Lies & Lullabies

by Courtney Lane

  Catch led me to the table, stopping my movements absent my brain, and pulled out a chair for me. “Sit, sweetheart. You worked hard on the meal. Rest your feet.”

  The moment Catch left, Michael turned to me. Exhaustion marked his eyes with red streaks of irritation. His face was tinged with a sickly pale green shade. Beads of sweat decorated parts of his face. The pressure of his stare pushed down against me, forcing me to remain immobile.

  I thought Catch was kidding about the last animal in the basement. I never—ever—completely believed he had Michael the entire time. There wasn’t a viable way he could’ve bypassed the protection Michael had to get to him. I was wrong.

  “Must be really uncomfortable.” Jory turned around and ripped the tape from Michael’s mouth with one jerk. “I’m sure a talkative man like you has a million things to say.”

  Michael wouldn’t speak. Despite his circumstances, he carried his pride on his shoulders. Giving me a nonverbal command, he darted his eyes toward the pitcher of water on the table.

  Dutiful for reasons I couldn’t explain, I poured a glass of water for Michael and walked over to serve him.

  Catch, back from the kitchen, was there to stop me. He snatched the glass from my hand and forced me to sit back down. He shoved my chair in, making my chest meet with the edge of the table.

  As Catch sauntered toward Michael, he gave Jory a look that made her sit in her own seat. “He’s been quiet since he arrived here.” Catch sat on the edge of the table, facing Michael, and gave me his back to view.

  Turning toward the centerpiece, Catch plucked up the only apple left inside the glass bowl. The crunching sounds of his first bite suffused the air. He set the ripe red apple down in front of Michael as though it was some sort of message. “He won’t say a single word to me. Not even when I severed his hands.”

  It was then I took note of the bandages on Michael’s wrists, and he was missing what came after them.

  “Ironic, isn’t it?” Catch looked over his shoulder at me and beamed. “The monster who had his hands in everything, no longer has hands.”

  “W-we have to get him to the h-hospital.” My words made less and less sense to me. My eyes were on the table and not Catch. Anything but Catch. I was drowning in a hazy pool and couldn’t tell the bottom from the surface.

  “You know where the next hospital over is?” Jory piped in. “Takes forever to get there. Better to go ahead and kill him.”

  “You fuckin’ betraying me?” Michael’s voice cracked, sounding dry enough to soak up the water from an ocean. “Deceitful puttana,” he spat at me. “You’re gonna kill me for this fucker? Huh? After all I’ve done for you, you have no goddamn respect for me?”

  Catch picked up a fork from the table and turned to Michael. “You never learned how to properly treat a woman—even your own flesh and blood.” He slid off the table and stalked behind Michael. With one hand gripping Michael’s forehead, he forced his head to tilt back and implanted a fork with more strength than I thought possible into Michael’s ear.

  Michael gurgled back his complaint. Panting and weary, he settled his eyes back on me. “Speak to me, you goddamn cunt,” he hissed, caring little for the lesson Catch taught him earlier. “Explain yourself.”

  “She can’t,” Catch yanked the fork out of Michael’s ear, making him spit curses. “She’s understandably shocked.” Catch’s eyelids grew heavy as he approached me. Taking my hand above the table, he kissed the back of it. “Do you need time to digest this? I want you to be at your best when you do what you promised.”

  My blinking slowed. My head was so full of noise it rendered me dizzy. A burn in my stomach made me feel sick to the core.

  Catch smoothed his hand down the back of my head and left his arm to drape on the back of my chair. “I’m deeply invested in the woman you failed to raise. I’m thinking about adding another ring to her hand.”

  My neck snapped to Catch in time with Michael’s. I wasn’t the only one in shock. Jory rose from her seat and seemed awestruck over what Catch had said.

  “What the fuck do you want?” Michael asked. “Huh? What the fuck is it you want, you little shit?”

