by Madeline Fay
“You sure this is the right address?” He asks skeptically, dragging his gaze over my drowned self, flashing his eyes back towards the mansion.
I have no fucking clue if this is where I’m actually supposed to be but it’s written in Doris’ handwriting and I don’t think she’d send me somewhere that I could be found. I hope.
“Yea, thanks. Keep the change.” I’m already halfway up the driveway when the taxi drives away, muttering to himself with his window down so I hear half of what he’s complaining about.
Something about rich fuckers? Yeah buddy, I completely agree.
I’m shaking with nerves every step of the way until I stop at the gate next to an intercom. Pushing the button after a deep exhale, I stand there for a while with a light drizzle falling from the sky now and wondering if anyone’s actually home. I’m about to give up and find a way to get back into the city to stay at a cheap hotel when a voice travels through the speakers.
“Yes?” The soft voice scares the crap out of me, making my heart pound as I push the button again.
“Hi, um, I’m a friend of Doris and she sent me here. I think I’m at the right place...” I trail off, my hands shaking and I start to feel the panic set in.
I wait for her to reply and it goes so quiet that I can hear my own breathing, making me think I got the wrong place until the gates smoothly start to swing open. Gripping my duffle bag, I climb up the long driveway that feels like I’ve been walking for hours but is probably only a few minutes until I’m standing in front of a set of huge double doors. There are floor to ceiling glass windows on either side of a mahogany door. Looking around, I figured the woman would meet me at the door since she let me through the gates. My knuckles tap softly on the glass and I can see a shadow move on the other side of the windows.
Okay then… maybe I should come back?
The door swings open in a rush, a woman in her early forties stands there with wide brown eyes as she takes in my appearance on her expensive doormat.
“Who are you?” She asks in a shaky voice, not looking away from my face like she’s staring at a ghost as her trembling hand clutches the pearls around her neck.
There is something oddly familiar about her. I stare at her like I know her, trying to place where from. Brown eyes stare back at me, her skin bronzed naturally from the side of her that looks Latina. She’s slightly shorter than me and her hair dyed a fake blonde, not matching her dark eyebrows.
Where the hell do I know her from?!
“My name is Tillie, a friend of mine, Doris sent m-” She drops like a sack of potatoes at my boots, a small scream leaving her mouth, and her eyes rolling to the back of her head.
I stand there frozen for a second, not sure what just happened before dropping my bag and crouching at her side to check her pulse. Is she on drugs? I’ve seen this before plenty of times as a bad case of coke slipped into the club unnoticed. Payne had prospects test that stuff out before passing it around to the members and selling it to their buyers. Did the rich really need drugs to escape from a life where they have everything they could possibly want?
Silly drugs, messes up lives everywhere in seconds. Doesn’t matter if you're poor or rich I guess.
A sturdy thump under my fingertips tells me she’s at least alive so that’s good and her eyelids are fluttering as she starts to come around.
“Who the hell are you?” Startled, I glance up quickly from my crouched position to see a man walking calmly down a long hallway towards us, the heels of his shoes clicking over the marble floor. “What have you done to her?!” He snaps, his face stoic but I can see the controlled rage burning in his gaze as he finally reaches my side.
The air around him is suffocating, almost unbearable. I can recognize a man of power and this man has it in waves. He’s dressed in an expensive suit, a Rolex gleaming on his wrist as he slicks back his greying hair at his temples but the look he gives me stops my breathing. He has the look of a cop with that hard stare, but no way a man on a cop salary would dress like that. His hazel eyes narrow at me with suspicion the longer I stare. I feel like I’m under a spotlight with the hard glint his eyes are giving me. What the fuck? The fainting lady is the one that let me through the gate, glare at her instead!
“I didn’t do anything! She fainted, I swear.” I gesture towards the lady at my feet, my palms out as I stand up and back away so he can check her over as he glares at me some more. “I’m Tillie.”
“Tillie,” the lady mutters, her eyes snapping open with a gasp as if she’s drowning, and looks up at me with tears gathering in her eyes.
