by Liz K. Lorde
That excitement snapped into sudden dread. The disappointment of it not being him was shadowed by one simple thing: The area code. The person trying to call me was from home. Not here home. But the perfectly encapsulated hell that I'd fled from. My stomach twisted, and the hairs on my neck shot up to their ends - was it Mom? Dad? How they would even get this number is beyond me.
I blocked the number and I pushed out an anxious, heavy breath from my nose; there was no respect left in me for the shambles I left behind. No reason to seek reconciliation for what they'd done to me.
***
Only fifteen minutes left. The smell of garlic and herbs and butter filled up my little studio, wafting playfully to my nose, making the inside of my mouth drool with anticipation. A low gurgle sounded from my stomach, and I peeked at the oven once more, hoping that by observing I might cook the toasted garlic bread faster. Screwing my face up, I made a whiny little noise, like my dog used to make when I would hide his favorite stuffed toy. Couldn't help but picture Charlie Horse with his half-ripped black tail.
I straightened myself out and considered texting Sayla when a firm set of knocks came at the door. Strange. Maybe Jackson needed something again? He was always hitting me up for milk or coca-cola. Something like that. JB was the first to reach the door.
Hollering that I was coming, I strode over fully expecting to see a strung out Jackson Holdsworth in his usual getup; typically wore a green jacket and a black shirt with brown cargo pants. Trying not to think about food, or Michael, or my girls Sayla and Beth giving me shit - I brought my eye up to the brass opening.
Oh shit.
Shit shit shit.
Right outside my front door, Leonardo Ligotti was standing there, an annoyed scowl etched on his face. I thought Romero and Felix were watching. What happened?
Not good.
I pull away and press my back to the door, inhaling a breath, inhaling pins and needles and fire. The blood in my body becomes thick, and the world around me feels like it just got that much heavier.
That much smaller.
Like my body was already preparing itself for the permanent, suffocating embrace of a coffin.
I pushed out that breath, and that hurt too. Michael said that he'd protect me. Romero said that he’d keep me safe.
Calm down. Calm down, he doesn't have a gun on him. Would he hide it? Why would he knock if he was going to kill me?
I turned and looked through the hole once more. He's shifted in place, wearing an all-white suit. Definitely no weapons that I can spot. That eases my nerves about as much as a sky diver with a faulty parachute being informed that there are pillows on the landing point. Rather, the splattering point.
Leonardo gritted his teeth then, and stepped closer, bringing his face to the hole. "I can see your big eye, sweetheart," he growled. He stepped back and put a hand on his hip. "Only two ways to go about this," he warned.
Feeling my chest tighten, I pushed out a breath through my nose and began unlocking the door, letting the notorious gangster inside.
He glanced at me as he moved past, taking an exploratory stroll while JB and I studied him. "You know," he began, examining my bookshelf, "that little stunt you pulled really impressed me. Took a lot of grit," he tilted his head in a quirk of a gesture, "also really pissed me off."
"I did what I had to do," I retorted. "How'd you get past Romero and Felix?"
Leonardo spun on his heel, "That their names? Hmn. Let's just say I let them off with a stern warning."
"Did you hurt them?"
He smirked with one side of his mouth, "Violence isn't coloring me today. Did you really think we would let you go," he snapped his fingers once, "just like that? You deal with us, you follow through."
"I didn't expect him to recognize me," I said, crossing my arms, "presumed you would fine someone else."
"Oh I will," Leo nodded his head, taking a couple of steps closer to me. "But I recognize something in you. I think you're the best horse I've got in this race."
"What if I said no?"
"You could."
"Michael's not some terrible person," I informed him, "I don't care what you say. Ruining his company would be hurting a lot of people."
Leonardo chuckled, "Did you mistake your job for a date?" He stepped closer, the energy of his being overwhelming me. "You were there to make him bleed. You're not supposed to be bleedin' for him, darling."
I couldn't find the nerve to dispute him.
