Chapter 9
Chapter
Nine
Luna
The obnoxious sound of pots and pans banging from the kitchen wakes me waaaaay too early. “No.” I smush my pillow over my head and try to go back to sleep, but now the television is competing in volume with the drum line.
Tossing my pillow across the room, I stomp to the bathroom. After using the toilet and washing up, I don’t bother with brushing my hair or my teeth. Vince chose violence this morning; back at him.
Cinching my robe around my waist, I pocket my phone before following the delicious smells to the kitchen. “There’s the birthday girl,” Vince says from behind the stove.
Ignoring him, I open the fridge, grabbing the milk. Walking over to the pantry, I select a box of bland cereal. I open cabinets, in search of a bowl.
“What are you doing?” he asks, flipping a sizzling piece of bacon .
“Making myself at home, since you’ve ridiculously declared this to be my prison; I mean home .”
“Put the cereal away. I’m making you breakfast.”
“No thanks,” I say coolly. Finding a bowl, I begin opening drawers in search of a spoon.
“Luna,” he chides. “Another battle of the wills on your birthday? Do you really think that’s a good idea?”
“I think it’s a fabulous idea.” I go to open another drawer, but Vince slams it shut.
“Sit down, or I’ll strap you to the chair and force-feed you a decent breakfast,” he threatens.
“I’ve taken care of myself since I learned how to walk; I don’t need you micromanaging my life,” I tell him dismissively.
“Stubbornness does not equal strength, Luna.”
“Are these pearls of wisdom my birthday gift? Because I prefer actual jewelry.”
He’s suddenly on me, wrapping his hand around my throat as he advances, and I backpedal until my legs hit the chair. I not so gracefully have a seat, with Vince looming over me with his hand wrapped around my throat.
That weird clawing feeling is back, but it’s happening in a different area of my body—one I refuse to acknowledge. He releases his hold and silently returns to the stove.
“Asshole,” I mutter under my breath.
Shaking off whatever weirdness that was, I retrieve my phone from my pocket. Uh-oh. I have a ton of missed messages. Everyone’s freaking about my disappearance from Kevin’s party and my sudden departure from school.
“You can tell your friends you left school because you’re focusing on chess. Reveal anything else, and you’ll lose phone privileges for good,” Vince announces like he has eyes in the back of his head. Impressive, considering the man only has one eye to begin with .
I scowl at his muscular back, my thumbs flying over my phone.
Hey, everyone. Thanks for the concern, but I’m good. I left school to focus on chess.
I read the message out loud. “Does Warden Vince approve?”
His shoulders shake with laughter. “Approved.”
I hit send, slamming my phone down on the table.
Vince ignores my attitude, busying himself with opening a waffle maker and transferring the steaming waffle onto a plate. It’s obvious the man knows his way around the kitchen. While I taught myself basically everything growing up, cooking wasn’t on my list. I avoided being home whenever possible; not that we ever had food to cook.
He serves me a waffle with an angry emoji face: bananas and blueberries for eyes, and an angry mouth and slanted eyebrows made out of slivers of bacon. I would laugh if I didn’t hate him so damn much. “I was going to make you birthday waffles, but this seems more fitting.”
I grab the butter knife and stab the waffle in the center of its forehead. “It does.”
Vince howls with laughter as he fetches the butter and maple syrup, placing them before me. “Your tutor will be here at eight,” he announces as he pours himself a cup of coffee. “I have some business to take care of this morning, but I’ll be back. This afternoon, we’ll meet with potential chess coaches.”
I narrow my eyes. “So in other words, my life will be excruciatingly bland from hereon out.”
Vince lifts his shoulders. “Glass half full or half empty depends entirely on you.”
“Love the dime-store philosophy.” I violently stab one of the banana and blueberry eyeballs with my fork before bringing it to my mouth .
Vince appears amused as he takes a seat across from me, opening the newspaper.
“You can go handle whatever criminal activity that’s on your schedule; I don’t need a babysitter,” I inform him.
He takes a sip of his coffee. “Maybe I enjoy basking in your sunshine.”
I bare my teeth at him, and he chuckles.
My phone buzzes, and I read the group text.
Let’s go out to celebrate your birthday!
“Hey, my friends are asking?—”
“No.”
