice was soft.
She didn’t know, and yet in the midst of all this, with his chaotic confession ringing around them, she’d gone right to that piece.
“I vecchi peccati hanno le ombre lunghe,” he recited. His voice was little more than a dry whisper. “It’s an Italian saying.”
“That means?”
“Old sins have long shadows.”
Her eyes met his, but she didn’t say a word.
Before the room could fill up with chill again, Tony said, “Don’t make me go.” He was begging again, but he didn’t care. All he could feel was need. Billy had stripped him down to nothing else. “Please don’t make me go.”
She stood and held out her hand. “It’s late. I’m tired.”
She was going to make him go.
He didn’t take her hand. But when he stood, she grabbed his and squeezed. “Let’s go to bed.”
~oOo~
The room was loud with gunfire, the bursts slamming into his eardrums like battering rams. The underlaying sounds of men surprised and outraged were like mumbles through cotton in comparison. The dim after-hours lights forged long shadows across the floor and over the windows.
Paolo yanked open the door, and Dre went through. Tony aimed his Beretta ARX160 forward, in ready position, and followed, veering to the left as Dre went right. Paolo came through and stayed center, blocking the door completely.
There was a lot of cover here, freestanding shelves arrayed at angles, each one about five feet high. Tony went for the nearest—and came face to face with a bad guy, his pistol pointed and ready.
He didn’t think. He squeezed the trigger—just a quick squeeze, for a short burst—and brought the guy down.
When he fell, Tony saw the boy.
“FUCK!” he shouted. “FUCK!”
The shout still sharp in his throat, Tony sat up in bed. Bed. But not his bed. Where was he?
“Hey.” Billy’s voice at his side brought the present back in a rush.
“Fuck,” he muttered, and dragged his hands through his hair. He winced when his fingers strafed the swelling Billy had made when she’d hit him with a pan. “Fuck,” he said again, remembering all the ways he’d fucked up. Iron bands of stress clamped around his ribs.
Her soft fingers brushed his shoulder, down his arm. “You okay?”
He laughed. “You know, it doesn’t seem like it.”
She leaned close, and he felt her lips where her fingers had been. Her hand skimmed up his back, over his scars, and, though he didn’t mind being touched there, this time his spine drew up straight. But she didn’t take her hand away. She rubbed in light circles until he relaxed again.
“Billy ...”
“Shh. Come here.” Her other hand was on his cheek, turning his head. “Come here.” She kissed him.
It wasn’t much of a kiss, just her lips on his, soft and serene. But Tony’s chest opened at once, and he was able again to breathe fully. When he sighed
against her mouth, Billy shifted, and Tony got his arms around her. Her mouth opened, and he took the invitation, pushing his tongue in, finding hers, feeling that now she was with him. He could taste it, warm and sweet. Not surrender, not submission, not defeat.
Acceptance. Welcome.
With a groan so deep it hurt his throat, he rolled, taking her down to the bed, beneath him, and kissed her again, harder this time, freeing himself to feed his need, but she backed off at once, pressing herself into the pillows, wedging her hands against his chest. He stopped, and propped himself on his forearms, already panting and on fire.
Her heavy black drapes were drawn against the moonlit night, and the room was nearly pitch black, but he looked down and could see the soft glimmer of her eyes in the scant light the room retained.
“Tony. I don’t want to wrestle. I want to be calm. Don’t use me to flee your demons tonight.”
“I’m not fleeing anything. I don’t run.”
She didn’t answer. Her eyes glimmered. A hand slid from his chest, up, brushing over his neck, to his jaw, pushed around to the back of his head. She pressed gently, urging him closer.
He obliged, and she feathered light kisses across his lips. “Calm,” she murmured. “Soft. Slow.” As she held him and caressed him with those light, tingly kisses, her other hand eased down his side, over his hip, and she spread her legs wide. His cock, hard as it ever had been, nudged her pussy, and her wet covered his tip at once. She was with him. In control, controlling him, but with him. She wanted this as much as he did.
Her hand clutched his ass and pressed, urging him closer, putting him where she wanted him.
Tony flexed his hips and went there.
She was so fucking hot, so wet, he slipped in and went deep with that first thrust. She gasped and arched beneath him, bringing her legs up, around his hips, finding a way to take him even deeper.
“Ah, fuck,” he muttered. “I want more. I need it.”
“No,” she breathed, and her hand settled on his back. “Don’t move yet. Just kiss me.”
He was strung tight as a bow; her heat surrounded him, held him, made demands he needed to meet. “Billy ...”
“Hush, Tony. Don’t fight. Just feel.” She put her mouth on his, swept her tongue over his lips. Her fingers twisted in his hair, danced over his back. Her clamped held him tightly. Her pussy clenched him snugly. Her body held him everywhere. He was entirely contained.
How long they only kissed, locked together like that, Tony had no idea. His arms shook, and every muscle ached with the effort of holding himself in check—and then they didn’t. At some point, he lost the sense of his own body, of hers, everywhere but in their kiss. In a dark room, trapped at the apex of a ferocious need, Tony relaxed and lost himself in the moment.
They began moving together, but not by any conscious choice he’d made. As the pooling pleasure inside him rose, he eventually became aware that they rocked together, still kissing, still intense but gentle, full of need but calm. Billy’s sighs began to brush his face, his ears, as she moved with him, rising toward her own finish. She broke away, turned her head to take a breath, but Tony didn’t want to lose her mouth, and he followed. When he claimed her kiss again, it was his first act of control.
She went with him, welcomed him again. When she came, she cried out, into his mouth, and clutched him more tightly at every point.
