by Raven Scott
Crawling onto the bed to loom over me, Theo grabbed my hand to put my palm on his right side, and his skin twitched noticeably. My breath caught at how smooth it was— how the coarse, thick hairs on his chest just stopped and gave way to pink and grey scars.
“The tire.” Dragging my palm up over the side of his pectoral muscle, Theo’s mumble drew my gaze to his, and I bit down on my bottom lip hard. His face was so close, his heat seeping through my pajamas— so weird— and he held my hand to his right shoulder to cover with his own. “Bullet.”
“Kiss me.” Blurting out the demand, heat engulfed my face when Theo’s lip twitched up, and his gaze tenderized. Wrapping my hands around his neck, I rubbed my thumbs against the stubble of his jaw, but he only shook his head. My heart hammered against my ribs, the ruined skin on my chest tightening painfully, and my mouth dried as it opened. “Why not? You said you would.”
“Take your bandages off.” My breath caught, and I tensed as my heart sputtered briefly, but it was enough for Theo to grumble lowly in his chest in acknowledgment. Pressing his forehead against mine, he held my gaze despite being so close, and I licked my dry lips as shame sloshed in my chest. “That’s why.”
“Yeah.” Gulping down the dense lump in my throat, I held my breath as Theo shuffled back to kick off his jeans. He bent over the foot of the bed to grab my pajama pants by the ankles, and my core clenched at the bulge in his loose, plain, black boxers. The scar on my chest stretched down almost to my knees at its longest point— an outline of the fan blade— and he caressed up my inner thighs with questions in his eyes.
“Lay down.” Despite saying ‘no’, Theo’s voice came out a rough growl, and goosebumps blanketed my legs as he crawled up my body. He was a tiger ready to pounce but waiting for the perfect moment, and he dropped against my side to pull my knees over his thighs. So close, he was all I could smell, and he caressed my cheek as he worked his arm under the pillow.
27
Theo
“Illya, what are you doing?” Mumbling as Illya wiggled her way out of bed, I had to physically stop myself from throwing my arm over her to keep her still. Cracking open my eyes, I followed her silhouette through the gloom before she very carefully turned the overhead light onto its lowest setting. “Come back here.”
“I’m hungry.” Inhaling deeply, I held my breath for a second before sitting up and exhaling a blustering sigh. Ruffling my hair roughly, I shook my head and rolled my shoulders, and she was still by the door when I threw my legs over the side of the bed. My feet didn’t leave the pristine, barely used carpet, and I scrunched up my face as I blinked hard.
“What time is it?” I patted for my pockets before remembering I’d taken my pants off, and a frown twisted my lips. When was the last time I’d taken my clothes off before going to bed? It just seemed like the right thing to do when I knew better than to get caught without. Bending to snatch my jeans, I pulled my phone out and winced at the bright, blue light that pierced my eyeballs.
“I thought you’d tell me a dick joke.” Snorting roughly at that, I dropped my phone onto my pants on the floor to throw my arm around Illya’s shoulders. Scratching my jaw hard with my left hand, my right buried in her hair to knead her scalp as my brain puttered along until it found a reply.
“I could’ve, but I’m not gonna. Food isn’t a joke when I know you had no problem eating wet cat food.” Truth be told, it hadn’t even occurred to me to say something like that. I was fucking dead. Heading out of the bedroom and into the hall, I held Illya’s head to my shoulder to bury my nose in her hair. “I haven’t slept so well in a long time.”
“Me either.” Edging the living room, my legs tightened when carpet was replaced with cold tile, and Illya tensed against my side. “This is so uncomfortable. I know it’s mine, but . . . ”
“Want me to make you something?” Eyes widened with surprise flew to bore holes in my chin, and I couldn’t help but smirk as Illya nodded hastily. “Come on.”
Illya’s apartment was exactly the same layout as mine, and I wasn’t surprised to find all the shit in the kitchen was in the same spots, too. She watched curiously, almost bewildered, as I pulled a cutting board out from behind the toaster oven, and a bubble of satisfaction popped in my chest. Reaching under the counter for a pan, I set it on the stove before gesturing to the refrigerator.
