I never hear the door reopen, but eventually, he’s just there. Frank’s telling a story, I’m barely paying attention, when he suddenly says, “Ain’t that right, boss?”
“You know it.”
Lorenzo’s voice is quiet, calling out from the doorway, looking like he might’ve been lurking awhile. His eyes are fixed on me, his expression unreadable. It’s like the man is an open book but whatever his story is just happens to be written in a different language.
One I can’t read at all.
It’s there, but what does it mean?
“Why don’t you fellas take off for the night?” he suggests, although it’s pretty clear that’s really an order, since they all immediately get to their feet, swiping the liquor bottles and carrying them along as they shuffle toward the front door. Mumbled goodbyes are cast my way from a few of them, but for the most part they just nod to Lorenzo before disappearing.
After the front door closes behind them, Lorenzo strolls my direction, stepping past me to survey the thick duct tape patch over the hole on the couch. “Which one of those jackasses…?”
“Frank,” I say, earning a peculiar look from him, his brow creasing with confusion. I roll my eyes. Of course. Does he even know their names? “Five, I guess you call him. His real name’s Frank.”
“I know his name,” Lorenzo says. “Just surprised you do.”
“If you know their names, why don’t you use them?”
“Same reason you don’t name a puppy unless you know you’re going to keep it.”
“Which is...?”
“Gotta keep them at a distance. Don’t want to get attached.”
Unbelievable. “So you dehumanize them, make them things and not people, because things are replaceable but people are one of a kind?”
“People aren’t one of a kind,” he says. “Puppies, you know, they love you, they play fetch with you, because you take care of their needs. Dogs out on the street, they kill whatever moves, whatever’s weak, whatever they’re sure they can beat, in order to survive. Affection is the only thing that keeps Lassie from going all Cujo.”
“I thought that was rabies.”
He turns to me. “I’m speaking metaphorically.”
“Yeah, well, you’re doing a shit job of it.”
Laughing, he steps over to me, cupping my chin and tilting my face up, his thumb gently stroking my cheek. “They’re wild animals, Scarlet. I see to their needs and they stay loyal because of it. But sometimes, you know, something goes wrong, so you don’t let yourself get attached, in case you have to put one of them down. You get me?”
Yeah, I get him.
I get him more than he could ever understand.
We’re just on different ends of the spectrum, him and I, both waiting for it all to fall apart, except he’ll kill someone when it happens to him, whereas I’m terrified of being the one to die. He’s braced and ready, locked and loaded, and I’m just free falling, dodging the crumbling pieces of my life as they rain down on me like meteorites.
“They respect you. I don’t think they’d ever turn on you.”
“Betrayal comes in many forms,” he says. “Sometimes it’s unintentional. Even the best-trained dog might snap at your hand if you try to take his food away. What do you do then?”
“Give him his food back.”
“Or... snap his neck.”
I shake my head. “You’re insane.”
“So you keep saying.”
He leans down, and I’ve got about a three second warning, long enough to inhale sharply, before he kisses me. His lips are the softest things about him, warm and gentle, like a slice of heaven wrapped in hell, so worth battling the flames to feel his fire.
My eyes close, and I kiss him back, grasping his forearm, like maybe touching him will keep me grounded. Touching him will keep me in the moment, will keep me from floating far, far away. My brain, it likes to disconnect, to send signals through my body to abort thinking, feeling, being, to just dissolve into nothing and reshape again when it’s over, because you can’t break what’s not solid, but I don’t want to fade away with him. He ignites something inside of me, stirring up these little sparks in my gut that send jolts through my body, like a defibrillator to the heart.
It’s terrifying, but fuck, to feel alive again...
It’s nice.
Lorenzo pulls away abruptly, breaking the kiss, his voice low and rough, like sandpaper, as he says, “You’re doing it again.”
I open my eyes, regarding him as he steps back, my hands leaving his skin. “Doing what?”
“Switching off.”
I scoff. “Was not.”
Was I?
“What were you thinking about?” he asks.
“About not switching off.”
“Is that hard for you?”
“Harder than it probably should be.”
He laughs lightly, stepping further away, and nods out of the room. “Come with me.”
“Where to?”
“Upstairs.”
“What’s upstairs?”
“Salvation.”
Salvation.
Never has a word ever sounded so beautiful.
Standing up, I follow him, trailing him up the staircase onto the darkened second floor of the house. We walk past rooms to a door in the very back, and Lorenzo pushes it open, stepping aside, motioning for me to go in.
A bedroom. It’s probably the size of my entire apartment back in the city, but there’s very little inside of it, just the basics. The bed, though—the bed is monstrous, so massive he could throw orgies in it and never encounter another pair of testicles.
Okay, I’m exaggerating. It’s not that big. But still, half a dozen people could sleep comfortably.
Lorenzo steps into the room behind me. He doesn’t turn on a light. It’s dark and takes my eyes a moment to adjust as I glance around, my gaze settling on a pair of shoes sitting on top of a dresser.
My shoes, I realize. The red Louboutins I discarded in the street when I ran from him.
“Figured you’d want them back,” he says, seeing me looking. “Heard they were expensive.”
“You don’t even know,” I mumble. I paid a lot for those damn shoes, more than a person should ever pay, but it didn’t cost me money.
Lorenzo steps behind me, grabbing my hoodie to take it off. I raise my hands up, letting him pull it over my head, my heart racing as he tosses it onto the dresser, on top of the red heels, covering them.
He sweeps my hair aside, pushing it over my shoulder, and I shiver when I feel his breath against the back of my neck, his lips brushing against my skin.
“Tell me a story,” he says.
“What?”
“A story,” he says again. “Doesn’t even have to be your story. Hell, tell me your favorite fairy tale.”
“I, uh...”
I don’t know what to say. His arms wrap around me, his hands going straight to my breasts, yanking my black tank top down and shoving my plain white bra up, palming bare skin. His teeth graze the side of my neck as he kisses his way down to my shoulder blade.
“Go on,” he says. “I’m waiting.”
“There was a princess named Nella,” I say quietly. “She had a love affair with a prince, but they kept it a secret.”
“Why?”
Why?
Why? Why? Why?
Why is he asking me this, why am I telling him a story, when his hands are all over me, touching, caressing, his fingers tweaking my nipples, sending shockwaves down my spine?
“Because Nella had two older sisters who were jealous of her and would ruin it if they found out.”
His right hand drifts, running the length of my torso before slipping beneath the waistband of my sweatpants, no hesitation. He rubs me through the fabric of my plain white cotton underwear, fingertips roughly stroking my clit. Holy fuck. This man and those hands... he doesn’t play fair. At all. He presses buttons he’s got no business pressing.
“So what happened?” he asks, pushing against me, pressing into me. He’s hard, so damn hard... I can feel his cock against the small of my back. He practically manhandles me, shoving me toward the oversized bed, hand still down my pants, not missing a beat.