Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. No copyright infringement is intended.
Beta'd by HollettLA.
Sorry for the delay. Part Two will be posted tomorrow. Thank you all for being patient. There are some mature, although kinda weird, themes in this chapter, so fasten your big girl panties ;-)
"Riders on the Storm"
Chapter Five: Damion Part One
My cousin Anthony and I sat away from the crowd—watching the girls and almost finishing a bottle of vodka.
"Who's this new guy you're seeing?" I asked.
"Shh!" He hit my shoulder. "My fucking father is here."
"Just tell him—"
"You talk too much when you're drunk, man," he laughed. "Sober, you don't say anything—nothing at all."
"Fuck it." I belched, watching the busty brunette swing from the pole. "Now, she—she can get it."
"Those tits are fake," Ant commented.
"Fake, real—I bet her pussy's real," I laughed. "Juicy, tasty—"
"Diseased... She's probably been around the crowd a few times." He shook his head. "Julie did a number on you this time."
"I proposed." I finished the last of the liquor. "So stupid . . . Nunzio's daughter—she's so pretty, age-appropriate—"
"Age-appropriate for what, marriage?"
I nodded.
"She's also a whore, and you can't turn a ho into a housewife—"
I stopped to stare at him. "Don't you have anything nice to say?"
He grinned, putting his arm around my shoulder. "Eric is wonderful. We met at Whole Foods—he's the manager, yet he goes to Hunter College. He's an accounting major."
"Accounting is boring. You need someone like, like, not boring," I laughed so hard as I saw two Anthonys. "Fuck." My eyes crossed for a second.
"Yo, you okay?"
"Yeah." Shaking my head, I tried to mentally sober myself up.
"You need to slow down," Ant said. "What is up with you?"
"Drunk," I murmured. "Fuck it." Slamming my fist down, I wished we had more vodka—more something, anything.
"Since when do you drink anyway?" he asked.
"Since . . . I don't know." For the life of me, I couldn't think up a valid excuse, nor did I give a fuck.
"My boys!" Uncle Carlisle suddenly appeared, sitting across from us. "How are we doing?" He put out an arm so a stripper could sit in his lap. "You need drinks?" He handed the woman a bill. "Go get us a bottle, sweetheart."
She grinned at us all and swayed her hips as she left.
I reached to give her a pat on the ass, but I missed . . . such is life.
"Dad, can you tone it down?" I heard Anthony ask, but my eyes were trained on my brother. He had Joe cornered by the bar. "I mean, you know . . . what about Mom? You're always here, hanging out with these whores—"
"They're strippers. They dance, which is a questionable yet reputable profession," my uncle laughed.
"Regardless . . . Does Mom know? Or does she think you're working?" That caught my attention—Ant calling his father out on that bullshit.
Carlisle faced Anthony. "First of all, I'm not always here. Get that out your head. I haven't been here in a month." He glared at his son. "I can't hang out—have a good time? I'm not allowed?"
Ant laughed. "I'm sorry, but when I see my father rubbing up on a stripper, when I know my mother is home waiting . . ."
"Anthony, you're an adult. You're also a man—"
"That's not my point—" They spoke over each other.
"Anthony, I shouldn't have to tell you, nor should I have to defend myself." Carlisle sipped his drink. "You're a man, so you know. Right? You understand?" He had an odd tone to his voice.
"What the fuck does that even mean? I am a man." Ant turned to me. "Did you make any sense of that?"
I shrugged, knowing my uncle's a dog. Him cheating is one of Alex's biggest fears. Even if he doesn't hook up with these women, when he does come here, they leave their scent—or so I hear—on him, just by chillin' around him and sitting on his lap. I always leave here smelling like something. It just happens. And his wife is perfect, adorable, and sexy as hell. I don't know why he'd waste his time here.
"You're married. The only tits you should be concerned about are Mom's."
"Watch yourself, okay? You don't talk about my wife's breasts. Why are you so concerned with this? You should be more concerned with yourself. You're single. Well, you were, but I haven't heard much, so I'm going to gather it's not serious . . . There's all these beautiful women around." He smiled at his son. "Relax, drink up, and enjoy the view. That's the only reason I come here—to relax."
I snorted a laugh.
"I'm not interested—I mean, I'm in a relationship." Anthony's face had paled. "You know . . . I'm just here to hang out."
"It's serious?" Now my uncle didn't look so happy, a frown marring his usual jovial expression. "Uh, who's this woman that swept my son off his feet?" Carlisle nudged Ant's shoulder and the smile was back.
I smiled, too, at their conversation but wondered what was going on paces away. Sonny was still in Joe's face.
"Uh . . . her name is Erica."
"Erica," Carlisle mused.
"What's going on over there?" I jerked my chin.
"It speaks!" my uncle shouted.
"Ha, ha." I twirled my finger in the air.
"So much like your father." He shook his head, but then composed his smile. "I'm—I'm honestly shocked at what's going on."
Anthony and I leaned in to hear him better, while the stripper brought over a bottle and some shot glasses. This family's gossip is better than any TV show, movie, or book out there.
"Carli—my baby girl—she fell for Joe's charm . . . I just hope Kylie and Carli can mend fences." He shrugged. "I'll be talking to her this week."
The conversations just got better and better, and I couldn't believe my ears. Carli and I haven't been close for the past few years, but she used to blow everyone in high school. I think Joe fell for her "charm".
"I should go keep the peace . . ." Carlisle stood up but looked down to Anthony. "Tomorrow morning, we'll have breakfast. I wanna hear all about, um . . . Erica." He waved a hand. "Your mother and I will be leaving tomorrow night—"
"Leaving?" Ant and I asked in unison.
"Why youse so nosy?" My uncle grinned at us both. "Watch the dancers, get-fucking-laid. Christ...When I was your age—"
"Where you going?" Anthony asked, followed by a burp.
My uncle rolled his eyes. "A quick get-away, nothing special. You'll need to keep an eye on your brother." He patted Ant's back. "The both of you bore me to tears—please. I love youse, but . . . fucking live a little for Christ's sake."
We watched him leave, and then faced each other. "He's right," Ant mumbled. "All the stories we've heard, the shit our fathers have done…What the fuck do we do?"
I shrugged. "I do what I do. I'm content."
"What do you do? Study a million hours a week?" He chuckled. "Listen to music with Julie? Honestly. Maybe her breaking up with you was a blessing. Did you really love her?"
"She knew me," I said.
"But were you ever happy? She was the first chick you fucked. Bro, I get it—"
"What the fuck do you know about it?"
"Gay, straight—that doesn't fucking matter. Relationships are relationships. They come, they go. We fall in love and get our hearts broken. It's all a part of life. But just because you love or loved Julie—that doesn't mean she's the only woman you'll ever love. Understand?"
"I know that . . ." I pushed my hair back.
"And not for nothing, you're a little out of her league. No wonder she had trust issues." He whistled. "All my friends thought she was your fag hag, until they spoke to you and knew you were straight. They said you were too pretty NOT to be gay," he chortled. "A fucking tragedy."
"Don't start with that shit. She was a good person—a great person. She accepted me—"
"And others will accept you, too. You have to speak—literally talk to people, get out there and live!"
I stuck out my tongue.
"I love you, but you're immature, and a fucking nerd, too—there, I said it. Damion, all you do is study. Growing up, you hid behind Sonny or me, and now you're hiding behind school . . . You close yourself off. You'd rather people fear you, and they do; meanwhile, they have no fucking reason to—"
"Can you stop?" I pushed his shoulder. "And studying—that's not all I do." I took another shot. "I love Julie. I'm just not in love with her. I'm—I'm in love with someone else, and . . . fuck you. I'm not talking about this." I laughed at him.
