by Sam Mariano
Laurel has the same look she had when she saw us out together, like I just took a sledgehammer to her rib cage. Like her heart can’t beat right and her lungs can’t draw in air.
“You were with her,” she says, softly. I wait for the feeling of being socked in the gut when I see betrayal in her blue eyes, but it doesn’t happen because she can’t even fucking look at me.
I wanna explain, but I can’t. More than that, I shouldn’t. I didn’t want to go the route of making her despise me to get her over me, but it’s clear as day we can’t be friends. Not now, at least. Maybe someday down the road, once she’s settled, but right now it’s too hard.
“Get off me,” she says, shoving at my chest, moving her legs to dislodge me.
For all that she couldn’t get me close enough a minute ago, now I’m clearly not moving fast enough, so she keeps shoving me. Once I climb off her, she springs up off the couch and turns around, glaring down at me.
“You have some fucking nerve, you know that? Accusing me of cheating when you left your fucking date to come rescue me. Tell your little girlfriend about that, why don’t you?”
I debate saying something to make it worse, but I can’t. I hate hurting her. I feel guilty for every second she struggles to breathe and I know it’s because of me. As much as I miss her, I wish she’d never met me. Her life would be better for it.
When I look back up at her again, tears are shining in her big blue eyes. Pools of hurt, and I’m the one responsible.
Fuck me.
Before I can make things worse, I reach forward and grab my shirt off the floor, dragging it over my head and standing.
“I’m sorry,” I say, simply.
“Just go,” she says, turning away and walking over to check on Skylar.
I want to tell her I won’t come around again so she knows to stop waiting on me, but it feels too much like she’ll take it as a punishment. Selfishly, I want to tell her I wasn’t faking any of it, and yeah, I’m a bastard, but maybe not as big a bastard as she thinks I am. That’s the last thing I can say to her, so I keep my mouth shut, keep my head down, and with one last glimpse of her reaching into the baby’s bassinet, I’m gone.
24
Laurel
I am snuggled up in bed when Rafe gets home.
Actually, I went to bed as soon as Gio and Lydia packed up all of Skylar’s belongings and left. Probably before they even made it out of Rafe’s long-ass driveway, I was upstairs peeling off my bra, slipping on pajamas, and climbing into bed alone.
Las Vegas is a lonely town. Who would have ever thought?
After Sin left, I felt lonelier than ever. I curled up in bed and looked at my phone, but there was no one to call. I couldn’t call Carly and tell her what has me upset, because she doesn’t even know about Sin. Even though I want to rip his dick off right now, I’m still protective enough of him that I don’t want this to be the first she hears of him, either.
That just pisses me off more.
I thought about calling Mia, but she’s too connected to Rafe. I do believe completely that she meant what she said and she’ll take me in if I come back, but I can’t tell her what just happened between me and Sin. Rafe is her family more than I am, and I don’t think she’s given up her idea of me and Rafe having our fairy tale ending. It just seems like telling her I nearly fucked Sin on Rafe’s couch may be a conflict of interest.
I’m going to rip Marlena’s eyeballs out. I’m going to strap her to a chair, light cigars and burn her arms with them, take a knife and cut open her abdomen so her stupid innards spill out all over the floor.
I just want to murder her, that’s all.
It’s probably Sin I should want to murder, but I would miss that monster too much if he died. As mad as I am at him, I still wish he were here instead of with her.
I’m so fucked.
My eyes are adjusted to the dark, but Rafe’s aren’t yet, so I see his hand go to the light switch when he comes in, but he pauses when he realizes I’m in bed. He decides to leave the light off so as not to disturb me and steps inside. He moves slowly, peeling off his jacket, then starting on the buttons of his dress shirt. I wait to see if he’s drunk, but if he is, I can’t tell. He’s too graceful to stumble. It’s odd to think of a man like him as graceful, but it seems like everything comes easily to Rafe Morelli, even walking while drunk.
Well, everything but me, I guess.
Bet he didn’t see that coming when I fucked him the first day I met him.
