by Ashley Jade
That's the thing about being a guy, either we pummel one another when we're pissed, or we mumble an apology and move the fuck on like it never happened.
Unless you're Tyrone.
Tyrone always likes to talk shit out. There's a reason Jackson and me dub him 'Dr. Phil.”
He takes another bite. “I didn't know you were serious about her, man. Should have just told me.”
I'm not really sure what to say to him at the moment. I don't know whether it's best to play along and let him think what he wants or to set him straight about me having absolutely no interest in her.
But then I realize that if I let him think we're messing around...it might be the best way of dealing with this whole ordeal.
There's a bro code—you don't mess around with your buddies chick.
Letting him think that Lou-Lou and I are having some kind of fling will keep him from hitting on her, thus keeping him safe from DeLuca. It's a no brainier.
“Yeah,” I say. “Guess you're right about that.”
“You sure you're going to be okay with tons of guys ogling her in the cage?” Jackson asks.
“Trust me, I'll be fine.” He gives me an odd look but I shrug it off and walk back into the bedroom for my cellphone so I can call the super.
I take my gun out of my waistband but point it directly at Lou-Lou on instinct when she starts screaming and comes at me. “You asshole!”
“Asshole?” I question, trying my hardest to figure out why she's so agitated.
She starts running around the room throwing random objects at me.
A remote, a pillow, an alarm clock.
“What the fuck is your problem?” I roar while ducking just in time to miss the bottle of whiskey being chucked at my head.
It hits the surface with a loud crash, the amber liquid now drizzling down the white wall behind me. “You crazy bitch.”
I'll admit, I'm not usually one to call women bitches...but in the case...I think it's warranted.
She's going bat-shit crazy for no reason. I haven't done a thing to this girl other than check up on her all night.
“I can't believe you fucked me while I was passed out. Do you know what that's called, asshole!” she screams at the top of her lungs before storming out of the bedroom like the Tasmanian devil.
What. The. Actual. Fuck.
Does she honestly think I'm capable of something like that?
I fight that reoccurring thought from last night running through my head again as I follow behind her.
Tyrone and Jackson are on their feet, utter shock across their faces.
I grab her arm but she flinches so I drop it. “I didn't rape you.”
My stomach knots and I want to fucking puke because never in my life did I ever think I'd have to utter that statement; or be in the position of defending myself against something so heinous.
She puts her hands on her hips and her eyes scrape over my body. “Then why aren't you wearing any clothes?”
I'm about to answer but then she screams, “And why was I in your bed when I woke up this morning?”
She throws her hands up in the air. “I mean, what the hell else am I supposed to think?”
Not that...anything but that.
“First of all—I had no choice but to bring you here since I don't have the key to your place.”
I look down at my boxers. “Secondly—I turned the air down for you because you were trembling. I thought you were cold and I wanted you to be comfortable. However, I got hot in the middle of the night...hence my state of undress.”
She opens her mouth but I cut her off. “And finally—I put you in my bed because I was trying to be a gentleman. I slept on the couch in my room the entire night—I slept on the couch in my room instead of the one in the living room because you were passed out drunk and I wanted to make sure you were okay. I didn't want to be too far away in case you needed me.”
Her eyes open wide and her hand covers her mouth. “Shit—” She pauses and closes her eyes. “I'm—”
Then before she can finish that statement or give me the apology I think I deserve, she bolts right out the front door.
I look across the room at Tyrone and Jackson who are standing there with their mouths wide open.
Tyrone points his spoon at the door. “Women,” he says. “The hot ones are always the craziest.”
Beside him Jackson nods. “True...but that was still a fucked up thing to be accused of.” He looks at me. “Where the hell did you find this girl?”
I squeeze my neck and shrug. “Around.”
He brings his bowl to the sink. “Be careful, man. That girl has drama and bad news written all over her.”
Don't I know it.
Chapter 4 (Lou-Lou)
I want to crawl into the biggest hole I can find and stay there forever.
I can't believe I accused him of doing that.
I don't know what I was thinking. Actually, I do...but it still doesn't make it right.
I've never felt so bad for going off on someone before. The look in his eyes was like nothing I've ever seen.
He was devastated...heartbroken.
I curse when I look around the hallway. I have no idea where I am or where my apartment is. I don't even have a set of keys on me.
I turn around and knock on the door. I slam the wall beside the door with my hand when I realize those two guys standing in his kitchen were most likely Tyrone and Jackson...the two guys I'm supposed to be seducing.
Dammit...there's no way they're going to want me now. Not after witnessing my meltdown.
Can't say I blame them.
I can't focus on that right now, though because I owe Ricardo one heck of an apology.
Some big guy with short brown hair and gray eyes answers the door.
And I have to say...on a scale from 1-10. He's an eleven.
He crosses his arms over his chest and stares me down.
I bat my eyelashes. “I'm sorry. I um—”
“Don't apologize to me....Ricardo's inside,” he says curtly while moving away from the door.
Great...perfect.