"I know that you took a little trip to his mansion. Tell me, you think you can love someone that sells guns to the lowest scum for the quickest buck?" I started to back up, and then there was nothing left to back up to. "What about trafficking. That turn you off him?" Leo's eyes were dangerous now, his whole demeanor turning dark. "I'll let you guess how old they are. Maybe that matters to you."
"I don't believe you," I said, my breath hitching cruelly in my throat.
"You don't have to believe me. Just take a look," he pulled something from the inner lining of his suit, a handful of pictures. I grabbed them and looked them over, a bile forming in my throat and stomach - threatening to loose my breakfast. There were mutilated bodies, a scene of gang-banger types checking out guns, a group of young women, no older than 14, being auctioned off. But I didn't see Michael involved in this, and for that matter, nothing that indicated it was done by his company.
"This is... vile," the words came without my thinking, "how do you know Michael did this?"
"It's a bosses job to know what's going on," Leonardo affirmed, "my sources are good. Nothing like having an inside man. Still, not inside enough for what I need."
"I just don't see how he could let this happen," I thought back to that morning in the bath house. "He wouldn't stand for this."
"Doesn't matter. It's happening. And it's happening right under his nose - call me a cynic but I think like father like son, mostly. Talk to him, kiss him, fuck him - whatever. I need anything that's personal in his life."
Even just talking to him felt like a task in and of itself. "Why?"
Leo's eyes darted down to JB as he sniffed at the man's feet. "Because brute forcing Smoak's cyber-security would take half an eternity without some starting points. We've gotten our foot in the door... don't ever use a USB that you see lying around, by the way. Heh, Riley would be able to educate you better than me. But we need more personal information. History, secrets, love life, ask him for his best friend's birthday for all I care. Once I feel you've done right by us... a hundred and fifty grand should take care of you."
That was life changing money, and I blinked. "I'll have to consider it."
Leonardo smiled. "Good, 'cause remember. It's either you or someone else. Much rather it be a smart thing like you," he stepped away from me, and the weight of his presence lessened. As he got to the door, he craned his head over his shoulder to look at me, "Don't disappoint me, Jane."
And as quickly as he arrived, he left.
***
I'd spent the last few hours internally debating if I should take Leonardo's offer or not. Researched as much as I could through the Internet as to if the Smoak corporation was truly as corrupt as they were presented to be. There wasn't any concrete evidence, just a lot of speculation, but mostly there wasn't anything good to outweigh all the bad. Aside from Michael Smoak's numerous philanthropic ventures, which his father Jonathan Pendragon Smoak seemed all but allergic to.
Another knock came at the door, and I practically jumped out of my spot on the bed with my laptop. JB picked himself up, and a voice came from outside.
"Jane?" My heart nearly dropped to my toes. It's Michael. "Are you in there?"
I closed my computer and swiftly moved to the door, my blood heating with uncontrollable nervousness. Opening up the door, my eyes widened at the stunning sight of Michael sharply dressed in a black suit, quite the opposite of Ligotti. "Michael," I said, flicking the edge of my tongue across my lips, "what, what are you doing here?" I subtly tried to look around
for Leonardo or anyone associated.
There was concern in the lines of his face, and a cold, burning passion dancing in his green eyes. "I wanted to make sure you were okay," he assured in a gruff tone, " Romero and Felix missed their update and hadn't picked up their phones."
You need to tell him about Leonardo. Just what did he do to them? "Michael..."
He drew in a breath, his powerful, regal chest expanding with him. "Look, I know you were upset the last time we spoke..." his words were rough and determined, and just the sound of his voice alone was dripped with this basic enchantment. "But I've been thinking." He looked into my studio, and then back to me, indicating that he'd like to come inside. He was so painfully close to me that I could smell his scent of coconut. More importantly, of him.
"Sorry," I fumbled, "come inside."
