He stills then, lying down, not even trying to keep his weight off of me. Fuck, he’s heavy. I wrap my arms around him, too exhausted to fight it, and hear him muttering under his breath. “I feel like I could actually sleep tonight.”
Lorenzo does sleep, it turns out.
Me? Not so much.
For someone with a talent for zoning out, I can’t shut my mind off, lying next to him. I watch him sleep for a while, like a creep, staring at the steady rise and fall of his chest. Every time I move, he stirs a bit, and I feel guilty as hell, disturbing his slumber, so I just lay there in silence until I can’t take it any longer.
Carefully, I climb out of the bed, pulling my clothes on and tiptoeing out of the room before making my way downstairs. It’s still dark, but I can see where I’m going, in that space right before sunrise where the world is just starting to lighten.
I pause at the bottom of the staircase, my gaze drifting to the living room to the right of me, seeing someone standing in the doorway. A young guy, dressed in a black cable-knit sweater, wearing khakis and black boots. The younger brother, I’m guessing.
He shakes his head, staring into the living room. “Do I even want to know what happened to the couch?”
“It got a hole in it,” I say vaguely, not sure how much Lorenzo would share with him.
The guy startles at the sound of my voice, turning around. “You’re not Lorenzo.”
“Well, that’s something to be grateful for, huh?”
He seems to be about my age and looks just like Lorenzo… or well, how I imagine Lorenzo would look if the world hadn’t hurt him. Fresh-faced, wide-eyed, and kind of adorable, frankly. How he keeps any sort of innocence living in the same house as the menace upstairs, I don’t know, but I commend him for it.
Every moment I spend with the guy, I feel myself slipping further.
“I’m Leo,” he says, holding his hand out. “You are?”
“Morgan,” I say, shaking his hand lightly. Manners. Huh.
Someone’s apple fell far from the family tree.
“I’d ask how you know my brother, but well, I’m sure I probably don’t want to know.”
“Probably not,” I admit.
Before either of us can speak again, there’s noise on the stairs, footsteps that aren’t trying to tiptoe. Leo glances up, something akin to shock crossing his face before he spins around so fast it’s like he’s twirling. “Jesus, Lorenzo! Really, bro? Really?”
I glanced behind me, eyes widening. Lorenzo’s buck-naked, like the prince running through the glass tunnel, waltzing down the stairs like he’s not got a care in the world.
He’s groggy, only half-awake, everything prominently on display.
“Don’t act like you’ve never seen a dick before, Pretty Boy,” Lorenzo says, skirting around me, brushing against me. “I know you’ve got one. I used to change your diapers, remember?”
“No, I don’t remember,” Leo says, “but you certainly remind me enough.”
“That’s because it earns me the right to do whatever I damn well please,” Lorenzo says. “I wiped your ass, made your lunches, taught you how to treat a woman, and I let your girlfriend eat my groceries. Let me air my balls out without jumping my ass about it.”
Leo turns around then, laughing, no longer seeming to care or notice his brother’s not wearing clothes. “You taught me how to treat a woman?”
“I did,” he says, strolling past us, heading down the hallway, calling back as he says, “Showed you exactly what not to do if you were trying to keep one.”
Lorenzo disappears into the back of the house, past the library. Kitchen, I’m guessing. Process of elimination.
“Well, you certainly did that,” Leo mutters, turning to me, his cheeks flushing. “Sorry about that. He’s, uh… well, he’s him.”
Okay, that makes me laugh, which isn’t the response Leo expects, based on the strange look he gives me, but he’s apologizing for his brother—a genuine apology for Lorenzo’s behavior.
I’m wondering how the hell that apple even came from the same tree at this point, frankly.
“He doesn’t bother me,” I say. “I mean, he’s a pain in the ass, but him being naked is probably the least bothersome thing about him.”
“Ah, yeah, guess it isn’t the first time you’ve seen… it,” he says, laughing awkwardly. “You know, since you’re here at six in the morning. It’s just, well, I usually don’t see them, since they don’t often stick around to chat.”
