28. Cin
Cin
I have no idea what to say because Talon just stares at me, but not in his usual way. Usually his eyes are filled with distrust and malice. Now though, he’s staring at me like I’m fragile, breakable.
Pity.
That’s what this is. I expected him to be pissed that Mama and I are here. Invading his personal space. They put me in his fucking room for God’s sake. He should be pissed, trying to pull his usual bullshit bullying tactics to get rid of me.
Instead he’s standing waist deep in the water, pitying me. There’s no other reason that he would suddenly apologize for raising his voice.
“I don’t want, nor do I need, your pity,” I sit up taller as I say it, portraying a confidence I don’t quite feel.
“Pity?” He questions, as if he doesn't know what the word means.
I lift my feet out of the pool to stand, but his hand whips out and latches onto my ankle, stopping my escape and keeping me rooted on my ass at the edge of the pool, our faces level.
“What if I told you it’s not pity?”
I laugh, almost hysterically, because this is not the Talon I know. This is a foreign creature inhabiting his body.
“What have I told you about unwanted hands, Fish Boy?”
His hand remains locked in place, and I try my best to be still. Not to show how much the contact messes with my insides, especially when he starts to idly caress my ankle with his thumb.
He looks up at me then, fear and anxiety rush through my body along with an alarming rate of butterflies in my stomach, as he stares at me.
“Spice it’s—”
“You know what? No, I’m tired of walking on eggshells around you when you’ve done nothing but torment me, embarrass me, and sabotage my academics. You don’t get to pity me, and you sure as shit don’t get to change your mind and decide I’m no longer enemy number one.”
I’m breathing heavy, but I’m on a roll, and fuck it, he deserves it. Shivers run down my back and I pull away from the edge of the pool. His hand falls as I stand, getting to my feet and heading back to the house.
“Spice,” Talon calls, and I look over my shoulder at him, arms now crossed and laid against the edge of the pool, “it’s admiration.”
I stop, only for a second, considering staying to explore this new version of him. Instead, I turn around and walk back into the house, frustration burning up my throat because that Talon isn’t real.
But God, I wish he was.
The next morning, I feel worse, if it’s possible. My ribs and head throb, my neck is on fire and stiff. I want to close my eyes and go back to sleep, but I keep having the same dream. The same one I’ve had forever. Only now I know it’s from a past memory.
Though I’m never the same in the dream. Sometimes, I’m very little or old and graying; other times, I’m as old as I am now.
Why would my father want to kill me?
What purpose would it serve him?
Questions I wasn’t able to articulate last night assault my already frazzled mind. Then I circle back to the day when I was kidnapped. I didn’t recognize either of the men, and I’ve never seen my father, but I can’t imagine it was him.
Plus, if he knew my mother was around, would he risk it?
Hot tears leak from my eyes without permission. I’ve never cried for my father, not even when I was little and wondered why he wasn’t around. It’s always been me and Mama. Now though, knowing that he wants me dead, and that he was willing to kill her to get to me…
I rub the frustrating tears away, sitting up and groaning at the ache in my body. It’s everywhere, and again, I want to curl up in a ball and pretend nothing else matters. But that’s not fair of me to do, and I don’t need Mama worried more than she already is.
So, I gently shift my legs over the side of the bed and look out the window. The curtains in Talon’s room weren’t shut last night, so I left them. The sun is bright this morning, causing my eyes to squint and my head to pound harder.
“You’re up,” Mama says, and I cautiously turn my body. She’s leaning against the door frame, hands holding a tray of something that smells delicious. “Oh, Muffin.”
She fusses over me, eyes watering with fresh unshed tears.
“I’m okay, Mama,” I mutter, letting her tilt my head up and around to view the purple-black bruises, scrapes, and cuts I caught sight of in the mirror leaning against the corner of the room. It could be worse, Gran is surprisingly adept at fixing people, or so she said last night.
“It’s okay if you aren’t,” she pats my hand where I laid it on my thigh to let her do her prodding. “In fact, I’d be even more worried about you if you were.”
“I’m…” she tilts her head, eyes zeroed in on mine, “processing.”
She nods and I see a small smile tug her lips, “better.”
“What’d you bring me?” I ask, lifting my voice and pretending to be hungry.
“French toast, with peanut butter and syrup,” she smirks.
“And chocolate chips?”
She pulls up a covered platter and giggles, kicking her feet on the side of the bed, “of course chocolate chips!”
The plate holds eight pieces of cut triangled french toast, stacked perfectly, covered in peanut butter, chocolate chips, and whipped cream. It’s the breakfast she’d feed me when I accomplished something, or was sad. It’s comfort at its finest.
