by Hamel, B. B.
But it was good to have a second house somewhere outside of the danger zone, somewhere safe and secret.
I moved up the steps, making as much noise as I could. I walked down the hall, stopped outside her door, and knocked.
“Fuck off,” she called.
I grinned. “Open up,” I said.
“No.”
“You’re done lying around in bed,” I said. “Open the door.”
“Go away.”
“I’m going to open it whether you want me to or not.”
“I said, go—”
I leaned my body against the door, turned the knob, and pushed it open. I was a little surprised to find it unlocked, and I stumbled a little as it swung inward.
“— away.” She frowned at me and tilted her head.
I stood and stared at her for a moment. She was sitting on the bed wearing that same tank top, but wasn’t wearing any pants. She had on a pair of black panties, her legs crossed in front of her, her phone hanging loose in her hands. She glared at me.
“Get dressed,” I said, grinning. “Or don’t, that’d be more fun.”
“What do you want?” she snapped.
“I’m cooking dinner. Fresh pasta sauce. Come downstairs.”
“No,” she said. “You can bring me some if you want.”
“You’re not lying in bed this whole time,” I growled.
“Then let me go out for a walk.”
I laughed and shook my head. “You don’t get it, do you? It’s not safe out there.”
“Right. So I can leave my room and play nice with you, or what? You’ll beat me up?”
I stared at her and laughed again. “I’m not going to hurt you, little Aida,” I said. “Come downstairs and have dinner with me.”
“No.” She crossed her arms.
“Fine.” I walked back into the hallway then glanced over my shoulder. “But I brought some clean clothes for you.”
She frowned at me and seemed to relax. “Really?”
“Really. Come downstairs, eat dinner with me, and you can have them.”
“You manipulative bastard.”
I shrugged and walked away smiling. That’d work, I knew it would. Even if she was fine with lying around in bed for days on end, she’d have to want to shower and get dressed in something clean eventually. I had one of my guys break into her apartment and pack a couple bags of her stuff. It was a small risk, but worth it.
I headed back into the kitchen and glanced at the two black duffel bags lying in the corner of the living room. I stirred my sauce, tasted it, and nodded to myself. I took some sausage from the refrigerator and began to take off the casing. Just as I finished and washed my hands, I heard the steps creak, and Aida stepped into the room.
She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at me. Her hair was pulled back into a messy bun and there were bags under her eyes, but her breasts were pressed up and her full lips pouted at me like they begged to be kissed.
“Wine?” I asked.
She opened her mouth like she wanted to give me some wise-ass response, then shut it again and sat down. “Please.”
I nodded, took a bottle from the cabinet, and opened it. I poured two glasses then downed my beer and put the bottle in the recycling. She picked her glass up and sipped it.
“Good?” I asked.
She nodded, a little surprised look on her face. “Really good. What is this?”
“Friend of mine in California makes it,” I said. “He sent me a few choice bottles as a gift for my birthday last year.”
“Oh? How old are you?”
I laughed. “I’m thirty-two. And you’re twenty-three.”
“Did some digging on me.” She frowned and sipped the wine again. “This really is good.”
I heated up another pan, added some oil, then began to cook the sausage as the sauce continued to simmer. “Gino said you haven’t left your room yet,” I said.
She looked away. “Haven’t felt like it.”
“Listen, the house is all yours. I don’t live here most of the time.”
“But you do,” she said. “I mean, live here sometimes.”
“You hiding from me?”
“I am,” she said.
I turned away and moved the sausage around. I didn’t want her to see my face. “You don’t have to.”
“Where are my clothes?” she asked.
I turned and nodded at the bags in the corner. “Ryan broke in. Sorry about the locks.”
She said nothing as she opened one of the bags and let out a groan of pleasure. She picked out a pair of shorts, a new t-shirt, and some underwear. She stared at it for a long moment then looked at me. “Thanks,” she said.
I nodded. “Toothbrush and toothpaste and your other toiletries are in the other bag. He grabbed a Kindle and a laptop too, plus their chargers.”
She brightened. “Really? My Kindle?”
“Guess you’re a reader.” I shuffled the food again and began to take it out of the pan as it finished, putting it on a paper towel to drain. “Never got into it myself. I’m more of a movie guy.”
“Let me guess. You love The Godfather?”
I shrugged. “I’m a simple man, I guess.”
She laughed a little and the sound made me smile.
“Look, I’m getting changed. And that, uh… that smells good. So I’ll eat dinner with you. But that’s it, okay? Don’t get any… ideas.”
I turned to her and tilted my head. “You mean, don’t think I’m going to get you drunk and fuck you tonight?”
She blushed and I knew that was exactly what she was thinking. “Just, no ideas.” She hurried out of the room and I heard her go back upstairs. The shower started a couple minutes later.
I grinned, put on my apron, and finished cooking. By the time she came back down twenty minutes later, the sauce was nearly done, the pasta was cooked, and the sausage was finishing in the sauce.
I grabbed some plates and put together two servings. She looked good with wet hair. Her skin glowed a little bit, and she seemed like she was smiling a little earlier. She wore a tight white t-shirt and short gray cotton shorts that just barely covered her thick, gorgeous ass. I brought the meal over to the table and gestured.