I enter the apartment and bounce on the balls of my feet nervously.
I don't see Ricardo anywhere but I have the sudden urge to set things right with them as well.
After all...these two are the keys to my eventual freedom.
Well, maybe...a girl can always dream.
I see another big guy in the kitchen and falter slightly. He offers me a smile that lights up the room and his warm brown eyes are friendly. Now I want to pinch myself because he's just as good-looking as the other guy is.
I suppose there are worse things than being sent on a mission to seduce two guys who look like they do.
I fidget with my fingers and pull on my bottom lip, unsure of where to begin or how I should start.
I decide, to just pull the band-aid off and get it over with.
The guy with the friendly eyes and smile walks over to me. “Hi, I'm Tyrone.” I open my mouth but he cuts me off. “I don't know you...but I do know Ricardo. And just so you know he's a great guy. He would never do anything like what you accused him of doing.”
I hold up my hand. “I owe Ricardo an apology and I fully intend on giving him one.” I look down. “I realize now that I totally misjudged the situation. However, put yourself in my place...I woke up in a strange bedroom, after being drunk...with some guy I hardly know who was pretty much naked—”
“She has a point,” the guy who I can only assume now to be Jackson says.
He looks at me. “Still think you owe him an apology but I can understand where you were coming from.”
“Thanks,” I whisper.
“Yeah,” Tyrone agrees. “Just tell him what you told us and I'm sure everything will be fine.”
He looks at Jackson. “You ready to watch that documentary with me on discovery channel?”
Jackson makes a face. “Not really...but we should probably give them some time alone to
talk.” He walks toward the front door. “Take care, Lou-Lou,” he calls out.
Lou-Lou? Who the hell is Lou-Lou?
I open my mouth to ask but Tyrone follows him and says, “Catch you later, Lou-Lou. Holler if you need anything. We'll be right next door.”
I tentatively make my way into the bedroom where I find Ricardo on his knees scrubbing the wall which is stained with whiskey.
He now has on sweatpants that are slung low on his hips. I'm so distracted by his incredible body and his tattoo's I momentarily forget why I came in here.
Oh, that's right. To apologize for accusing him of raping me when he was only taking care of me.
God, I'm no good at this apologizing shit. It's completely foreign to me.
I kneel down beside him and reach for the sponge. “Here...let me. It's the least I can do.”
He continues cleaning the wall. “It's fine. It's almost done anyway.”
I open my mouth and prepare to give him the same speech I gave the other two but before I can he says, “I heard what you said to them. I didn't look at it from your perspective—” He looks me in the eyes. “But I swear on my own life I would never do that to you...to any woman.”
Heartbreak and devastation swirl in those eyes of his again when he says this.
My chest constricts because for some strange reason right here in this moment...I believe him.
For the first time in my life...I actually believe that a man wouldn't be capable of doing something so disgusting.
“Okay,” I whisper. “I think—I mean...I know.”
“I hope so,” he says while getting up off the floor.
I hear movement somewhere in the back of me. I'm about to get up myself but then he says something that causes all the air to leave my lungs. “I'm just gonna come right out and ask this because I need to know. Were you—”
“No,” I say cutting him off. “Never.”
I stand up. “Just watched one too many lifetime movies I guess.”
His brows draw together and he looks like he's about to reach for my hand but thinks the better of it.
I say a silent prayer because I don't think I can take him touching me.
I can't take anyone touching me. Ever.
“Are you sure?” he asks softly.
I take a step back and laugh. “Am I sure I was never raped? Yeah, Ricardo. I'm pretty damn sure.”
I need something to take the focus off this because I feel like I'm suffocating. “Can I ask you a question?”
“You can ask me anything.”
“Why did Jackson and Tyrone call me Lou-Lou?”
He looks sheepish and my heart rate picks up when he gives me a lopsided smile.
Jackson and Tyrone are both great looking guys...but my god...Ricardo's looks are out of this world.
He's got the dark intensity in his eyes but that only enhances the smoldering features of his gorgeous face.
And if I stare at his body again...I may just go into cardiac arrest.
He's past the point of washboard abs—his tall and lean body is absolutely ripped. He's fucking shredded, every single muscle molded and crafted to perfection.
I almost want to do something crazy like tell him to put a shirt on so I can regulate my breathing, but then I notice the tattoo's on both of his bulging biceps and can't help but stare at them.
On his right bicep is a tattoo of a beautiful angel, the wings are delicate and soft. It's a magnificent piece of art.
However on the other bicep...there's a tattoo featuring some kind of demonic devil...complete with horns and everything.
It's just as intricate and detailed as the angel is, but unlike the beauty of that one...this one is purely dark and disturbing. Frightening even.
Ricardo snaps his fingers. “You're checking out on me. Everything okay?”
“Huh?” I shake my head. “Yeah, I'm fine. So, why did they call me Lou-Lou?”
He looks uneasy and shoves his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. “Because I told them it was your name.”