"All three of us, you, Sonny, and me—we shouldn't be this fucked up when it comes to relationships. Our parents are models, man. They've been together forever, are in love . . . My father's not perfect—I'll admit that. But I've heard horror stories from kids that were in my high school—about their parents, custody battles, divorces, and whatnot. Ours are normal, old school."
I hated to admit that I didn't really know my parents that well. They always gave us what we wanted. We always had food on the table. I remember a lot of scary things happening when I was a kid, but I've blocked most of that shit out—just put it out of my mind. They're not so frightening now, though.
They scolded me and praised me when it was warranted. They loved me and showed me affection. I had a happy, semi-drama-free childhood, and yet I am the way I am.
They don't know me either, and I prefer it that way.
School has always been a godsend—getting out of Brooklyn and away from my family. They're so intrusive it's suffocating. All of which has isolated me from my family a bit. It's not that I can't stand them. I love them and my siblings more than anything in his world. I just don't think I fit into their ideal mold. They're proud of the things I do—my scholastic achievements.
Who I fuck or don't fuck isn't anyone's business.
I do what I do. I make no apologies, and I'm relatively happy.
I'm disappointed about Julie breaking things off, but I'm not surprised, and I'm not as hurt as I seem to be pretending. I'm not sure why I'm playing the part of the jilted ex. I guess I just wanted it to be over and done with—to be married already. I thought things would change. That once we said "I do", we'd be much, much happier—that I'd be settled in . . . something.
We had a lot of great things between us. The sex was decent; she always put out, so I never had any complaints. I was loyal, like her little lapdog. And I could tolerate her for more than twenty-minute installments.
We have the same eclectic taste in music, too.
I just really thought things would change after we got married.
That maybe my soul wouldn't be so restless.
"Wait . . . who are you in love with?"
I was about to answer—lie to him—when Aro Jr. approached the table. "Hey . . . finally closed the restaurant." He shook his head, grabbing for a shot glass. "I gotta catch up."
Many things were going on around me—many thoughts had flooded my fuzzy brain, yet I could only focus on one thing. "I'm the only straight guy at this table . . . and we're at a strip club. I think that's funny," I laughed some more.
"Oh, fuck!" AJ shouted. "I need twenty shots to catch up to you." He slapped his hand to mine. "But shut up with your labels . . . love is love, man. This dude—" he plucked his shirt, "doesn't see genitalia—"
I barked out a laugh so fucking loud, people heard me over the music.
"That didn't come out right, did it?" Anthony asked him.
AJ sucked his teeth. "You know what I mean." He downed a shot. "But if we're going to be technical about it, I'm actually seeing a woman." He shrugged. "She's the new sous-chef—fucking lovely." He took another shot.
Anthony raised his. "Congrats . . . to love."
I frowned but grabbed my drink, because at this point I'll drink to anything. "Fuck that!"
They stared at me, but eventually shrugged and we all gulped our vodka. Then my phone rang, and I stared at Julie's flashing name.
"Don't answer it," Anthony said. "You're like her emotional ping-pong ball."
"I—"
AJ stole my phone. "This is guys' night."
"Right," I whispered, stealing it back and stuffing it in my pocket.
"She probably just wanted to make sure you weren't out tonight," Anthony said. "Broads do that. They wanna make sure you're just as miserable as they are."
"Probably," I agreed.
"How would you know?" AJ asked Ant.
"Hanna and Carli…? I've heard it all with those two—trust. They play men like fiddles, but I think the guy Hanna's seeing is it for her."
"How so?" AJ started to fix Anthony's hair.
My cousin pushed his hand away. "They've been together for six months, which is five months longer than any other relationship she's been in. Only thing, Carli says this guy's like forty-five."
"Your sister and her daddy issues." AJ shook his head. "It's plain as day—girl needs therapy with a side of Lithium."
Anthony nodded. "He's divorced and has a kid—the trifecta. I can't wait until she brings him home. Maybe that'll be the day I come out . . . My father will be too concerned with taking that motherfucker out; he won't care about who I'm fucking." He threw his head back and laughed.
I hit his shoulder, nodding my own head. "That's—that'll be one amazing meal. Make sure you call me. I wanna be there."
"Fuck . . . me too," AJ laughed.
"When I got my tattoo at . . . How old were we?" I looked to AJ who'd gone with me. It was his friend who did it and never asked for my ID.
"I was twenty, so you must have been sixteen."
"Right." I nodded, talking to Anthony. "I waited until Sonny got into trouble with my parents, and then I showed them. They didn't give a fuck."
"What was going on with Sonny?" Ant asked.
I smirked. "The day he was made…?" My mother went ballistic, and she didn't give a fuck about the bullshit tribal tatt on my arm—something I wish I'd never gotten. It's hot, everyone says it's hot, but…
When my brother joined Dad's other family, he got the Cullen crest on his chest—now that's some cool shit.
My phone started ringing again, and we all stared down to it. "I should just answer it," I said, hitting the screen. "Hello?"
Anthony and AJ groaned, holding their heads.
I didn't give a fuck. "Yo?" There was silence on the other end.
"Where are you?" Julie asked.
"How's that your business?" I didn't give her a chance to respond. "You lost the right to care when you broke up with me."
Anthony hooted and hollered, and then AJ smacked the back of his head. They made me smile wider.
"Why are you being such a dick?" Julie.
"Did you ever think that maybe . . . maybe I am—just a dick?" I furrowed my brow. "Some things are what they seem to be. I'm private and you know that, and yet you continue to fucking bust my balls about shit—"
"Damion . . ." Her voice was filled with emotion, and then I heard her sob. "I'm sorry . . . I—I—I don't know. I don't know. I mean, I—I—"
"What?" I couldn't understand a word she said.
"We've, um, we've been together a long time. I love you—I love you more than anything. I can forgive you, but—but you have to tell me. I mean, I don't know what I mean." She continued to cry, and I felt a twinge of a headache coming on. "I see the way girls look at you—"
"Since when did I ever give a fuck about—about anyone who was looking at me?" I shouted. "I said I wasn't fucking anyone else. I said I wasn't cheating. We all have secrets—" Suddenly, I didn't know what to say. "Look, you did the right thing—"
"Don't say that. I'm sorry. I was angry, and I didn't mean it. Damion, please!"
Anthony hit my shoulder. "Get off the phone."
He was right, and I didn't care for this conversation at all—just couldn't deal at the moment, nor did I give a fuck.
"Please!" she begged.
I sighed. "We'll talk, okay? We'll—go to lunch this week. All right?"
"Do you still, still love me?"
I should have never picked up the phone because I was never going to get her off of it. "Of course I do. Not much has changed in…eight hours?"
"Do you forgive me? Can we just, just forget today and go back to normal?"
I raised a brow. "No—"
"Don't do this. Please don't do this!" She was shouting again, hysterical. "Come here. Come here now—you'll be sorry if you don't."
"What?" Again, I didn't hear her, and, at a loss for words, I said what came naturally. "I love you . . . that much hasn't changed. We'll talk tomorrow or something. Okay?"
There was no way I'd officially break all ties with her over the phone. Earlier, she said she couldn't take me being so secretive anymore, and that it—meaning our relationship—was over, while she handed me back the ring I gave her. I told her to keep the ring, but I couldn't talk at the time—I had some place I had to be. I told her we'd discuss it when I came back, or while we were on our way to Kylie's party. But she said she wasn't coming. Not only did she not want to be around me, but she didn't lose as much weight as she'd hoped, and she didn't wanna see my family.
I was also void of any emotion, which was likely why I was pretending—acting like a person in my shoes should.
Overall, I didn't give a fuck. I'd been down this road before with her, and I was done.
Fish in the sea and all that garbage.
"Really?"
I wanted to stab myself in the face. "Yes . . . I gotta go." I ended the call, feeling as though I'd aged ten years. "What the fuck was that?"
Anthony and AJ just shook their heads.
