Pride. I’m full of it, every inch of me.
Sloth. I’m a lazy son of a bitch.
Wrath. I’ve got an itchy trigger finger.
Lust. Pretty sure this one goes without question.
Last but not least, the one they call ‘envy’. I don’t find myself feeling jealous very often, not anymore, but as I stand in the doorway to my living room, staring at the little girl asleep on my couch, I feel a twinge of it. At barely three-feet tall, not even forty pounds, she’s tiny, but something about her just fills the room, like her personality can’t fit in that minuscule body.
She’s just like her mother. It’s eerie.
I know what you’re probably thinking: this dumb son of a bitch is jealous of a five-year-old. And you’d be right. But I’m not jealous for the reasons you’re thinking, so knock that shit right out of your mind. It’s got nothing to do with Scarlet.
I’m jealous because the kid’s asleep.
Not just dozed-off, dainty sleep, either. I’m talking sprawled out on her back, hanging halfway off the couch, mouth wide open, snoring and drooling kind of sleep, the kind where you can shake her and she’s not waking up.
The kid is practically comatose.
I’ve never slept like that in my life.
Just one night of that sleep would probably cure me of every problem I have. I’d wake up the next morning feeling like Mr. Rogers, welcoming motherfuckers to my neighborhood.
“I should probably get going,” Scarlet says. “Get her to bed... it’s been a long day.”
“No, stay!” Melody says right away. “I mean, I know it’s not my house or anything, but it’s so late, and she’s already asleep... there’s no reason to drag her out of here right now, right?” She looks to Leo. “Right?”
Leo shrugs. “It’s not my house, either.”
They both look to me as if I’m going to contradict that, as if I’m going to kick them out on their asses.
“You know you can stay,” I tell Scarlet. “Mi casa es... everybody’s fucking casa.”
“She can sleep in my room,” Leo says. “Mel and I can take the couch tonight.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Scarlet says. “I’m not taking your bed from you. We can just crash right here.”
“Besides, who-fucking-knows what the two of you have done on that bed, what kind of ‘monkey see, monkey do’ shit you play when you get naked,” I say. “It would take us until sunrise to sanitize the mattress to make it safe for her to sleep on.”
Leo shoots me a look. “Are you kidding me? She’s asleep on a couch you supposedly stole from a strip club.”
“One that I thoroughly sanitized.”
“You sprayed it with Lysol.”
“Which kills 99.9% of germs.”
“Pretty damn sure syphilis falls into that .1%, bro.”
“What the hell do you know about syphilis?”
“I took a health class.”
“That better be all you took when it comes to syphilis.”
“Guys,” Scarlet says, cutting in, physically stepping in front of me before I can question him more. “Seriously, I’m fine right here.”
“I’ll take the couch,” I say, looking at Scarlet. “You can take my room.”
“But—”
“Enough with the fucking buts,” I tell her. “My bed’s big, it’s comfortable, you’ve slept in it dozens of times before. Besides, it’s not like I’m actually going to be doing any sleeping. So just... take her to my room.”
She scowls but doesn’t argue, walking over to pick up her daughter. The kid sleeps right through it, not even opening her eyes as Scarlet carries her from the room and takes her upstairs.
I stroll into the living room, toward the couch.
“I can’t get over how stinkin’ cute she is,” Melody says as I approach. “Like, whoa, she looks just like Morgan. That’s got to be a mind-fuck for her.”
“Right?” Leo grins, looking at his girlfriend. “Can you imagine a little Mel running around?”
As soon as my brother says that, I reach over, smacking him on the side of the head. “Don’t get any ideas. You better be wrapping it every single time.”
He winces, grabbing his head. “Jesus, bro... I am.”
“Good. I’m not ready for you to make me an uncle.”
“Aw, Uncle Lorenzo,” Leo says with a laugh. “You know, you’re always talking about how you raised me, which would kind of make you Grandpa, wouldn’t it?”
I glare at him, shoving him over to sit down on the couch. “Get the fuck out of my face, Pretty Boy, before I lock you in a tower until you turn thirty-five.”
