by Love, B. T.
“Your story?”
“I know I’m not supposed to put my nose in anyone’s business in this house, but all I’m asking is for you to tell me my own story. I think I deserve that.”
His eyes were filled with frustration and yet they were still gentle as he looked at me. “I’ll tell you your story, and nothing more.”
I slid my hands away from him and stepped back. “I can live with that.”
“I’m being serious, Scarlett.” He went over to the chair at his desk and sat down on it, swiveling it around to face me. “Do you see these men on these walls?” he asked as he pointed to them.
“Yes.”
“You can’t ask about any of them except for that one up there.” His finger was aimed at an old mugshot of Jimmy Rolofo, the picture itself crossed off with two thick lines of black ink like most of the others were.
“I understand.”
He lowered his hand and leaned back in his chair, bringing his ankle up and crossing it over his knee. “I met your brother when I was seventeen.”
I came closer and sat down on the floor, bringing my knees to my chest and sitting at his feet like a kindergartner during story time. “How did you meet?”
“I moved into the neighborhood with my aunt.”
“You lived close by?”
“I still do.”
“Really?” I perked up. “Where?”
“One street over.”
“Oh wow.”
“It’s a different house though. I bought my own a long time ago.”
“I’ll have to see it sometime.”
A smile pulled back one side of his mouth. “Yeah, I’ll have to show it to you.”
I smiled in return. “Do you have a silent alarm on your house too?”
“Yeah, for people like you who pick locks.”
I tried to contain my self-satisfied smile. “It’s just a standard bedroom doorknob. Do you just pick the lock too?”
“I disarm the alarm from my phone and open it with the little key thing that was actually made to fit in there.”
“Well you really need to get a better lock for your door if you’re trying to hide this stuff in here.”
He chuckled and tapped his thumb against his shoe. “Yeah, well, I don’t usually lock it; I just set the alarm. This house is very secure anyway and people who come in here know better than to intrude on rooms that aren’t for their eyes to see. That was until you came along . . .”
“Well I’m sure that the people who come here already know about whatever it is you do anyway so you don’t necessarily have to hide it as much as you do around me.”
“You’re absolutely right,” he agreed. “Everyone that has ever stepped foot in this house knows who I am. And now you do as well.”
“Yeah, well, sorry I made you have to start locking your door.”
His face lifted to a sincere smile. “Well now I don’t have to.” He lifted his hands and laced them together behind his head, the move bringing the muscles of his biceps into a clear view for me to admire. “When I moved into the neighborhood,” he continued his story, “your brother and I became best friends pretty much instantly. I knew what happened to you and your dad before he even told me about it; the kids in the neighborhood talked about it every once in a while. We’re not too big on sappy emotions, Eli and I, so it took me some time to approach him on it. But I just needed to know from his point of view what happened to his family. I finally confronted him about it one night because his story reminded me so much of my own.”
“Your own?” I asked with a frown. “What do you mean?”
He twisted his wrist and looked down at his watch. “That’s a story for another time, and it’s not your story.”
I zipped my lips and waited for him to continue.
“So anyway, he was kinda pissed that I brought it up but he ended up telling me everything that had happened. He showed me the photo album of you from when you were a little girl and he told me about Jimmy still being on the loose. I was so connected to his story that I felt like I needed to take care of the guy who hurt you, who hurt my best friend’s little sister. So I did what I was already good at doing and I went about my days hunting Jimmy down, asking around town if anyone had seen him. It had been close to six years since it had all happened so he was pretty much long gone. But eventually I dug deep enough and found him living three states away.”
“Wow, really? That’s amazing that you actually found him.”
“It took some time, but yeah, I did.”
I dropped my knees from my chest and crossed my ankles, leaning back on my hands. “So you went after him?”
He nodded. “Yep. I hopped on a plane and flew down there. I took a day to prepare and then I took care of him.”
My blood vibrated in my veins; a part of me wanted to hear the details of what he did. But I was also afraid that hearing what he was capable of would scare me away from him. And the truth was that I was still undeniably drawn to this man in front of me. Not only because he was so masculine and attractive, but because he was a genuinely nice person and he had a good sense of humor. But was that all a front? I mean, wasn’t there something completely screwed up about someone who could kill another human being?
Still, I felt I needed to know more. After all, it was my story. “You said you slit his throat?” I asked.
He stared at me blankly for a moment. “Yeah.”
“With what, a kitchen knife or something?”
“You’ve got to be kidding me . . .”
“What?”
“Do I look like the kind of guy who would kill someone with a kitchen knife?”
“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “You seem like the kind of guy to use whatever is at your disposal.”
“Well if I needed to I guess I would, but kitchen knives aren’t really my style.”
“Oh. Well, then what did you use if it wasn’t a kitchen knife? Was it a pocket knife?”
“I don’t think you really need to know all the details.”
I glared at him, cocking my head to the side. “Hey, you’re the one who said I could ask about my story.”
His face was still void of emotion as his eyes stayed locked with mine. “A machete.”
