Chapter 6 #3
“Ah. Yes. The woman to start a war. Regardless, it’s our war, they’re just soldiers who happen to be on our side,” Eivor chuckles.
Rosalie is looking at me suspiciously but then looks away to not draw attention from our aunt and uncle.
“Just one thing,” I say.
“Hmm?” my uncle asks, raising a brow himself.
“No one touches Carmine,” I tell them. “He’s mine. I want to be the one who ends him.”
Eivor laughs. “Oh, you certainly have your father’s dark taste,” he tells me.
“Promise me,” I demand.
He waves a hand casually. “A man’s revenge is important to him,” he agrees. “No one will touch him. He’s yours.”
I exhale and settle back on the couch. “Good.”
When I look over at Rose, she’s giving me a look from under her lashes, and I know that she knows something is going on that our guardians aren’t keen on. I keep my mouth shut, and thankfully she does too.
It doesn’t matter.
I know what I have to do. It’s all been planned. I have to find a way into Carmine’s pockets and turn the Carvels against him even more.
I’d been trying to keep them from turning against Carmine, from ever knowing he was involved in Jackon’s death. Just an hour ago.
Now, I’m planning to make sure everyone knows.
As curious as I am about Carmine. As much as the sight of him makes my cock twitch.
Loyalty to my family is everything to me.
In the back of a dimly lit twenty-four-hour café, I sit in a booth with my cup of coffee nearly empty. I’ve been waiting for over an hour, and Carmine still isn’t here. When he texted me that we needed to talk, I assumed he’d be here before me.
I guess that just makes an ass of me now, doesn’t it?
After flagging over the waitress for another cup, I order some fries with the house seasoning blend, figuring I’m going to be here a while unless I’ve missed a call or text. Frankly, if it weren’t for the fact that I need to be getting closer to him, I would’ve left when he was twenty minutes late.
Is that the only reason though? I’m not so sure.
It needs to be.
I need to focus on the plan.
It’s difficult to remember that when I see him walking in.
He’s always dressed up, no matter where he goes.
Suit, with or without a tie, it doesn’t matter.
Carmine’s wingtip shoes, dark blue slacks and suit jacket underneath his sleek black peacoat with the collar popped ever so slightly is almost a uniform.
Despite being late, he looks like he means business regardless of when and where he shows up.
My plain grey v-neck, jeans, and leather jacket make us an interesting pair as he slips his coat off and slides into the booth.
I can’t take my eyes off his neck and shoulders. They’re slender, and his neck is flushed with the energy his body is using to warm him up in the cold weather.
“You look like shit,” he mumbles. “You can’t dress a little better?”
“You’re late,” I tell him. My eyes finally trail up his face to his eyes. “You can’t manage your fuckin’ time better?” I raise a brow.
He narrows his eyes at me and takes off his gloves and puts them beside him on his coat. “I had unexpected business to attend to,” Carmine tells me.
I lean back in my seat and sip my coffee. “You’re the one who asked to meet me, Carmine,” I remind him. “You haven’t said shit to me in two days, barely left your house. What were you doing? Was the important business takin’ a shower?”
He scoffs. “Like you don’t know. I know you’ve been keeping surveillance on me.”
I look to the side for a moment. There aren’t many people in here, most of them at the front sitting at the bar counter. Still, I know that anyone could be listening.
“Sure, but not in your bedroom,” I reply. I stir in more cream to my coffee and take another sip. “Unless, you’d like that?”
Carmine’s face flushes at his cheeks and nose, I’m sure of it, but he brushes the comment and question off.
“Whatever. It’s two in the morning, let’s just get to what we’re here for,” he says. “You think the Carvels pose a danger even with Jackson gone?”
I pause for a second, about to tell him yes even though the plan has suddenly changed from protecting him to sabotaging him. The waitress comes back over at this exact moment, and I’m grateful it.
“Here’s your fries. Anything else? Decaf or regular?” she asks both of us.
“Decaf,” Carmine tells her. “That’s all.”
“Tsk. Up so late and not even eating anything. Let me know if you change your mind. I’ll be back with that decaf,” she tells us.
By the time she’s gone, I know what my answer is.
“I’ve been thinking about it, and actually, I’m not sure.
If they don’t find out about you and Jackson, there shouldn’t be any issue.
I doubt Victoria is going to attempt to start something.
She would have to admit that she lied to Jackson in the first damn place, right?
” I choose my words carefully as I pick up a fry.
The waitress returns to pour Carmine’s coffee, then leaves again to tend someone at the front.
“I suppose. Jackson going missing though, surely, they’ll tie it to me even with Victoria not telling them the entire truth.
We don’t know that she won’t.” Carmine pours very little cream in his coffee and adds a tablespoon of sugar.
When he lifts it to sip at it, he doesn’t seem pleased, but doesn’t say anything.
I note this in my head for some reason. As if it’ll be useful later.
“You’re right, we don’t,” I agree. “We could though. I can talk to her. Make sure that she doesn’t say anything and helps keep the peace.”
Carmine squints at me.
I chew slowly on several fries, my mouth watering. I watch Carmine look down at my fries for a moment, seeming distracted.
“You can have some,” I push the plate toward the middle.
“I’m fine.” He shakes his head.
I shrug and grab a few more, shoving them in my mouth.