He’s flustered. There’s no way this guy even came from the same orchard as Lorenzo, much less the same tree. “They?”
“Yeah, the ladies that my brother—”
“Fucks,” Lorenzo says, stepping out from the kitchen, carrying an orange. “The women I fuck. They’re usually out of here before Pretty Boy makes it out of bed, so he’s not used to this whole ‘morning after’ thing.”
Pretty Boy.
He doesn’t even call his brother by his name?
“Oh, well then… my bad,” I say as I give Leo a smile. “Next time I’ll just have to skedaddle before you catch me, then.”
Leo’s eyes widen, those words shocking him for some reason—maybe even shocking him more than his brother waltzing between us naked again does. “Next time?”
Lorenzo stalls on the bottom step as he starts to peel his orange. His cock is like two feet to the left of me, and I’m trying damn hard not to look, to keep my eyes straight ahead, but it’s shining like a beacon over there, trying to draw me in.
“You’ll have to excuse my brother, Scarlet,” Lorenzo says. “He thinks you’re one of my wham-bam’s. I tend to impose a ‘one ride per person’ rule, so next times are pretty unheard of.”
Ignoring how the mention of Lorenzo’s stream of women makes my stomach coil, I nod. “Understandable.”
“I didn’t realize there was something other than that,” Leo says, eyes narrowing as he looks at his brother, clearly completely over the fact that he’s not wearing clothes. “Care to fill me in?”
“No, not really,” Lorenzo says, starting up the stairs. “By the way, Scarlet, you forgot your shoes.”
I look down at my feet before it strikes me—the Louboutins. “Oh, can you bring them to me?”
“Fuck do I look like, a delivery boy?”
Lorenzo doesn’t say anything else, trekking up the stairs.
I scowl, keeping my eyes on Leo. “I should probably, you know…” I point up the stairs. “Go get them.”
Before Leo can respond, a shrill scream pierces the air, loud enough to make my hair stand on end. Leo runs his hands down his face as Lorenzo’s voice echoes from upstairs: “Oh, give me a break, I know you’ve seen a dick before, Firecracker. I hear my brother fucking you all the time.”
I head up the steps, passing a shell-shocked looking blonde along the way, but she barely notices me, zeroing in on Leo.
“I know, I know,” Leo mutters when she approaches. “You saw my brother naked.”
Shaking my head, I set off along the second floor, finding Lorenzo’s bedroom door wide open. He sits on the edge of his bed, peeling his orange, still not wearing any clothes. I hesitate in front of him, eyes scanning him, unable to avoid ogling him any longer. I’ve seen it all, yes, but I haven’t exactly taken a lot of time to look, if you know what I mean. I wouldn’t call him ripped, but he’s definitely fit, some definition to his muscles. And the cock? Yeah, okay, it’s gorgeous… if you can call a cock gorgeous, which I can, because I don’t know how else to describe it. He’s definitely more of a show-er than a grower, eight and a half inches, thick and cut, veins running along the shaft, and Jesus Christ, okay… I’ve got to stop looking.
My eyes flicker to Lorenzo’s face. He’s watching me, taking a bite of an orange wedge.
“Came for my shoes,” I say, nodding toward where they sit on the dresser.
He says nothing, chewing in silence.
“Figure I should take them back before one of those wham-b
am’s you parade through here tries to steal them.”
“Yeah, I’m sure your clients tip extra for you to keep them on while they fuck you.”
Ouch. “Touché.”
“Anyway, before you run off again,” he says, tearing off another wedge of orange, “we should talk about payment.”
I cringe. Payment.
Ouch, for real this time.
“You know what? Fuck you, Lorenzo. Seriously, fuck you. I should’ve known you were completely full of shit when you said you’d respect me, that you wouldn’t do this.” I wave around us, like that’ll help me make sense, as he just stares at me, still chewing. “You’re an asshole. Seriously. I didn’t fuck you last night for money. That wasn’t what it was to me, and maybe it’s what it was for you, whatever, but just, ugh… fuck you.”