"Why did I pick up?"
AJ took my phone. "I'll hold onto it."
"Get a lap dance—hell, I'll get one, too." Anthony drank some more.
"To please Daddy?" AJ smiled sweetly.
"You know it." Ant grumbled. "Could you believe my father?" He wouldn't shut the fuck up either, and I wanted silence at this time.
"What'd he do?" AJ asked.
"He's all over these fucking strippers. It's disrespectful to me, as his son, to be touching these skanks while my mother is at home…waiting for his dumb ass!"
"Whoa." AJ looked to me. "I guess you feel, uh, strongly about that shit." He downed another shot. "Your mom's fine. She's probably used to all this crap by now. Who cares?"
"I fucking do." My cousin was getting testy.
"Relax." I patted his back.
"I can't. It bothers me . . . We spend more time with my mother than he does." Anthony held his forehead.
AJ kicked me under the table, and I kicked him right back—making him wince.
"This fucker doesn't mind." He jerked a thumb to me and kicked me once more.
"Fucker!" I got him again, and he leaned to his side. I'd gotten him good.
"What?" Ant asked.
"AJ's an asshole." I sounded like my brother circa fifteen years ago.
"Oh," he laughed. "Just—I don't know. If she's upset tomorrow, talk to her for me, Dame. You're good with her."
By now, AJ was laughing so hard, he almost fell out of the booth.
"Why are you so concerned about this?" I turned to my cousin. He had no idea, but I'd been doing my part to try and make Alex miserable just to keep her happy. "She's fine."
He looked around and finally to me. "Being his oldest son, my father's shared some shit with me. He doesn't have the best track record when it comes to marriage and/or women. The infidelity garbage . . . I don't want my family to break up. I don't want my mother to put a bullet in her dome because he's being a dick. It's preventative—keeping fuckers in line before the extreme happens. Now, let's go do this." He grabbed the bottle and they both slid out of the booth.
Then they dragged me away from the table.
Anthony went on ahead, while AJ sidled up to me. "Does Ant know about you having an affair with his mother?"
I elbowed him in the gut.
"I mean, that it's all in your head." He ruffled my hair. "Your imaginary affair."
I didn't dignify him with an answer. AJ's one to talk. Of course, he doesn't know who really took my virginity. No one does. When I was fourteen, I'd gone with AJ, Sonny, and Katie to Six Flags, along with Lauren, our chaperone. It was an overnight trip. She was trying her hardest to be more involved in her kids' lives—at least that's what she was rambling about before she fucked me. She was lonely. Her last boyfriend had dumped her for another woman. She was miserable, blah, blah, and so she loved all the company—all us kids.
My mother didn't want us to go. Sonny would bitch and whine any time he didn't get to chill with Katie, and she relented. Meanwhile, if I was fourteen, he was eighteen. All of which meant he could have just drove down to New Jersey by himself.
I remember the whole trip being Lauren's graduation present for AJ. He and my brother had just graduated high school. Regardless of me being younger, AJ and I have always been close.
I was down with it, always so go with the flow as a kid. Everyone was watching a movie in the other room, and I'd preferred to sit by myself and read. She said I was mature, a handsome kid.
Even if AJ's mother was my first, which should be a monumental milestone, the hows and whys are a little hazy to me. Maybe I blocked that out on some level, too.
I remember she had a smokin' hot body.
All I know is, I didn't last long at all. Hell, we didn't even kiss. She started to jack me off, and I let her do it. Then she climbed on top of me, worked herself into a frenzy, before she called me "Skip".
Two years later, I found out that was my father's nickname and/or a title of sorts.
And the whole experience turned humiliating on my part.
No one knows about that shit.
And no one ever will.
I'm cordial when I see her, even if a large part of me wants to knock her one.
And I'd never hit a woman.
AJ chuckled. "Look, we can't help who we fall for, but be realistic. Get back with Julie or move on, don't focus whatever little free time you do have on running to Bay Ridge to hang out with your aunt. Your parents don't even know just how often you come back to the 'hood."
"My aunt." I snickered.
"You say more with what you don't say—your actions." He squeezed my shoulder before he took a seat. "You bumping into her all night . . . that was your way of putting yourself in her path, so she thought about you."
He had me there. "What'd you do? Watch me all night?"
"What are we talking about?" Anthony asked.
"Nothing," AJ answered him and quickly came back to me. "All I'm saying, Dame…You're not the only fucker who observes shit. Since I was a kid, my pops had me looking around—at my surroundings to notice shit others wouldn't."
Nevertheless, I didn't give a fuck about what he'd just said, and took a seat too—in the middle and by the stage. No one had to twist my arm to get a lap dance. I welcomed that same brunette I'd been admiring. She had a nice ass, as well, which I doubt was fake.
Halfway into it, though, my cousin was killing the half-wood I had going. I mean, he had a gorgeous blonde rubbing her rack on him, and he was talking about a male revue.
"Their bodies—" he was hit in the face with a tit, "so many ripples, and they were oiled. You have to come—you and AJ."
"You need more gay friends," I said, palming this chick's ass, and pulling her down onto my cock. She had such a nice smile. "I'm not going to another one of those. I was kicked out last time."
As a matter of fact, that was the last time I got sloppy drunk—when AJ and my cousin hauled me into a male peep-show thing down in Atlantic City. We'd all gone down. It was business for Sonny, and we all went for the ride, the casinos and whatnot.
We were my brother's little entourage, even if we'd paired off. I think Sonny spent the rest of his night with some broad he met. And I was stuck with Cock Suckers of America, not that I minded. It is what it is. Ant does things he doesn't like all the time to chill with us. I'd figured I could support him and watch men dance on some stage.
"You punched a stripper in the face," he laughed. "That Luke guy had to come get you out of lockup. Did he ever tell your pops where you actually were? That's what I was more afraid of."
During his entire tirade, my stripper was frozen where she was—like I was going to smack her around.
I gave Anthony a look, and then smiled at the brown haired girl on top of me. "It was a male stripper—I don't swing that way, and he touched me," I explained.
"That's what they do—"
I turned to my cousin. "Shut up!"
He locked his mouth and threw away the key.
"So . . . can I touch you?" she asked.
I blew out a breath, nodding, as she stood up to turn around. She was grinding low, only to lift her ass and nearly hit my face and then toss her hair back.
Christ.
I love it when they do that.
My brother has the best gig in the world. While I'm stuck in gross anatomy, he gets to sit at a bar and watch beautiful women dance around naked.
What did I do wrong?
"You don't come here often." She was on my lap again. "But you look like a Cullen."
"What gave it away?" I tossed her hair away from her shoulder.
"You look exactly like your father." That kind of killed it—deflated my mood a bit.
"But I'm obviously better looking." I winked.
"Of course." She leaned toward me, rubbing her tits in my face. "The back room is empty," she whispered in my ear. "Can I give you a private tour?"
"Oh." I jolted in my seat when she palmed my dick. "You think Blondie'll join us?" I tilted my head to her friend who was dancing on my cousin.
"I think we can work something out," she said, slowing her movements. "I did want you all to myself, though." She licked the side of my ear and all this was bordering on being a bit too skanky for me, but I was down to do whatever in this moment.
I palmed her cheek, enjoying the softness of her skin. "What's your name?"
"Misty—"
"Your real name." I gazed into her eyes.
"Um…" She clammed up, looking away and placing her hands on my shoulders.
"Come on . . . I don't bite. Unless you want me to." I grasped her chin, turning her back to me.
"Why?" she giggled.
My brows rose. "Because I asked you, and I wanna know what to shout when I fuck your ass."
Misty grinned, relaxing again, when I thought for sure she'd slap me. "Mia."
"I don't pay for it," I said to get that shit out of the way.
"Trust me . . . this would be all pleasure." She rubbed up my chest. "Not business."