Rolling his eyes, he stands up, grabbing Melody’s hand to lead her out. “Come on, Mel... lets go defile this mattress of ours some more.”
I groan as he flicks the light switch, turning the lights off on me on his way out. “I swear to fuck... wrap it up or I’ll rip it off.”
“Noted,” Leo hollers back. “Goodnight, bro.”
Goodnight.
Sighing, I lay down on the couch, not bothering to even take my boots off. There’s no ceiling fan in here, a fact I’m just now noticing. I’m not even sure how to force myself to fall asleep anymore without incessantly watching the fan blades go round and round and round until I pass out.
Fuck.
I lay here for what feels like forever, analyzing the plain white ceiling in the darkness. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. I’m going out of my fucking mind.
Digging in my pocket, I grab my tin, pulling out a freshly-rolled joint and lighting it. Dropping the tin and the matches onto the coffee table, I lay there on my back, covering my eyes with my left forearm and smoking in silence.
I hear the floor creak after a while and move my arm, peeking over, my gaze instantly meeting Scarlet’s in the shadows. Before I can even greet her, she climbs onto the couch, sitting right on top of me and straddling my waist. Wordlessly, I hold out the joint, and she grabs it, no hesitation, taking a deep drag, drawing the smoke into her lungs before passing it right back. I watch her in the sliver of moonlight filtering through the nearby window, watch as she tilts her head back and closes her eyes, slowly exhaling. She’s wearing only a pair of black underwear and a too-big black t-shirt. My shirt, I realize, straight out of my closet.
“Stealing from me again?” I ask, my free hand slipping beneath the shirt and coming to rest on her slim waist.
She smiles, looking down at me. “Just borrowing it.”
“Did you ask?”
“Can I wear it?”
“Fuck no.”
She laughs as I tuck what’s left of the joint between my lips to grab the shirt. Her hands go up, letting me pull it off and toss it onto the coffee table.
No bra.
Reaching up, I palm her tits, squeezing them, tweaking her nipples, watching as they perk up, growing hard under my touch. She snatches the joint right from my lips, smoking the little bit that’s left.
After caressing her chest, my hands trail down her stomach, my fingertips tracing the scar beneath her belly button.
“He didn’t want to take me to the hospital,” she says quietly, discarding the remnants of the joint.
I meet her gaze, raising an eyebrow curiously.
“He said women gave birth at home all the time, that I’d be fine, that I didn’t need a doctor—I just needed to be a woman. So I gave birth on a mattress in the basement of Limerence… there, not at home, because he didn’t want to have to listen to my screams.”
Soundproof.
“You did it alone?”
“Some of the girls were allowed to check on me, but for the most part…” She trails off, a soft smile on her lips. “I was by myself when I had her. He came down after it was over. Took her, cleaned her up.”
She averts her eyes. I can tell there’s more to the story. Hell, I know there is. My fingers graze along the scar again. “So where did this come from?”
“He took me to a hospital afterward,” sh
e says. “Markel convinced him to. I was sick, hemorrhaging blood. I ended up needing a hysterectomy. That’s when they, you know—”
“I know,” I say before she has to explain.
She can’t have kids anymore.
Makes sense why she told me she couldn’t get pregnant. I took her at her word, pretty sure only a fool would risk making a baby with me, but I figured she just put herself on some potent birth control, given the life she was living. Never crossed my mind to think she might’ve had that choice ripped away from her when she was still just a teenager.
He stole more from her than I realized.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly, those words from my lips before I even think about what the hell I’m saying.
Her eyes instantly meet mine. “Did you just—?”
“Apologize,” I say, letting out a laugh. “Sure as fuck sounded like it, huh?”
She smiles as she leans over me, pausing with her lips just shy of mine. “Thank you.”
She kisses me, slow at first, soft, before her lips grow frenzied. My hand drifts lower, sliding between us. I stroke her pussy through the thin fabric separating us before my hand slips beneath it. She lets out a soft moan as I rub her clit, closing her eyes and shifting her hips.
