by Scott, Raven
“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, I reached 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.”
Every movement was sluggish, but Illya must’ve forgotten that she hadn’t eaten in three days— or maybe it was normal and didn’t bother her? I didn’t know, and I sure as shit wasn’t going to ask. Slapping the butter into the pan, I only guided her movements, and her palms were hard and stiff from discomfort. Taking a deep breath of her smell, I closed my eyes briefly as she capped the tub of butter and set it aside.
“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 h
is 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, my 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.”
“That’s a dumbfuck question. I know your father runs the Syndicate, and you’re second in command or some shit like that. I honestly don’t care about the details.” I rolled my eyes at the surprise that brightened Carlyle’s eyes, and curiosity rippled across his hard features as I sunk in my seat. “As long as I get paid, I don’t give two fucks. I can count on my bad hand how many times Mateo complained about Daddy Dearest and being shoved into the corner, and I really wasn’t paying attention at the time.”
“Do you know what your name means, Theo?” Irritation raked my eyelid, and I shook my head as Carlyle propped his elbow on the table to hold his chin on his fist. “It means ‘divine gift.’ Ironically, the name Mateo also means ‘gift from God’. You know what my name means? It was originally a girl’s name, firstly. It means ‘from the walled city.’”
“I really couldn’t give a lesser shit, Carlyle.” My bland tone earned me a smirk, but I didn’t think too hard on what subliminal message he was trying to send me. “Why do you think I want to know what your name means?”
“You don’t. I’m only trying to make conversation. I just thought it was funny— Illya is a boy’s name, and mine was originally a girl’s.” The hairs on the back of my neck bristled, and my eyes narrowed on Carlyle as he feigned ignorance. “You wouldn’t think because the connotation of ‘a’ at the end, but it fits her quite well. I’m sure you agree. Have you seen her chest yet?”
“I bet you’re going to tell me all about it.” My lip twitched in a faint snarl, and Carlyle caught my gaze levelly. He was trying to push me, to find a button, but this wasn’t a month ago. I wouldn’t threaten him— I’d just fucking pop his brains out of his mouth. “Careful what you say, Carlyle, because I have a feeling that threatening to kill you won’t do shit, so I’ll have to really kill you to get my point across.”
Lucky for him, Carlyle didn’t laugh, and he leaned forward with a graveness dragging down his features.
“I was jealous.” My brow rose quizzically at the admission, and Carlyle smirked a little self-deprecating at me. It almost seemed like he was genuine, but even that caused my suspicion to rise. “When Mateo hired you, I was jealous. I admit it. In all seriousness, when I met you, I kinda wanted to kill him myself just so I could transfer you to my service. You’re not afraid to say it straight, Theo, and I appreciate that, especially in a person that’s guarding my life.”
“Right. I don’t suppose you have a reason for not doing that?” The more time I spent with Carlyle, the more I realized that he was a fucking asshole. He was a two-faced, smart, beady-eyed asshole that liked to play mind games, and I fucking hated it. I hated the conversations more than I hated Mateo’s whining.
However . . . Carlyle didn’t require round the clock babysitting, so I had free time, which more than made up for some of the more unpleasant experiences.
“Do you remember how you felt the first time you met me?” Carlyle’s face twisted in disgust, and I shook my head as the soberness of the moment blanketed my skin in goosebumps. “That’s how everyone is, and I’m not going to lie— sometimes, it gets annoying. If I killed Mateo, you would’ve failed at your job, and, well, then you’d have to die, too. Not exactly what I want. So, I figured why not kill three birds with one stone?”
He so casually admitted interference that I had to doubletake, and I cocked my head as I sucked in a sharp breath through flared nostrils. Leaning back, Carlyle laced his fingers behind his head to blow out a breath, and I clenched and released my jaw hard.
“I’ve had my eye on Illya for a long time. My father hired her mother— did you know that? Illya seems to believe her mom was going to the FBI, but . . . anyway, I started looking into it, and whaddya know? I found her. I shipped Mateo off to California after I got word that she was there. I didn’t necessarily consider he’d meet you, but Mateo goes through bodyguards like candy. It wasn’t luck that you three got together— well, not entirely. Every situation requires a little bit of luck.” He talked so casually even as his frown became more and more promine
nt and nasty, and his biceps flexed under the strained fabric of his button-down. “I didn’t expect Mateo to get that thing involved, but it’s an added bonus in my book. Maybe, he’ll break under pressure? Maybe, he’ll grow up and stop acting like an angry toddler? Either way, he’ll finally be out of my hair. I’ve always hated him.”
“You boarded him up in his house like he had the Plague. You legitimately boarded up the windows and doors.” It was fucking insanity to think that Carlyle had plans for me long before we met— that he had plans for Illya— and he arched a brow quizzically.
“So? Mateo acts like a child, I’ll treat him like a child, and children sometimes need a nice, long time out to reflect on their behavior.” Snorting roughly at that, I scowled when Carlyle frowned disapprovingly at me. “Didn’t you threaten to cut your own sister’s fingers off when she was insensitive about it? How is my forcing my considerations on Mateo so outlandish?”
“I can’t wait to see how your kids grow up if you make that mistake.” My grumble only darkened Carlyle’s frown, and I cast him a pointed look. “You never answered my question. You just changed the subject.”
“I was genuinely curious. I haven’t seen her naked.” The flippant reply intensified the blood pounding in my ears, and Carlyle lowered his arms as disinterest masked his features. “Regardless, I’m not interested in seeing her naked. I’m sure she’s got some horrifying scars, and I’m not particularly attracted to that kind of thing— although, I’m sure it’s a different story for you, Theo. To be perfectly clear, here, Theo, I have no interest in her. If she wasn’t so ruined, physically, then, of course, but . . . ”
Theo shrugged, and disgust clawed up my throat before his eyes wavered from mine. Twisting as the conversation stumbled to a halt, I frowned deeply as a familiar body stalked over. That chick worked at the same club as Illya.