My lips curve up in mild amusement, but it’s too much effort. Rafe peels off his shirt and I see his muscular back in the moonlight. I watch as he unbuckles his black belt and draws it off.
Ever since Sin made taking off belts so sexy, I can’t not respond to them. Seeing Rafe’s hand wrapped around that belt makes me yearn for things, but I think it’s rooted in sadness more than real sexual desire. It’s the horrible thoughts that have been replaying over and over in my head that Sin was with Marlena, that he was going back to her. Especially after I turned him on and left him unsatisfied, he undoubtedly did something with her. Even if he didn’t fuck her, he probably let her suck him off, and the thought of someone else’s mouth wrapped around him makes me feel like I’m dying.
I should fuck Rafe.
Rafe is undeniably beautiful. I’m not in love with him, but he could give me an escape, even if only for tonight. At least, I think he could. I would hate to be a cocktease again, like in the bathtub. I don’t want to get him going if I can’t finish the job. It’s not nice, and I don’t mean to, it’s just I lose my nerve and get cold feet when it comes down to it.
Rafe just isn’t Sin, and even though I once thought Rafe the hottest man I had ever seen, that was before I met that ruthless asshole. Before he chained my wrists to his bed and stole my stupid, fool heart.
Everything aches, and I just want it to stop. Love isn’t supposed to hurt this much. The only way it should hurt is maybe the enormity of it weighing on you, the feeling of loving someone too much to handle—fleeting moments, but not this. Not searing pain. Not a tortured mind and endless misery. I should never have to think about someone else physically possessing what belongs to me. I feel like Sin belongs to me, but if he’s spending the night with another woman, he clearly doesn’t feel the same way.
Then again, if I fuck Rafe because I’m sad, I’m letting someone else physically possess me. But fuck, why should I be loyal to Sin if he doesn’t have to be loyal to me?
Maybe he didn’t do anything with her.
I feel pathetic holding onto that. It’s a stupid thing to think. Sin had reasons for not fucking me, reasons he doesn’t have for not fucking her. I felt how hard he was on the couch; I know he was turned on. He certainly didn’t get relief from me, and I know he went back to her, with her skanky winking smiley face bullshit.
She won’t be able to wink after I cut out her goddamned eyes, now, will she?
See if Sin still wants to fuck her then.
“Hypothetically, if I wanted to maim someone, would you help me cover it up? And clean up the mess? I want to do the harming, not so much the cleaning.”
Rafe spins around, surprised, since he must have assumed I was asleep. “Sure,” he says, off-handedly. “I’ve got a whole team for that kind of thing. You think I get these hands dirty mopping up blood?” He shakes his head, dismissing the idea.
Cracking a smile, I ask, “You never have?”
“Well, sure, back when I was a baby gangster,” he allows. “Not recently. I’m too high up for that kind of thing now. You only get your hands dirty on my level if you want to. You get my perks by association, though. If you want someone dead, you don’t have to do the dirty work. Give me a name and I’ll get it done.”
“No, I want to do the dirty work. At least, I think I do. I’ve never carved out someone’s eyes with busted sticks before, but that’s what I’m leaning toward right now.”
“Ouch,” he replies, stepping out of his pants and kicking
them into the corner. “Who pissed you off? I hope it wasn’t me. I like having eyes.”
Rolling mine, I tell him, “Yeah, I bet you do, that way they can wander all over the place. How many chicks draped themselves around your table tonight while I was away? Maybe carving out the eyeballs of whorebags is going to be my new hobby. That’s a pity. I would have preferred painting.”
Smiling without concern for my bloodthirst, he walks over to his side of the bed and pulls back the blanket so he can climb in. “Someone’s grumpy tonight. Do you need another massage?”
“Why does Gio cheat on his wife?”
That clearly was not the response Rafe expected. “Uh… I guess for the same reason most unfaithful men do. Boredom. Dissatisfaction. The desire for something different. He’s been fucking the same woman for over a decade.”
“Yes, because he married her. He chose her. He agreed to that. Does she cheat on him, too?”
