Gluttony

by Lana Pecherczyk

  “You need some help?” he asked.

  “I can’t work out how to turn this damn thing on.” She touched a button, and it beeped back at her angrily. She hit it again, and it did the same thing.

  “Baby, you have to give it a little loving attention and she’ll be putty in your hands.” He caressed the juicer as though it had feelings. “Plus, I just ask AIMI to do it. She’s got my back.” He lifted his chin at a speaker sitting over his fridge. “AIMI, can you please make me some juice?”

  “Sure thing, Tony,” came the feminine intonation.

  The juicer whizzed on, filling the air with its horrendous noise. Tony grinned and shouted over the din. “She likes me.”

  “Of course she does.” Even a computer liked Tony.

  “What?” He frowned and pointed at his ear.

  “Never mind.” With a huff of frustration, she turned and focused on finding some glasses. There were so many cupboards. She began with the doors beside the cooker. The loud whiz cut off suddenly.

  “Top left,” Tony‘s gruff voice came from behind. He reached by her to open the cupboard.

  Wringing her hands, she stared. Lined in neat rows was a plethora of glassware suited to all sorts of alcoholic drinks. Champagne, highball, wine, cocktail, martini. She scowled at the martini glasses. She’d not mixed her usual amount of Cosmos lately, which meant she’d not reminded herself to stay away from the urges she used to have. It hadn’t even occurred to her until now. Testing herself, she removed a martini glass and twirled it in her fingers. It was made from crystal and probably cost a week’s worth of her salary, but it was still an empty glass.

  “You’re staring awfully hard at that glass,” Tony noted.

  “It reminds me of something,” she replied.

  His silence had her turning around. The expectant look on his face told her he knew. He saw into her heart and knew the truth, or if he didn’t, he wanted to. If this was to work between them, and she wanted it to, she had to be just as honest as he. Trust was a two-way street, and if built properly, it forged a path toward an unbreakable bond. She wanted that. It was her reason for leaving the CIA. She wanted a life, a family, someone to wake up next to.

  She took a deep breath and decided to share.

  “I got into trouble as a teen,” she started. “I got in with a bad crowd. Alcohol was this big cool thing back then, and I knew my parents loved it. I wanted their approval. Their attention. So when my friend pressured me into stealing something from their liquor cabinet, and asked me to drive, I caved. I wanted to do something reckless. I ended up taking their car for a joyride and... there was an accident. My friend died.”

  “I’m sorry.” A line between his eyebrows formed. “I didn’t know.”

  She looked through the empty martini glass. The counter behind was all warped. “Every evening since that accident, I make a Cosmo and then set it on the bench. I walk past it and give it daggers. In my head, I argue with it. I tell the drink it won’t beat me. I leave it there, proving that I can resist, then I tip it out in the morning.”

  “But you’ve never drunk it?”

  “No, I haven’t.” She put the glass back where it belonged. “This is why I was so rude to you when we met. This mate thing… it feels like a choice that’s been forced on me. And”—she took a deep breath, then let it out slowly—“You reminded me of everything I was resisting.”

  He folded his arms defensively. His focus turned inward and looked down at his feet.

  “But not anymore, Tony,” she assured him. “You don’t represent that anymore.”

  Closing the gap, she went to him and touched his unshaven jaw.

  Raw vulnerability flashed in his eyes and he touched his lips to hers. “I don’t want to be that for you,” he murmured against them. “I don’t want to be that person, period.”

  “I believe you.” She deepened their kiss. He tasted suspiciously sweet. “Have you sampled the syrup already?”

  A guilty look flashed across his expression. “I couldn’t wait.”

  Amused, she tasted him again. “You love eating, don’t you?”

  “I love this—” he glanced around the kitchen at the mess she’d made. “I love sharing my life with you.” Then he shot her a brazen smirk. “Plus I like eating. Do you know I have to dehydrate myself before a naked torso shoot so my skin thins and shows the shape of my muscle beneath?”