My hands glided down her shoulders, her arms, and I grasped her hand to lead us away. And I was stuck—wanting to be this guy, wanting to fuck Mia and her friend, and yet I just didn't fucking feel like it. "Grab your friend. I'll get us drinks . . . and then I wanna watch you fuck her."
"Um," she giggled. "I, uh—"
"Think about it after . . . Let's go." I started for the back.
"Uh-oh." Anthony pushed the girl off of him.
When I turned to see what happened, all I saw was a crowd—a riot-like crowd by the bar. There was a fight, and I saw Sonny's fist in the air.
"Fuck." I stumbled, righting my clothes, as Anthony, AJ, and I went to see what was up.
Sonny had Joe pinned to the floor. Joe's two brothers were trying to get Sonny off of him. And the other guys on Sonny's crew were trying to stop the brothers. When Joe's brother David kicked my brother, I grabbed him by the collar, and Anthony grabbed the other one.
When I saw Anthony start swinging, I didn't wait for David to punch me. I just went with the flow—got Davey in the jaw and kneed him in the groin.
Sadly, it didn't escalate much more than that.
The lights went on in the club and the music stopped. There were some horror movie-type screams from those slutty bitches dancing. Then my uncle Carlisle, Momo, and Caius were breaking us apart.
"You three—" Carlisle pointed to Joe and his brothers. "Leave . . . don't come back if you know what's good for you."
Joe licked his bloodied lip and kept eye contact with Sonny as he left. His brothers didn't do or say anything, just followed him out. Poor Joe thinks he's really somebody because his father used to be on my father's crew. Then when Joe Sr. came out of jail years ago, my father glorified him. He wasn't a rat—did his time like a man—and was a capo when he got out.
I must be drunk, because when the lights went out and the music started again, I was surprised and stumbled a bit. "Fuck."
"You should go home," my uncle said. "I'll get someone to drive you." He smiled, helping he right myself. "I've never seen you drunk, drunk before. It's nice." He patted my cheek. "Relaxing and hanging with the boys…"
"I'm good." I straightened my jacket, and at this point in the night, the only home I wanted to go to was his. It was almost a compulsion, especially since I was now a free agent, and I wondered how long he planned on hanging out here.
"Dude!" Anthony punched my shoulder. "I haven't been in a fight in so long . . . it felt amazing."
"You only hit that guy once." AJ touched his cheek. "Sweetie, you have a scratch."
Anthony shrugged him off. "And you didn't do shit. Pussy."
I laughed, leaning on a bar stool and looking to my brother. He was still staring at the exit, like Joe was about to reappear. "Let it go, Sonny. Kylie left with Peto . . . no harm done. It's over."
My brother stared daggers at me. "Office! Now!" He stomped his way to the back.
I chuckled as I followed him, but I was not in the mood to sit through his "Dad" routine. I'll admit. He has some big shoes to fill one day—or high expectations to live up to. However, no matter how hard he tries, he's not Edward Cullen—the Skip.
"What's your problem now?" I closed the door behind me.
"That fuck cheated on our sister . . . with our fucking cousin!" He kicked his swivel chair. "I was supposed to let him get away with that?"
I dragged my drunk ass to a chair and sat down. "It's not that big a deal. I keep telling you. There's a huge world out there, and it's nothing like this one—where everyone fucks everyone, it's all incestuous, we're all in each other's businesses and lives . . . It's a taboo concept to most, but not for us. In the big world—as a whole—we're freaks. But you're not deaf, dumb, or blind. Why does this surprise you?"
"Not a big deal—not a—" He spluttered, about to lose his shit.
"Count to ten, like Mom says." I smiled.
"Fuck you." He spat.
I nodded. "It's not a big deal because Kylie's probably got a mouth full of Peto right now. No harm, no foul. Just let it go."
"What?" He shook his head. "She doesn't do that."
"Christ!" I shouted, standing from the chair. "You, Dad, every-fucking-body. She's not a saint, and while we're at it, neither are Mom, Alex, or any other female in this family." I shrugged. "You and Dad have this … hypocritical, double-standard garbage—"
"Who are you?" he asked.
I sighed, knowing that regardless of his bullshit, I could be me. "I'm wearing my drunk mask." Which was a license to say the things I usually wouldn't. I felt comfortable doing so in this moment.
"Oh." He had calmed down. "I like this." He gestured to me. "You need to speak up more."
"When it's important . . ." I shrugged.
Sonny took a seat. "What am I supposed to do? He's on my crew. I can't have that."
"Trade him," I said. "Like the major leagues . . . trade with Nunzio or Lou for one of their guys. And why can't Joe be on his father's crew? Dad will sanction it to keep Joe farther away." I nodded, liking my idea. "It's the only logical thing to do . . . Of course, we could always get rid of him."
Sonny snorted. "I thought he did nothing wrong?"
I widened my eyes. "Who said he had to do something wrong?"
Maybe deep down I'm a bad person or have a mental disorder. Killing fuckers has never bothered me. My brother likes to smoke weed or snort a little coke to get a buzz every now and then. I like the adrenaline rush of a fresh kill. It's like nothing I've ever known, and I may be addicted. I like it a little too much.
And I'm on my way to knowing how to save lives, just like I take them.
The body is just a vessel, and they're all bad people. A person is no different from a cockroach, depending on your thoughts and beliefs.
Most people don't think twice about squishing vermin with their shoe.
Why should I?
As a kid, I was scared of monsters—vampires, werewolves, and the boogeyman, but human beings, our vices and the shit we do. Fuck. We're the scariest, most horrifying creatures on this planet, and now I'm the boogeyman.
It's self-gratifying.
I came into this by accident. Growing up, I never had the urge to take a life or do any of the shit I now know I'm capable of doing. Back when I was sixteen and Sonny was twenty and was to "make his bones", I rode along—begged him to take me out with him. We stumbled across the mark in passing, and Sonny had confided in me. He told me to take off, that he had some shit to take care of. Maybe I'm weird, but I didn't leave. I snuck around. I followed him, and he didn't even notice.
Then when he lifted his silenced nine—in the back of this very club—he paused. He either couldn't do it, or needed a pep talk. All I know is, the dude shot up and punched Sonny in his junk, making his gun fly out of his hand. I reacted before I even realized I was emerging from behind a dumpster. I knocked that fucker out with a brick, and then popped him between the eyes with Sonny's heat. After was when my brain finally computed what I'd done.
Sonny was freaking out, and then he wouldn't budge. He told me to get the fuck out of there, and that he had to take care of it, meaning the dead body. I was fine. My hands were steady. My heart rate hadn't spiked because of fear, and that bothered me more—wondering why I didn't give a fuck, rather than, "Oh, shit. I just iced a fucker".
To this day, I have no idea if my brother has ever taken a life without many mitigating circumstances—unless they truly deserved it, or it was a heat-of-the-moment instance. My brother has killed with his fists—his fucking temper—when he didn't mean to. He's also a martial arts expert, and he used to participate in the underground MMA circuit, those real cage matches, while he was in undergrad.
When it comes to calculated hits, others do for him now, but he's sort of in this by mistake, or default. I helped him get to where he is, and I never gave a fuck or had any ill feelings. I don't want any of that shit, although I think Sonny is trying to live up to our father's reputation for the sake of doing so because he feels he has to, or to simply reap the other benefits of brushing up against organized crime.
I'm not sure, but I do know that his heart isn't in this 100% of the time. He's not a killer, which isn't exactly a prerequisite to being a successful wise guy, only it sort of is.
My brother's a scam artist, can con a buck out of just about anyone. He's a millionaire at his young age; meanwhile, all that shit doesn't interest me at all.
I'm in love with medicine, while I also do what I do. Unless I sit with a shrink and come up with some great root causes, I have no idea why I am the way I am. I have the ability to think logically, but I just don't give a fuck. I don't have a bad temper at all. A lot of shit just doesn't bother me, and I never have remorse for the things I do.