In a rage, I chuck my phone at his head.
Vince ducks, and it sails across the kitchen, sliding across the floor. “You break your phone, I’m not buying you a new one,” he says matter-of-factly, returning his attention to the sports section.
Vince
Having Luna around is akin to keeping a feral kitten. Appears innocent enough, until the little thing is shredding your flesh into ribbons with its razor-sharp claws. And from the look she’s giving me, she plans on wearing my flayed skin like a party dress.
“I’m not the bad guy here, Luna,” I chide.
“Anyone who has to say he’s not the bad guy is definitely the bad guy.” She pushes away from the table, stomping across the kitchen to retrieve her phone. Returning to the table, she aggressively attacks the waffle, the wheels in her whip-smart mind turning.
“Yes, Luna?” I prompt her.
She cocks her head, her wild strawberry blonde hair rioting around her face, which is fuller now that she isn’t starving. It makes me want to dig up her father and kill the piece of shit all over again. “How is it that my old man racked up such a huge debt?” Luna asks as if she can read my mind. “And I’m not talking about your outrageous interest rate; I get why the debt keeps increasing. What I don’t get is why you loaned him money to begin with?”
“That’s how gambling on credit works . ”
“But why keep extending him credit?” she presses. “He was a deadbeat. No steady source of income. It makes zero business sense.”
“Please continue educating me on my business.” I wave my hand.
“The way I see it, I shouldn’t have to pay for your risky loan practices. It’s not fair.”
I click my tongue. “And we’re back in delulu land, where Luna believes life should be fair.”
“How did you lose your eye?” She twirls the knife in her hand. “Lemmie guess. You served a woman an angry emoji waffle, and she stabbed you with a butter knife?”
“Put the knife down before I turn you over my knee.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I wish I could take them back, because the unbidden image of Luna splayed over my lap pops into my mind.
Her emerald eyes go wide. “Don’t you fucking dare.” She grips the knife so tight her knuckles blanch.
“I don’t want to, so don’t make me,” I lie, my hand itching to connect with the fleshy part of Luna’s ass.
Christ, what is wrong with me?
The doorbell rings, snapping me back to reality. “That’s the tutor. Go get ready. I’m not paying the woman to sit with her thumb up her ass,” I bark.
Luna
I hurry to my room, leaning against the door as I catch my breath.
Vince threatened to spank me.
What. The. Fuck.
I strip and toss my damp panties in the hamper, refusing to examine the damning evidence as I angrily step into a fresh pair. Fastening my bra, I ignore my hard nipples as I pull a hoodie over my head and my favorite skirt.
First, that feeling between my legs when Vince had his hand wrapped around my throat, and now this? What the fuck has been upgraded to what the actual fuck.
Maybe it’s lingering sexual frustration from hooking up with Kevin. I started something, and it wasn’t finished because I didn’t orgasm. That has to be it.
Marching to the bathroom, I squeeze toothpaste on my hairbrush, cursing when I realize my mistake. “Get your shit together, Luna,” I tell my wild reflection in the mirror as I grip the vanity.
After brushing my teeth with my toothbrush , I rinse out my hair brush and run it through my tangled hair—which now smells faintly of peppermint.
Exiting my room, I follow the sound of laughter to find an attractive woman in her forties batting her eyes at Vince. “Oh, Mr. Vincenzo. You are too funny. ”
“He’s a comedian, that Mr. Vincenzo,” I pipe up.
“Here’s Luna,” Vince says, giving me a warning look.
“Hi, Luna!” The tutor addresses me in a sing-song voice. “I’m so excited to help you prepare for your high school equivalency exam!”
“Can’t say we share the same level of enthusiasm,” I reply in the same sing-song voice, “but let’s get to it. Nobody’s getting paid to sit with her thumb up her ass on Vince’s dime.”
I plop down on the rug next to the coffee table, flipping through a study guide.
“I’ll leave you ladies to it. You have my cell if there’s a problem,” he tells the tutor, but I know the last part was directed at me.
“Bye, Mr. Vincenzo,” she calls after him. She turns to me, with a far less cheerful demeanor. “So, Luna?—”
“Let me stop you right there; save us both the bullshit,” I interject, finding a practice exam. Grabbing a pencil, I set a timer on my phone and get to work.