It looks spectacular, but I don’t think I can stomach it. Every time I think about eating, I see that man’s brain matter and blood splatter, spreading all over the concrete floor.
So much blood.
I choke out a thank you, appeasing her by taking a small bite. It’s cooked perfectly, crisp on the outside, nice and fluffy on the inside. Groaning in delight, I manage another bite and another. Soon enough, I’ve inhaled the whole plate, leaning back against the headboard and rubbing my stomach.
“Holy shit,” I laugh, “that was better than any time you’ve made it for me.”
She laughs and slaps my knee lightly, so she doesn’t hurt my already injured body.
“I’ll give Fern your compliments,” she winks.
“Can I ask about Mack?” My voice is light, easy. I hope she says yes, I need to know more about him. Maybe if I do, I can learn more about Talon too.
She looks at her hands, twisting them in her lap and smiling, “what do you want to know?”
“Who are the Hemlocks, exactly?”
She heaves a sigh, “Mack and his brother Creed are heirs to a network of mafia men.” Her eyes slide to mine with a slight wince and I blink at her.
“You mean like the mob? Fern’s a mobster’s wife?” I ask, incredulous that the sweet woman who made me exquisite french toast could be with Creed. Though, if mom would have followed her heart, she would be one too.
“Yeah,” she nods with a small laugh.
“Wow, okay…” I don’t know what to say, but I do know what to ask. “How does that work? They have to make money, how do they do that? Is it all illegal?”
“Whoa,” she says, holding up her hands, “take a breath, I won’t betray Mack’s trust by telling you anything. He’ll have to be the one to choose whether or not to tell you, but know, he’s always been pro Lori and Cin, and he’s never asked for anything in return for all the help he gave us when I ran.” She stands, telling me to finish my food and leaves, letting me know where in the house she’ll be should I need her.
All I want to do is find more french toast, it’s the best thing I think I’ve put in my mouth ever. My stomach happily agrees with a hearty rumble.
Getting to my feet, I head toward the bathroom. Morning bladder is no joke.
Leaving the bathroom, I head to the living room. Or what I think is the living room, I can hear a video games audio playing through the television speakers, and the telltale sign of clicking on a controller.
Three of the boys are sitting side by side on one of the couches playing something. As soon as I enter, Henry, Banks, and Toby immediately stop and all their eyes turn my way.
Talon missing makes me uneasy. I’m not afraid of any of them, not really, but my rational brain is having a hard time trusting anyone who isn’t my mother.
Toby speaks first, patting the seat beside him on the couch, “hey, Gemma’s been asking about you. She’s worried.”
“Tell her I’m sorry,” my cheeks turn pink, and shrug.
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Banks says.
I twist my mouth, biting the inside of my cheek and looking around.
“If you’re looking for Talon, he’s in the gym,” Henry speaks, always polite, but softer.
“I wasn’t,” I say a little too quickly, “I’m looking for Fern?”
“That’s me,” a stunning woman with long dark hair pops around the doorway from where the kitchen is. Or at least that's what I think I remember from last night. Her hazel eyes are bright, and she’s dressed in a long black dress.
“I wanted to thank you for that delicious breakfast,” twisting my hands in front of my body, I suddenly feel shy over my words, “it was to die for.”
She chuckles, throwing a dish towel over her shoulder, “that’s nothing; wait until you come by the bakery. My bestie Candy will put my toast to shame.”
The boys start to rebuke her statement and she laughs, telling them to quiet down. “If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to let me know. These nincompoops aren’t quite domesticated yet.”
She gestures to the boys, and we share a smile. I know just how helpful Toby can be, and Henry’s never been ill with me. Banks is just… well Banks, he’s impartial.
“Actually,” I tell her just as she turns her back, “I’d love a shower.”
She smiles and nods, waving me behind her as she makes her way back down the hall past Talon’s makeshift room for me and to the left. She opens the door and walks in, without knocking.
“Step-mommy,” Talon’s smooth voice hits me like the steam from a fresh shower. I freeze, because if that steam is from the shower, and Talon is the one talking, then he’s most likely naked, and I can admit I’ve been more than curious about what he’s rocking with.
“Knocking is generally considered to be polite,” he admonishes, and my God he sounds almost… playful?
She slaps a hand over her eyes and shuts the door, “the boys said you were in the gym!” She hollers through the door, and I hold back my laugh.
He opens the door, wrapped in a towel that's slung so low I can see the indentions from his hip bones and all the other ridges and muscles that line his body. He has a tattoo over his heart, but I look away, not wanting him to see me ogling him.
I have to fight myself not to look, even though I have a feeling he’d enjoy it.