“What do you want?” I wasn’t a chef by any means, but I knew more than how to boil water and add mac’n’cheese. Slowly shuffling to the fridge, Illya grabbed the door but didn’t tug, and my heart throbbed slightly. She just stared for a long moment, her knuckles whitening as she squeezed and released the handlebar, and my brows furrowed deeply.
“I . . . I can’t . . . I can’t do it.” Sauntering the short distance to her, I covered Illya’s hand with mine, and her fingers flexed stiffly. Her nerves thrummed through me, and I gingerly popped the seal to release a blast of cool air. She sucked in a sharp breath and shivered against my chest, and I couldn’t help but scowl at how anxious just the idea of a full fridge made her.
And, man, it was packed with everything she might need to cook whatever she wanted. Grabbing her shoulder when her knees quaked against mine, I ground my teeth at how impactful something so seemingly normal could be. In California, she had nothing, but here she had anything and everything.
My scowl darkened when Illya sniffled, and she reached a trembling hand into the refrigerator tentatively. When her fingers brushed a gallon of milk, she choked out a little laugh, as if she expected it to be a really good hologram or something.
“Do you need a minute?” She shook her head, giving me a glance at her mystified expression, and I pursed my lips thinly against the barrage of emotions swirling in my chest. “Let’s make eggs. Easy, right?”
“Um . . . yeah. Okay.” Reaching around her to grab the eggs sitting on the top shelf, I left Illya to lean into the refrigerator and gaze at the food like she was seeing the stars for the first time. “There’s bacon . . . ”
“We’ll make bacon.” The time on the stove read three-thirty-six a.m., and I set the eggs on the counter to go back and grab butter and milk. “Grab whatever you want.”
The way she stayed still was kinda pathetic, to be honest, but I wasn’t gonna judge her beyond the simple fact that her situation was really, really fucked up. She held the bacon package so carefully, moving so slowly as she closed the refrigerator door. Watching her out of the corner of my eye, my chest tightened, and she held her item like she didn’t want to let it go.
“Come here.” Reaching into an upper cabinet to grab a bowl, I gestured Illya closer, and she gripped her bacon with a white-knuckled grip. Pulling her between myself and the counter, I ignored the ugliness building against my ribs and popped open the egg carton. Holding her hands in my own, I managed to wrestle the bacon from her and replace it with spreadable butter. “You’re not gonna wake up and find out it was a dream, Illya. It’s okay.”
My mumble made her shiver against my front, and I pressed my cheek to Illya’s temple as she shuddered a sigh.
“This would be a nightmare.” Sucking my teeth at that, I didn’t deem a reply, instead reaching for the silverware drawer. “I’m pretty pathetic, aren’t I?”
“It’ll get better.” Holding the knife in her hand, I guided her through unfamiliar movements and focused on savoring this experience. After all, something like this only happened once. It’d get easier and easier, less thoughtful, less impactful, as time went on. “When was the last time you cooked something?”
“Probably before my parents died. With my burns, I couldn’t stand near the stove and burners and stuff.” I didn’t have shit to say to that. How fucked up . . . how fucked up was Illya’s life, and she was pretty alright? How much could a person endure?
What kind of asshole was I with my superficial problems?
“Well . . . ” Clearing my throat roughly, I tightened my grip on her hands and poised the knife over the container. “You can prep.”
“Do you want toast and English muffins?”
“Both?” Nodding at the question, I ignored when Illya’s breath hitched loudly in the otherwise quiet kitchen to bounce off the granite counter. Maybe, it’d be a while before she got used to this.
I could get used to this easy. I could wake up like this. I could do this every day. I could get comfortable with this tug on my heart.
