She's damn right I do. Her included.
Lies. Deaths. I focus on a blank haze in front of me as she goes behind me, her hands on my shoulders as she begins rubbing into my chest. So many of my team dead. Blood sprayed all over the fucking place, drugs gone. I tense under her fingers at the thought. That's a lot of goddamned money I've just lost, and it'll need replacing.
“Do you know who it was?” she asks, pushing that tension out of me again. My eyes close, my gun falling into my lap. Yes. I do. I know exactly who it was. Yakuza scum. Trouble is, I don’t know if her or the Cane boys are involved.
Ten
Time slips past us. The only indications that it’s still moving are the aches of my body and the drink that Benjamin continues to throw down his neck.
Even in the beginning, when he would test me—push me to the point of breaking—he didn’t ever shove a gun in my mouth. He’d do plenty of threatening, and I believed him. I’ve seen too much not to believe in Benjamin’s threats, but actually doing that sort of thing? Never. I can cope with violence, aggression and hateful words. They’ve been a part of my life for so long they’ve somehow helped form the foundation of who I am. Those experiences give me strength. They’re my steel core, helping me stand up and live in the world I’m in. But this is something new from him, something I've never felt on my skin before. Almost psychotic.
I run my tongue over the jagged edge of one of my back teeth, chipped from the barrel of the gun. The blood and come have dried on my thighs and body, and I’m desperate to wash last night off me. Every muscle in my body protests as I pull myself from under Benjamin’s arm. Mentally, I brace for the tirade of shouting he’ll throw at me, but nothing comes, so I crawl off the bed and stumble into the bathroom, quietly closing the door behind me.
The bright lights show me just how much damage he’s done. My reflected face is marred by light bruises. My lip’s torn with blood still crusting over the wound, and my sunny hair is dark and matted, hanging in knots. I peer at my red-rimmed eyes, wondering what I’m getting myself into. If I get this reaction from nothing but paranoia, what the hell will happen if he actually finds out what I’ve done?
There were times in the past when I’d come home roughed up. It was part of being a hooker on the streets of New York. Back then I was a timid mouse compared to what I’ve fought to become. Men thought paying for sex gave them permission to do anything they wanted—rough sex, rape play, sometimes no play at all. Strange that I allow it from Benjamin now, but I suppose that's because of my goal. Cane. I tell myself that because I can’t look at the other reasons too carefully.Admittedly, this is far worse than it’s been for a long time.
The spray from the shower is a soothing balm to my pain, washing it away in a tinge of pink water. I stay hidden away, fortifying my strength for much longer than necessary, but I need to build up my walls. Whatever this has been from him, it could happen again, and I need to be prepared, to use my resources to calm him down.
When I emerge, Benjamin is passed out on the bed, the drained bottle on the floor where it slipped from his grasp. I grab a silk negligee from the wardrobe, pull the covers over my body and try finding sleep. It’s easier than it should be given what just happened.
* * *
The morning light through the window wakes me, confusing my muddled mind. I bolt upright, regretting the move instantly, and grab hold of my jaw in pain. The clock flashes nine fifteen, which can’t be right. I never sleep in.
I throw back the covers and pad, as enthusiastically as I’m able, out of the bedroom to go searching for Benjamin. The door to his study is ajar, so I creep up to the threshold.
He’s dressed in his usual black vest over a white shirt, the phone to his ear and a neat stack of papers on his desk. He turns on his chair to see me and a small smile lifts the corner of his mouth. He beckons me with a finger and pulls me down onto his lap, something he’s never done in his office.
“Keep me posted.” He ends the call and tosses the phone on the desk.
“I’m sorry I slept in.” It’s a stupid thing to say, but they’re the only words I can think of.
“You needed to sleep. Besides, I want you with me today. Here.”
The thought that he doesn’t trust me chills me. I’ve worked too long for him to doubt me at the first sign of trouble.
“I need to go out, Benjamin. I can’t stay cooped up all day.”
“Why do you need to go out?”
“Because I have a chipped tooth that needs fixing.”
I climb off his lap, not ready to have this conversation with him where he can reach for my skin. He’s a manipulative bastard at the best of times. The sigh that comes from him as I move is unusual and causes me to turn to see what it's for.
“How is it?” he asks, pointing at my face.Painful. I don't know how to reply.
A million responses fly through my mind. All of them involve something he's not going to like. Admitting fault isn't something Benjamin ever does. He seems genuine,though. It's strange, as if he's questioning his actions for once in his life. My mouth stalls, unable to find suitable words, and I watch him shake his head and pick up a pen to get back to whatever he was doing. “You can go with Torino, but not today,” he says quietly. “We have lunch with the Canes. I need you there to keep on with Quinn.”
“You sure that’s a good idea?”
My words are out before I’ve thought them through, but instead of the ice in his eyes, I see a haunted look. The part of my heart that belongs to him hopes it’s remorse for last night. The realist in me knows it’s not.
“Go get Torino. He wanted to talk to us both. About yesterday,” he mutters, a frown on his face.
I know this is going to be bad. Once Benjamin realises that I went off without Torino, he’ll never let me out of his sight.
“Okay.”
