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I pinch myself. Hard. The pain of it twinges through my arm, and my eyes fly open. I’m still sitting in this industrial-looking chair with chrome edges and a faux leather seat. The kind of thing that might be found in a library. That’s the most painful realization.
That my normal, mundane, unexciting life is now over, and like all other people who have suffered life-changing blows, I wish I could have it back.
I close my eyes again. The pain in my brain is working its way to my chest, and when I plunge myself into total darkness, breathing deeply and evenly to keep myself calm, I find that it’s easier to bear whatever is happening to me.
Also, what the heck kind of drugs did they actually use in that cloth they shoved over my mouth—which I now remember because, my god, I still feel like I could fall asleep, and sleep should not be an option on the what the fuck am I supposed to do now list.
A sudden noise startles me out of my trance-like state. There’s a clomp and a scrape and then a smell. Roses? And—and…cheese?
My eyes pop open, and I let out an involuntary little gasp when I spot a little old lady standing a few feet away. Yipes! Mr. Midnight threatened to unleash his granny on me, and now he’s done it. I bet she’s the SHE from his story. She’s probably the head of this whole mafia-not-mafia organization.
“Are you going to torture me?” I yelp before I can stop myself. “Because I don’t know anything. I was drugged coming here, so I didn’t see anything. I’m just a librarian. I have a normal life, and I don’t know anything about…about before. If there really was a before. I still think he has the wrong person, whoever he is—he being, on the long list of things, definitely not my fiancé.”
The granny eyes me up for a few seconds. She might be small, but she’s hella intimidating. She gives a good stink eye. Plus, she’s likely over eighty, though she’s still rocking a designer power suit and five-inch heels, the kind with the red bottoms. She’s dignified. Gorgeous actually. And she exudes danger like most grannies exude smiles and the smell of chocolate chip freaking cookies.
Oh, and she’s carrying a heaping plate of pizza.
Despite myself, my stomach lets out a low growl. I set my hand there, really hoping that it was a growl and not the dreaded butt tuba. My brain is still a little foggy.
All of a sudden, her grim expression shifts, and she smiles, and when she does that, she looks every bit like every loving grandmother everywhere else. She doesn’t appear so—I could obliterate you with my pinkie finger—dangerous anymore. She pulls the far chair up so close to me that when she sits down, our knees nearly touch. She slides the plate onto my lap.
“My asshole of a grandson means well. He really does. I thought I had smoothed all his rough edges and taught him how to treat a lady, but apparently, his manners need some adjusting.” She smacks the back of her palm with her open hand, and the thought of her taking all five-foot-five or so of Mr. Midnight over her lap and spanking him makes me giggle. She grins in response. “You’re starving. The pizza is a shit mix of mongrel, god-forsaken ingredients, but if you’re desperate enough….”
I’m most assuredly desperate enough.
I dig into the first slice. It tastes like tacos, which is fine by me. In my experience, there is very little that tacos can’t fix.
Except for the arranged marriage, the fact that my real father was most likely a maniacal crime boss, and the whole my-life-as-I-know-it-is-over problem.
My lips pause on the pizza, and I carefully set the slice down as my stomach churns.
“Scarlet.” The granny waves at me since both my hands are full. “It’s good to meet you. If I had it my way, I wouldn’t have drugged you, kidnapped you, and brought you to my dank, smelly basement. I apologize again. That’s just getting off on the wrong foot. My grandson, if you give him a chance, isn’t half bad. He does make a mess of things occasionally, so you’ll have to forgive him. He was raised by wolves, and sometimes he still likes to howl, if you know what I mean. He was living on the streets, a starving, dirty teenager who looked more like a boy of eight than a fourteen-year-old when I found him. He’d had no school or socialization and had not felt a friendly touch in more than a year and a half. He was spitting mean and foul as they came. As feral as a badger, and if you know badgers, you should know not to fuck with them, but I suppose I never was very smart.”
