by A. Zavarelli
I was just finishing the dusting when I heard his alarm go off. Another oddity about Lucian was his timed meals. It didn’t matter what he was in the middle of, when that alarm went off, he ate. The strangest part was that it seemed robotic. There was no enjoyment on his face when he ate, and whenever he finished, he logged everything into a nutritional app before marking it off on his calendar.
He was methodical and rigid. Unyielding, in fact. And my brain could only speculate what forces of nature shaped his mindset. I could have asked, but I had a feeling that he wasn’t the sort of man to give anything away. Unlike the men I targeted, he was a closed book. A locked diary, to be more accurate. And that lock had a trip wire on it that would explode if you dared to poke at it.
If I was going to get any answers about him, it would have to be done the hard way. Regardless, I had two years to figure it out.
“Is there something wrong with the salad?” Lucian asked.
I flung a piece of greenery across the bowl to get to the chicken. “Not really, I guess. But I don’t usually eat this kind of stuff.”
“You mean healthy?” he mused.
I looked up at him. His voice was lighter. His whole demeanor was lighter, and I wondered if it was from the spiritual experience of this morning’s events or something else.
I set my fork down and took a sip of lemon water. “I do eat healthy, but I also choose to eat good food. This has no flavor.”
“Tell me what you’d like on the menu, and I’ll see what we can do,” he suggested.
I stared into his cocoa brown eyes. When they were warm, they looked like melted chocolate. It was hard to remember that he was such a prick when he had the capability of looking like a puppy too. And I was fairly certain this was some kind of a cruel trick, but I decided to humor him. “A little pasta wouldn’t kill us, would it?”
He shrugged. “Probably not.”
“And some wine. Good wine. Not the cheap crap.”
His lip tilted at the corner. “We’ll see about that one.”
“I like fruit more than vegetables,” I admitted.
“That doesn’t mean you can get out of eating them.”
Somehow, I didn’t doubt he was serious. I went back to picking around the greens and polished off the chunks of chicken in my bowl. “I usually drink them with a Caesar. Does that count?”
Lucian got up to clear our plates and load the dishwasher. “No, it doesn’t.”
He started sifting through the cupboards, moving boxes around and shifting items until he seemed to find what he was looking for. He pulled a few containers from the inventory and set them on the counter.
“There.” He dusted off his hands and wiped them with a towel. “Tonight, we can work on rice and beans. And good news, pet. You get to cook it.”
I shot him a disinterested look, but really, I was sort of looking forward to it. At least it gave me something to do.
Now that we’d finished our lunch, I imagined he was planning on holing back up in his office to work on his case, so I planned to get the rest of my cleaning done. The sooner I could get back into my own clothes, the better.
“May I be excused?” I asked sweetly.
He shook his head. “You may, but only to change back into your tee shirt and leggings.”
“Why?”
“That dress is only for church,” he answered. “And I need your help. Meet me out front in fifteen minutes.”
SIXTEEN MINUTES LATER, THE FRONT door slammed behind me and I thought I was ready to stage a rebellion. Instead, I found myself rooted to the welcome mat.
Now this was a holy experience.
Lucian West owned a vintage Shelby GT500, and he never even told me. It was a pearly blue, and it was a beauty. But honestly, I didn’t know what was more impressive. The car or the man beneath the hood turning the wrenches.
His hands were covered in grease, and an oil rag was hanging from his back pocket. Every muscle in his body worked as he torqued the wrench in his hand, and I watched in fascination from the sidelines. I would have never guessed that this high-powered attorney could fix cars too. Even if I had no idea what he was doing, it was apparent that he did.
He squinted at me through the afternoon sun. “Are you going to watch all day, or are you ready to help?”
My cheeks flushed, and I was annoyed that he’d caught me staring. “I thought you would have paid someone to do this sort of work for you.”
“There’s no pride in that when I can do it myself.”
I didn’t reply, but I did move closer when he gestured for me. “What do you need me to do?”
He looked down at my fingers. “I need your hand.”
I stopped moving. “My hand?”
“It’s smaller than mine,” he observed.
I arched a brow. “What will I be doing with said hand?”
“There’s a loose bolt on the header,” he informed me. “I need you to reach down between the body and engine gap to tighten it.”
He pointed and showed me what he wanted me to do. It seemed easy enough, but I still wasn’t quite sure of myself, and I hated feeling that way. I was half tempted to go back in the house, consequences be damned, but then he moved behind me and positioned my body the way he decided would work best.
Or something like that.
I was too aware of his heat behind me. The scent of car grease and gasoline and something so distinctly Lucian, I’d never forget it. His whole house smelled like warm caramel and cloves, and it had taken me a while to realize that it was just him.
“Here.” He guided my arm down into the machinery of the car, and I followed his instructions carefully while I held my breath.
I didn’t know what was happening, but I felt warm all over. He was so close to me. I should have wanted to push him away, but I didn’t. And I couldn’t understand that.
