Cut

by Bry Ann

His sandpaper hands wrap around my upper arm.

  “Let me take you to the hospital, Maria. Please. For my peace of mind.”

  He’s offering me an out. So my ego can handle this.

  “For your peace of mind,” I mumble to myself.

  I see him nod in the dark.

  “Okay,” I whisper.

  Like this is an emergency situation, he pushes me forward and ushers me down the street. When we reach the street lights, I glance over. It becomes real, then. We aren’t two figures in the dark. He’s real. And I let him help me.

  His eyebrows are tight, his muscles taut. He’s upset. Is he mad at me?

  “Why are you helping me?” I whisper.

  His head rolls over and he glares at me, but doesn’t say anything. We pull up to a black Camaro, of course, and he stops.

  “This is my car.”

  He opens the door and helps me in like I’m made of fragile glass and something precious, not empty emotions and broken pieces of more men than I can count.

  Once I’m seated, I huddle over my injured hand. My coat is slipping open, but it hurts too much to fix.

  I start to take some deep breaths to cope with the pain. This is too real in the light. Why am I in his car? Holy shit. If Rose finds out, she’ll never let it go.

  I’m so lost in my thoughts and my pain that I don’t even hear ‘Cut’ come in. I hate calling him that.

  “Maria.”

  I look over at him through my wad of hair.

  “You feel safe?”

  The chaos of the night stalls as my heart softens in a way I despise.

  “Yes, I do. Would you mind taking me to urgent care instead?” And stop making me feel… squishy.

  He nods tersely and looks me over once. For the first time since I’ve known him, his gaze lingers on my open coat for a moment. I think he’s staring at my breasts like a normal red blooded American man, but when a blackness comes over his eyes I realize his head is somewhere else. I don’t ask. I let him drive, speed, over to the urgent care center. I just need the pain to end. I’m exhausted and just want to go home.

  The pain in my hand throbs mercilessly.

  My heart feels like it’s aching.

  But I’m tired and safe.

  So my eyes close…

  And I drift off.

  10

  “I don’t know what happened. I was walking over to train a client when I ran into her.”

  I hear muffled female voices through my sleep fog, then that deep, rumbly voice that vibrates through my system like honey speaks again.

  “No, I’m in no rush. I cancelled the session. I’ll wait with her. I’m her ride.”

  “I… can walk,” I breathe, as my eyes flutter open.

  No one needs to wait for me, sheesh.

  “Shut up.”

  “Hey…” I groan, starting to stir. Nobody talks to me like that. I start to move my legs when I realize I’m being held in a pair of extremely strong, male arms. I screech and flail my limbs.

  “Set me down! Set me down!”

  Immediately, I’m being gently placed back down on my feet.

  “Hey, you’re okay. It’s just me.”

  I blink a few times, trying to get oriented with my surroundings again. The second I do, the pain comes back. I bend over slightly and groan, cradling my injured hand.

  “Come on, sweetie. Let’s get you back.”

  A nurse starts to usher me out of the room. I recognize the scrubs. When we reach the doorway, I stop and look back at the man in the waiting room.

  “You, um, well…”

  “I’m waiting for you,” he confirms with a chin lift. “Go take care of yourself. You have a ride.”

  My gaze shifts to the floor. “Thank you.”

  Knock. Knock.

  I’ve been waiting for-freaking-ever for my x-ray results. Finally.

  “Come in.”

  “Maria, it’s me.”

  The door swings open, and I swallow. ‘Cut’ is standing there, consuming the entire doorway.

  “I hate doctors,” he grumbles, letting himself fully inside my tiny exam room. It feels like he’s stealing all my oxygen.

  “Can I help you?” I narrow my gaze so I look defiant.

  “Tell me what happened, Maria.”

  His eyes skim over me one time. It’s starting to bother me that he takes no interest in how I look.

  “I fell. Broke my hand.” I shrug. “Stupid.”

  One second, I’m blinking, and the next, my forearm is in a tight hold. Yet somehow my hand is in no more pain than it was before. ‘Cut’ rotates my hand back and forth before slowly placing it back in the same spot I was cradling it before.