“A machete?”
“Yes.”
“Wow,” I said quietly. “I don’t know exactly what they look like but I know they’re big, right? Which is why it was so funny that you named your little dog that . . .”
“Yeah, they’re big.”
I was still curious. “I’ll have to look it up online.”
“Why do you care to even see what one looks like?” he asked.
“Honestly, I don’t really know. This whole conversation just feels like a dream. I’m having a hard time figuring out whether or not I should feel threatened or intrigued. I guess I just need to know all the details, right down to what the weapon looked like. I feel like if I don’t ask you everything now that I won’t get another chance to get the answers before I go back home. I don’t want to have any regrets when I leave.”
He sighed and stood up from the chair, going over to the safe that stood almost as tall as he was. After putting in a code he opened the door halfway and retrieved something out of it. Before he shut it again I leaned over to try and see what I could. My eyes widened as I saw a glimpse of what appeared to be different types of guns lined up against each other.
He locked it once again and turned around to face me, holding a large knife in his hand. “This is a machete,” he said as he slid it out of its sheath. It was long and cleaver-like, and was pretty intimidating to say the least. It wasn’t too far from what I had pictured in my head.
I carefully shrunk down as he towered above me with it gripped in his hand; he looked so powerful, so dangerous. And to know that he was capable of killing with it added to my anxiety about being alone with him.
He looked down at me, noticing my reaction, and slid it back in its sheath. “This is why I didn’t want to
tell you the details,” he said, sitting back down in the chair and placing it on his lap.
“I’m fine,” I lied.
He smirked. “You’re not fine.”
I relaxed my shoulders and leaned forward. “I . . . There’s a big part of me that’s afraid of you now that I know this about you.”
“And you should be.”
I stood up from the ground and folded my arms across my chest, crossing the room to the picture of Jimmy. “Did he know you were coming for him?” I asked.
“No.”
“Did he, you know, suffer?”
He stayed quiet for a moment. “Yes. But not for very long.”
I stared up at the picture and into his eyes. I remembered them from that night, the same pair that fixed onto me as he came out of the back room and aimed the gun at me. Such a lively, kind expression he displayed. I hated him.
I turned around and looked at Troy; he was waiting patiently for me to speak. “Good,” I said. “He deserved to suffer for what he put me and my family through.”
His eyes seemed to relax from my statement. “That’s exactly what I thought when I did it.” He stood up and sat the machete on his desk. “You know, I haven’t touched that in five years.”
“You mean, that’s the actual machete you killed him with?”
“Yes,” he nodded. “I used it on him and retired it.”
I went over to his desk and stared down at it. “Why did you keep it? Wouldn’t you want to destroy the evidence?”
“I’m good at covering my tracks.”
“But not good at putting the right name on an envelope . . .”
A small smile warmed his face. “That’s the first mistake I’ve made in years; maybe I was just due for one.”
“Well, nobody’s perfect.” I reached down and picked the knife up from the desk. It felt heavy, and as I slid it out of its sheath I couldn’t help but feel powerful as I held it in my hand. Troy crossed his arms and sighed as he watched my silent interaction with it.
“What are you thinking right now?” I asked as I brought it to my face and examined the blade.
He shrugged. “I’m just amazed that that same little girl that I set out to protect is all grown up and holding the knife I used to kill her boogeyman with.”
I looked over at him and smiled. “How can you be so scary, yet make me feel so safe at the same time?”
His eyes moved around my face and his expression was soft. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I guess I’m just a man of many talents.”
“I don’t doubt that.”
A light smile lifted his lips. “Do you want to hear the rest of your story?” he asked.
“You mean there’s more?”
“Yeah.”
I slid the knife back into its sheath and sat it on the desk. “Go ahead.”
He leaned against the desk and stared down at his arms. “I broke into Jimmy’s house after dark. He was sitting in a recliner in the living room watching Wheel of Fortune on his television. I still remember the puzzle that was on the screen . . .” He huffed out a breath of air, not quite a laugh, but more of a scoff of sarcasm. “Anyway, after I took care of him I walked around his house, which was really small. It was like an old run-down cabin that was out in the middle of nowhere. The guy was such a slob: garbage was piled around the house; clothes were strewn everywhere. There was a door inside that was closed and I figured it was the bathroom. When I opened it I flipped on the light and saw a little puppy with a rope around its neck, dangling from the ceiling.”
“Are you serious?” I asked, my eyes growing wider with each passing detail. “Was it dead?”
“No. He had strung it up to where it had just enough slack for its back feet to barely touch the floor. So he was basically strangling it slowly.”
I felt like I wanted to throw up. “Troy, that’s absolutely horrible.”
“I know,” he nodded. “My anger for Jimmy immediately returned at the sight in front of me. If I would have seen the puppy before I killed him I probably would have made it to where he had suffered even longer.”
“So what did you do?”
“I cut the rope with the machete and picked him up. He was barely moving; I think he was exhausted from trying to balance himself for so long.”