Closing the door behind him, he stuffed his hands into his pockets, only his thumbs confidently poking out. He drank in the sight of my place, much like Leonardo earlier, and JB curiously approached him, sniffing his shoes. Unlike Ligotti, Michael sank down at an angle and gave my good boy some lavishing pets, his tongue happily lolling from his mouth.
It felt strange to have someone like him in my room. My private most place. Weirder than the figurehead of a criminal family. He straightened out and turned to face me, "It's a nice place."
"Not as spacious as yours."
"Doesn't need to be," he shrugged his shoulders, "it has you painted all over it."
I smirked, "How can you tell?"
"Because it has a quiet, contained beauty," he crooned, and I felt the color in my cheeks. "I have a proposal for you."
"I'm not that kind of girl," I jested, the thought of marriage was something that I've had since I was a girl. But that dream, that hope, that nagging thought? It was ripped from me.
Stolen.
Michael smiled devilishly, "But you could be." What did that mean? "That night you were working for the Mob? You had me fooled for a bit."
"That was kind of the point," I countered.
"But you were good at it," he continued, "so good I think you could help me." Michael moved closer towards me, and the electricity between us threatened to suffocate me. I'd never had someone make me feel like this before. Was I just going crazy?
I thought back to Leonardo's words. His pictures. How the company was supposedly running guns and racking up body counts. Not even to mention the sickening idea of... I didn't want to think about it. How could Michael condone those things? He couldn't. He held the aura of an asshole, but not a monster.
I pulled in a breath to try and steady my nerves. "I don't think there's anyway I can help you, Michael. I've done enough damage," I told him, "and you've expressed things that I, I can't do."
"Jane," he pleaded, "hear me out on this. You've already proved that you can do something like this. I need to fake a marriage or I won't be able to inherit what I've bled for."
So he was proposing. "I'm not even functional enough to date for real," the words came out bitter, "what makes you think I could do something like that? Just find someone else. I'm sure there's plenty of willing suitors," that came off bitter too, was I jealous? No, no.
Michael growled, and it sent a surge of energy straight up my spine. "You're not listening," he insisted, his tone becoming increasingly dark and angry. Frustrated.
"How can you expect me to?" I protested, putting a hand to my chest, secretly wanting to calm myself from the inner maelstrom. "You and me," I said, "we're worlds apart. Met each other over impossible circumstances," I explained, feeling the blood roar in my ears.
"I don't care," Michael admonished, pushing out his chest and lifting his chin just slightly. "I don't care about the others. They're all the same. These impossible circumstances are exactly what I'm looking for," his eyes came alive with curiosity and lust. This man was definitely half mad. "I'll pay you considerably, and I'll teach you everything you need to know. I'll let you in, Jane," his voice grew sotto, closing the last distance between us.
"You just won't quit," I insisted, trying to fend off the thorn of heat that pricked at my throat. "We had-- we had one night. One morning," I closed my eyes and shook my head, "that's all it was," I said, opening my eyes, my voice wrought with the high emotions he so coaxed from me. It had been hard for me to not think of him, and now Leonardo comes over trying to pull me back in. Now Michael insists on this sham marriage? I couldn't do something real. I could hardly do something fake. There was no next for me, that was what I tried to convince myself with - my eyes raking over his perfect body, remembering all the ways he looked without them.
There was a legitimate mask of anger over his face, his thin, sleek brows pressed downwards; his eyes danced with a dark, passionate allure. "Tell me then," he challenged, "why you look at me with those eyes. Why your lip sticks out," his eyes dipped, and I suddenly became more aware of what my body was doing. Time stood still for me when he brought his hand up in a careful, fluid motion. "I know pain, Jane." I swallowed, but the pebble wouldn't vanish. "What haunts you, I'm not sure," his hand cupped my cheek, and it felt like my skin vibrated where he touched.
I pushed away his hand, not wanting to go through the pain of drinking such basic pleasures. Not wanting to spiral into the days I left behind me. "If I was going to do this," I said, already dreading all of the little possibilities. "There would be boundaries."