  “You ever wonder how I was able to get to you and transport you here?” Catch threw out his question with a smugness so dense, it thickened the air. “You can’t buy the kind of disloyalty that led you to this very spot. Maybe it’s the missing women in your family. Maybe it’s your complete mishandling and sullying of an organization you killed to get the reins of many years ago. Maybe you’re an unintelligent yokel with a sick deficiency who was born into the wrong family. You should’ve been given to evangelicals. Maybe they would’ve beaten the sickness out of you with their bibles and turned you into a better man.”

  Catch leisurely picked up a bottle of wine and filled my glass only a quarter of the way. He ran the back of his finger down my cheek. “I can’t wish for these things because it would erase the present, and I would live this all over again to have her.” Sincerity was wrapped around his confession.

  “Your question about what I want?” Catch asked, dipping into this cold way of addressing people. “That’s not a very good question, Michael. What you should really be questioning is why I have so much power. What you really should ask me is who I am.”

  “I know who you are,” Michael admitted. “I don’t forget a fuckin’ face, especially one that belongs to the shit who stupidly crossed me. I don’t care how you got to a place you didn’t deserve. I’m going to kill you when I get my hands on you. I should’ve done it the first time.”

  “You no longer have any hands.” Catch threw his head back and laughed. “You don’t know who I really am. You've stared at two faces and even now can’t tell one from the other?”

  Behaving like a maniac, Jory began to cackle. “They fucking believed us. They really think you’re Marcin Di Stefano, my brother? Idiots.”

  Blinking back the shock, I set my eyes on Catch.

  “It’s a name,” he explained to me. “A name I used to get what I wanted. There’s power in a name. Knowing it. Using it. The real Marcin Di Stefano killed himself after he failed to get his revenge on your father for what he thought your father had done to his family. I took over two months after he died and assumed his identity for as long as it suited me. With backing from a couple of key people it was simple to do.”

  “Then, who are you?” I asked under Jory’s raucous laughter.

  “I told you.” His fingers flirted with my hair. “My name is Catch, and I’m an extractor of information. And to get that information, I use everything at my disposal.”

  “Can I tell it?” Jory asked, humming with frenzied energy. “Please, please let me tell?”

  Catch sighed and gestured toward Jory to go on with her story.

  Jory popped out of her chair as though she was a toy surprise. Folding her arms behind her, she took baby steps toward me. “My father was supposed to have been killed by your father. Marcin did everything he could to get close to Michael and make him pay. He had a chance. And this fucker,” she snapped her head at Michael and pointed a finger at him, “beats him and tells him he’s going to torture him by taking away the people he loves until he dies.

  “Marcin didn’t want to chance it and he…” Her face dropped. “He killed himself. He left a letter to all of us with the truth.” She glared at Michael. “I took all of the money my mother had—and I had to kill her when she found out a whole year later—but with the help of a friend, we got together and put everything we had into searching for a way to get back at Michael. A real way. Catch fell into our laps a year ago. He took on my brother’s identity, built the family back up, and the rest, you already know. He is Marcin Di Stefano, because we paid him to be. He is the brother we should’ve had. The one that succeeded.”

  Michael glared at me. “You and that young Turk over there will never understand. If a person is a problem, and you have the balls, you take care of it. You don’t send a little girl to do your j
ob.”

  “We both know what you think little girls should do.” Catch glowered. “What you’re referring to lacks finesse. I don’t want you to die by a blow to the back of the head while you’re completely unaware it’s your last moment on Earth. I wanted you to suffer. I want you to realize what you couldn’t while you were living when you’re seconds from your death. I want your death to be…epic.”

  I slid my chair from the table to stand, holding my shaking head in my equally unsteady hands.

  I looked at Catch as the less evil of my options; I was trading one evil for the next. The darkest inkwell, otherwise known as Catch, had penetrated me the deepest. He was an inky black tattoo imprinted underneath my skin.

  I turned to leave as fast as my feet could carry me. Jory called for me, turning my real name into a song.

  I slammed the bedroom door behind my entry. Pacing around the room, I packed clothes that weren’t mine in a garment bag. I had no idea where I was going or how to get there. I knew even less if I truly had the will to leave if there was a way.

  Loud scraping and intermittent booming sounds pinned my gaze to the closed door. As it grew louder and louder, the pounding in my head became unbearable. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t react.

