I expect his jaw to harden and his voice to crack the walls in his outrage. But what I find in his eyes is something wholly different. Something that’s been expanding between us for months, doubling in size when we’re together, and growing in strength when we’re apart. As if finally bold enough, everything we’ve ever felt for one another gathers into one monumental sentiment and shines from his gaze.
He wraps his hands around my hips. “I love you.”
There it is. Spoken without fireworks, received without weepy tears, and absorbed without the ricochet of distant thunder.
It’s simple, real, and right there in the open.
In a bathroom.
I grip his face, eyes connected, hearts beating in sync. “You waited until now to tell me that?”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “It’s not like you didn’t already know.”
“Yeah, but a girl doesn’t forget the first time her crush says those words.” I fight a grin. “I’ll always remember this moment with the image of a toilet seat imprinting a ring on my ass.”
He rests his forehead against mine. “Did you say crush?”
“Not just any crush.” I touch our lips together. “A crush on my hot teacher, who also happens to be my cocky Master. And the man I love.”
Doesn’t matter if I’m sitting on a toilet, splayed on his piano, or straddling his lap. This is our secret world, and it’s more meaningful than every aspiration I’ve ever set for myself. Our relationship isn’t practical or convenient. And it’s not just physical. We need each other, not because our bodies fit so well together, but because our hearts beat the same tune, for the same reason.
“Say it,” he breathes.
“I love you.” I’m not the first woman who’s said those words to him, but I’ll make damn sure I’m the last. I comb my fingers through his hair. “The kind of love that doesn’t end in betrayal.”
His hands clench against my hips. “It won’t end at all. Ever.”
He kisses me passionately, achingly, his mouth molding against mine as if trying to convey the depth of his words. He kisses me until my bladder howls again.
Lingering longer than he should, he tucks me into bed and piles the nightstand with food and water. Then he leaves the room and returns a few minutes later with Schubert bundled in his arms.
I curl on my side, grinning despite the discomfort. “You thought of everything.”
“Not everything.” Settling Schubert beside me, he pets the kitty into a lazy purr of contentment. “I haven’t figured out a way to stay home with you.”
“You’re late, Mr. Marceaux. Get out of here.”
He presses a longing kiss to my lips. “Dad has his own code to get in, so stay up here. Get some sleep. He’ll be by soon.”
I close my eyes and stroke Schubert, trying to ignore the irritating urge to pee again. I sense Emeric hovering in the doorway for a silent moment before his footsteps fade down the hall.
The beep of the alarm tells me he armed it. The slam of the door punctuates his frustration about leaving.
Sleep pulls me under within minutes. It’s a disorienting, uncomfortable kind of slumber that bounces me between awareness and dreamland. Minutes pass, or maybe hours, as my mind replays Emeric’s tenderness while my body begs me to release my bladder.
At some point, the alarm system sounds its thirty-second entry delay, snapping my eyes open. I force myself up and make a mad dash to the toilet. After a great amount of trickling relief and scorching pain, I debate hunting down a pair of shorts. At the very least, I should put on underwear.
Fuck it. I’m sick, he’s a doctor, and the closet is too damn far away. Stretching the t-shirt down my thighs, I roll beneath the covers and wait for the blessed delivery of medicine.
I must’ve fallen asleep. Schubert leaps off the bed, startling me into a blinking state of grogginess as I try to make sense of the silhouette in the doorway.
Blue jeans. Black V-neck t-shirt. Dark skin. Beefed-up arms… I stare at the Destroy tattoo on his neck and choke.
Am I dreaming? Having a nightmare? This can’t be real. Inwardly, I give myself a once-over. My heart is pounding, lungs panting, throat tight. This is really happening. A spasm convulses through my body.
Lorenzo stares right back with wide eyes. “You’re supposed to be at school.”
Ice saturates my veins as I scramble backward, dragging the sheet with me. “You’re supposed to be in jail!”
He cocks his head and takes a step into the room. “How do you know about that?”
“Why are you here? What do you want?” With rasping breaths, I shove a hand beneath the covers and dig around. Where’s my phone? Fuck, I know Emeric left it right next to me. Where is it? Where is it?