I give him a peculiar look. “Why? That doesn't make any sense. Not unless—” I glare at him. “You don't know my name...do you?”
He gives me that lopsided smile again. I can only imagine how many pairs of panties that smile of his has collected throughout the years. “Well, you threw a bottle of whiskey at my head. I'd say we're about even.”
I can't help but laugh...this is the strangest conversation I've ever had. “Is it a common occurrence to forget the names of girls who spend the night at your place?”
He opens his mouth but pauses and bites his bottom lip instead. I have to force myself not to stare at his mouth.
I have to force myself not to stare...period.
Butterflies swarm in my belly and they must be drunk off the alcohol that's still in my system because I've never been this attracted to anyone.
Not that I've had a lot of experience when it comes to things like this in my almost 24 years...but still.
This is wrong...so fucking wrong. It's so wrong they haven't invented enough languages to convey just how wrong this is.
I can't be attracted to him.
He's my boyfriends...son.
He takes a hand out of his pocket and runs it through his hair. “You want the truth?”
“Yeah.”
“I've never once forgotten the name of any girl who's spent the night at my place...but I've also never had a girl spend the night in my bed for strictly sleeping purposes either.”
“I don't know if I should be feeling special or offended.”
“You shouldn't be feeling either,” he tells me. “What goes on in my bed is really none of your business.” His face hardens. “Just like what you and my father do in your bed is none of mine...right?”
It's like he just dunked me in a vat of ice water. The clarity of my current situation crashes into me. “Right.”
With that, I turn on my heels and leave the bedroom. I hear his footsteps behind me. “The super should be up here with the key to your apartment any minute.”
“Thanks.”
“Listen, if you want me to set the guys straight about your name I will.”
There's a knock on the door but I halt him. “I like Lou-Lou. Don't tell them my real name.”
He nods and for a moment I think he knows exactly what I'm thinking.
I want to be someone else...anyone else but me.
I lower myself against the porcelain of the bathtub and draw my knees up to my chest.
I look at the moon shining through the tiny window and wish I was able to speed up time so I could sleep.
I should be exhausted after spending the day unpacking and setting everything up in my new apartment...and I am.
But seeing as it's smack dab in the middle of the night, there's no way I can sleep.
All I'll hear is the sound of the doorknob turning and all I'll feel are hands that shouldn't be touching me.
I tried calling Bruno; in hopes that he would calm me down and reassure me that I was safe now—just like he used to when I was younger...but he quickly rushed me off the phone claiming he had business to attend to.
I heard Marlene giggling in the background like a schoolgirl, so I can only imagine what kind of business he's conducting at the moment.
I briefly debated picking up a bottle of wine from the store but thought the better of it. It turns out that alcohol makes me drowsy and traps me in my nightmares instead of making them go away completely like the hard drugs do.
I'm ashamed I thought about giving into that urge tonight too in order to make all the pain go away. I picked up a few bags of heroin...but I came to the conclusion that I really don't want to go down that road unless I'm forced to.
Instead, I hug my knees tighter and remind myself that my father can't get to me here.
The bathtub was the one place my father was never able to find me.
For whatever reason, the dumbass never bothered to pull back the shower curtain
while he was on one of his rampages looking for me.
It was a gift and a curse...because I realized that even the bathtub couldn't get rid of the dirty feeling lurking inside me.
But it's still the place I go when the flashbacks get the best of me.
It's my favorite place in the world and the closest thing to real freedom I've ever experienced...until now.
I should be happy DeLuca gave me this opportunity...but I can't even enjoy it.
I get up and walk past the towel rack seeing as the bathtub wasn't filled with any water and make my way into the quaint living room.
Finally deciding I've had enough of this apartment, I leave and go for a walk.
I bring my cell phone with me in case I get lost, but I feel like a fool because the only number programmed in it is Bruno's.
Bruno DeLuca—my savior...my protector...my incubus. My Satan in angel's clothing.
The man I can't disentangle myself from no matter how much I want to because I don't know what will happen or what will become of me.
I'm scared it might be the thing to finally break me.
I don't understand how it's possible to love someone like him in the first place...how it's possible to love someone who's done what they have, but still, I do.
The fact of the matter is...when you're on your last breath—it doesn't matter who comes along and breathes life back into you.
DeLuca saved me when no one else did.
Even though the cord he's ensnared me with causes me to suffocate now.
He still rescued me from a different kind of hell first.
Chapter 5 (Ricardo)
I look for something to wipe the blood off my hands but come up empty.
Dammit, I should have been better prepared. Then again, tonight was kind of a last minute situation.
Something to take the edge off my fucked up head.
I check my watch. 3:15 am. Perfect.
That means the chances of running into Tyrone or Jackson in the hallway are pretty much non-existent.
I slow down the pace of my run to a brisk walk and enjoy my last few moments of peace when I see my apartment building on the horizon.
Usually, I'm focused and observant when it comes to my surroundings but clearly; that's not the case tonight because before I can stop myself, I'm plowing straight into something, or rather someone.