  “Good Lord, that’s rough, and coupled with your sin’s restrictions, I understand how consuming unfettered would seem like a dream.”

  “Pity I have to work it all off later.”

  “I think maybe I could help with that.” She gave him a wink.

  Two eyes of molten lust flared with interest, but she held up a finger. “First, food and juice, and then we should probably speak with your family about last night. Do you know if they found your sister? And didn’t your brother want to speak with you some more?”

  “Party pooper.”

  Together they set up breakfast on the balcony cane settee. Tony flinched when Bailey took her first bite of waffle, and it hit her… maybe this was why he didn’t date. Every meal was torture with someone. He’d feel sick being around gluttony. So she reached for him with her bare foot under the table. When she connected with his ankle, his surprised gaze warmed her. She became bolder and slid her foot up, then hooked around and entwined their legs. For a moment, time stood still as they stared into each other’s eyes.

  He knew she didn’t like being pressured into doing anything.

  She knew he didn’t like feeling vulnerable.

  But they accepted this.

  Without a word, he relaxed and made short work of wolfing down his waffles while she ate. When the last morsel was gone, he immediately jumped up and invited her back to the bedroom.

  “Tony,” she said, leaning back on her cane chair. “Sit down.”

  “Uh-oh. Am I in trouble?” He winked. “Are you the headmistress and I’m the naughty schoolboy?”

  She laughed. “Maybe some other time. I think you’re avoiding speaking about your family. Come on.” She patted the spot next to her on the cane sofa. “I shared with you, now it’s your turn.”

  Resigned, he sat down and stared broodily at two birds flying in the blue sky. Eventually, he said, “Parker thinks I can’t live in two worlds.”

  “You mean the acting and the... um... crime-fighting?”

  “He’s right.”

  She didn’t know if she should have an opinion on that, so stayed silent.

  “My agent is putting pressure on me to accept more roles where I need to leave the city, and I can’t. Not while the Syndicate is still causing havoc. I’ve already held up production too much with my irregular hours. I’m not building a good rep. The rehab didn’t help.”

  “And if the Syndicate were gone, what would you do?”

  He met her eyes. “About two years ago, we had no idea the Syndicate existed, and I was concentrating on the acting and the, um, other stuff. I didn’t want to fuck things up when I was so clearly wasted half the time, so hardly went out in battle gear to patrol the city. I still don’t go out much. They don’t really need me, I suppose.”

  “Of course they need you. I have a hard time believing that you aren’t missed.”

  He lifted a shoulder, but said nothing.

  “Okay, so what do you like?”

  He tensed. “Don’t know.”

  “So, start with what you do know. Do you like acting?”

  “Are you always so pragmatic?”

  “Yes. Now answer the question.”

  “I love acting,” he said simply. “It used to be all I ever wanted.” He glanced down at his virtually flawless torso. “If you look at my brothers, they’re full of scars, but I worked so hard during training to not be marked. I knew then I wanted to be on screen, and it’s easier to get a role if you’re perfect. Acting meant I could pretend to be someone normal. It was fun.”

  Parker had mentioned he believed Tony was t
he best fighter out of all of them. Bailey couldn’t believe it all stemmed from his silver screen dreams.

  “Do you love it for the fame? Would you still be an actor if you weren’t famous?”

  He thought about it. “I can’t say fame doesn’t have its perks, but I’d act anyway. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to choose my role because I wanted to, not because that’s where the money was.”

  “Well, there’s your answer. Why not try theater?”

  “I can’t.” He threw up his hands. “I can’t just not turn up because an emergency called me away. If there was a live show, there’s no backup.”

  “That’s what understudies are for, right?”

  He shrugged. “I guess. Absences are frowned on though.”

  “My point is, there’s always another option. Even if you took some time off to figure that out, you know if you lost all your fans tomorrow, you’ll still enjoy acting. And if it gives you more time to help get rid of this nasty organization, then that’s okay, right?”

  He grimaced. “I hate it when Parker is always right.”