“There you go,” I said. “That’s a real ass Italian home-cooked meal.”
“I have to admit, I didn’t think a guy like you would, you know, cook.”
I shrugged. “Mom taught me. She did a lot of cooking back when I was a kid. It always calms me down after a shitty day.”
She sat down and took a bite. I watched the pleasure flit across her face. I could tell she was surprised it was good. I grinned a little, sipped my wine, and sat down, stretching out my legs.
“Shitty day?” she asked. “What happened?”
I waved her off. “Nothing worth talking about.”
“Come on. Does it have to do with that Russian guy, what’s his name? Vlad?”
“Vlas,” I corrected. “And it might.”
“Then tell me. Whatever happens with him matters to me, remember?”
I grunted. She had a point, although I didn’t love the idea of telling her my business. Still, she seemed bright, and she was right. Whatever happened with Vlas was going to affect her life one way or the other.
“I sent him a message this morning,” I said. “Reached out about the peace offering I sent.”
She stiffened. “Meaning my father’s corpse and the money he stole.”
“Correct.” I tilted my head and didn’t react to her bait. “But apparently, one of his boys told my lieutenant to fuck off. Do you know what it means when someone tells my lieutenant to fuck off?”
She shook her head. “I’m guessing it’s not good.”
“No, Aida. It’s not good at all.”
“Shit. So what’s going to happen?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But we’re not taking any precautions.”
“So I guess you’re really not going to let me o
ut to go on some long walks around the neighborhood.”
I stared at her for a long moment, my eyes drinking in her pretty lips and small button nose. “This is a safe place,” I said. “But I don’t know exactly how safe. It’s better if you stay in and don’t risk it.”
“Yeah, I hear you. Easy to say though. You’re not the one being held prisoner.”
I gestured at the door. “You’re not a prisoner.”
She let out a breath and shook her head. “I know. I know. I’m not… I’m not being kind.”
I leaned toward her. “I don’t expect kindness from you,” I said, my voice soft. “But at least be fair.”
“Right.” She clenched her jaw. “Look, this is hard for me, okay? I had a life before all this. I had… I thought I had a future.”
“You still do,” I said. “But for now, you’re mine to keep safe. And I’m not about to let you fall into Vlas’s hands.”
She stabbed her pasta and nodded. “Yeah, right. I’m all yours.”
I watched her for a moment, sipped my wine, then ate in silence for a few minutes. I could tell she was angry by the way she stabbed the pasta and sausage like she was pretending it was my face, but I didn’t push her. After a little bit, she looked up, her expression softened a bit.
“Tell me something,” she said.
“Go ahead. I’m an open book.”
She snorted but kept going. “How many times have you done this little move?”
I cock my head. “What move?”
“The whole dinner thing. Wearing the apron, sleeves rolled up, all that? I’m not going to lie, it’s sexy as hell, but it’s such a move.”
I laughed a little and watched her carefully. “You think I’m sexy.”
“I mean—”
“You really do,” I said as she blushed and sipped her wine. “It’s fine, I think you’re absolutely gorgeous. I wasn’t kidding when I told you what I want from you.”
“I get it,” she said, her cheeks crimson. “But you’re not answering my question.”
“I’ve never once cooked for another woman,” I said.
She laughed. “Liar.”
“I’m not lying,” I said and leaned toward her. “Do you really think I’m the kind of man to cook a girl dinner?”
She frowned at me for a moment. “You’re not, are you?” she whispered.
I smirked and shrugged. “No. I’m really not. You’re the first.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Because I already told you. You’re all mine right now.” I let that sink in before sitting back. “Besides, you needed it. Nothing like a good home-cooked meal to help bring someone back to the world.”
She glared at me. “I don’t need your help.”
“I know,” I said. “But I’m helping anyway.”
She took a few more bites, downed her wine, then pushed back from the table. “Thanks for the clothes and the food,” she said. She stood up and stared at me as I leaned back in my chair. “Are you staying here tonight?”
“I am,” I confirmed.
“Okay. Well. My door’s going to be locked. So… knock if you want something.”
I laughed softly and shook my head. “Little Aida… if I wanted to come into your room without your permission, do you really think a lock’s going to stop me?”
She bit her lip and stared at me before turning away. “Good night,” she said.
“Good night, little Aida.”
She walked away, and my eyes stared at her ass the whole time.
I let her go without a word and sighed before looking at my plate. I was only half finished, but alone again with my thoughts.
And my fucking worries.
I felt the world beginning to spiral. But I wasn’t lying to Aida. I’ve really never cooked for a woman before, and only did it now because I thought it would help her. And because I wanted to take her.
She was a delicious, perfect little distraction.
But with her sequestered back up in her room, I was left with dirty dishes and worries to keep me company.
So I finished my wine, filled up another glass, and got busy cleaning up.
4
Aida
Three days passed, and the only thing that kept me sane was my Kindle.
