AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Have you always worked for the mob, then?” Keyera asks as she breaks some eggs into a bowl. I’m jarred out of my thoughts and thrown off by her question.
“No.”
“Oh? How does someone get into your line of work?”
“Bad luck.”
She gives me a dry look over her shoulder and for some reason, I relent. I tell her shit about me only a few people know.
“I was ten and living on the street when Lucille Gambino, Mario’s grandmother, found me and took me in,” I murmur. Now that I’ve started, the words pour out of me. “She raised me, made sure that I was fed and clothed. She passed away almost ten years ago and Mario came to me to tell me that I needed to start paying off my debt. I was eighteen at the time, with no money to my name and no prospects.”
“How long do you have to work for them?” she asks quietly.
“You’re my last job,” I admit. I watch her, waiting to see what her reaction will be. I’m expecting her to be angry or at the very least, convince me of her innocence. Instead, she peers at me with those damn blue eyes of hers, holding my gaze and not letting go. I can’t look away if I tried. She's searching for something, like she's trying to unlock some secret part of me. The thing is...she might be doing just that.
“Where are you from?” I ask, desperate to change the subject and learn more about her. She blinks, breaking eye contact.
“Las Vegas, but I’ve bounced around a bit over the last eight years.”
“Why?” I ask, watching as she pours the eggs into the pan and grabs a spatula.
“I was trying to get away from my dad.”
“Did he hurt you?” I demand, anger coursing through me. If he laid one finger on this angel, I will hunt him down and kill him with my bare hands.
“No, he just wasn’t much of a father.”
“What does that mean?” I don’t even realize I’ve pushed away from the counter and started walking toward her until we’re only a few feet apart. Keyera doesn’t look up, but I know she feels my closeness from the way her breath hitches.
“He was a loser,” she whispers, almost ashamed. “He knocked my mom up the night they met. She was a stripper and barely eighteen, and he was close to thirty. He never graduated high school and couldn’t keep a job for longer than a few months.”
“What about your mom?”
Keyera sighs, busying herself with chopping up a green pepper. I almost think she’s not going to answer me, but then she continues. “She left when I was ten. I guess she had enough of taking care of two kids so she bailed. I never saw or heard from her again.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell her.
She just nods, her eyes locked on the cutting board. My heart breaks for a ten-year-old Keyera being abandoned by the only real parent she ever had.
“I...I ran away when I was sixteen,” she confesses. It’s shocking to hear, but I don’t let it show. “My dad had lost his job six months before but I had been working since I was fourteen and was covering most of our bills.” Her voice is higher now, more forceful as her words speed up. It’s like she’s trying to get it all out there before she loses her courage. “When I turned sixteen, I overheard him talking to some of his friends. They were bookies and trying to collect money from him and he was telling them that I would pay.”
“Did they take your money?” I growl.
“No, I realized he knew about the money I was saving for college and he was planning on using it to pay off his debts. He drank away any money I gave him for groceries and I could see that this was going to be the rest of my life if I stayed. I would never be able to get out of his grasp. I would never get ahead if I stayed.”
“But you went to college,” I say, remembering the diploma she showed me yesterday.
“Yeah, eventually. I lived on the streets for a few years, working and saving up. I took classes when I could at community colleges until I finally had my degree.”
I can’t picture a teenage, homeless Keyera. I know how hard it is to survive on the streets. To have to look after yourself. To fight to find something to eat and a safe place to sleep.
Keyera stops chopping the pepper and wipes her hands off on a nearby rag. She looks up at me, the vulnerability shining in her clear blue eyes enough to twist me up inside. I watch in slow motion as my hand raises up and cups her cheek. She flinches at first, which damn near kills me with guilt. When I gently lay my palm against her cheek and tilt her head up again, I’m met with watery eyes that gut me.
Leaning forward, I press my lips to her hairline, breathing in her sweet tangerine scent.
It hits me like a ton of bricks. I want to take care of her. I want to look out for her and make sure that she’s safe. I want to be the one she turns to when she has a problem. I want to be the one to pleasure her, to comfort her, to love...
Then I remember why I’m here.