“Uh, yeah, that’s me. Look, I don’t want any trouble so I’ll just be going now. Sorry for bothering you.” My palms sweat and my boots shuffle backwards on the floor, probably leaving black scuff marks but I need to get away from them.
As if he could read my thoughts, he snatches my wrist in a hard grip and points inside his house, practically dragging me into the hallway.
“Inside, now! You're not going anywhere until I get some answers,” he says in such an authoritative voice that I’m already moving through their entryway before I know it.
Damn, he’s scary. I mean I’ve dealt with worse but I’m not turning my back on this guy. He lets go of my wrist once he gets me inside the house, more like trapped so he can keep me in his line of sight. He helps- who I’m assuming is his wife- off the floor, placing an arm around her waist as he walks her into their huge living room with me trailing after them at a safe distance. This guy practically screams wealth and power, down to his Italian loafers and his slicked back salt and pepper hair. I swear this guy even walks like an officer, never taking his gaze off me. I’ve known what to look for, having to when you grow up in a compound of murderers and thieves, but what puzzles me is how this guy can afford a house like this on a police salary. Maybe his wife is the rich one? My internal thoughts come to a stop when I realize they are both staring at me, waiting to speak from their position on the large sectional white couch that takes up half the room. I’m almost scared to touch anything. I’ve never seen a floor so clean that my reflection shows off the surface, I’m used to floors with blood stained into the wood and body fluids I’d rather not think about.
“So yeah, Doris sent me to this address. Do you know her?” I ask the fainting wifey warily and there she goes again holding her pearls.
“Sweetbutt,” she whispers under her breath in a daze and blinks rapidly at my slow nod.
What is wrong with this lady?
“H-how old are you?” She stumbles over her words like she’s drunk, maybe she is and I’m wrong about the drugs.
“Just turned eighteen yesterday,” I tell her, eyeing her for any crazy movements like she might go psycho on my ass and pull a gun.
It takes me a second to realize that I am now an adult, it feels like a lifetime has passed when in reality it’s only been a few days since I left the compound.
Forgetting one’s birthday is a normal thing unless you had an Uncle Rig in your life who treasured each one like you’d die tomorrow. I forgot it was my birthday yesterday and what a way to celebrate, I mean I guess freedom isn’t the worst thing for a gift. Could be the reason Payne decided to gift me to Cruz.
She starts hyperventilating, clenching her husband's hand, and starts to sway on the couch.
“Look at her eyes, Ted, look. It’s my Till.” She passes out again on the spot across her husband's lap but he hardly notices because he’s staring me down with suspicion that hasn’t stopped since I stepped into the house.
He’s looking at me like I’m a bug beneath his shoe or he’s about to whip out a forty caliber glock on me and send me swimming with the fishes. The whiplash between cop and godfather is giving me a headache. Does he not notice his wife passed out on his lap? I bet he’s wondering what the hell I’m doing here.
I can’t believe it either buddy because I have no clue what’s going on and why she called me her Till like Uncle Rig used to do. Ted seems to shake himself and scoops hi
s wife up into his arms as he stands but stops to look down at me.
“I’m going to lay her down. This is a shock for her and I think it would be best if you stay here until she’s feeling better because I’m sure you both want some answers. Make yourself at home but don’t fucking steal anything,” he warns and I can hear more of the threat under his words, telling me that he has his eye on me if I try anything.
He strides out of the room with his shoes tapping on the marble floor until I can’t hear him anymore once he disappears somewhere in the maze of their over the top large mansion. I scoff under my breath.