  “Correction,” she laughed. “I’m always right. Now, I should probably shower and head to work.”

  “So... quickie?” He winked.

  “Good Lord, boy. I’m still sore in places I never even knew I had.”

  “That’s right, you’re sore. Max won’t expect you at work today.”

  She rolled her eyes, but he was right. She did feel an underlying tiredness coating her delicious aches. A day off would be good. “Fine. Let’s stay in.”

  He took her hand. “I’m already planning the perfect Netflix and chill marathon.”

  Of course he would be, and it sounded ideal. She opened her mouth to respond, but was cut off by AIMI’s voice filtering through from the apartment.

  “I hate to interrupt your moment,” she intoned with a hint of sarcasm.

  Bailey lifted her brows at Tony, and his jaw dropped. Was that a jealous tone? Could AIMI truly like Tony? Was that even possible?

  Tony’s eyes sparkled with humor. He pointed at the ceiling and mouthed, “She’s the stalker.”

  “But a family meeting has been called in the communal apartment. Shall I tell them you will be there soon?”

  “Thank you, AIMI. You’re a doll.” Tony lifted his gaze to the ceiling. He waited a beat then made an awkward face when she didn’t respond.

  “She can’t see us, can she?” For a moment, Bailey had a very real concern about privacy.

  “Nah. There are no cameras in here.”

  “Great. That makes me feel so much better.” Not. “I guess I’ll wait here?”

  He frowned, as if she’d grown multiple heads. “You’re family. You come.”

  Twenty-Three

  With his palm resting on the small of Bailey’s back, Tony guided her out of the communal apartment elevator. The suite had been stripped of bedrooms and only consisted of living, dining and entertaining rooms. Although, he still preferred his own theater where the sound and picture quality was better.

  They were the last to arrive, and Bailey was notably nervous. Black hair cascaded in a beautiful mess around her shoulders, and she wore the outfit Lilo and Misha had brought last night—soft jersey yoga pants and a flowing top. She gathered her hair over her shoulder on one side and repetitively twisted the length.

  He didn’t blame her for her nerves. The presence of all of his siblings, and parents, were intimidating. Their powerful, lethal bodies seemed to suck the air from the room. Standing by the sectional, arms folded, and talking with Griffin, Max noted Bailey arrive and came over.

  The rest of the family were spread across the enormous sectional sofa and the dining table behind where Sloan had her laptop out. Parker, Evan and Grace were with her, scrutinizing the screen.

  “How are you feeling?” Max asked Bailey.

  “A little tired, but feet are doing better.”

  “Good.”

  Tony lifted his chin. “S’up, Maxi-Pad.”

  Max scowled. “Only Sloan’s allowed to call me that.”

  “You let her call you that?” He smirked, then coughed the next word into his hand. “Whipped.”

  “No,” Max growled. “You know what I mean.”

  “Relax.” Tony clapped in on the shoulder. “I’m having a laugh.”

  “Yeah, you should be a comedian, mate.”

  It was Tony’s turn to laugh, an action which brought the attention of the rest of the family.

  Parker came over. “You’re here. Take a seat.” He cast a glance at Bailey. “You good?”

  She nodded and then went with Tony when he sat next to Wyatt on the sectional. Misha leaned forward so she could see past Wyatt’s looming body and grinned. She rubbed her protruding belly.

  “How’s the bub?” he asked.

  “Oh you know, kicking me in the middle of the night instead of sleeping.” She tried to laugh, but it came out like a wince.

  Yeow. Tony’d bet the little squirt had kicks of steel, and with about two months until she was full term, she wasn’t out of the woods yet. Those kicks would get more active.

  Standing at the front of the room before the flat screen, Parker cleared his throat, eyeing Tony’s chatter with distaste. Parker flicked a piece of lint from his shoulder. The charcoal tailored suit was the standard he wore to the office. Judging by the neat man bun and designer trimmed stubble, he must have been there already. God, the man looked like he rolled in a million dollars every morning before going to work. There was such a thing as looking effortlessly awesome. Parker should try it some time.