Maybe my wires are crossed? Something happened to me when I was baby? Shit just isn't that serious, but broads get to me. I love them all, some more than others, and every female likes to play with my emotions. Deep down, I am sensitive, when it comes to getting close to others and opening up. I'm more afraid of getting judged for the things I do, than I am fearful of those very serious things I actually do.
That's one of the reasons I hold Julie so dear. I've opened up, have been me, and she accepted me, just like someone else I know . . .
I needed another drink.
"A trade sounds good," Sonny said.
"Oh, come on." I widened my arms. "Who'd miss him? Let something productive come from this day."
"Joe's got his button. We'd need to have a sit-down."
"Us? Me and you? We can't just . . . ? Dad would have our backs," I laughed.
Sonny shook his head no. "There are certain things . . . rules not even Dad can change, and we bend more rules than the Catholic church." He frowned. "We can't just do what we want. After we all talk tomorrow, you'll realize . . . Once you're a member, when you're outside of the house, Dad's not our father. He's our boss. You think Dad won't yoke us up if we fucked around? I don't get any special treatment. I pay tribute and follow the same rules as everyone else here. All the money I ever took from your profits, from the jobs you've done, some of that went to Dad. That's how it goes . . . this thing of ours." He stared off into space.
"If Kylie hadn't taken off, I could see Pop giving me his blessing, but . . . because of what I gave Joe, he's on his way to being a top earner. Even if he goes to another crew, I can't take back what I've already given him. He's worth more alive than dead. It's business, Dame, and taking him out of the equation would mean bad business."
"Ain't that a bitch." I chuckled.
"If it means that much to you, talk to him." He lifted the top to his MacBook. "I'm done being in the middle. It's all out in the open now; he knows. If you want something," he looked to me, "man up. Talk to Dad and see if he's down with the idea."
"No," I whispered, my face falling. "I just thought it could—" And then my phone buzzed from my pocket. "It's Mom—or Dad. It's the house." I showed Sonny my phone.
"Answer it." He shook his head.
"Hel—"
"Have you seen your sister?" It was Dad.
"Uh . . . no. Is everything okay?" I asked.
"Well, gee . . . it's close to midnight, and I DON'T KNOW WHERE YOUR FUCKING SISTER IS!"
"Jesus . . ." I held the phone away from my ear.
"Kylie's missing?" Even Sonny heard him.
I nodded. "She's with Peto—"
"I can't find him either. And that fucker Aro, he ain't answerin' the muthafuckin' phone!" He was so pissed right now. "What kind of girl stays out that late, huh? And the day before her would-be wedding. She's not allowed—"
"She's almost nineteen—"
"And she still lives under my roof. Until she's married or goes off to college, all bets are off." He hung up on me, but then he called me back. "Ask around—find her before I do!" He ended the call again.
Sonny was already shutting down his computer and putting his jacket back on.
"You're not really going out to look, are you?" I laughed.
"That's our sister—"
"Oh my God." I held my head. "I'm going back to my dorm."
"You want Dad to find her before us?" he asked. "I bet Mom's passed out, or else she would have calmed him down already."
"Fuck."
I dragged my drunk ass out of his office.
Carlisle, Caius, Anthony, and AJ were at the bar shooting tequila back. I joined them while Sonny spoke with our uncle. I only caught the ass end of the conversation, but their words tied my stomach in knots.
"It's a lot to ask, but you'll close for me?" Sonny asked Carlisle, which meant he'd be here until after four a.m.
"No worries. Go find your sister, make sure she's safe, but…your father's high strung. Don't tell him any more than you have to," Carlisle laughed.
"Thanks, man." Sonny turned to me. "Let's go."
"You need to sleep it off," Carlisle said to me while he pried the shot glass out of my hand. "Take this, too." He handed me a bottle of water, and then I followed Sonny out to his car. It was in the same spot it always is—out front—and I hopped into the passenger seat.
"I know where Kylie is," I said.
"Where? We'll grab her and head home." Sonny was fast to start the car and pull off.
I had second thoughts about telling him. I was sure Kylie was safe, and what was the harm of her chillin' with Peto? Why did these people care?
"Just—drive back to Bay Ridge."
"She's in Bay Ridge?" He got onto the highway.
"Yeah," I lied for a ride myself. "Just drive. I'll show you."
"Cool." He put some music on, and I was content to sit back and listen. I almost passed out as he drove, but woke up when we got onto the BQE. "Where is she?"
"In Bay Ridge."
"You've said, but where?" he asked.
I groaned. "What? What were we talking about?" I played stupid to buy myself a few more miles. As soon as Sonny learns that I'm fucking with him, he'll leave me somewhere on the side of the road.
"Where. Is. Kylie?"
"Damn." He had an attitude. "I don't wanna pick her up and go home . . . Can you drop me off on Third Avenue before you get her?"
He grinned. "Gonna hit up a bar?"
"You did promise to get me laid," I laughed. "You can at least drop me off somewhere."
"Good shit." He punched my bicep. "I'll meet up with you—"
"I think I need to do this on my own," I said, which made him compose his smile. "I've never picked anyone up in a bar before . . . and I'll feel all this pressure if you're looking over my shoulder. I'm fresh with the strippers . . . because they're strippers. And a sure thing."
He nodded. "Okay…The important thing is that you're confident. You can do this. It might…help you out of being so awkward?"
"Exactly." It was almost as easy as just stroking his ego or giving him off glances. My brother's big on that, hates when I do that. He thinks it's creepy because he doesn't know what I'm thinking. Sometimes I think he fears me. No, he could totally kick my ass without even trying. I'm kind of lanky, tall and thin, and he's a monster who likes tanning beds.
"Be assertive, be kind of a dick, and be persistent without being too weird. If you raise a freak flag, bitches run."
"Right." I smiled. "I'll just sit at the bar and wait for someone to approach me." Now that shit always happens. I never have to actually try, and if no one wants me, fuck it.
"No. The objective is for you to approach someone—not the other way around. Dude, Imma say this, okay?"
I gestured for him to continue.
"You're a good-looking guy. If you weren't, I wouldn't claim your homely ass. And I don't know why you're so scared of pussy—"
"Whoa . . . I'm not scared," I laughed.
"You have a fear of rejection—"
"We all do. As human beings, none of us likes the word no." I didn't know where he was going with this. "I'm handsome. So fucking what? And what's wrong with finding a meaningful connection? Just because I don't fuck anything—"
"Stop. I don't do that either."
I spoke over him. "Yes, you do."
"Meaningful connection?" He barked out a laugh, and we were that much closer to Bay Ridge. "If some decently attractive female even looks at you for more than a second, you think it's true love—that youse had a moment." He sounded wistful. "You walk around half-delusional. Sometimes sex is just sex, and you need to get over these hang-ups."
I shrugged. "If I'm ever desperate, which I never am, I'll just . . . get a prostitute." I wanted to gauge his reaction.
"Never pay for it. What are you—out your mind?" he shouted.
"You pay Lori—"
"Not to fuck me," he laughed.
"You sign her paychecks. If you didn't, you'd just be some other fucker who—"
"Lori quit," he whispered. "Said she had feelings for me, and she couldn't…be causal any more. She gave me this ultimatum, and I said I'd approve her unemployment claim, and that she could have three more months of medical coverage. . ." He looked to me. "That's crazy, right?"
"Why?" I grinned. "Because someone you were sleeping with on a daily basis actually felt something?"
"Well, yeah. We didn't do anything but fuck. Geez. I mean—"
"Sonny, Katie's married."
"I know that," he said.
"It might not be a bad thing to open up is all I'm saying." I pushed my hair back, and then checked to see if I still had a condom in my wallet.