As if I’d steal from this house, I wouldn’t make it past the front door. Everything looks heavy as hell and breakable. Being left alone gives me a chance to really look around because everything just happened too fast to really take in my surroundings. Spinning in a circle, the living room is floor to ceiling windows that overlook the valley and city lights in the distance. It’s unbelievable, breathtaking, and kind of freaks me out. I’ve never been in a place like this. Ted did say to make myself at home which is weird to tell a complete stranger, but whatever. I have an itch to explore and by how my stomach is rumbling, it’s leading me right towards the kitchen before I know what I’m doing. When was the last time I ate? Two days ago? My boots are probably leaving scuff marks on the floor from dragging my feet and a trail of puddles since I’m still wet from the rain and shaking from the cold. I walk down a long hallway with dim lighting, the walls displaying framed art probably worth more than this house. My boots keep squeaking, like a wet squishy sound and it reminds me of when just a few days ago I was sneaking around the compound on my tippy toes just so no one comes to investigate the noises. I’ve been walking on my toes for such a long time that I’ve grown used to the silence, so I kick off my shoes along with my gross wet socks, placing them at the entrance of the kitchen.
Oh. My. God.
Is this a kitchen? It’s too damn big and everything gleams that it almost hurts my eyes. I swear the kitchen island could sleep ten people on top of the rose quartz counter. Making my way towards the industrial fridge, I pull the door open, and my mouth waters at all the food inside. I’m having a sandwich, so many choices to not have one. I start grabbing my ingredients when my stomach feels like it’s sticking to my back, noticing the expensive cheese and meats I’m grabbing. My hands are full so I grab the bag of bread with my teeth while bumping the fridge door shut with my butt before dumping everything on the counter with a happy dance.
Just making myself at home, no biggie.
Glancing around, I grab a big knife from the knife block I spy by the chef's grill stove and swirl it between my fingers as I absentmindedly prepare the sandwich of all sandwiches. With the knife poised over the bread to cut in half, the shine of the blade putting me in a memory that takes hold of me.
“Till, stop your whining and throw the knife. You gotta learn sometime how to handle things that are sharp before they cut you out there in the real world.”
Uncle Rig once again takes me behind the junkyard, setting up wooden targets on top of the crushed cars. He’s always teaching me new things, as he likes to call it ‘life lessons’, to survive. Don’t know why knife throwing is something I need to know. He already taught me how to handle a gun at age eight and those are more useful anyway but I probably won’t ever use one. I don’t plan on staying in the club once I’m old enough, I’m going to go to college and meet my future husband there unless Cruz asks me to marry him. I’ll just drag him with me, the guy is always glued to my side anyways. Never far from me.
“Don’t you give me that look. A knife can fly through the air at a speed that is silent and that could save your life. What if I’m not around one day to protect you and you need to defend yourself?”
“Don’t say that, you’ll always be right here with me even when I leave this place.”
“Just throw the damn knife, Till, because this could be a lesson that saves you one day.” He shakes his head and watches me swirl the blade between my fingers with a happy grin full of pride. It comes naturally to me I guess.
“Fine, whatever you say, old man.” The knife is flying through the air before I finish that sentence, my arm tingling from how hard I threw it but damn if I don’t throw my hands in the air when the knife sticks into the wood.
My finger stings all of a sudden, bringing me out of that memory and I glance down to see I cut my knuckle with the knife. A droplet of blood pools, dripping down to my palm and I’m about to set the blade down to stop the bleeding when I hear something that sounds so familiar that my heart skips a beat. Someone is being very fucking quiet, sneaking in the dark and I know it’s not Franco or his wife because I’d be able to hear their heels on the floor. Clenching the knife, I make my way around the island, following the noise of whispering voices coming from the hallway leading to the front door. A doorknob rattles with someone whispering curses on the other side like they're trying to break in.
They found me! It’s too soon, I’m not prepared to end this and I’ll go down fighting before they get their hands on me to drag me back to my death.
My back is plastered to the wall behind me, I swear I can hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears as I stick to the edged corner in the dark that is right outside the kitchen doorway. My ears strain for any noise and the faint sounds of footsteps coming down the hall on quiet feet, makes my hand sweaty on the grip of the knife. I try to steady my breathing by inhaling through my mouth and keeping my eyes wide open without blinking, one blink can cost me my life. A tall figure walks by dressed in all black with his boots not making a sound on the marble floors and that’s my cue to come out of my hiding spot. It’s now or never, these polished floors are about to be flowing red with either this fucker or mine’s blood.