I snatch my shoes from the top of his dresser when his calm voice says, “You keep everything you make unless it’s a job I ordered. In that case, I pay you a commission based on your contribution.”
I stall at those words. “What?”
“You’re working for me now, right? That was the deal? I’m just laying out the terms, letting you know how working for me is going to go. When I need you, be there, but otherwise you can do whatever you want. The world is yours, Scarlet.”
“I, uh… ugh.” Payment. “I thought you meant…”
“I told you I don’t pay for pussy.”
“I know, I just thought…”
“Thought I was saying it to hurt you? Thought I was just getting a low blow in?”
“Yes.”
He shakes his head, still eating the orange as he stands up.
I don’t ogle this time.
I want to.
God, I really want to.
But I don’t.
He approaches me slowly. “I like fucking and fighting, Scarlet. I won’t lie about that. I like fucking you. I like fighting you. I’ll push your buttons all goddamn night long and make you want to rip me apart, but I’m not in the business of hurting people for no reason. I don’t get off on that.”
“Sorry.”
He makes a face of disgust at that word. “Don’t apologize to me.”
“You just touched a nerve, you know.”
“Don’t make excuses, either. Calm your tits and it’ll be okay.”
“Calm my tits.”
“Yes.” His eyes flicker to my chest, and I know he’s imagining them. “As gorgeous as those tits are, calm them.”
“Fine.” I scowl. “You’re still an asshole, you know.”
“I know.” He breaks off a wedge from the orange, holding it out to me. “Want some?”
I hesitate, staring at it in his hand. “Ugh, no.”
“I swear to fuck, Scarlet. I’ll forgive a lot of things, but if you tell me you don’t eat oranges, we’re going to have a problem.”
I roll my eyes. “I learned long ago not to take candy from strangers.”
“We’re not strangers,” he says, motioning to himself. “You’ve seen me naked.”
“I’m getting the feeling a lot of people have seen you naked.”
“Not as many as have seen you.”
Ouch for the third time.
“I should go,” I say.
“Where are you going?” he asks.
“Back to the apartment.”
“Is it safe there?”
“Probably not.”
He nods, popping the orange in his mouth, before turning away. “Do me a favor, will you?”
“What?”
“Don’t get yourself killed.”
“I’ll do my best.”
I walk out, leaving him there, with no clothes on.
I’ve done a lot of difficult things in my life. A lot. But that’s ranking up there among some horrific things, because walking away from him right now is proving harder than I thought it would be. It’s not even that I won’t see him again, because I will. I have a sneaking suspicion I’m going to be seeing him quite often. But at the moment, something inside of me is tugging, trying to pull me back to him like we’re magnets, but I need to put some space between us—at least until I figure things out.
Because Lorenzo?
He’s not the kind of guy you get attached to.
Especially when you’re me.
I can’t let him get so far under my skin that I can’t get him back out again.
I head downstairs, clutching the heels, and encounter Leo still standing in the doorway to the living room, the blonde beside him.
His girlfriend, I’m guessing.
She glances up at me, and I expect some level of bitchiness, because really, in my experience, most feel threatened by a strange woman suddenly appearing, but she smiles instead, full-blown grinning. “You must be Cinderella.”
That slows my steps. “What?”
“Lorenzo had your shoes,” Leo says. “He was looking for you, said you ran away from him. Kind of sounded like Cinderella.”
I laugh, looking at the shoes.
Pretty sure Cinderella didn’t rob the prince before making her escape.
Also pretty sure the prince didn’t consider killing Cinderella whenever he found her.
“I knew you’d pop up eventually,” the bubbly blonde says. “I mean, come on, any woman would come back for a pair of red patent leather Louboutins. I had a pair once... or well, my best friend did.” She laughs. “You know when your best friend has something, you do, too.”