  “That’s a lie.”

  “Listen here, big guy, you can’t tell me how I injured myself!”

  The impassive, guarded expression never leaves his face despite my outburst. He’s literally just staring at me, waiting for me to say something that makes sense. When I don’t, he speaks.

  “Your breaks... they aren’t conducive to falling. It looks more like your hand was smashed.”

  Well, he kind of nailed it. Shoot, I forgot this is like his profession.

  “It was smashed when I fell.”

  He cocks an eyebrow and stares at me more openly now. I’m acting like a psycho.

  “Maria...” Cut pinches the bridge of his nose. “Why are you half dressed?”

  “I’m always half dressed, I…” My words drift off as my eyes widen. Oh god, he thinks I was… I wasn’t.

  “No! I wasn’t. N-n-nothing like that happened. It’s never. I was fucking and then—”

  “Hey, I believe you. I was just making sure you weren’t having an odd form of a breakdown or something.”

  His blue eyes meet mine. My heart is squeezing. I’m dizzy. I feel all sorts of weird things. What do I say? Work, damn mouth.

  “I’m pretty sure I’m having a breakdown, but your reasoning is off.”

  I turn around before I can see his face. This coat is heavy on my body and I hate it. This night is shit. Actual shit.

  Knock. Knock.

  “Coming in, Ms. Vasquez.”

  “Alright.”

  Just give me pain meds and let me go home.

  The doctor walks in with a nurse holding a clipboard by her side.

  “Hello, Maria.”

  The doctor turns to ‘Cut’ to greet him as well. The second she sees him, her eyes widen in horror. She’s not even trying to hold back! A sudden well of anger swells inside of me. It’s only made worse by the fact that he doesn’t seem at all fazed by her rudeness. His scars are cool, damn it!

  “Hey!” I yell. Everyone’s eyes snap to me, but I’m too pissed to care. I have no filter when I get pissed.

  “Why don’t you tell me my goddamn results and quit being so fucking judgmental?”

  Everyone’s eyebrows raise, except for ‘Cut’s’. I hate that name! In case I haven’t mentioned it.

  Cut’s eyes are so intense, they’re about the only thing in the world that I know can make me cower when I’m in full-rage mode. His eyes are literally boring into my soul.

  “I’m gonna be in the waiting room. Come out when you’re done,” he says flatly.

  His voice sounds dead. Without looking back at me, he walks out of the room. I’m left feeling empty.

  Did I hurt him somehow?

  Why do I care?

  WHAT IS HE DOING TO ME?

  Life just gets better. After Cut took me home last night, with zero conversation, might I add, I realized I can’t drive. My hand’s immobilized in a cast and I don’t have use of my wrist. I don’t have enough money for Uber. I’m gonna cry. Literally. As if last night wasn’t bad enough. I need my dad to get a scrap of memory back. I need him to whip me into shape again.

  Maybe I’ll use what money I have left to visit. I’ll just refuse to leave until he remembers me. It’s not like I have a job. Yeah, that’s what I need to do.

  But for now, I have some
thing else to take care of. Something way more pressing. When I woke this morning, everything that happened the night before came back to me like the worst hangover of my life.

  The gun.

  My hand.

  The threat.

  Cut.

  Walking in the dark.

  Cut.

  Crying.

  Cut. Cut. Cut.

  I have to fix this. I don’t know what he thinks of me now, but I need things to go back to how they were before. Last night needs to have not happened. What was I thinking, taking a ride from him?

  I’ll fix it.

  I need to go the mansion.

  Right now, I’m stumbling around my apartment, trying to get some clothes on so I can get out of here.

  I somehow manage to get on an off-the-shoulder, green sweater dress. I try for strappy sandals so I don’t look like total crap, but it’s too hard. You know what? Fuck it. Last night’s flip flops it is.

  I decide to call for an Uber this time, unlike last night. Stupid. I mean, I have no other way to get there. I’ll work out public transportation routes later. This is awful. I let a whimper slip out of my mouth, but I catch it and scowl at myself in the mirror.