Fuck, she’s so wet... so warm... so soft. I grow rock hard as she grinds against me for more friction, taking what she wants. Breaking the kiss, she pulls away, tilting her head back. Her palms press against my chest as she practically fucks my fingertips, my free hand caressing her side before grasping her ass, squeezing it.
Her breathing gets heavier, turning into pants and moans. It doesn’t take long at all, a minute or so, before her breath hitches, her fingernails digging into my skin, clawing at my chest.
“Fuck,” I groan as I watch her come, her muscles twitching, jaw going slack, chest rising and falling fast. My free hand moves yet again, roaming, caressing, my fingertips swiping along her parted lips as I mumble, “You’re so goddamn beautiful.”
Her eyes open, and she looks down at me, leaning closer, her voice shaky as she says, “It’s been so long since somebody said that and I actually felt it.”
She kisses me again before I can respond, deeply, feverishly, as I reach between us, undoing my pants. I pull my cock out, stroking it, giving her a moment, before pushing the fabric separating us aside.
No hesitation, she slides right down onto me.
She moves slowly, and I don’t push her, don’t rush her, don’t flip her over and shove her face into the couch and fuck her—although, come on, you know part of me wants to. No, I let her take her time, let her do this how she wants, how she needs. She wasn’t just tormented emotionally—her body has been through hell. Remnants of bruises still pepper her pale skin, fading but visible. So I just lay here, my hands gentle as they explore, running through her hair, gripping it, holding on.
I can feel it building inside of me, twisting, tightening, as I kiss her breathlessly, my lips never leaving hers. My chest fucking aches at the sensation.
“Fuck, I’m going to come,” I groan into her mouth, my hands sliding down her back, grasping her ass as I buck my hips. I know, I know... take it easy, asshole. I just can’t help myself. I slam into her a few times, her cries echoing through the living room, as I let out a fucking growl, pleasure rippling through me. “Fuck.”
As soon I stop moving, Scarlet lays down on top of me, nuzzling into my neck, her breasts pressing against my chest. I wrap my arms around her, stroking her back, still balls deep inside her pussy.
It’s a strange sensation.
Cuddling.
We’re fucking cuddling.
What the hell happened to my life?
Scarlet reaches up, her fingertips grazing along my jawline, stroking the scruff I need to shave.
It doesn’t last long before it grows uncomfortable.
She’s covered in body fluids—hers and mine.
“Ugh, I’m all sticky,” she grumbles, lifting up so I finally pull out. I miss her warmth right away, as she gets to her feet and pauses in front of me. She snatches the shirt up off of the coffee table, tugging it back on as I eye her in the moonlight, seeing her thighs are slick with juices.
She stares down at me, and I can tell she has questions. She’s going to want details on everything that happened. It’s inevitable, I know… I’ll have to tell her about the dead girl in the basement, have to tell her what I did to the Russians, have to tell her about Seven, but I’m not in the mood. And maybe that’s selfish, maybe it makes me allergic to feelings, but I’d much rather use my mouth for something other than talking right now.
She yelps as I tug her to me, my hands on her waist. Ducking my head, I trace my tongue up her inner thigh, tasting her, licking it off. She whimpers, grabbing ahold of my hair, “Oh god.”
Go ahead, cringe if you must. Scoff and say no, nada, not doing it, nope. Do whatever you want, I don’t care, but me? I’m not afraid of body fluids. I’ll drink every last fucking drop she has to give.
She stands there, gripping onto me as I nuzzle into her pussy, licking, sucking her right through her underwear, but the position gets awkward real fucking quick, I get a kink in my neck, so it’s either stop or—
“Fuck it,” I groan. “Come here.”
She squeals as I pull her back onto the couch, yanking her up, bringing her pussy right to my mouth as I lay down flat. She laughs, bracing herself there, straddling my face, as I tongue-fuck her right to orgasm.