Despite his religious beliefs and the few nice things he’d done for me, he wasn’t a good person. He blackmailed me, forcing me into this marriage, and threatened to ruin my life. Even if that weren’t the case, we had a huge age gap between us. Seventeen years. It felt wrong that I had even for a split second considered him attractive.
“Are we done now?” I asked as I finished the task he’d given me.
He took my arm in his and wiped it with a cloth, but his eyes never left mine. “You have trouble with men getting close to you.”
I didn’t know if it was an observation or a question, but regardless, I wasn’t answering.
“I told you I would never hurt you,” Lucian said.
“So?” I shot back. “You brought me here, didn’t you? You made me marry you. How can I know what you’re capable of? I barely know you.”
“You don’t need to know me,” he answered. “You only need to know that I stand by my word. I said I won’t hurt you, and I meant it. I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”
“I’m not afraid.” I crossed my arms.
He stared at me until I felt like I wanted to melt into the concrete. I didn’t want to believe that he knew all my secrets, but maybe he really did. Because when he looked at me, it wasn’t the way other men did. It wasn’t with sloppy lust or greed. There was passion and determination in his eyes. I just had to figure out exactly what that determination meant.
“You did good, pet.” He brought his thumb to my cheek and wiped away a streak of grease I didn’t know had collected there. “Have you ever had a real job?”
I shook my head. I’d made a shitload of money in my lifetime, but none of it was what society would call a real job.
“I want you to come to the office with me this week,” he said. “You can work the front desk.”
“Seriously?” I groaned. “What about your girlfriend?”
His eyes narrowed. “What girlfriend?”
“You know, the pretty redhead you’ve probably banged about a thousand times.”
He stuffed the oil rag back into his pocket and crossed his arms. “She’s an employee, not m
y girlfriend. And I’ve never fucked her.”
“Whatever.” My cheeks felt like tomatoes. “I don’t want to work with her.”
“Feeling threatened?” he mused.
“No,” I bit out. “I just don’t want to do that job.”
Lucian slammed the hood and locked the car. “I think you’re forgetting something, pet. It doesn’t matter what you want. Remember?”
“HOW ARE YOU DOING?”
Emmanuel bobbed his head, but nothing came out of his mouth. The shadows beneath his eyes were more prominent than the last time I’d seen him, and the bruising on his jaw was fresh. I was aware he’d been in several scuffles already with other inmates, which wasn’t entirely surprising. This place was a cesspool of crime, but there were always a few who believed their crimes weren’t as morally repulsive as the rest.
Emmanuel would have to face down these demons for the rest of his life if he was convicted of murder, and I knew better than to give him false comfort or hope. His case would be difficult to win, and I wouldn’t tell him otherwise. All my cases were notoriously difficult to win, but I couldn’t deny the overbearing sense of hopelessness in this one.
I needed a working theory. Something that would convince the jury of another plausible suspect. The problem was that Emmanuel’s neighborhood was notoriously anti-police, and nobody who had any real information was actually talking. All I could do was ensure Emmanuel was prepared for trial.
I shuffled through my paperwork and got down to business. “We need to go over the questions again. I need your honest answers. Can you do that?”
He nodded.
“How well did you know Ariana Sanders?”
Emmanuel rubbed a hand over his face. “I already told you, I didn’t know her. She lived on my street, but we had never talked before that night. I just saw her drop her groceries, and I offered to help. That was it.”
“Tell me in your own words what happened that day.”
His eyes rolled up toward the ceiling as he recounted his story. “I picked up the bag and waited for her to open the door. I wasn’t going to go inside, but she told me it was cool. I walked into the kitchen, set the bag on the counter, and tried to leave. She thanked me and offered me a glass of water. It was hot out, and I was thirsty, so I took it. We talked for a couple of minutes and I left. That was it, I’m telling you.”
“So this twenty-three-year-old woman who lived alone and didn’t know you invited you into her apartment without any apparent concern?”
“Yes, man.” Emmanuel ground his teeth together. “We’ve been through this. Why are you asking me the same questions over and over?”
“Because that’s exactly what the prosecution will do, Emmanuel,” I answered. “And I will continue to ask them until I’m blue in the face if it means that your story never changes. That’s what they want. They are looking for ammunition. They want to nail you to the cross, and if you give them an opening to do that by losing your cool on the stand, they will prove their point. When you come off as having an easily provoked temper, they win.”
He was quiet while he digested my words. His eyes were heavy, and he looked remorseful for his behavior, but he couldn’t know just how much I got it. If he didn’t come out of this place having mental issues, then I would be worried.
“I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “I just can’t believe this is really happening. I can’t believe I’m in here for murder.”
“I know. But you have to stay focused. I need one hundred percent of your attention on this trial. If you get bogged down in other possibilities, then we don’t stand a chance.”
“Okay,” he answered solemnly. “I get it. I’ll do whatever you say.”
I returned my attention to the questions I’d written, and for the next hour, we went over them in detail. Emmanuel answered them all to my satisfaction except for the one that mattered most. Who could he think of that might be responsible for Ariana’s murder?
I knew from his history that he wasn’t affiliated with any gangs or criminal organizations, but I suspected on some level he was too afraid to point fingers at anyone else. Not for himself but for his family who still lived on the street.