  Egh, gross.

  Ten minutes later, I’m outside, sitting in a freaking Uber, staring at my hand. I’m on pain meds, so the pain is way more manageable now. I’m not a whose by any means, but last night, I’m not gonna lie, that hurt hella bad.

  Now I’m fine. I’ll work the Frances issue out later. I just have to make sure Cut wipes his memory and keeps his damn mouth shut.

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  This is urgent.

  “Can you hurry, babe?”

  I shift my shoulder forward. I want to yell, but being sexy gets me a lot further. The driver looks back at me and swallows with a wordless nod. The car sure picks up after that. I make sure to cross and uncross my legs a few times for effect since he keeps glancing back at me. How I look sexy to him right now is beyond me, but hey, I’ll roll with it. To each their own.

  “Okay, so the address I gave you is a McDonald’s,” I say when we get close, leaning forward so my boobs spill out a bit. “I’m good there. I’m not gonna subject you to my final destination.”

  Sure as hell not after last night. I don’t need something like that on my conscience again.

  “I don’t m-mind,” he stutters. He’s a cute guy. If I weren’t sore and fucking insane right now, I’d sleep with him.

  “Of course you don’t,” I wink. “But trust me, this is a little sketch.”

  To say the least.

  “Then why are you going there?”

  “Gotta talk to somebody. ASAP.”

  He nods, as if he could possibly understand. I tip the kid in cash and practically sprint out of the car. Every second I waste is a second Cut could tell someone about what happened yesterday. That’s the last thing I need Frances to hear. I might as well get on the floor and cry at his feet for the amount of pleasure that would bring him.

  I’d rather take the bullet.

  It takes me fifteen minutes to make it to the main gate. It seems so oddly normal that the closest sign of civilization is McDonald’s. I guess McDonald’s is everywhere, eh?

  When I get to the gate, the guard eyes me curiously. I have full clearance here. They all know me. Lacey’s boss husband made sure of it. He only acts like he hates me. He doesn’t. I’m not hateable.

  “Where’s your car?” One of the men asks. All his guards remind me of Frances, and now that makes me feel slightly uncomfortable.

  I hold up my hand. “Still rollin’, unfortunately the hand-eye coordination is off.”

  A few of the men smirk.

  “Come on in, Maria.” The softest looking of the men opens the gate for me to keep me from getting continuously harassed by these assholes at the front.

  “Thank you, babe.”

  “Have fun with Lacey.”

  “Aww, you’re friends with Lacey. She’s making more friends?”

  “No, we’re not really friends, but she cooks us breakfast every morning. So I like her.”

  I laugh and point at the others with my thumb. “They don’t seem to care.”

  “Yeah, well, they’re assholes.”

  I laugh. “All right, I like you. Maybe we’ll…”

  My words trail off when I remember Frances’s threat. I don’t know much about the mafia, but I do know Frances far outranks this guy. Meaning he’d be easy to squish. Kill. Until I figure this out, I can’t risk it. And that pisses me off! My body is mine to do with as I please. Not his!

  “Okay, bye.”

  They all give me strange looks and let their eyes roam over my unusually sloppy appearance. Judge me all you want. I always look nice for you assholes.

  I run through the front yard and start to slam on the front door. Please, dear God, don’t let me run into Frances.

  “Let me in! Hurry the hell up!”

  Pound. Pound. Pound.

  The door swings open. I’m a little surprised when I see the Boss himself standing there.

  “Uh, hi?” I say awkwardly.

  “Maria.” His eyebrows furrow and he looks over me once, seemingly logging every detail about my appearance.

  “What happened to you?”

  I scowl. “Nothing. Just because I chose not to dress up and do my hair today doesn’t mean that—”

  “You’re in a cast,” he states blandly. “Nice to know there’s something more going on, though. Come on in.”

  He opens the door and gestures for me to go inside. He looks at me like I’m at risk of falling to the floor and crying in his entryway.

  “Quit looking at me like I’m a freakin’ disaster. I’m not. I’m fine. No tears are impending.”