28
Illya
A soft knock on the front door drew my attention from the television, and I cast a questioning glance at Theo. He simply shrugged, not bothering to pause the show before hoisting himself up from the sofa. My gaze followed him, his taut muscles rippling, his boxers clinging to his ass, and I licked my lips heavily. Taking another bite of my sandwich, even cold, it was the most delicious thing I’d ever put in my mouth.
Well, almost— it was definitely number two on my list of top two.
“I had a feeling you’d be here.” Carlyle sounded so damn smug, and I frowned around my sandwich as he appeared from behind the corner of the short hallway. He downright grinned, that stupid, knowing glint in his eye shimmering brightly, and I nodded politely. “Unfortunately for you, I’m going to be borrowing Theo today. Although you don’t start until Wednesday, he’s already on the clock.”
“We already slept together and had breakfast. It’s time for him to run out, anyway.” What a weird concept— breakfast. Shooting me a mock glare, Theo headed for the back hallway, and I unfolded my legs out from under me with a pointed look. “What do you want, Carlyle.”
“I brought you this.” Setting a DVD on the coffee table, in a clear, generic case, Carlyle rocked back on his heels as suspicion sloshed in my chest. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. How are you liking the place?”
“It’s nicer than my last place.” My nonchalant answer earned me an almost playful glower, and Carlyle stuffed his hands into his pockets to look around. “I don’t get the impression you came here just for him.”
Taking a bite of my sandwich, I bit back a groan at how good it tasted. I didn’t know Theo could cook. For a second, I ignored Carlyle’s silence as I thought about that notion. How much did I really know about Theo? How much did I really want to know about him?
Both of us had it bad for such polar opposite reasons. Twisting at his slight stomping into the living room, I frowned in dismay at the clothes that shielded Theo’s body. Leaning over the back of the straight, light grey sofa, he buried his nose in my hair, and my eyelids fluttered closed to relish this moment of bliss. It was a fraction of a second long, maybe, before he pulled back, and I settled in as Theo braced his palms on either side of me.
“Enjoy your day. Maybe go through your closet and make sure everything fits, Illya.” My brows rose at that, and Carlyle gestured Theo with him and cast me a stern look. “Just let me know if something doesn’t. I’ll have it tailored.”
“Okay.” Swallowing my bite roughly to reply, I frowned slightly when he turned on his heel, and Theo cast me a ‘what the fuck’ look. I could only shrug confusedly, and he scowled lightly before following Carlyle out. The hitch of the lock echoed down the hall to me, and I stared at the entryway for a moment before shaking my head viciously.
“Whatever.” Grumbling as I took another bite of my dwindling sandwich, I stuffed the last bit into my mouth and stood up. Snatching the DVD Carlyle had left me, foreboding clawed at my gut, but I popped it into the player anyway before my doubt could stop me. “I hope it’s not torture porn or something.”
The screen turned blue, and I sat back on the coffee table before the colors flickered and turned into a picture. Squinting in concentration, I propped my elbows on my knees as a body paced back and forth. An icon in the corner told me sound had been disabled, but I couldn’t worry about it when surprise shocked through my chest.
Mateo stomped around like a rabid animal, raking his hands through his hair, pure agony twisting his features. His lips moved, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying, if he was saying anything at all. He looked bad, like he hadn’t slept in the week since I’d last seen him. Holding my breath, I tensed when the images changed to show a different room.
The camera pointed directly on the bed was in color, unlike Mateo’s, and Sylvie struggled like a wildcat in a trap. She was drenched in sweat, but every time she wiggled, there was a faded brown underneath her. Her hair stuck to her face and crusted every which way, and I covered my mouth as horror bubbled up my throat. Gaunt cheeks hollowed out as she shrieked silently, thrashed violently, and blood splattered from her wrists as cuffs cut into them.
“Oh, my God.” Theo hadn’t been kidding when he said no one was taking care of her. Sylvie’s ribs poked out from her chest, and she had a crazy look in her eye when she paused her writhing to breathe. Fisting my palms together, I held my breath when she jumped in shock, and my former best friend burst into tears on the screen. She started shaking her head, screaming, as Mateo advanced on her through the bottom corner of the camera.