He slinks into the room and pauses in front of the closet. The bed sits in the center with the bathroom on the other side of the door. There’s a lock on that door. I inch my way across the mattress in that direction.
Keeping his body angled toward me, he glances inside the closet, his vile gaze staining everything he looks at. “Shane and I have been casing the place.”
Shane…? Casing…? My head spins as I covertly pick through the blankets. Where is the goddamn phone?
His eyes latch onto my trembling hands, and I freeze. I don’t want to give him any reason to attack me.
Is Shane in the house? Are they here to rob Emeric? Lorenzo was arrested for burglary, but… “How did you get in?”
I slowly shift my legs beneath the covers, hoping to bump into the phone while subtly moving closer to the edge nearest to the bathroom.
Lorenzo crosses his arms over his chest and studies me. “I know these alarm systems. There’s a master code, as well as codes assigned to each user. Shane guessed yours on the third try.”
The date my dad died. My heart caves in.
He tsks. “The weakest link in security is always the human.”
Sweltering pain grips my chest. Why is this happening? I can’t bear it if he touches me again. What the hell am I going to do?
My eyes blur with tears. “You have to leave. I’m expecting a delivery any second.”
He prowls closer. “Your brother is outside on lookout.”
And Shane doesn’t know I’m home? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I scoot closer to the edge, untangling my legs from the blankets.
Lorenzo stops ten feet from the bed, watching me. “Don’t do anything stupid, Ivory. I know the suit you’re shacked up with is at school. We have hours before he comes home.” His smile forms a vicious fissure across in his face. “You owe me months.”
Changing course, he veers toward the foot of the bed. Anticipating my escape to the bathroom? He’s faster, stronger. If I run, he’ll beat me there.
“Where’s the safe?” he asks as he circles the mattress.
It’s in Emeric’s office, and I know the damn combination. But he won’t just take money. Not now that he’s seen me. I jerk my attention at the closet.
He follows my gaze, his body turning, distracted.
I waste a half-second scanning the sheets for the phone before shoving off the bed and running like hell into the bathroom. Heart racing, I skid through the doorway as he chases, screaming, “Ivory!”
I’m hyperventilating by the time the door slams. I hit the lock. Punch it again. And again. Then I step back, dizzy, nauseous, struggling to breathe. Will the door frame hold? The molding looks thick and sturdy. But will it keep out Lorenzo?
Not for long.
His fist pounds on the door. “Ivory! Open it the fuck up!”
I spin, scanning the bathroom for escape, self-defense, a weapon. The half-moon window is too high, too small, too unbreakable. I rip open drawers and cabinets, digging for something, anything.
Oh God, this can’t be happening. How did he get out of jail? Why did he target this fucking house?
Shane.
That selfish motherfucker knew I lived with Emeric. He’s been gone for three months. More than enough time to find ou
t where I live. Or maybe he’s known all along.
The heavy banging on the door hardens my stomach. “Ivory, if you don’t open the goddamn door, we’ll have to do this the hard way.”
A chill sweeps down my spine. The banging stops.
I hold up a toothbrush and discard it for a hairbrush. What the fuck am I going to do with this?
“Here, kitty kitty,” Lorenzo calls, softly.
The hairbrush thumps to the floor as all the blood in my body rushes to my feet. No no no.
“Come on out, Schubert.”
His sickening sweet voice and gentle coaxing sounds twist my gut and flood my eyes with tears. Then he whistles, using the same cat call he’s heard me use for years.
Everything inside me curls up in horror. I fly at the door and press my palms against it. Run, Schubert. Oh God, please run.
My heartbeat thrashes past my ears as silence draws tightly on the other side. I stare down at the handle. Emeric would whip my ass just for thinking about turning it. But Schubert…
His long, pained howl penetrates the door and rattles me to the bone.
A sob rips from my throat, and violent tremors wobble my legs. “Let him go!” My hand falls to the door handle, squeezing it in a death grip. “Let’s talk about this. Just…please, let him go.”
Schubert lets out another keening scream, this one louder, more frenzied.