“Oh wow. So, what did you do? Drop him off at an animal shelter or something?”
“No.” He nodded over to Machete who was sleeping comfortably on his dog bed. “I brought him home.”
My jaw literally dropped. “No way . . .”
“Yes way.”
“So, your dog was actually Jimmy’s dog first . . .”
“Mm hmm.”
“And you, you named him after the weapon you killed his original owner with?”
“Yeah. And I could tell he liked his new name right away.”
I smiled, seeing a glimpse of Troy’s sentimental kind-hearted side. “I’m sure he did. Jeez,” I let out a sigh of air, “that story is so, I don’t know, bad-ass. So, you couldn’t have flown back home with that machete; the knife, not the dog.”
“No, I rented a car and drove back home. Took a few days.”
Wow. It all was so much information to devour at one time; I really didn’t know how to feel about any of it. Troy killed a man, yes, but he killed a man who tried to kill me first, and a man that was violent and cruel to animals to top it off. Didn’t that make him, in some distorted kind of light, a hero?
Troy shrugged heavily. “So, are you happy now that you know your story?”
“Honestly? Yes, yes, I am. But I’m sure I’ll have more questions before I leave.”
He tried his best to keep his content expression from falling to one of disappointment. “Yeah,” he said, looking down at his shoes with a nod. “When do you think you’ll be leaving?”
“I don’t know, another week maybe? I can’t stay forever.”
“No, you can’t,” he agreed, looking back up at me. “You have a life back home.”
“Yes but it’s quite boring compared to a life with you.” His eyes grew serious as mine darted around, avoiding his gaze. “That didn’t come off right. I just meant my life is boring compared to yours.”
He sighed and looked around the room. “Listen Scarlett, the men on these walls, I think you can figure out what they are up there for.”
I scanned along the numerous photos. “Yeah, yeah I think I have a pretty good idea.”
“This is what I do for a living. I have a very dangerous job.”
My eyes settled on him once again. “You mean you’re more than just a garbage man?” I asked, half joking.
He chuckled in return. “I had to tell you something you would believe. It wasn’t too bad of a lie; I told you I was in the disposal business. That’s technically the truth.”
“Yeah,” I smiled. “That was a nice play on words there.”
“Yeah, well, I deal with some dangerous people. Vladimir included.”
That little piece of information surprised me. “Vladimir Koval? But he’s a part of the Russian Mafia or something . . . Do, do you have ties with—”
“Don’t ask questions,” he warned me firmly. “And after you leave this room today I don’t want you ever coming back in, do you understand me?”
I nodded quickly. “Yes. Unless you take another one of my letters . . .”
His face stayed serious but I could see a smile in his eyes. “I won’t take any more of your goddamn letters.”
Ten
My phone beeped with Troy’s text.
Had a long day. Wanna get drunk with me?
I smiled down at the words.
Yes.
A minute passed and my phone beeped again.
Meet me at the hot tub in ten minutes.
I couldn’t help but feel giddy at his invitation. I had spent the last day trying to wrap my head around the craziness of Troy’s life, but it was a hard thing to do. Troy scared me on one end but excited me on the other, and my thoughts bef
ore I fell asleep were still of him and the way he had felt when he pinned me to my bed with his powerfully-built body.
I put on my swimsuit and went downstairs, feeling a rush as I went outside to find him. I could see the light from the hot tub glowing against the dark evening and as I passed the bushes I saw him sunk down in the bubbling water, his hair wet and slicked back and a beer in his hand.
His eyes lit up when he saw me. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I smiled. I climbed down into the tub across from him. “Where is everyone? The house emptied out pretty quickly tonight.”
“Your dad and brother had something they had to go take care of.”
“Oh.” My eyes focused on the beer he was holding. “Long day, huh?”
“Yep.”
“Did you, uh, dispose of any garbage?”
He smiled around his bottle of beer as he took a quick sip. “Is that a question I hear?”
“Oh yeah,” I said, bringing my hand up to my closed mouth and pretending to lock it with an invisible key. I tossed my arm back over my shoulder, acting as if I was throwing the imaginary key away.
My silliness made him chuckle. “Good girl.” He took another drink of his beer. “And just so we’re clear, I don’t throw out the trash every day. Sometimes I have to do a lot of searching before I even find the piece of shit—I mean garbage—that I need to dispose of.”
“Hmm,” I nodded with interest. “So when’s the last time you took out the trash?”
“You’re pushing it.”
“Hey,” I said, bringing my hands out of the water in defense. “You’re the one who elaborated on when you take out the trash . . .”
“That’s only because I don’t want you to think that that’s all I do all day every day. A lot of my time is spent tracking people down. That takes time.”
“Well that’s exhausting, I’m sure,” I said, trying to lift the mood. “I have to do a lot of research for school, so I can relate. I have a knack for getting to the bottom of things, too. I should have went to school to be an investigator.”
“I think you should investigate your way into a marine biology class,” he said as he leaned forward and handed me his beer.