“Of course not.”
“How is that ‘of course not’? If he’s fucking around, she should get to. Maybe she’s bored, too. Taking the same dick for a decade, then he decides to fuck around on her after they have a baby? Gio is an asshole.”
“Uh huh,” Rafe murmurs, knowingly. “We’re not talking about Gio, are we? I’m not fucking anyone else, Laurel. I’m not even fucking you. I’m more celibate than I have been since my teen years,” he states dryly, clearly not happy about it.
“Well, if you think refusing to come help me with an angry baby is a step toward ending that dry spell, boy, have you got some learning to do.”
Smiling faintly, he drapes his strong arm around my waist and easily yanks me over into his space. “Is that why you’re so fired up tonight? I can handle babies when they’re calm and cute, but I’m not experienced enough with them to be any help in a crisis. I’m sure I would have made it worse somehow.”
“I don’t care if you’re inexperienced with babies. How do you expect to learn if you don’t try? In your idea of us as a couple, is that how it goes? I do 100 percent of the parenting and you just… what, show up at home before bed time once or twice a week and pat it on the head? I’m not sure what gave you the impression I would ever be happy with that sort of life, but I am not remotely interested in an arrangement like that.”
“Skylar isn’t our baby,” he points out.
“It doesn’t matter. If that’s how you react when I’m in a jam, then I’m alone in this. I don’t want to be a single mother with financing. I want a partner. I want a co-parent. I want someone who is going to have a relationship with this baby, an emotional investment. I want someone who shows up and does the work.”
There is no longer amusement on his face, but he keeps his tone perfectly even, deceptively casual as he asks, “Why do you refer to this position like a job any applicant can fill? I’m the father. That’s not really optional. Or did you have a back-up in mind?”
I know he means Sin, and I am not in the mood to talk about that with him right now. “You’re the father, sure. But if you have no interest in being a dad, then I have no interest in even attempting to pursue this.”
I don’t know what I expect him to say to that, but he doesn’t say a damn thing. He watches me, his face inscrutable, then pulls me closer and tucks me into his chest. Files me away, like a problem he doesn’t feel like dealing with tonight.
I want to object on the basis of that being bullshit, but the physical comfort of being wrapped up in his strong embrace and snuggled up against his chest is too appealing. Too much what I needed tonight. If we fight, I’ll want to roll away from him, and snuggling a pillow isn’t quite as nice.
So, at least for now, I let it go.
Rafe doesn’t normally wake me up for no apparent reason, especially when I’ve had trouble sleeping all night long, but when I feel someone shaking my arm and I open my eyes, Rafe is standing above me, completely dressed for the day in a sharp blue suit.
“Time to get up, sleepyhead.”
Grumbling, I bury my face in my pillow, intent on ignoring him.
Rafe snatches my pillow and tosses it over on his side of the bed.
“Hey!” I object, shooting him a dirty look.
“Time to get up,” he tells me again.
“I’m sleepy. I have nothing to do. Let me sleep.”
“You do have things to do, actually. First, you need to get your cute little ass out of bed and come downstairs so you can make breakfast.”
“You have a maid,” I remind him.
“It tastes better when it’s cooked with love,” he jokes.
“Then you should definitely have Juanita cook it,” I deadpan.
Ignoring my sour mood, he adds, “Secondly, you have an appointment to get manicures and lunch with Lydia today. I guess she really appreciated you babysitting last night, and now she wants to thank you with pretty nails and female bonding time.”
That all sounds completely terrible. He knows I don’t like Lydia, so why would I want to have lunch with her? “I want absolutely no part of anything you just said. Tell Lydia I have morning sickness. I’m staying in bed.”
“Sin’s downstairs,” he states.
My heart stops beating and I freeze.
“Also waiting for breakfast,” he adds, mildly. Then with an equally mild smile, he adds, “You know how we both like to be served.”