I yank open the door and stumble out, eyes frantically searching.
Lorenzo leans a shoulder against the wall beside the bathroom, his hand around Schubert’s neck as the cat’s body flails and contorts in pain.
“Stop!” I launch at him, screaming and shaking with hysterics. “You’re hurting him!”
He kicks me in the stomach, knocking the wind out of me and sending me sprawling across the floor. His hand clenches around that tiny neck so hard Schubert’s back arches, legs spread out and thrashing against the restraint.
I scramble to my feet, fear tearing me apart as I throw myself at him again.
“Please, let go. Please,” I wail uncontrollably, clawing at his arm, unable to remove his torturous hold. “He can’t breathe. Oh God, stop!”
“Get on your hands and knees, ass in the air.”
Every muscle in my body locks up in terror as the vulnerable hole in my backside clenches in remembered anguish. I can’t. Not there. I can’t. I can’t.
“Do it!” he roars.
My head shakes on its own, taking control of my response. I want to be strong enough to do whatever is needed to free Schubert. But my jaw is glued shut, my legs so frozen I can’t feel them.
His entire demeanor changes, twisting and tightening, his expression transforming from rotten and ugly to horrifyingly evil. I see his intent coming a fraction of a second before it happens. But I move too slowly, too fucking weak to remove his hand from around Schubert’s neck, to stop his arm from swinging, to prevent my beloved kitty from slamming into the wall.
Schubert’s limp body drops to the floor, and something inside me breaks, detaches, and shrivels away. My ears hear him thump against the wood floor. My eyes trace the awkward, unmoving bend in his spine. But my mind refuses to accept it. He’s not dead. He’s not. He can’t die.
The floor rises up and slams against my knees. I’m screaming, but there’s a palm over my mouth. I’m crawling and reaching, but the heavy weight on my back pins me down. I’m sobbing, but I don’t feel the tears. Determination drives me, my arms straining for my little broken kitty, aching to hold him. He needs me to comfort him, to fix him.
But his head’s at the wrong angle. Eyes open. Not moving. Looking but not seeing. Oh God, why won’t he move?
The sane part of my brain knows. But I bury it, focusing all of my strength on reaching him, desperate to shake him awake, to hear his purr, to see him shift those unblinking eyes.
Until the press of hard flesh probes between my legs.
Dead, chilling darkness sits on my senses. Numbing the hand on my hip. Lightening the chest on my back. Muting the sound of hungry breaths.
“Scriabin,” I sob, fingers stretching and bumping against the soft pad of a kitty paw. “Scriabin.”
Just a few more inches, and I’ll be able to pull Schubert into my arms.
The forceful pressure against my core adjusts, realigning with the ring of muscle in my ass. I squeeze my eyes shut. Paying attention to my body will bring agonizing pain, so I concentrate on the notes in my head, the dissonant sonata, the deadening dark where I can hold my kitty.
Fight, Ivory. Emeric’s voice shatters through my mind. Fight and fucking win.
The erection pushes against my barrier, searing my nerve-endings. I twist my neck and sink my teeth into the flesh of Lorenzo’s bicep. Hard.
He bellows and rears back his arm.
Just as his fist flies toward me, Shane’s frantic voice echoes from somewhere downstairs. “Lorenzo! Man, where are you?”
The punch connects with my face.
Emeric
I idle the GTO at the gate and punch in my code. With all the neighbors at work, the street is deserted and quiet. I don’t like quiet. It makes my instincts prickle with paranoia.
No doubt my nerves are related to the gamble in canceling my afternoon classes. But since my dad’s delayed at the clinic, I claimed a family emergency, consequences be damn, and picked up her prescriptions on the way home.
When the gate opens, I follow the driveway around the back of the estate, wondering if Ivory hears the rumble of the engine.
I slam on the brakes. What the—?
An old black Honda is parked near the back door. Unfamiliar. Unoccupied. No tags.
My stomach hardens into ice. Ivory.
I don’t breathe until I’m in the house. The alarm isn’t armed.
The next breath doesn’t come until I reach the kitchen. Footsteps on the second floor.