I stuffed my paperwork back into the briefcase and stood. Another visit to his mother’s house was on the agenda even though she refused to see me the last time. “Did you have a letter for your mom?”
He blinked and shook his head. “No, not yet. I’ve been trying to write it, but…”
“The words will come,” I assured him. “Give it time.”
He jerked his chin. “Thanks, Mr. West. I appreciate it.”
I half expected the office to be burned to the ground by the time I returned, but instead, I found Gypsy at Jessica’s desk, painting her nails.
“What are you doing?” I demanded.
She snapped her bubblegum and gave me a bored expression. “Isn’t it obvious? Since I haven’t been able to get a manicure, I had no choice.”
“You’re supposed to be working.”
She shrugged. “This place is boring.”
“Welcome to having a job,” I told her. “Do I have any messages?”
She blew on her fingers. “I dunno.”
“You haven’t answered the phone?”
“What the hell am I supposed to say?” She glared. “I have no idea what I’m doing here.”
This was clearly something we needed to work on. Whenever Gypsy was out of her comfort zone, she resorted to acting like a self-indulgent brat. I needed to figure out that disconnect, but first, I had to address the issue of her punishment.
I walked around the desk and threw her nail polish into the trash, followed by the can of soda beside it.
“What are you doing?” she screeched. “I wasn’t finished.”
“In case I didn’t make it clear, this office is for work.” I grabbed a bottle of water from the mini fridge and set it on the desk in front of her.
“I don’t want to work here.” She shoved the phone away, as if that would stop it from ringing. “This is stupid. You’re defending wife beaters and murderers, and you want me to help you with that? No fucking thanks.”
My temper rarely got the best of me anymore, but in this case, I wasn’t proud to admit that it did. I didn’t even realize what I was doing when I pulled her up from the chair. She tried to fight me, but my grip on her was too strong, and my anger too raw. I forced her over the desk and held her there with one palm in the middle of her back. My other hand collided with her ass three times before I noticed her trembling arms and terrified eyes, and I froze.
Fuck.
I’d lost control, and she was scared of me. It was the last thing that I wanted. I’d promised her I wouldn’t hurt her, and in her mind, this probably crossed that line. What I was about to do next would cross the line too, but it couldn’t be avoided. Not now.
I pulled her into my lap and eased her head onto my chest, stroking her hair. “I’m sorry, pet.” My voice cracked. “I shouldn’t have done that. It was wrong, and I know it was wrong. But you’re safe now.”
She shuddered but didn’t speak. I continued to comfort her with gentle assurances and a soothing touch until her quivering disappeared and her heart rate calmed, and only then did I release her. It wasn’t anywhere close to quitting time, but there was no question I would have to take her home.
WHEN WE WALKED IN THE door, I tried to make a quick escape to the bedroom, but Lucian wasn’t having it.
“It’s time for dinner,” he said.
“But it’s only four.” My gaze lingered down the hall, longing to escape to the seclusion of the only privacy I had in the bedroom.
“And after your behavior today, you’ll be spending your evening thinking about it.”
My shoulders caved forward as I looked up into his steely eyes.
He spanked me.
I still couldn’t believe it. And I didn’t want to think about it, but I kept replaying it over and over in my head. He seemed contrite af
terward, but now he wanted to dole out more punishment? I couldn’t make sense of this guy.
I was tired and admittedly on edge, and I didn’t want to test the boundaries anymore today. He’d already proved that he wasn’t past touching me, and if he could spank me, there was no telling what else he might do.
I slumped into my seat at the kitchen table, and Lucian grabbed a plate of raw vegetables and sliced chicken from the fridge, setting it in front of me. I stared up at him incredulously. Surely, he didn’t expect me to eat this.
“Finish your plate.” He issued the command without a hint of the remorse he’d shown earlier. “Or you’ll be eating the same thing for the next week.”
I held my tongue and glared at the offending food. So much for pasta. The vegetable selection went from bad to worse. I crunched every baby carrot as loudly as I could manage while he tore into his salad quietly. Who knew what he had planned for tonight, but it couldn’t be worse than this.
It took me thirty minutes to finish, but I did finish. As usual, Lucian cleaned up the plates and then gestured for me.
“Come.”
He issued orders as though he expected people to obey them. Most of the people in his life probably did, but I didn’t want to be one of them. I hesitated for too long, and he sighed. “We can do this the hard way, if you’d prefer.”
I still didn’t move. But in one swift motion, he had me tossed over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
“Let me go,” I demanded.
He didn’t. Instead, he carried me down the hall to the guest room and set me down at the small desk.
“I punished you at the office for your words,” he began. “I was angry, and I shouldn’t have done it without your permission. But you still have repercussions for your behavior today. When I bring you to work, I expect you to work.”
The problem was, I didn’t want to work with him. But I wasn’t going to say it out loud. I’d learned the hard way he did not take lightly to criticism of his job.
“Here.” He offered me a pencil and shoved a pad of legal paper in front of me. “Write this down.”