This is a trap. It has to be. He couldn’t know Sin was here last night, could he? I suppose he could. The first day I arrived in Vegas, he said something about a security set-up of some kind. Maybe he has some kind of camera system outside to keep an eye on who comes and goes, for safety reasons. Does he check it? I certainly didn’t tell him Sin was here last night, but it’s not like he asked. Granted, he probably wouldn’t think to ask, “Did Sin come over to help you with the angry baby last night?”
Maybe I should confess. It’s not like I did anything wrong. Well, okay, the mauling on the couch he probably wouldn’t approve of, but calling Sin for help wasn’t wrong, and Rafe and I aren’t involved exclusively.
“Why is he here?” I ask, keeping my tone as level as possible.
“Business. Why else?”
Sighing, I throw back the blanket and push my legs over the side of the bed. “Fine. Give me like ten minutes.”
25
Sin
This is the last place in the universe I want to be this morning.
I think Rafe may have checked his security footage when he got home last night and he knows I was here. Or maybe Laurel was pissed enough that she told him, I don’t know. Maybe it’s just his fucking sixth sense for people, and he smells me doing sneaky shit.
I don’t like being the man who does sneaky shit—not this type of sneaky shit, anyway. Doing dirty work is one thing, but being an untrustworthy asshole you can’t trust around your woman is not for me.
When I told Rafe I would rather meet away from the house like we talked about, he declined. Insisted I come to his house instead. Normally that would be fine, but after a sleepless night spent reliving last night with Laurel, and the way all that ended, I wanted to stay away. Attempting to steer us away from his house, I told him I was hungry, we should meet for breakfast somewhere.
I regret every last syllable when Laurel struts into the kitchen, not even sparing me a glance. She’s wearing the same thing she wore last night when I left, and I can still feel the soft fabric beneath my fingertips. Her skimpy robe is secured around her small waist, a little swatch of fabric from her bra visible underneath. Without shyness—and without words—she walks over to the cupboard with her back to us and bends over.
I turn my head swiftly, too tempted to look at the sight of her ass displayed right in front of me. Motherfucker. My gaze flickers to Rafe and of course he’s watching me. He should be looking at Laurel’s ass like I would be, but no, she’s bait and he wants to see if I get a hook through my lip.
Sighing, I grab the black coffee cup in front of me and go to take a drink, forgetting I emptied it while I
was waiting for him to come back downstairs. I want to get some more, but not enough to walk over and stand close to Laurel while I pour it. Definitely not enough to tell her to pour me some. Not after last night.
Only I don’t have to, because Rafe says, “Sin needs coffee.”
“Then he should go to Starbucks,” Laurel states, dumping some olive oil into the pan she just put on the stove. “It’s not my job to make him breakfast and I’m doing that. If he wants full service, maybe he should get a waitress,” she snaps, turning up the heat with relish.
Despite her words, as soon as she finishes dumping the olive oil, she grabs the coffee pot and comes over to wordlessly fill my mug.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
“I hope it’s not too hot,” she says, with enough bite that I know she hopes the opposite.
I ignore her attitude and take a sip, looking right at her. “Nope. It’s perfect.”
“Wonderful.” She turns around and goes back to put the coffee pot down, then returns to… brandishing a knife. Not sure I want her to be handling a knife when she wants to kill me.
“Uh, what are you doing over there?” I ask, eyeing the huge blade she selected.
“Cooking,” she replies.
“No shit. Why do you need a knife to make eggs?”
Flashing me a smile over her shoulder, she says, “Why? Are you worried?”
“Little bit.”
“Good,” she says cheerfully, grabbing a cutting board out of the cupboard. I don’t like the way she navigates Rafe’s kitchen. She knows her way around it already, and as dumb a thing as it is to get annoyed about, I hate the idea of her cooking for him. Taking care of him. She shouldn’t be doing that. Not for him.
Rafe’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts. “Are we gonna get back to work?”
“It’s hard to focus when I’m worried about getting stabbed,” I inform him.
Smiling faintly, Rafe nods his head at Laurel, even though she can’t see him. “You were just asking if I’d clean up a murder scene for you last night in bed. Were you talking about Sin?”