  “Just stop,” I screamed, covering my ears and sinking down to the floor until it all grew quiet and only a dull vibration of the floor was felt. I dropped my hands and stared at a pair of feet standing in front of the closed bedroom door.

  “You’ve moved beyond resorting to running from your issues,” Catch said, exhaling a breath of frustration. “Your behavior is…disappointing.”

  “What do you want from me, Catch? I’m not going to kill him. Kill him yourself.”

  He smirked. “What would be the point?”

  I stood on my own two feet ready to fight again. “No, you won’t kill him, and you won’t make me do it, either. I know you. I picked the son who had a big heart and wanted to do right because I believed in you—I believed you had a heart and could be a good man.”

  His silence was thick and as oppressive as his stare.

  “I gave you a chance to prove you knew me,” he finally spoke, “and you picked the wrong man as my true identity.” He settled his attention on my poor excuse for packing. “Where are you going without me, Simone?” The look held in his face was different; he was crushed by the thought of me leaving him. “Your father has made you think that you have nothing to offer the world other than what’s between your legs. A self-fulfilling prophecy laid out by your mother’s actions. A whore who can barely fight. Is your plan to leave here and go back on the corner and prove him right? Because if it is, I have an immense problem with it.”

  I stormed toward him and drew my arm back to punch him in the face. He dodged at a speed nearly inhuman. As I drew my leg up to kick him, he power-bombed me to the floor. The impact to my tailbone rang up my spine. Wiggling underneath him, I aimed for the parts I knew would make him release me: his eyes and his throat. My hand was halted every step of the way with a sharp slap and the clutching of my wrist, bending it backward. I turned and wiggled in his hold, crawling on my hands and knees to escape. A bigger mistake.

  One hand wrapped around my throat, the other worked viscously to tear off my dress. It split at the oddest of places and slid onto the floor beneath me.

  Grabbing my hips he dragged me across the floor. With a quick unzip and the rustle of clothes, he sloped forward. The tickle of his hair grazed against my shoulder blades.

  He hocked up and spit, a glob of wet warmth slid down my slit. He grabbed my thighs, spreading them until I couldn’t maintain my balance on all fours and slid flat against the floor, stomach down. His hips crashed into my ass. His erection filled my pussy. He directed my neck to curve and captured the lobe of my ear between his teeth. He pushed forward again, touching the soft end of my sex, pressing my breasts painfully to the floor with the force.

  I sucked my teeth.

  “Stop me…if you can.”

  “I can’t,” I blurted out.

  Removing his cock from inside me, he slipped a hand between the front of my body and the floor. He slid one finger between the lips of my pussy and chuckled. “Oh, sweetheart.” He bit the flesh at my back and kissed the pain away. “You can't stop this because you want this. You really, really do.”

  Flipping me over roughly, my back slapping against the floor, he pinned me with his form. His mouth twitched, threatening to show me the smile that would expose my delicate parts and offer themselves up as sacrificial pieces to be destroyed.

  Reaching between us, I grabbed his cock and slid my hand up and down. I leaned up and captured his lips between my teeth. Wrapping my arms and legs around him, I jerked my hips upward and used momentum to force him to lie back on the floor. I grabbed the opening of his button-up and tore through it, ripping his shirt open to expose his chest. I slid downward, kissing my way down his body. With his cock in my hands I swirled my tongue around the head. He jammed a hand into my hair, clutching tightly at the crown.

  I opened my mouth and slid him as far down my throat as I could go. He immediately groaned a curse. The grip he held on my hair increased, pulling and tightening.

  I swallowed him down my throat until I gagged, fighting for the need to breathe, leaving him sloppy wet with my saliva. Holding my lips down against the base of his shaft, I pulled him to react to me.

  “Fuck,” he said, gutturally, snapping my head back by my hair to look up at him.

  Removing his weak grip, I slid my naked body up his form. Spreading my legs, I sat astride his lap, hovering my pussy over his erection. Reaching between us, I grabbed his cock and slid it across the lips of my sex, dampening it with my arousal. I moved my hips downward, swallowing his length, filling and stretching me. Moaning into his mouth, I rocked my hips. His fingers dug into my ass, directing my motions, pushing and pulling me to ride him harder.