Her spasming release finished him off as well. He dropped his head to her chest and let it roll through him.
When he looked at her again, she was smiling. He could see her face—there was more light in the room, leaching around the edges of her drapes. Dawn had come.
Two words thundered in his head, demanding to be said. They made no sense. They made him nervous. They were dangerous.
Thank you.
Why would he say that now, of all times? Why would he want to? He clenched his jaw against them. But they rattled at his teeth, demanding to be let out.
So he kissed her again instead.
~ 16 ~
Before Billy could open the door to the back lot, Tony set his hand on it. Looming behind her, he curled his other hand over her shoulder and tugged—gently—to turn her around.
She turned and leaned on the wall beside the door.
They’d gone back to sleep after sex, and slept past noon. Neither had been inclined to jump into the day, so they’d lingered in bed, shared a shower, and finally come down for coffee. Now, it was time for Tony to go and Billy to prepare for her staff to begin arriving in less than two hours.
She was in her blue robe and nothing else, but Tony was dressed again in the clothes he’d arrived in—a plain white t-shirt and snug, faded jeans, freshly washed and smelling of Tide and Bounce, instead of blood and murder.
He generally looked much better today. The rest and ease they’d shared had done him good. The demons that had rioted behind his eyes last night were quiet, at least for now. He was calm, and smiling.
“I want to see you tonight,” he murmured, leaning close to brush a stubbled cheek over her smooth one.
Ignoring flutters of need and pleasure so intense they were nearly painful, Billy put her hand on his chest—such a nice chest—and pushed him back an inch or two. She met his eyes.
“I thought we were taking this day by day.”
“We are. I want to see you later on this day. And the next day, and the next.” He leaned in, pushing playfully against her hand, but letting her continue to hold him off.
“I want to see you, too. As long as we’re still in accord about what we talked about last night. No ‘crossed signals.’ When I say no, I will mean no, and you don’t cross that.”
He picked up her hand from his chest and brought it to his mouth. His lips brushed her knuckles as he said, “Agreed.”
“And you have to tell me what’s going on in your life. What you do is dark and scary, and I can’t deal with that unless I have some light to see with.”
His smile deepened. “Poetic.”
She laughed. “I read a lot of French poetry in college. I can purple up some prose.”
“I’ll tell you what I can, but you respect when I say I can’t.”
“As long as you help me understand what you’re going through.”
“I’m not going through anything. I don’t have trouble with what I do. Just ... “ The playful, charming smile fell apart, and lines formed between his brows. “Just that one thing.”
That one thing: killing a little boy. The man she had decided to try to have a relationship with had killed a child. She knew that, and still she was standing here, quivering at his nearness, his scent, at the promise of his touch. Not fear, but desire.
I vecchi peccati hanno le ombre lunghe. Old sins have long shadows. In French, it was Le vieux péchés ont des longues ombres.
She’d guessed at the meaning etched in his flesh, or close enough, before she’d asked him, but she’d wanted to hear him say the words. It was his guilt, his turmoil, that allowed her to lean in to this attraction she felt for him, that promised he was more, he was better, than the things he’d done. Still did. Would do.
“Just let me in,” she whispered.
“I will,” he answered, and kissed her.
When she finally opened the door, midday sun flooded in and blinded her briefly. She was still squinting, her hand shielding her eyes so she could watch Tony Cioccolanti take his excellent derriere to his shiny black Alfa Romeo, when she realized that Cain’s rusty, dull Windstar wasn’t in the lot.
That wasn’t unusual; it was his mode of transportation as well as his current address, and he’d been chasing gigs in a hundred-mile radius the whole time he’d been staying here. Still, though, it gave Billy pause. They hadn’t spoken since she’d tended his face last night, while Tony showered in her loft.
Cain had been furious—a hot, shaking paternal anger borne of fear most of all. She’d recognized it, understood it, but her father had given up his right to parental input in her li
fe a very long time ago, and Billy had been too freaked and shaky herself last night to allow for any kind of rattling at the doors of her choices. She’d yelled, and Cain had gone sullen. When she had him cleaned up and iced up, she’d left while they were both still fuming. He’d sent one last shout of her name after her, and that was the last word that had passed between them since.
So maybe he was just off on an errand, or had gotten word of a chance for a place in a new band, and he’d be back later.
Or maybe he was reverting to form, and Billy had seen the last of her father for a good long while.
They’d spent the day before discussing the idea of him working with her, helping her manage the club. She’d started to become invested in the thought of it—finding a healthy way to have Cain in her life, helping him out in a way more productive than simply bailing him out of trouble, and improving her own life at the same time. They’d even talked salary. His help booking acts had the potential to pay off quickly, so she could afford to have a booking agent-slash-assistant manager.
She’d thought they’d found a way to be. Until Tony had burst in like he had and upended everything. But if Cain had bolted again, it wasn’t Tony’s fault.
Tony waved as he pulled past the door. Billy waved back. Better to focus on him, and what might be.
Then she closed the door and set her father out of her mind. If he was gone, he was gone. Nothing she could do about it.
~oOo~
Bygones
FROM: Carly
TO: Me
hey. got your letter. very old-school and romantic. we’re good, baby. you’re forgiven for saying mean things when you were pissed, and i’m sorry i meddled where i didn’t belong. so sorry i’m not even gonna say i told you so. hahaha. we got a gig opening for the desotos, cross-country, 6 months, so it’ll be the new year before we’re home—but we’re good and the future is bright and life is beautiful.
love you loco.
carly
ps. i know i’m pushing my luck here, you should start singing again. that video is racking up the views, and people are asking where they can find your music. that’s all i’ll say. for now.
Accidental Evils Page 19