Dante visited me once, only briefly, in the afternoon of the second day. I think he was checking up on me, making sure that I was staying home and staying safe. He poked his head in my room, smiled at me sprawled on the bed, and laughed. “You look like you’re having fun,” he said.
“Too much fun,” I grumbled right back.
That was it. He left a few minutes later and I didn’t see him again. He left one of his young soldiers in charge of me, a guy named Gino that didn’t talk much. He had a scar on his lip and bright eyes, but he was skinny and almost a little shy. He always had a gun on him, although he didn’t show it off. I could see its lump in the waistband of his jeans, always there, always tucked away and ready for him.
I didn’t bother trying to talk to him. I suspected Dante ordered him to keep silent anyway, just based on the way he tiptoed around me like I was some kind of caged beast.
On the third day, I woke up early, took a shower, and went downstairs for coffee. Normally, Gino got the coffee set up for me and left at least half a pot in there. But that morning, I found the coffee maker was empty and the house was silent.
I snuck back upstairs and hesitated outside of the room I knew Gino was sleeping in. I pressed my ear against the door and smiled when I heard him snoring.
I couldn’t help myself. Another chance like this wasn’t going to come around anytime soon, so I crept into my room, pulled my sneakers on, dragged a hooded sweatshirt on even though it was too warm to wear it, and headed back downstairs. I was out into the early morning sunlight a few seconds later.
Dante’s house was perched up at the top of a hill with a long concrete staircase heading down to the sidewalk. I held onto the black railing, wondering how many times his hands had touched the same spot, as I hurried down and hit the sidewalk with a grin.
It felt damn good to be out of that house.
I knew it was stupid. As I walked along, taking deep breaths of the fresh air, I knew I should just turn back and go inside. Dante was keeping me indoors for fun, and he wasn’t forcing me into it. He wanted me to stay hidden so that I could stay safe.
But that was easier said than done.
Even with my laptop and my Kindle, I was bored out of my mind. It wasn’t my house, and I couldn’t get comfortable, not with that strange man Gino lurking around all the time. He watched reality TV most of the day, and when he wasn’t staring at the Housewives of Whatever, he was talking on the phone in Italian to someone. I could never hear the other side of the conversation, but it couldn’t have been interesting, just based on the way Gino would grunt in to the receiver then jabber off long, monotone phrases.
I sighed and kept going, stretching my arms. His neighborhood was quiet, and I only passed a couple of older folks with white hair and windbreakers walking little white yappy dogs.
Cars rolled past on the old gray street, and the yellow painted lines looked chipped and frayed, like they could use a fresh coat.
The houses were all stone-fronted with peaked roofs and brick chimneys. Some were attached doubles, but most were large singles. Dante’s house was one of the singles, and I guessed that was on purpose. A lot of homes had steep yards with overgrown grass and weed-covered flower beds. Although the houses seemed nice, it looked like people didn’t put much stock in landscaping.
I turned down a couple more streets and walked through a new neighborhood. The houses were different, all attached, all stone, but they had the same steep yards with concrete stairs leading to their porches. I kept going until I found a major cross street and looked both ways, frowning at the cars that rolled past in either direction.
I knew I shouldn’t go far. I didn’t know Mt. Airy. I could easily get lost, and Gino would probably g
et in trouble if they had to come and find me. But then again, I was already gone, and I might as well make the best of it. So I turned right and walked on until I reached another major intersection and turned onto a road with gleaming steel trolley tracks running down the center.
Shops lined either side of the street and the shoulder was covered in old cobbles. There were coffee shops with handwritten signs in the windows, and green awnings in front of banks, and little antiques stores with junk piled near the door. More people walked past, a group of teenage kids in baggy jeans and carrying skateboards, more groups of white-haired boomers in casual clothes, and even a few young professionals, like one woman in a pants suit with a phone plastered to her skull.
I wandered for a while. I was hungry and wanted some coffee, but I had no money, so eventually I found a bench under a large shady oak tree and stretched my legs out to watch people go by.
I used to do that sometimes with my father. He’d bring me to a bench when I was little and sit me down. We’d watch people together, and sometimes he’d try to tell me their stories, like he could understand who they were based on their clothes and the way they walked. It was a funny skill and I liked his stories, but those afternoons were few and far between. Mostly, my father was drunk and high or missing entirely.
It was always the best when he disappeared for weeks on end. I’d have him in the back of my head, a worry nagging at my skull, but life would be simpler. I wouldn’t have to worry about him passing out in the living room, about him choking on his own vomit in bed. I was free to be a normal person for a little while at least, but he always came back, and always needed something.
This time though, he wasn’t ever coming back.
The thought should’ve made me sad. Instead, I felt a strange relief. Like that yoke around my neck was finally lifted. The anchor weighing me down was cut free. I could slip off that old, heavy, used, broken skin and become something new.
I couldn’t help but smile a little bit at the idea.
I was sad my father was dead. I was horrified that I had witnessed his death, even more horrified that I saw his body wrapped in plastic and shoved into the trunk of an SUV. But I knew, deep down on some primal gut level, that I was better off without him. That he would’ve traded my life for his own in a heartbeat if given the chance.