Ride or die is a biker saying and this girl is going to ride this blood bath with a fucking grin on my face until I’m dying to survive. I creep up behind him on the pads of my toes, coming out from the dark corner to place the knife against his back right over his kidneys which will leave the Joker bleeding a slow death.
“I’m not going back. You shouldn’t have come after me because now I’m going to have to kill you.” I dig the blade into the skin a little more over his shirt to prove my point that I’m not bluffing, my breath coming out in pants that I wish I could control.
This guy's whole body shudders, his shoulders shaking… is he crying? Why isn’t he wearing the Joker's cut? Did Payne send another club in the area after me to do his dirty work?
“Oh, sweetness, I have to say this isn’t my first time a woman threatened to kill me. Did I not call you back after fucking you into the mattress? I’m usually up front that it won’t happen again after I’m done deep dicking you that you’ll be feeling me for days, sweetheart.” His voice softly quiet but oh so deep, just enough to give you chills that stroke down your spine.
What. The. Hell.
My grip loosens a little in shock, the pressure of the blade easing off him and he takes advantage of that as he spins around to face me. My startled breath comes out in a rush as I stare up at a face that knocks my knees together.
“Oh my, what do we have here?” He whispers in excitement as he circles around me while I try not to keep my gaze off him… as if I could even if I tried to, his blue eyes remind me of a frozen lake in the dead of winter. But oddly you can see death in his gaze too, like the grim reaper standing on the other side of the door watching but hasn’t decided if he wants to take your soul or not yet.
His eyes are a mixture of blues from hot to cold, clashing together and they keep flickering to my knife then back to my face. I watch his lips spread into a slow smile as he steps closer, coming into the light of the hallway. I’m finally understanding what the lips of an angel mean. Wide, sculpted lips keep spreading across his face until a dimple appears in his right cheek and my gaze keeps going back to his lip rings that he keeps flicking with his tongue. This guy has a square face of sharp angles, giving him
a beauty that almost makes it hard to look at him. Bright, blonde hair that is a mess like he runs his hand through it a lot and it’s straightened so that the strands end at his perfectly defined jawline. He may look like he just stepped out of heaven, but he fell instead because no way would an angel have a smile that sinister like he plans to do very bad things… to me. He looks like he’s around my age, seventeen or eighteen but everything about him screams all man from his height to the muscles straining against his black t-shirt. He gazes down at me like I’m a shiny new toy he can’t wait to get his big hands on.
“Don’t come any clos-closer! I don’t care that you have the face of an angel, I’ll gut you if I have to.” My voice comes out high pitched, shaken to my core because I don’t think I’ve seen anyone nearly as beautiful as him.
“Oh, baby, gut me.” He groans out like he just came in his pants, biting his pierced lip as he looks me up and down. “Since you showed me yours, it’s only fair I show you mine. If only so you know the name you'll be screaming later. It’s Tey, kitten.” He winks, chuckling like he’s hiding a million seductive secrets that would turn a nun into the flesh of guilty pleasures.
Kitten? Why does that have my lips twitching, this guy is seriously crazy dangerous but damn if that little playful side doesn’t lower my guard a little.
Must. Not. Get. Distracted.
Suddenly he bends down, making my eyes widen farther, he’s standing so close and his face is right at eye level with my boobs that are practically in his face as he stares up at me before he grabs something from his black boots. A long, curved knife appears in his right hand and he brings it up to his face with the blade reflecting the light.
Does he seriously carry that in his boot? He holds my gaze as his pierced tongue flicks along the sharp end of the blade in a worshipping way that has my confused body responding, my lower lips become slick, and my panties are soaked within seconds.
What is happening to me? Why aren’t I afraid like I’ve always been instead of being fascinated, turned on to the point I have to keep squeezing my thighs together? He has an edge to him that makes him dangerous but his eyes sparkle with mischief and under that, I see the hard glint you only get from living a hard life. It’s in my own eyes every time I look in the mirror.