Carmine sighs and looks away from me, away from the table. His eyes are less cold than usual. Melted and filled with emotion. Frustration perhaps. Tired bags under those eyes tell me he’s barely been sleeping—or maybe sleeping too much. I guess probably the latter. Too much drunken sleep.
“What’s going on, Car?” I ask him quietly.
He blinks and looks at me slightly surprised. “Nothing. I’m just not sure how you talking with Victoria Carvel is going to help things.”
“Nah, not that. I get that. We’ll worry about it later. I mean, why do you look like hell keeled over every time I’ve seen you?” I ask him, leaning in a little bit closer.
He rolls his eyes. “Why do you care?” he asks in response. “I’m here, I’m letting you help.”
I shake my head and chew on more fries, hungrier than I realized.
Again, Carmine is looking at them. This time, I notice uncertainty on his face.
“Are you hungry or not?” I wave a hand. “You don’t need to be shy about it, man.”
He licks his lips and shakes his head again. “It’s not that.”
“Clearly. Again, I ask…what the fuck is going on?” I plink his coffee mug with my finger in a quick snap. “You look like you need ten of these just to function.”
He laughs a quick low laugh. “Coffee is not what I need to function, trust me.”
“I gathered that.”
“Can we just…” he sighs. “I don’t want to do this. I’m fine.”
“You’re not,” I insist. “You gotta talk to someone about it.”
“Why you? Why do you care? Why are you trying to yank it out of me. I’d rather you ask to blow me.”
I snort. “Baby, I wouldn’t ask to blow you. You’d be beggin’ me.”
Carmine tenses and his eyes lock with mine. It’s quiet between us for a moment. I sip my coffee slowly.
“I don’t know…how to do this,” he admits.
“Don’t think about,” I tell him. “Just talk.”
He scoffs. “Yeah, it’s that easy.”
It’s quiet again.
“You know, you’re just scared.”
He growls out at me. “I’m not scared of anything.”
“We both know that’s not true,” I tell him, leaning in even closer over the table. I can smell him; he does smell freshly showered. Pine and soap. The faint scent of alcohol still lingers though.
“I can’t get…through a day without drinking,” he finally says. His eyes are slightly glossy. “Ever since…what happened with my father.”
“You saw him in his own blood,” I remind him. “That’s bound to fuck someone up.”
“I’ve seen dead bodies before, Soren. I saw my mother’s,” he hisses slightly. “It’s never been like this before.”
I tilt my head to the side as I eye his face. I can tell he’s holding back emotion.
“He’s—he was your father. That’s different. You’re an adult. When you’re a kid…that shit hits different. Doesn’t really get to you till you’re older. Now you’re in charge of your whole family, that’s a big responsibility,” I explain.
He stares back at me. “Your parents died when you were a kid, right?” he asks.
I nod slowly. My chest squeezes slightly, but I ignore it. “Right in front of me.”
“How did you cope?”
I chuckle. “I was a fuckin’ hellion for the first two years. Tore every bedroom I ever had apart, nightmares every single night, and nearly got kicked out of school.”
He smiles slightly. “Sounds like it didn’t hit you as an adult then.”
My face falls. “It did. Believe me.”
“How do you cope now then?” he asks.
“I don’t,” I reply. “I push it down and…try to forget.”
It’s oddly vulnerable and feels uncomfortable to say out loud. Yet, the way Carmine’s eyes start to glitter with tears, makes me glad I said it.
He looks so pretty when he’s about to cry.
I wonder what his tears would taste like on my tongue…
“You can’t,” he tells me.
“Nope,” I tell him. “that’s why you’re chasing it with every bottle you can.”
He swallows hard and his jaw shifts. “I don’t fucking know how to stop, Soren. It’s…it’s like a haze. Every single day. I think about stopping, I wake up and I say no more. One day. I can go one day. But then, I can’t get out of bed without it.”
“So don’t,” I reply slowly.
“What?” he mumbles.
“Don’t go without it; just don’t go overboard like you have been. Going cold turkey ain’t gonna work for you. Fine.” I pick up a few more fries to eat.
“I don’t know,” he says with an exhale and looks at my fries again. “I don’t know if I can.”
“So, text me. Call me.”
“I—what?” Carmine looks at me with furrowed brow. “Call you?”
I swallow the fries and tilt my head down a little, lowering my voice.
“When you think you’re going to go overboard, come to me. I’ll stop you,” I insist.
“How?” he asks, his face shifting curiously. “By telling me not to?”
I smirk. Heat trickles into my stomach and groin as I imagine him doing everything I tell him to. Imagine him saying Yes Sir, Please Sir. This is as close as I’m going to get, I’m certain. Maybe it’s wrong to use the situation like this.
I don’t care.
“Yes,” I say simply. “You’ll do as you’re told, and things will work out. If you don’t, you’ll be punished.”
Carmine’s face turns pink and his breath quickens. I can see his chest and shoulders rise and fall. He opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out.
“Does that work for you?” I ask.
He licks his lips again, takes a breath and then chuckles. Seeming to relax.
“Whatever you say,” he says in a teasing tone.
I grab a fry and hold it out to him. “Eat.”
He looks at it. “I don’t—”
“Take it.”
Carmine hesitates, but finally takes the fry and eats it. I watch his mouth move as he chews, and his throat as he swallows. He already looks less terrible.
“Good?” I ask.
“Yeah. I thought I was too nauseous to eat,” he tells me.
I push the plate closer to him and watch as he proceeds to eat all but a few of the fries left on the plate.