"Glove compartment—if you need more. You never know. Isn't it funny how back in the day, people kept actual gloves in there, but now fuckers like me keep gloves in there?" He thought he was hilarious while he deftly avoided everything I'd said.
"You don't know for sure if that kid is yours. If it comes out with a natural tan, it might be Raul's. You know?" I think that dude is Puerto Rican or something. Hell if I know.
"It—it's a girl, a she, not an 'it', and I don't know. I think I'm the father."
I shook my head. "You walk through life never taking no for an answer, and yet—"
"Don't talk about things you know nothing about." He was short, which meant he was about to lose his temper. "Raul's a good man. He's a teacher. When they got married, Katie removed herself from this garbage. It was what she always wanted, to get away from Bay Ridge and her pop's reputation. And I—I'd already made my bed. There was no going back, so how could I persist, and make her be a part of something she hates? She'd end up hating me, too."
I nodded. "You're right, but...if she loved you, if she really, really cared for you—"
"She'd overlook it?" he laughed. "Dame, she shouldn't have to—that's the difference. I'd never ask her to or condemn her."
"You really love her."
"I always have." He shrugged. "And what I do otherwise has nothing to do with my personal feelings, or lack thereof, or Katie at all. If she wants me, I'm here. If she doesn't, I say God bless. What else can I do?" he spoke with his hand.
"You can get your girl is what you can do." I nodded. "Fuck all that. You do need to ask yourself this, though. Would you still want her if that turned out to be Raul's kid?"
Maybe I don't understand.
Because the mere thought—the notion—of my uncle touching, breathing near Alex bothers the fuck out of me, even if that's her husband, and I'm technically—through marriage, only—her nephew.
That goes for Julie, too.
I'd wanna kill any fucker who touched what was mine.
"I've dated single moms before—"
"That's not what I asked you." We were already driving along Third Avenue, so this conversation didn't have to last much longer. "She'd fuck you, and for all you know, she would go home and fuck him, too—" The car swerved when he reached out to grab my collar.
"Just stop talking. Stop this bullshit and tell me where Kylie is." He let me go, and I tried not to laugh.
"Pull over. I'll chill at Shenanigan's." I pointed to the Irish pub up the street from my uncle's house.
He did as I said, double-parking as he huffed out breath after breath.
"I'm sorry."
"Where is she…? It's been a long night—a long fucking day. All I wanna do is go home and sleep." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "And I'll have to stay awake long enough to know Dad won't kill her, so please."
I took off my seatbelt and quickly left the car, nearly stumbling when I was out.
"You don't need any more booze, bro."
"She's at AJ's," I said.
He blinked a few times.
"Just give her tonight," I pleaded, backing away from his car. "Don't tell Dad just yet. Wait a few hours, wait for him to calm down—"
"What?" he shouted, rapidly leaving his whip. "AJ lives on top of La Bella Italia—in Little Italy. You had me go from Midtown, to Bay Ridge, all for me to have to go back to Manhattan?" He slammed his fist onto the hood of his car.
This was my reasoning. All of this had to happen, so I could get the result I wanted…and a ride, and I prepared myself for the blow. "Wait a bit and let Dad calm down—" He knocked me in the jaw, and I fell to the ground.
"Do you always have to be such a ball-buster?" He yanked me up by my collar again.
"Fuck you—pussy! Half-a-gangster, wannabe—" I didn't mean any of those words, but they got him to punch me again. Sonny is the epitome of wise guy, despite having a shaky trigger finger. He has no real fears, not like I do, and he's all business. Alas, I play on his insecurities any-fucking-way. "Fuck!" I held my nose when I felt the trickle of blood.
"You're fucked up." He pointed to his temple. "There's something wrong with you—fucking with people all the time." He didn't say anything else. Sonny got back into his car and took off fast, making his tires screech. "Asshole!" I still heard that while his car went further and further away.
"Are you okay?"
I looked up to a cute redhead with these blue eyes. "Um—"
"Angie, get some ice," she shouted to someone in the bar as she bent low. "That guy's crazy."
I nodded, sitting up and holding my nose.
"Lemme see." She reached for my face.
"I'm fine—no fractures, just a bruised ego." I grinned.
She smiled at me. "You—your eyes . . ." She locked hers onto mine, and I didn't look away, held her stare until she blushed. "Did, um, you wanna come inside?" Her friend came out and handed me a towel that had some ice in it.
"No," I said, standing and brushing myself off. "Thanks for this, though."
"One drink?" the redhead asked.
"I'm sorry. I have someplace to be—"
"A girlfriend?"
I looked around us, surprised. I didn't know her from anywhere, and she's asking such personal questions. "I'm married—we have nine kids, some are adopted. The old lady has a big heart… That was my bookie…made a few bad bets." I jerked my thumb to the street.
The young chick, who looked about my age, winced and backed away from me. "Right. Well, take care of yourself."
I smirked as I dumped the ice out of the towel. After I cleaned myself off, making sure to get blood on my suit and rip the collar—I must have looked like a nut job—I walked down the block.
Then when I was in front of my uncle's house, I took my cell from my pocket and called Alex.
She picked up on the second ring. "Hello?"
"Hi," I said, rolling my eyes. I couldn't think of something better to say?
"It's late—everything okay?" I saw the lamp turn on in the living room.
"I'm outside."
There was silence on the other end.
"Hello?"
She opened the door instead, wearing a robe and then tightening it.
I ran up the stoop and stopped short.
"Who are you running from?" She fussed over me now. "What happened to you? You're a mess! Oh my God. Get inside!" She pushed me, and I smiled as I entered, only to frown facing her. "Call your uncle—or someone. Tell them what happened." She was scrambling, opening a locked drawer by the door before she produced a Glock Nine.
When she loaded it, I stood there in awe of her.
"Dame? Were you followed?" She stood on her toes to look out the peephole on the door. "Damion!" She turned. "This isn't the time to be quiet. Who did this to you—fuck, was Anthony with you? Where is he now?" Alex was freaking out.
"Relax. Ant's fine…so am I."
She blew out a breath, shaking her head. "What happened?"
I shrugged, turning to walk into the living room, where I also stopped short.
There was a makeshift bed of all these different colored pillows. Champagne on ice and all these candles were lit. It was a very romantic scene with a fire burning to boot.
"Wow," I said without sound.
"Can you talk to me?"
"What's all this?" I didn't bother facing her.
She walked around me and started to blow out candles. "I was—was waiting for your uncle. He's not picking up his cell, but he might answer for you." Now she looked pissed. "I'm sorry." Alex held her forehead. "Are you really okay?"
I nodded. "Are you?"
She placed the gun on the coffee table. "I'm not the one who got beat up—ice. You need ice."
I stopped her from leaving the living room.
"Damion . . ." It was a warning.
"Just look at me."
"What? I don't—"
"You never look at me anymore." She never does, not directly at my face, or into my eyes. Alex will talk my ear off, but she won't . . .
My only guess is that she feels this too—whatever this is. We actually did share a moment over a week ago. We almost kissed on the couch, but then she slapped her own face, ran out of the room, and has hardly spoken to me since. We had no choice but to converse at the party.
"I don't even know how to answer that." She looked up to me. She actually did it, only to cower back fast. "I look at you . . . Now, what happened?"
I walked over to the couch instead. If she wanted to hear my words, she had to follow, and she did. "Nothing happened. Sonny was being an asshole . . . I could lie—make up this story about how someone chased me here."
"Thank you for being honest," she sighed, pulling her robe to cover more of her legs. "Are you okay to walk home, or should I call your mom?"
"Uh—"
"I will call your mother." I got another warning. "You're being weird—"
"Talk to me about that night," I said. "You keep avoiding me."
She groaned, covering her face with her hands. "I was drunk . . . you were so sweet and here. I have no excuse, and I feel horrible about that. But what's important is that nothing happened."