"Name them," the way he said it made me believe he would test them; his hand grabbed my wrist, and a force of magnetism bloomed between us.
"This scam can't be consummated."
He smirked. "You mean you don't want me fucking your tight, beautiful form senseless."
Heat licked at my body like a dark fire. That was definitely one bold way to word it. "Y-yes."
His gaze narrowed. "If it's because you haven't..."
"I'm not a virgin," I declared, being right in only the most painfully technical sense. "This is for show," I dipped my head, "so we won't be doing that." Stop thinking about his body glistening from the sweat and the water of that morning. "Kissing is off limits as well."
"That won't do," Michael prodded. "If I'm not kissing you, if you're not openly displaying your affection."
"Fake affection," I corrected, averting my eyes.
"Whatever you want to call it," he rumbled, "this has to be believed. If you're going to do this with me, I need you to give me an inch." That was roughly seven short of what he wanted to give me.
"It's just," I bit my lip nervously, wrapping my hands around my waist to try and make myself smaller. "I'm not comfortable with any of this."
Michael brought his fingers to my chin, pushing to try and keep me looking at him. When I reflexively turned away, he did so again, this time with more force; there wasn't any stopping this stubborn man. "If you do your best, I'll do mine," he promised sincerely, "you were willing to go on a date against me." He smiled then, giving me a glimpse of his ivory teeth. "A fake date," he added, "if you felt up to going against me... I'm telling you now to fight with me."
My insides wanted to melt away in that perfect moment, a blissful feeling cloaking my body and my bones and damn near every fiber of my rotten being. Was this how hope tasted? "If I say stop, you stop," I murmured with some small courage. "Kisses will be permitted--"
"Never thought I'd hear that."
"But only when in public," God was I really saying this? "And no tongue. Never tongue." Why was he smiling like that? Wonderful, now he's probably picturing himself thrusting his tongue down my throat like he'd lost his inheritance in there. "And let's try to keep it affectionate, not passionate."
"I see," he thought aloud, tilting his head cockily, "you know I'm a hands on kind of learner. Passion. Affection. That could be easy to mess up," he teased, coaxing a big smile from me - and the desire to slap at his chest. "Let's practice and really define those lines in the sand, beautiful."
"Stop my underwear can only drop so fast," I teased.
There was a rogue smi
rk, and another tilt of the head, and a clicking sound from his mouth. "You need to work on your verbal foreplay. Panties? Much more enticing."
I elected to say nothing, preferring that my eyes dagger his body. Despairingly, no blood came from this. "You should change into something more casual."
"Why?"
"Because we're starting your lessons today."
Chapter 11
Michael
I couldn't understand what happened to Romero and Felix; on the drive over to the Wester Woods, Jane had insisted that she wasn't sure either. But it wasn't like them to not keep me informed. I'll give them until nightfall before I start fretting though.
Rolling up to the estate in my matte black McLaren 720S, I spotted a furiously texting Rebbecca sitting outside on the steps. There wasn't a harder working woman in this city, to tell the truth.
Jane undid her seatbelt as I parked, having her sit shotgun beside me was a gift in itself. Catching glimpses of excitement and worry on her face when I showed her what I could do with this beast. "Who's that?" She asked. "Looks kind of displeased."
"That'd be Rebbecca," I said beneath my breath, unbuckling my seatbelt. "You could feed a third world country with her constant displeasure." Opening up the car door, I rounded over to Jane's side just as she was getting out. Rebbecca picked herself up from the steps, and her auburn ponytail bounced with each authoritative stride that she made. She was wearing her black gauge earrings, and a green button-up top hugged her figure in all the proper ways.
I offered my hand to Jane to help her out of the car, but she casually ignored me and closed the door behind her. Her every behavior seemed to pluck the strings of my nerves, but it only made me crave to have her more.
She only serves a purpose, I assured myself. No different than the rest. Whatever curious hold she seemed to have on me, I'll cast it away; there was no more light in me, no more enchantment to feel something more than attraction.