I race through the living room, every cell in my body hyperalert. Who the fuck is here?
“Lorenzo, he’s in the driveway!” A man’s voice echoes upstairs. “Where are you?”
Shane. My blood runs cold as I sprint toward the foyer. Did he say Lorenzo? How is that possible?
Lorenzo’s in my fucking house.
With Ivory.
Rage propels me up the stairs, every step an opponent between me and her. I climb faster, taking two…three stairs at a time.
“The fuck?” Shane roars from the direction of my bedroom. “Get the fuck off her!”
No! Oh, Jesus, fuck, no! Urgency fuses into my muscles, pushing me faster, harder, locking my jaw. I can’t hear her. Why can’t I hear her?
I hurdle the last stair, but the remaining distance feels like it’s forcing my heart to explode out of my chest. The landing is too big, the hall too long. I’m too far away. I never should’ve left. I failed her, and I’m fucking fuming in my regret. Goddamn shaking in my desperation to reach her.
I follow the sounds of rising shouts. Almost there. A few more steps. I rush through the doorway, my focus zooming in on the far side of the bedroom.
Ivory stands motionless in my t-shirt. Blood on her lips. Expression empty. Schubert in her arms. Dead.
Shane’s balled fists. Wounds on Lorenzo’s face and arm. His zipper open.
Each millisecond snapshot sears into me with a viciousness that staggers my steps.
No one notices me.
I’m outnumbered, unarmed, and over-fucking-wrought with fury. Everything inside me pulls toward Ivory, but I fight it, refusing to look at her or think about her. If I do, I’ll lose my fucking shit.
Sticking to the edge of the room, I close the distance. Ivory stands a few feet away from the face-off between Shane and Lorenzo.
“Did you rape her, motherfucker?” Shane throws a punch at Lorenzo and misses his dodging head. “She was telling the truth all this time?”
Cold lethal intent spreads through me, hiking my breaths. My fists flex for destruction. My heart hardens for permanent, irrevocable death. I will en
d this.
My impulses take over, my hands dropping to my belt and yanking it free as venom simmers through my veins.
Lorenzo widens his stance. “Dude. Look what she did to my face.”
“You were on top of her!” Shane attacks him, arms swinging.
Lorenzo ducks, hooks him around the waist, and takes him to the floor in a series of punches.
I approach on swift silent feet, sliding the end of the belt through the buckle. A foot away, I stand behind Lorenzo. Shane sprawls on his back with Lorenzo kneeling over him. I’m certain Shane sees me, but they’re both throwing punches, blocking, grunting.
I shove the belt loop over Lorenzo’s head and hold my madness together with both fists.
Shane’s eyes, red and outraged, collide with mine. Lorenzo turns his neck.
I cinch the belt around Lorenzo’s throat, wrenching the end with the full strength of my wrath.
His body flings backward with the ruthlessness of my pull, thrashing across the floor, hands scrabbling at the noose. I hang on, yanking harder, fueled with malicious purpose.
Shane crawls toward Lorenzo’s bucking body and glares up at me with feral eyes. How am I going to fight him off while holding on to the belt?
With a bellow of rage, he slams a knee onto his friend’s chest, his fists pummeling Lorenzo’s face. I falter, stunned, and readjust my grip, pulling the belt with a vengeance.
Shane’s weight holds Lorenzo to the floor as I stand over them and wring the garrote tighter, tighter, the brutal imperative for this to end slicing through my wavering breaths.
Fingers clenched around the leather, I meet Ivory’s shattered brown gaze. I’m killing a man in front of her, coldly, consciously, and without apology. There’s no going back from this.
Her legs support her unmoving posture. Her hands hold Schubert’s dead body. Her eyes stay with mine, but she’s not here. She’s not with me.
Probably for the best, because I’m not stopping until this son of a bitch can’t hurt her anymore.
The phone in my pocket vibrates with an incoming call. The school? My parents? The fucking cops following up on suspicious activity? Fuck!
Lorenzo’s jaw gapes in a silent scream. Blood smears his face, eyes swollen, his complexion waning from red to blue.
Falling For The Forbidden Page 32