“Oh fuck, Lorenzo,” she whimpers, arching her back as she comes, grinding against my mouth, no shame at all. She will ride my face if it means she gets off, and fuck if that doesn’t turn me on.
She stalls when the pleasure fades, looking down at me, her face flushing. She blushes.
Filthy fucking woman has the nerve to look innocent.
I push her off, sitting up, and she laughs as she falls over onto the couch. Before I can pull myself together, there’s a noise above us on the second floor, somewhere in the vicinity of my bedroom. Shit. Scarlet gets to her feet, quickly leaning over and kissing me... just a peck on the corner of my mouth. “I’ve gotta get back to bed.”
“Seriously?” I call out as she starts to leave, just like that. “You just fuck my face and run?”
“Yep.”
I hear her laughter again and then she’s gone.
I desperately need a shower, but that’s out of the question, so I instead wander into the kitchen, doing what I can with what I’ve got to clean myself up. Afterward, I drop back down onto the couch, staring up at the blank ceiling again, my eyes heavy.
Finally tired.
You know that feeling you get whenever you’re being watched? That skin-crawling, nagging sensation, like you can feel their gaze as it penetrates you, sliding along your insides. Hair stands on end. Goose bumps spring up. It’s eerie. You know somebody’s there. You can feel it in the air.
That’s what I wake up to, the sensation so strong it forces me conscious. My heart races, my fingertips tingling from the rush of adrenaline, as my mind starts screaming ‘attack, motherfucker, attack.’
My eyes snap open.
The second they do, I see someone else’s eyes.
Curious little brown eyes.
Right fucking there.
I shove up, startled, sitting up so damn fast I get dizzy. Everything goes black for a second before coming back. Blinking, I look at her, the little Scarlet Letter just standing there a foot in front of the couch.
Sasha.
“Jesus,” I grumble, scrubbing my hands over my face, trying to wake the hell up. She’s standing there, staring at me, like it’s the goddamn Children of the Corn up in here. “What are you doing?”
“I’m hungry.”
She says that shit so matter of fact, like that’s a perfect reason to be staring at me at whatever o’clock. The room is dim, like the sun isn’t even fully shining yet. “What time is it?”
She shrugs.
Doesn’t even
look for a clock.
Hell, can she read a clock?
Sighing, I search through my pockets, not finding much, suddenly aware I’ve got drug paraphernalia sitting just to the left of the kid, splayed out on the table. I snatch it up, shoving it away.
We’re off to a great start.
“Where’s your mother?” I ask, looking around.
“Sleeping.”
“Sleeping,” I say. “And you’re just, what... roaming around my house? Why?”
“I’m hungry,” she says again.
“So you stare at me instead of eating something? What kind of sense does that shit make?”
She shrugs. Again.
I blink at her, thinking maybe if I wait she’ll figure out what she’s doing, but we’re talking about Scarlet’s kid. Should’ve known better. She’d probably stand here all goddamn day waiting for me to get my shit together and make sense of things for her.
“I, uh... okay. You want some food?”
“Yes, please.”
Please.
She whipped out the manners on me.
Who can say no to that?
Well, hell, I easily could, but I’m not going to.
I shove to my feet, stretching before strolling out of the living room, heading down the hallway to the kitchen. The kid follows me, right on my heels, marching along like we’re part of a goddamn parade or something.
It’s way too early for this shit.
5:27 a.m.
That’s what the clock in the kitchen tells me when I glance at it.
“What are you hungry for? What do you want?”
I don’t have to look at her to know she’s shrugging. Her silence gives that away. I glance around the pantry, scowling. Seeing as my brother is moving out in a matter of days, he hasn’t bothered going to the store, which means we’re running short on shit that’s convenient, unless the kid likes raisins.
“You like raisins?” I ask, glancing behind me as I hold up a bag of trail mix, most of the mix part gone, leaving half a bag of pretty much just raisins at this point. Sasha slides up onto a chair at the kitchen table, so damn short her legs dangle, and makes a face at my question, clearly not a fan. “Yeah... me, neither.”
I look at the bag again before tossing it in the trashcan.