Chapter Ten
Mancuso
Four Days Later
I feel like I am going insane. Every time I close my eyes, all I see is Callie in my brother’s arms. I know I have no business being angry about that, but I am, so sue me.
I wanted her out of the house and away from my family, but now that she is gone all I want is for her to return. How fucked up is that? How can I be obsessed with someone I know nothing about?
That isn’t strictly true. I know she was orphaned at the age of seventeen, I know her father was a cop who was killed in the line of duty, and I know she has no one left in the world. Yes, I did some research. No, I don’t care that I am being weird.
What does bother me, though, is that for the fourth night since she left our compound I am sitting outside the damn garage, staring up at the apartment she now uses, just watching. Technically, I am waiting to see if my brother turns up, but I won’t be admitting that out loud.
I am so deep in thought that the knock on the window of my car has me freezing. Turning, I see Callie standing there with a frown. Rolling down the window, I wait for her to shout at me.
“Are you dense?” she hisses at me with a glare.
“What?”
“You know they haven’t found the person that shot you, right? And you’re sitting here in the damn street with a neon sign pointing you out.”
“What?”
“I swear to God, if you say what one more time…” She shakes her head. “Pull your car around the side and come upstairs.”
She turns and leaves me staring after her jean-short-clad ass for long moments before my brain kicks in gear and I do exactly what she told me. Not that I should be doing it. It’s only once I am on the stairs that I realize I should have driven home, away from her.
“Do you want a beer?” she calls from inside and I know it’s too late to turn around now.
“Sure,” I say walking inside.
For long moments, I take in the apartment around me. In one corner, a dark couch that has seen better days is pushed against a mint green wall. In the center of the room stands a ladder, a paint can, and some paintbrushes. One of the walls has already been painted a light sand color, the chemical smell clinging to everything.
Callie hands me an open beer before walking toward the kitchen counter and hopping onto it. She lifts her own beer to her lips, and I watch in fascination as her throat works while she drinks some of the contents.
“What brings you around?’ she asks after wiping her lips with the back of her hand.
I hear the words, but I don’t know how to reply. My gaze is locked on her legs, the flesh exposed by the denim shorts she is wearing.
“I wanted to check in on you,” I lie before taking a sip of my beer.
“I’m fine.”
I take in the sparse apartment once more before turning my attention back to her. “Our definition of fine seems to be very different.”
She laughs. She actually laughs at me. “You’re spoiled,” she says with a shrug. “This is more than I have ever had on my own. It’ll take me a minute to get it the way I want it, but I love the independence.”
“I could help,” I start to say but she waves me off.
“Not everything can be fixed with money.”
I walk closer to her, drawn to the enigma that is Callie. I am so used to women throwing themselves at me and wanting me for my money and power that I honestly don’t know how to handle a woman like her. Her independence is refreshing. The way she fights to stand on her own without any help is intoxicating. Since the moment I woke, all I can think about is this woman with her mocha skin and fire truck red hair.
I know I have no business getting involved with someone like her, with any woman for that matter, but I’m tired of being alone. Of giving up everything I want, and every chance at happiness to put my family first. Maybe we would be able to make this work. Maybe not. What I do know is I crave her and I am done holding myself back.
Placing my beer beside her on the counter, I press her knees apart and step in between. I wait for her to say or do something. When she doesn’t, I pull her closer and press my lips to hers.