I nodded. "Did you want something to, to happen?"
"No!" she shrieked. "Dame, you're my nephew—I'm married to your uncle. There's a list of things I could say . . . I was lonely, Ant fell asleep, and we'd just finished watching The Notebook." I personally hated that movie, and it made Anthony cry. "Just please—forget it happened, okay?" She stood from the couch. "If you're feeling better, help me clean this place up . . . I thought Carlisle would be early." She started throwing pillows onto the recliner.
"He's closing up Eclipse for Sonny—"
"Eclipse?"
"Yup." I nodded, smiling. "We all had a blast, even Anthony—going shot for shot, and the talent they have there. My God—" I kissed my fingers.
"Stop," she whispered.
"My uncle's a fool—"
"What?" she asked.
"He has you at home. You put those skanky bitches to shame, number one. You outshine all of them."
Alex grinned down to the floor. "Thanks for trying to make me feel better, but—"
"Fuck that. You're gorgeous, and if he'd rather be there than here with you . . . with the pillows, the candles, the Cristal, and I bet you're wearing kinky lingerie . . . he's a fool." I was still crazy drunk, yet I also still had my head.
And my words made her giggle, which was awesome. "Thank you for saying that."
"Why can't you see me the way I see you?" I whispered, my heart threatening to beat out of my chest.
Her face fell. "Dame . . ." She came back over to the sofa to sit, and she surprised me when she grasped my hand. "You're hot, okay? You're a very handsome dude." She pinched my cheek, which wasn't exactly the contact I sought. "You can have any girl out there—"
"That's just insulting." I stood up. "You're not into me, it's whatever. I'm sorry I bothered you." I was embarrassed, taking such a huge chance on fate, coming here, and being honest. What the fuck was the point? "I'll let myself out—"
"Do you know what I should see when I do look at you?" she called out to me.
I kept my back to her.
"Lumière . . . the little boy pretending to be a candlestick, the little boy who had an uneven smile, who'd cry if someone so much as killed a spider . . ." She grasped my bicep, and I turned to her. But this time, I was the one who couldn't face her.
"The cute and easygoing kid who begged me to go into Pooh ride with him because he was scared . . ."
"I wish I was still that guy," I admitted in a whisper.
"He's still in there." She placed her hand on my chest. "You're a good guy. I know it…I know how loving, caring, and sweet you can be. When you let go…that shines."
I shook my head.
"You're not rotten, Damion. What I'd like to know is…What happened to you?"
"Nothing." I rasped. "I grew up, I guess."
She shook her head, disagreeing but wearing a smile. "Remember Disney? There was the thunderstorm . . . you and Ant climbed into bed with me."
"The lightning freaked him out."
"Yeah," she laughed. "It wasn't the thunder."
"God was bowling." I grinned. Her story was the only reason we didn't fear the thunder, but Alex couldn't come up with a crazy story about lightning. "You should have said that God was using the flash on his giant iPhone."
She snorted. "That's a good one."
I grinned down to her, feeling warm inside, like everything—no matter what happened—would be okay. Then I swallowed, nervous and ready for the inevitable "There's a 'but' coming, isn't there?"
"That's what I should see; that's what I want to see." She walked away from me, going back to sit down. "Now you're a man. Now you look at me, like I'm this beautiful person, you look at me the way I wish my husband did, and it's the most confusing bullshit ever." She palmed her face. "Because somehow things changed. You're here with Anthony, and then we talk. We have these great conversations . . . and you always say the right things." She paused, wiping her tears away. "I need you to stop doing that. Don't flatter or comfort me...I'm your aunt. I'm older and should be doing those things for you...And most of all, I need you to stop trying to hurt me. You know things—you know the shit your uncle is doing, and although I can appreciate it, I don't want to hear about it. It doesn't make you look better, or make me want you. It's just mean."
"You love him." It wasn't a question.
She nodded. "I do, faults included."
"Do you . . ." I didn't know what to say, as I took a seat again.
"Do I what?"
"Can you ever see me as…something other than your nephew?" I asked, nearly stammering over my words.
"I love my husband. But more than the vows we've shared, I'd never—ever—disrespect or betray your mother."
"My mother has nothing to do with—"
"She's my best friend," she said.
"How can you speak of vows when they don't mean anything to your husband?" I took another risk and grabbed onto her hand.
She let me hold it and closed her eyes tightly. "It doesn't matter." She opened her eyes and more tears spilled. "I'll admit . . . there's something here, between you and me. It's weird, and I don't understand it at all, but…two wrongs don't make a right, and do you really want to have an affair? I mean, consciously? We're sitting here, talking about this crazy possibility . . . No, it's crazy, wrong—"
"But you think about me." The side of my mouth turned up, as much I tried not to smile.
"No . . . Carlisle," she said his name like it pained her. "He'd kill you, me too, and then your father would kill him. All you men understand and react with is violence. It'd be this cycle. Our feelings, whatever they are, would lead to catastrophic events. Us—doing anything, would hurt so many people. I—we have children. This house isn't perfect, but it almost is…this would destroy my babies." She stared at the carpet. "And when it comes to my husband—I'll be honest. I won't lie to you— I still love him too fucking much. I can't imagine being with someone else."
"So, you have—you've thought about this, me, the possibility of us a lot?" That thrilled me more than anything else had in years. "Don't think. No one has to know—" I scooted closer and placed my arm around her shoulder. She felt fantastic and warm; my stomach filled with butterflies at just having her in my arms.
"Damion." She stiffened.
"Look at me."
"Let go of me!" She pushed me away.
We both became quiet, while I stared at the nine on the table. It all came back to a nine—not what it is, but what it means, a piece of stupid metal. "I'm sorry." I toyed with the barrel, making it swerve on the glass top of the table. "I can't help the way I feel…no one can."
"That's not a toy—"
"Do you know how to use it?" I held it in my hand. It didn't have the same weight the one to the side of my waist did.
"I've…gone to the range with your mom," she whispered.
"My mom," I laughed, pointing it to the wall. "This is lightweight—good for you, your personal use."
"I don't carry it around. It stays locked up."
"You should always be protected—"
"I have a driver."
"I could—"
"Dame, just put that down and go. Please, before anyone even finds out you were here." She sounded exasperated.
I ignored her words. "What do you think? Does a gun make the man, or is it the other way around?"
"I don't know." The fact that she wouldn't face me, seemed to be trying to blow me off, angered me.
"Answer the question."
"I'm asking you to leave," she said. "Please, just go."
"Look. At. Me." I demanded, touching the tip of the piece right under her chin.
Her eyes were filled with tears as she turned to face me.
"Thank you—"
"Damion…"
"I'd never hurt you." The skin on her neck was smooth, and the gun glided down, all the way down to her cleavage. Her paleness against the black steel was a beautiful contrast. "Look at me." She had her eyes closed and opened them fast. Our gazes became locked. I held hers, and I never wanted to let it go. The barrel loosened her robe, and then I opened it—all while we stared into each other's eyes.
"Dame, please—" Her voice was filled with emotion.
"Shhh," I soothed.
"I don't know you at all anymore." She sniffled and sobbed, turning away from me.
"Don't be scared," I whispered, and I wanted to look at her body, but there was something so much more stimulating about her stare. Was it lust, or fear, that I saw in her eyes? I didn't know, but the more I stared, the more excited I became.
"Just—" I placed my lips to hers for a soft kiss.
That's all I wanted: my shot.
And while we kissed, I heard my heart beating loudly and so-fucking-fast in my ears. My stomach was flipping. All these things were happening that had never happened before.
I was able to feel, truly feel.
But then I deepened it, moaning low, holding her to me tightly, while our tongues tangled in a sloppy yet perfect kiss.