The heavy cast iron pan in his hand swung in a blur, and I jumped when it landed flat on Sylvie’s face. Her head popped open, but Mateo lifted the pan again and swung down. I was suddenly so, so, so glad I couldn't hear anything, and her face was unrecognizable when he lifted the pan a final time. But then, Mateo smashed the edge of the pan into Sylvie’s abdomen.
Wincing as he heaved his whole body into the swing, I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t. My mind focused on the scene digitized, immortal, in front of me, and Mateo stumbled away from the bed to rasp massive breaths. He dropped the pan beyond the edge of the bed, and I didn’t dare blink even as he covered his face with his hands.
How fucked up do you have to be so torn up about this? What did Mateo think was going to happen when he got a one-night-stand drug addict pregnant? Was he so delusional that he really thought things would go well? I mean, I could’ve felt bad for him if he had some tiny ounce of realistic expectation to his fantasy.
And Sylvie. With the realization that she’d been using for a while and had hidden it, I just . . . I didn’t even know. If she told me that second— seemed remorseful— I would’ve kicked her out, but I would’ve gotten her some help, too. She got pregnant on purpose, probably to extort Mateo, and then freaked out when he wanted to be a family. The using intensified, and I found out, and the rest is history.
That’s what it was, after all— history. Sylvie didn’t exist to me anymore and hadn’t for a while. Because of her, I went through all this shit that I had nothing to do with. Sure, I met Theo, which was nice, and I got a new job with a drug lord that seemed like a good deal, but . . .
I didn’t owe Sylvie any part of me after I kicked her out, and it took me a bit to figure that out, but I did. By myself.
“Why did Carlyle give me this?” The question had no answer, echoing in my quiet apartment, and I popped the DVD out to put it back in its case. “More importantly, why do I feel nothing?”
Again my grumble had no answer, but that might’ve been answer enough as I shoved the disc case behind the bookshelf and resolved to forget about it. People came and went. That was how it worked. The people I seemed to trust always fucked me over somehow, and Sylvie just proved to be no different. What could I do about it?
Nothing.
29
Theo
Wagging my hand hard, the residual, painful tingling didn’t go away, and I ran my not-blown-off fingers through my hair roughly. Making breakfast together had seemed like such a great idea, aside from the fact Illya couldn’t use the stovetop, of course. Ever since picking up that stupid pan, though, m
y right had been having a fit.
Thankfully, it wasn’t terribly painful, but I could definitely do without the spasms up my arm right now.
“Remind me again why I have to follow you around like a dog in a place like this.” Scowling as Carlyle glanced up from his phone, I flexed my ruined hand against the flat of the table. The mall we were in was packed, and his light, hazel eyes flickered to my hand as I sat back.
“You are a dog, Theo, at least, when you’re with me. Why does that have to be negative, huh? Do you know how good dogs have it in this society?” I only grunted at that, forcing my fingers as straight as they’d go, which wasn’t that much of an accomplishment. The sting zinging up my arm abated briefly, and Carlyle lounged against the booth with a short sigh. “We’re waiting on a friend of mine to deliver something. She’s a bit of a nut, and this is the place she picked.”
“I wouldn’t have thought you waited for anyone, Carlyle.” He seemed to constantly surprise, and he smirked at my observation. Over the past week or so since locking Mateo up in his house without so much as a flicker of an eyelid of emotion, Carlyle almost acted overly dramatic. It was as if he was trying to prove that he wasn’t just a sicko with a bone to pick with his little brother.
“She’s pretty paranoid, so I don’t really have a choice. She does great work for me, though.” Vague answers to not-so-questionable questions. Carlyle didn’t give me any more than that, and I frowned as my lips thinned before clenched teeth. Interest sparked in his eye, and he flopped his head back before sitting up hastily. “So, tell me something. What do you know about my operations? We’ve never talked about it. I assumed Mateo wouldn’t be able to give any straight answers considering he’s twice removed.”