“Do these women know you’re a child?” I gently roll the bottle of diluent between my hands to bring it up to room temperature. “Do they realize, if caught,”I’ll kill them, “they could be brought up on charges for statutory rape?”
Smug, his lips curl into a smile, and his arms bulge as he lifts himself up and plants his ass on the counter. Then, because he, like Felix, was never taught boundaries, he reaches out and snatches the bottle from my hand.
He’s rough enough to make my heart stutter. But smart enough and observant enough to keep rolling, just as I had been.
“It’s not rape when I’m the one searching for it. That’s called consent, Doc.”
“But is it?” I watch from the corner of my eyes as he angles his head and attempts to read the label on the side of the bottle. While he’s busy doing that, I wash my hands again and prep the rest of my supplies. The butterfly needle. The alcohol wipe for sanitization.
“Your prefrontal cortex has not yet developed enough to make these decisions,” I murmur. “But hers has. I know you’re not banging other teenagers, which means those you’re taking to bed are capable of assessing a situation. You’re a child. You have the body of a child.”
He scoffs, loud and arrogant to momentarily rouse Micah. “I don’t have the body of a child. And your insistence on saying so is desperate at best. You like what you see when you look at me,Minnnka.”
“Oh geez,” I laugh so even my shoulders bounce. “You’re delusional. And though you may look older than your peers, you have four older brothers who have clearly already paved the way to men.”
Bringing the tourniquet up my arm and nestling it at my bicep, I yank it tight and release the remaining cord with practiced hands. “I know what a grown Malone looks like. So don’t kid yourself.”
Reaching out, I take my bottle and wipe it all over with an alcohol cloth. Because Cato Malone is a filthy slut, and I have no clue who or what he touched with those hands.
“Do you use protection?”
“Excellent. We’re havingthe talk. Birds fuck bees. Babies are born with STDs. I already got the spiel, so can we skip it for today?”
“Jesus.” I exhale and insert the double-ended needle to connect my bottles. “I genuinely hope that’s not the talk you got. Because if so, there are gaps in your knowledge.”
“I use protection,” he cuts in. “Every single time.”
“Are you testing at least twice a year since becoming sexually active? Because condoms only prevent so much.”
His eyes are glued to my work. To the needle I slip into my vein, and the tape I slap over top to keep everything where it needs to be. “I’m clean enough to keep everyone happy.” Then he nods toward my arm. “What did you catch that warrants this?”
“Catch? Nothing, you jerk.” Once the diluent has drained into the factor powder and the bottle on bottom is full, I disconnect the top and pull the medication into my syringe. “My medical condition is not up for discussion.”
“And yet,” he counters arrogantly. “My sex life is. That’s interesting.”
“It’s up for discussion because you’re sneaking in and out ofmyapartment. You’re in my city, visiting my home. You’re still a minor, which makes you my responsibility. How can you not understand that?”
“Because I take responsibility for myself.”
When I connect the full syringe to the tubing attached to my needle, I turn for privacy. But Cato only slides off the counter and walks around to peek over my shoulder.
“I didn’t knock anyone up yet. And if I did,” his hot breath hits the back of my neck while he stands over me, “we’d get it taken care of. End of story.”
“Taken care of, as in an abortion?” Slowly, I push Factor VIII into my veins as my eyes flutter closed. “Or taken care of the Malone way? Keep the kid, kill the mother.”
Ihearhis smile as his lips curl up. “How’s about we stick with the condoms for now? Stay hopeful for no pregnancies at all, and save the lady-killing for when I’m older.”
“Mmhm.”
I work slowly. Methodically. Practiced, as I settle in for several minutes of this.
I have an audience, when I so rarely allow such vulnerability. And this audience is a sexually active, mafioso’s son, whose teachings in life were to dispose of the incubators and kill anyone who might think to speak out about their crimes.
Jesus, does he stand a chance at all of living a normal life?
“Factor VIII is an essential blood-clotting protein.” Cato’s tone is even. Scripted. And when I open my eyes and glance over my shoulder, I find him reading from his phone. “Also known as anti-hemophilic factor. In humans, Factor VIII is encoded by the F8 gene.” Frowning, he brings his gaze back up. “You were born with the wrong chromosomes?”
“Were you born with no brain at all?” I place my syringe in my palm on the same side as my needle, then I reach out and snatch the boy’s phone away before he says something else stupid. “Mind your business. Stop looking into mine. In fact,” I look him in the eyes and grin. “You can go back to New York now. The vigilante isn’t going to hurt me.”
