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It’s not Tizio waiting for me the next morning, but one of the other big men he works with. He’s tattooed, with a chain around his neck that glints where it peeks from his black shirt. There’s a suit jacket on the back of the chair in the kitchen, and he’s leaning against the fridge, eating some of the granola that Tizio bought.
“His shit’s in the cupboard,” the guy says by way of greeting. “I wouldn’t eat it. I think it’s straight-up oats and chia and seed.”
“Where’s Tizio?”
“Not here.”
I send him my best withering look as I push a strand of hair back behind my ear. No ponytail or pigtails today, and I’m wearing ankle-length checked trousers with braces and an old blue and pink Powerpuff Girls T-shirt I got at a charity store. I dump my boots on the island, and the man only raises a brow and continues eating.
“I can see that. Did he sneak off like a coward?”
He laughs. “That’s what I said to Nicolo.” His gaze touches on the bruises on my throat. The thin line of the cut that’s just there. “Oh, man, he’s gonna kill the bastard that cut you.” Then his gaze is back to the bruises. “Oh, fuck, man.”
“What?”
He waves a spoon. “The bruises. No, not my business, but . . . did you break him?”
I snort.
He laughs again. “Diego, by the way.”
“Karlee. But you know that. I guess you’re here to take me to college?”
“Yup, Tizio is busy.” He pinches between his eyes. “Fuck, you’re young.”
“It’s not a disease, and so is Avah.”
He holds up a hand. “I just fuckin’ mean . . . you’re young. Tizio doesn’t ever go for young women. That’s all.”
He goes for old ones, I want to snap, but keep it in. Barely.
“Can we not discuss me like I’m a reality show.”
He finishes his cereal, and I pull on my boots, zipping them up. “Ready for school?”
“Sure,” I say, not ready at all.
It’s hard to concentrate knowing another big man is out and about protecting me and not Tizio. It’s even harder when I keep going back to that hot, rough sex, and those filthy, nasty things he said to me.
I should be hurt, outraged.
I’m not.
I feel like shit because he rejected me, but how he was . . . How it made me feel, makes me feel? I think the word iscomplicated because I liked it. Him degrading me, making me his to play with. It took and gave me power.
How, I’m not sure. I never played with guys before, not like that. Oh, the guys liked to pretend to be in control to smack my ass or take me roughly, but it never felt down to the soul right.
When Tizio did it, I felt both worshipped and a toy, a thing of beauty he wanted to drag down and play with in the mud and dirt.
Wanted. Needed. Worshipped. Had.
That’s what it all was.
But he put caveats on it. One time only, and that stripped it down to just base fucking and using, and I’m not sure who used who or what it is I want except?—
“Karlee!” Strong hands take hold of my shoulders, and I’m dragged from my thoughts into reality.
Oh, shit, it’s Gideon Walker. I nearly mowed him down. That’s how tied up in knots I’m being.