  He leans back and smirks, letting his eyes take in my appearance once more in a clinical sort of way.

  “You look pretty haggard, Ms. Vasquez.”

  “You look pretty…” I look him over. Shit, he looks good. He raises an eyebrow, letting his smirk deepen, knowing damn well he’s sexy and I have no viable insults to throw at him. At least not in the physical realm. “You look evil. Now, where’s your wife?”

  “If you’re in some kind of trouble, come to me. I don’t want Lacey feeling like she has to go into friend-saving mode. She needs peace for a while.”

  “I’m not in trouble,” which is debatable, “and I’d never go to Lacey about it. Don’t you worry. Now, where is she?”

  “She’s downstairs boxing, so…”

  He’s here! That makes it so much easier to track him down. I don’t let the bossman finish. I’m off. I know exactly where to go. Back when I lived here, and there was a mafia war going on, Rose and I would come down here every day and wait for Lacey to finish. To help her, to let her know she’s not alone.

  I’m sprinting the whole way. When I get to the stairs, I run faster, which is hard in flip flops. I could scream when I reach the door. Everything is complicated when you don’t have use of one of your hands.

  I’m running so hard, my body slams into the wood before I start pounding on it. My right hand throbs from all the banging I’ve been doing. That’s not my dominant hand. I wonder if Frances knew this when he smashed his dress shoe into my wrist.

  Bang. Bang… Whoosh!

  “Maria,” Lacey gasps.

  She’s red-faced, covered in sweat and wearing an oversized sweatshirt that she threw on before she answered the door so I wouldn’t see her scars. I wonder if she actually thinks I’d judge her?

  “Are you alright? Hey, hey….” She waves her hand in front of my face in a delicate way. It’s not abrasive like most people do it.

  “I’m fine. Is...” I scrunch my face at the name. I can’t say it out loud. I can’t. “Is the big guy here?”

  Then the doorway is full. His large frame is behind Lacey, wearing all black. He’s glaring at me, but not saying a word. Lacey, all of a sudden, looks highly uncomfortable.

  “Uh, yea
h. Um. Here he is. I’ll just leave you two to it.”

  She fidgets a bit and then scatters like a scared kitten. She’s an anomaly. That scared little kitten could kick my ass all over the place.

  Cut steps forward and crosses his arms over his wide chest, letting his gaze flicker down once to my cast. A sort of approval flares in his eyes when he sees it.

  “What are you doing here?”

  It’s taking everything in me to step forward and not back right now.

  “I need to talk to you.”

  He waves his hand. “So talk.”

  Arms are crossed over his chest again. Closed off. Hurry, Maria, he doesn’t want to talk to you.

  “Look, I realize I insulted your intelligence last night.” His eyebrows raise slightly. “I didn’t fall and hurt my hand.”

  I have his full attention now.

  “But I’d really, really appreciate if you didn’t tell anyone about last night. I have it under control.”

  “It?”

  There’s a distance between us that wasn’t there before. Both of us have this weird guard up.

  “The problem.”

  “Which is?”

  My lips curve up. “Nice try, big guy.”

  “You in some kind of trouble?”

  “You know men.”

  Shit. I did not mean to say that.

  “I suppose you mean shitty men and not all men,” he says with an understanding I wouldn’t expect from him.

  “Yeah, I guess,” I say softly, averting my eyes. “You’d never hurt me, for instance.”

  “Maria, I know him, don’t I?”

  His voice is hard. The same voice he uses when training Lacey. My heart starts to beat faster, but the fastest way for him to find out the truth is for him to see me panic. So I swallow my growing fear and smirk, making sure to cock my hip to the side.

  “Our circles don’t exactly overlap, now do they, big guy?”

  He studies me for a long moment. Like he’s debating his next words.

  “Fine. You want me to keep my mouth shut, I need something in return from you.”

  “Name it,” I say instantly.

  He shakes his head. “Don’t ever stand up for me like you did yesterday, and don’t ever mention to anyone that you did.”

  My mouth falls open. “No, I—”