My mind was blown. I was riding a high of a lifetime, and all we were doing was kissing. When her hands squeezed my shoulders, I shivered and leaned over her, pushing her back and down against the sofa cushions so that I could finally see my prize.
She wore this black one-piece thing. It had lace and hugged her curves. Her breasts were spilling over the top, and I wanted her to turn around, but then she might have a chance to think. "You're gorgeous." My body scooted lower, so I could place kisses down her chest and her bodice.
When she started to pull my hair, too hard so that it almost hurt, I stopped from undoing those little buttons by her crotch.
"Get off me." That's when I felt the nine on my neck.
"You wouldn't," I said, smiling and resting on top of her on the couch. My hands rested on either side of her head, and her eyes . . . they were ice cold. "You want me." I nipped her lips, feeling bold. "You're just too chickenshit." My hips gently bucked against her, wanting her to feel me.
"Don't do this." She gulped, looking away, and her center was so warm . . .
"Do what?" I rubbed myself onto her again, eliciting another sound from her. "I won't fuck you . . . Just let me make you come." My nose skimmed the tops of her breasts. "Please?" I looked into her eyes. "You're so sad . . . I just wanna make you happy."
"No—"
My eyes widened and my heart stopped for a second. "You kissed me back," I said, my chest heaving.
"No, I didn't," she whimpered. "And—and—" she was shaking, "and I—Damion, just get off of me. I'm saying no. Don't do this," she cried.
I let out a loud groan, flying back and off of her. "What the fuck was that then?"
She was fast to run across the room, tying her robe closed. Alex looked like she was hyperventilating. "Go . . . just leave." She pointed to the door.
"Alex…" I stood from the couch, and then she backed away even more. "I—"
"I won't—I won't say anything." She shook her head. "Just—" Her shaky finger was still pointed to the door.
I felt sick to my stomach as I stared at her. "Don't do this," I begged. "You have feelings for me. You just can't tell me—"
"Listen to me, Dame." Alex stepped toward me, but then stopped. "We can't. This never happened."
I blew out a breath, righting my clothes. "I think I might be—"
"Don't."
"—in love with you."
"No, you're not," she sobbed, sniffling. "You're confused, mistaken."
"Then what are you?" I pulled on my hair.
She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. "I'm in love with my husband. No matter what he might have done, no matter how many late nights . . . no matter how much I bitch, none of that changes how I feel about him." She wiped her eyes.
I stared at the ground, pissed the fuck off. "He sticks his dick in—"
"I don't have proof of that." She shrugged. "And stop saying that to me. You keep telling me about all these horrible things . . ." She paused, contemplative, and then stared up at me. "Damion, are any of them true?" She walked closer to me. "Are they true? Is he really seeing that blonde from the club? Because you told me that—you said he was, that YOU were looking out for me, but . . . Tell me the truth."
Of course, I lied to her, have been lying to her. I've just been that desperate—desperate for her to see me as something different. I wanted to be her man. I want to take care of her in ways my uncle can't, or won't. So what if I have no concrete evidence of him doing her wrong. He either is or will, and does it make a fucking difference?
"It doesn't matter! You kissed me back," I shouted. "You want me."
She shook her head.
"Don't." I felt tears well up in my eyes. "You've been here for me, too . . . the way you look at me. Alex . . ."
"You lied to me," she whispered.
"I—"
"You lied!" she screamed. "How could you…?"
I didn't know what to say, but her denying her feelings for me was starting to anger me even more.
"Get out!"
I refused, standing and staring at her.
"Just leave. We forget this happened, and . . . and you stay-the-fuck-away from me. You stay away from me, my kids—"
"No," I said. "Ant's my best friend, and I won't stay away from you either." I shrugged, cracking a smile at her ridiculousness.
"The twins," she cried, fisting her hair. "I only want to be around you if others are there . . . You're scaring the fuck out of me right now . . . How could you?" She continued to cry quietly, and then she slumped low, slid down the wall to sit against it. "My God…" She tossed the gun away from herself, and then banged her head back against the wall.
Cautiously, I walked over and bent low to touch her cheek.
"Don't!" She smacked my hand away.
I grasped her chin, making her look at me. "You kissed me back. You have feelings for me. Why are you acting like this?"
"You're scaring me—"
"You love me." I nuzzled my nose to hers.
"Not like that," she whispered. "I don't love you like that. This is a mess, and I'm asking you now not to do something you'll regret. No is no, and you need to learn quite a few things about boundaries. Don't hurt me. You'll regret it. You'll hate yourself tomorrow."
"I'd never." I breathed. "I could never." I crawled to the side of her to sit, draping my arm over her shoulders. "Relax, okay?" I kissed her hair.
She started sobbing again, burying her head into my side. "I'm sorry." She hugged me tightly. "I'm confused, too . . ."
"I'm not confused—"
"Yes." She sniffled. "Why did you lie? You manipulated me—creating problems just so you could comfort me?"
I hated to admit that, but I nodded my head in confirmation. All of which made her cry even harder. "I'm sorry."
Alex laughed through her tears. "No, you're not . . . that's what's so funny. You're not sorry."
"Okay . . . I'm not."
"Even if I developed these…feelings, I won't act on them, and I need you to respect that—especially since they sprouted because of a lie—my God. I'm so stupid." She pushed against my shoulder. "How could you do this?"
Again, since I had nothing to lose, I was honest. "I need you."
"You don't."
"I do . . . I feel a physical need for you. I ache for you when you're not around." My face crumbled, and I couldn't even remember the last time I'd cried. "You're the most—" I sighed, "you're just perfect. You make me feel like, like I'm normal? If that makes sense. I can talk to you—more so than I can anyone else."
"We were friends." She held my hand. "That's why . . . You have to take risks, and you have to open up to other people, because, it's hard not to fall in love with you."
My stomach tied knots, feeling sick of this whole ordeal. "We can leave. I have money. I can take care of you—"
"No," she rasped. "That's insane. You need sleep." She held my cheek. "You need to sober up, get some rest, and everything—you'll realize how crazy this all is in the morning."
I swallowed, shaking my head. "You don't understand—"
"I love your uncle. I'm in love with your uncle, the father of my children."
I rolled my eyes. "Alex—"
"I don't love you." She scooted away. "You're a boy." She left the floor, picking up the discarded nine and crossing the room. "I don't want you."
I narrowed my eyes at her. "You're—"
She smiled. "Get real. Why would I leave all this?" Her lip quivered. "My husband provides for me. I love him, not you—never you."
"You're lying."
"Leave my house, or I'll call your father."
I barked out a laugh. "Is that so?" I walked closer to her.
"You manipulated me!" she shouted, lifting the gun in her hand. "You lied to get the reaction you wanted out of me. You did this. Why the fuck would I want you now, huh? You're my nephew . . . a little boy."
"Put the gun down." I demanded, ready to shake her for being so-fucking-stubborn—frustrated with her for pointing that shit at me. "Put it the fuck down." My hand flinched to mine, but I wanted to keep my head.
"You think I won't?" She actually stepped onto the couch to get farther away from me. "I'd pop one in your foot—it'll hurt enough to stop you."
I reached for her.
"Don't fucking touch me!" She aimed higher, the look in her eyes cold and calculated again. She wasn't fucking around.
"Okay." I put my hands up so she could see them. "I'll leave." I nodded.
She visibly relaxed a little.
"Kiss me and I'll go."
"Christ almighty!"
"Okay," I laughed. "I guess that's a no?"
"That's a hell no. Now get the fuck out of my house!"
I laughed all the way out the door—a pissed off, hysterical mess. All the signs were there. They all pointed to go, and then she says no—turns me down.
Confused as all fuck, I marched up the street, needing another drink, or ten.
Thank you for reading.
Please leave me your thoughts.
Part Two posts tomorrow and then next Wednesday we'll see what Kylie's been up to!
Dame's in for a loooong night. LOL.