I wish I could say I knew what that was like. People just seem to come in-and-out of my life. “You got a name? I think Lorenzo called you—”
“Firecracker.” She rolls her eyes. “Name’s Melody Carmichael.”
“I’m Morgan,” I say. “What size do you wear?”
“Uh, an eight… or well, a thirty-nine and a half.”
I flip the shoes over, glancing at the thirty-nine on the sole as I hold the shoes out to her. “It’s your lucky day, Melody Carmichael. They might be snug, but I’m sure you can make them work.”
Her eyes widen. “Are you kidding me? No way, I can’t take your shoes!”
“You can,” I say. “I have to warn you, though. Those shoes were a gift I never asked for, a gift I never wanted, and ever since I got them, I’ve been plagued with terrible luck. I’m not exactly superstitious, but I’d rather not risk it anymore. So take them, if you want them, but just... don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
She squeals, kicking her black flats off, and takes the red heels, slipping them on her feet. “You, Morgan, are totally my new best friend.”
I laugh, shaking my head.
We’ll see how long that lasts...
Chapter Sixteen
One month.
Four weeks.
The little girl still counted, waiting... waiting... waiting for something that didn’t seem to be happening. She kept coming up with reasons why her mother hadn’t shown up yet. Maybe it took a long time to fix the front door? Maybe she was still sleeping?
She didn’t know. She was still only four. Nothing about it made any sense to her, but she was trying to listen, trying to be a good girl.
Sitting in the bedroom, at the desk against the wall, she clutched the light blue crayon as she colored all along the paper, making a sky. Other colors were scattered around in front of her, while most were still wedged into the box. The Cowardly Lion had given her one of those big packs of crayons, over a hundred colors, some even glittery. She spent most of her time drawing, Buster sitting on the desk in front of her, watching, also waiting.
Waiting to go home.
Grinning, she set the crayon down, admiring the paper. She’d drawn the Tin Man, but not as the Tin Man… she drew him like the person he looked like, although she wasn’t really good at drawing people. He looked kind of like a balloon animal, but she had his eyes right—gray, like the rain clouds.
She didn’t want him to be lonely, and she didn’t like his flying monkeys, so she drew herself standing with him.
Besides, she was kind of lonely, too.
“Come on, Buster,” she said, snatching up the bear, tucking it beneath her arm. “Lets go show him.”
The little girl made the trek down the big, winding stairs, taking them one at a time. There were so many it always took forever. She was getting used to it, though.
Getting used to the palace.
Noise echoed out from the Tin Man’s den. The flying monkeys were there tonight, and they’d brought along some women. The group was drinking from bottles of that clear liquid, the stuff that made the Tin Man make faces. Music played through the den, a woman singing foreign words the little girl didn’t know.
The little girl strolled to the den, the double wooden doors hanging wide open. She paused there, eyes wide. People were kissing, some dancing really close.
The light was so dim.
Where was the Tin Man?
“Vor,” a voice called out, using a word she recognized, one the monkeys called the Tin Man sometimes. Vor. She turned in the direction it came from, seeing the Cowardly Lion in the center of the crowd. He pointed her way, saying something she didn’t understand to the man right beside him. Tin Man.
A woman with long brown hair sat on his lap, straddling him, wearing just a bra and a skirt, her other clothes missing. He pushed her aside, his bloodshot eyes darting to the little girl in the doorway.
“Ah, there’s my kitten!” He grinned. “Do you need something? Come here.”
His tone was off. Too nice. Not right. A voice in the back of her mind whispered for her to hide, a voice that sounded just like her mother’s. It was too late, though, because she’d already been spotted, so she carefully approached him, trying to ignore the looks the others gave her.
The Tin Man sat up further, forcing the woman from his lap. She slid to the floor instead, sitting by his feet, not going far. The little girl looked at her. She was young, like the little girl’s mother, while the Tin Man was kind of older. She wouldn’t call him old, no. He had no gray hairs at all. But he had hands that weren’t soft and eyes that sometimes crinkled.