  Tony leaned back on the couch and spread his legs. His knees knocked into Wyatt’s spread legs which earned Tony a scowl.

  “Those of you who went on the search and rescue last night already know this, but for the rest, we couldn’t find Daisy,” Parker announced.

  Tony straightened. “Did you look where I told you to go?”

  Parker lifted an imperious eyebrow.

  “Well, did you check under the water? It was pretty dark in there.”

  “We all looked. She wasn’t there.” Parker folded his arms and ran his eyes around the room, stopping briefly on every person: Griffin at the back with his wife Lilo, Sloan and Max at the table, Evan and Grace next to them… and Mary and Flint, on the other end of the sectional. Mary’s face was drawn and dark circles darkened her eyes. She was once a fit, vibrant, fifty-something-year-old, and now looked her age. Flint also appeared older. His beard went unshaven, and his clothes were rumpled.

  Their appearance plunged a guilty knife through Tony’s heart. While he’d been with Bailey, satisfying his urges, they’d been earning a few more gray hairs.

  Snapping a worried glance back to Parker, Tony asked through a lump in his throat, “Do you think she’s dead?”

  Parker solemnly shook his head and then gestured for Evan to bring him something.

  Evan gathered some sheets of paper from the table and walked over. In his hands were scribbled works of art, portraits and scenes most likely taken from his prophetic dreams. Most nights, Evan would see snapshots of the future, or the present, and when he woke, he drew them. Lately, his dreams had been full of whatever subject was most on his mind—Grace. But occasionally, something else would slip through. As the mood turned somber, Tony took Bailey’s hand.

  There was something on those papers, something no one liked. He could see it in their eyes. Parker shuffled through the papers and picked out one to display. Leaning forward, Tony squinted to make out the picture. Angry black charcoal strokes came together to make a shadowed picture of a crying woman wearing a gag, lying on a bed. She had straps on her wrists and ankles. Evan had overlaid versions of her face, as though she were shaking her head, screaming. The tendons in her neck protruded. But the worst was the sheer terror in her eyes, coming through all layers to hit home. It looked like the drawing of a traumatized, disturbed patient, and Evan had been dreaming it.

  Tony looked close
r and recognized familiar features. A line formed between his brows. He glanced over at Liza sitting between Misha and their parents. “That looks like you.”

  She returned his look with trepidation.

  “There’s more.” Parker replaced the sheet with another.

  Same scene, different woman. This time, her hair was white. Her features were remarkably similar, but she had fine scarring over half her face. “Is that Daisy?”

  So she was alive. His momentary elation deflated when he realized Daisy, too, was being tortured, in pain, or… something not right.

  Parker put the third and final sheet on the front of the display. “And we don’t know who this is.”

  A faceless, interchangeable woman. It could be anyone, or lots of them.

  “But what does it mean?” he asked, looking to Evan now back at his space with Grace. Evan folded his tattooed arms defensively. Tony got the impression the man was sleep deprived. “Why did you have three dreams of the same thing, but with different women?”

  A helpless look flashed in Evan’s eyes. “I don’t know.”

  Parker cleared his throat. He paced the floor, as though he were in a board meeting. “Why don’t you tell everyone about the dreams.”

  Evan looked to his mate for reassurance. She gave him a kind smile and a gentle nod of encouragement.

  “Okay,” Evan started. “I’ll try.” He took a deep breath and then exhaled. “For the past few nights, I’ve been dreaming about women being taken and subjected to physical examinations… No, it’s worse than that because they’re screaming. They’re always screaming so hard that someone puts a gag on their mouth, and then they start crying. I can’t make out much, but each time I dream, the face of the woman turns into another, and another. Sometimes it’s Liza, sometimes Daisy… some of the time, it’s a faceless woman I don’t recognize. Every time, there are more replicate tanks in the background.”

  Those goddamned tanks again? Tony shook his head. “Replicate tanks. I thought you destroyed all of those.”