  Undulating my hips at a fast-winding rhythm, I bounced on his lap until the friction tackled all my senses and tempted my head into a haze. “God, you feel so fucking good,” I moaned, hovering my mouth over his neck. I bit into the flesh hard enough to leave marks.

  He snapped my head back, forcing our mouths to crash in the middle. Our heavy breaths splayed across each other’s mouths. He sucked and kissed the pain of his biting kisses away as I fucked him.

  The electric pulse vibrated through me. Through the tension lines at the corner of his eyes and the way he attacked his plump bottom lip with his front teeth, I knew he was struggling against succumbing to me.

  My pussy clenched around him, throbbing and holding him tightly in my slippery walls. My nails dug into his shoulders as my body became something other than my own. Shocks of pleasure stiffened my movements. Hot warmth shot through me as I slowed my pace. I shuddered against him and he quaked against me, panting and weakened in the aftermath.

  I nuzzled my lips against his mouth. I touched his sternum and slid my hands up to guide my weight against his hard chest.

  Brushing his hands over my hair, he held my face, giving me a kiss tinged with his sweet tongue. I gave into his kisses, allowing him to suck my tongue and make me groan at the cherry of pleasure added on top of my delicious sundae, keeping me full and stuck on stupefying euphoria.

  I finally opened my eyes. What I was faced with was unexpected. I struggled to stand on my shaky legs with my knees knocking together.

  The walking mind fuck stood up, pulling his pants up as he did. His pants were undone and opened to his cock, slightly hard dressed in our arousal. He shoved it into his boxer briefs and fastened his pants. His attention was stuck on my legs as a trickle of his cum slid down my thighs. Closing his eyes, he shook his head as if trying to convince himself of the implausible.

  “I feel things for you despite all the fucked-up shit you do,” I said to him, not ready to give up. “Don't do what you think you have to do. For me, don't do it.”

  He shoved his hands in his hair, closing his
eyes for mere seconds. When he opened them, the coldness returned. “Don’t ever pretend to be your mother again. It doesn’t suit you to fuck for what you want. Put something on.”

  I turned my back on him. The sting of his vitriolic words dug at my sensitive flesh.

  I grabbed a few tissues from the box on the nightstand to wipe myself clean. I disposed of the tissues in the basket, and ventured into the closet to tug on the first dress I could find. I turned back to Catch in the middle of opening the door to the hallway.

  In the corridor, Michael was in a chair, bound and gawking at me with hatred and disgust, creating a layer of unbreathable air.

  Michael spouted threats at me. Calling me a whore. Telling me he wished he had done himself a favor and stabbed my mother in the stomach. That he should’ve had me killed.

  “So what? I got you wrong?” Glaring at Catch, Michael snarled so dramatically, spit flew from his mouth. “I got your fuckin’ number. Wait till you see what I have in store for you. And you?” He pointed his stare at me. “I should’ve left you to burn up in that house with your goddamn stepfather. You ungrateful whoring piece of—”

  With a lioness growl, my hands flew out to push Michael. I had never hated and felt so outside myself that I wanted him dead. Michael took away the man who loved me because he was a spiteful monster, and boasted about it to hurt me. My body was flooded with a bloodlust.

  His chair rocked backward and hit the single paned Plexiglas safety divider. Metal ground against metal and the glass gave way, crashing to the ground, sending Michael’s chair teetering on the edge.

  It was a striking vision of the future, stating that Michael’s blood ran through me and had possessed me. I fought it down, battling to find the real me and bring her to the surface. I would not sink to his level; I would never be Michael Leone’s daughter.

  Lunging forward, I grabbed his chair to stop it from tipping over. Pain rifled up my arms as I tried to capture the legs and pull his chair toward me. I slipped to the floor. The chair teetered on the edge, leaning down toward the foyer, twenty feet below. I didn’t have the strength. The slick wood legs slipped in my hands, my body slid toward the edge. The chair swayed like a tipping scale toward the other end.