31. Amorette #2
There was no waiting on me. By the time I reached the wall, Grey was already opening the door. The guards avoided my gaze this time, like Grey’s displeasure meant I was back on the enemy list.
At the next door, I rushed inside, but there was no sign of him anywhere. A few guards were milling around, but no one paid me any attention at all.
I could go back to the apartment, but I didn’t have a key. Then again, Blanca’s words came back to me. And Grey's. The last thing I wanted was for anyone here to question my place with the brothers, even if I didn’t know it myself.
All it would take was one idiot, just like Blanca said, for me to get hurt or worse, killed.
Assuming a bit of my old mentality, I dashed the tears from my eyes and lifted my chin. If I pretended I knew where I was going, no one would bother me.
Someone must have let the men know I wasn’t a prisoner, because all the faces I passed were new. Not a single one I recognized.
Bypassing the residential hall, because how was I supposed to pick an apartment to go to? Andre, as…civil as he’d been the last time I saw him, I didn’t trust him.
Parker was a shit-stirrer.
Grey made my blood boil.
Lafe was the one brother I actually did want to see, if only to check on him. With the way he was the last time I saw him, I doubted he’d want to see me. And really, what right did I have to force my presence on him?
I huffed out a laugh that grated over my own skin. That was too innocent of thinking given my current circumstance.
Never faltering, I headed down a wing I hadn’t been in yet. That was where the offices and gym were, then the residential wing. This particular hallway had a couple of doors. No keypads, though.
This must be for public use.
I picked the closest door and walked right into a theater room. Dark red curtains framed the screen, and speakers blared as waves crashed against the lighthouse.
Shutter Island.
One of my favorite Leonardo DiCaprio movies.
Unlike a traditional theater, rows of reclining seats were absent. And in their place, a few couches were scattered around the room.
When I walked forward to toss myself down on a loveseat, I stopped. Lafe was sprawled over the center couch.
He twisted his head my way. The rise and fall of his chest sped up as he watched me. If he had an issue with me being here, he didn’t show it.
I took a step toward him. Then another, waiting for him to object to my presence. He didn’t.
When I was next to the couch, he dropped his feet, making room for me.
Unable to tear my eyes away, I drank him in. Each time the scene changed, the movie lighting would highlight his beautiful yet haunted features.
One time it was the scar over his eyebrow. Another was the deep divot at the bow of his lips.
Dressed in a t-shirt and pajama bottoms, he seemed right at home stretched out over the couch. Calm, and if not content, perhaps comfortable. Such a drastic difference from the paranoid man I’d lived with for a few days.
The rest of the movie played out, and I eventually started watching the screen, but my gaze would flick back to him every few minutes. I was mainly ecstatic that he seemed to be doing so much better.
Call it a guilt complex, because I knew his drug use wasn’t in any way my fault, but I did feel like my presence was the cause of that one episode. And that bothered me.
The credits started rolling, and he muted the sound and dropped the remote onto his chest. When he turned his attention to me, his expression remained stoic, and that made me nervous.
“Are you okay?” I almost reached out a hand to touch him. Not to comfort him but to comfort myself. Another long bout of solitude made me ache for touch.
My desire for human connection both bothered and soothed me. It helped me remember that I was a flawed person but at times, like now, it was difficult to fight my impulses.
He released a hard breath. “What are you doing here?”
The movie ended, and the screen turned blue, illuminating the room more than the movie had.
I shook my head. “I was on the beach with Blanca, and Grey walked me inside, but he took off. So I explored.”
He slowly nodded, like he was unsure what to make of that. “You made up with Grey then?”
That was a loaded question I didn’t want to touch.
“Have you been sleeping?” I redirected the question back to him.
“Have you tried to run away anymore?”
Ouch.
“I think I can admit when I was stupid. And trying to run away with a stranger was stupid.” There. I admitted it. “I also apologized before I left your place. Do you…do you remember?” I dropped my head, shielding my eyes with my lashes.
“Oh yeah. I might have been coked out, but I remember everything about those days.” A note of morbid humor rang in his voice.
I didn’t see anything funny.
“You look good,” I said. Glancing at the door, I bent forward, ready to stand but he shocked me.
“You don’t. Even in the blue-washed lights, I can see the dark circles under your eyes. You look like you’ve lost weight and from the puffiness, I’d bet you cried recently.”
His honesty was both welcome and hated.
Focusing on the welcome part of my reaction, I twisted toward him. “I have cried. Too much. And I can’t sleep. Not more than a few hours. Murder doesn’t agree with me.”
Lafe sat up, the remote bouncing off his leg and skittering across the floor. Neither one of us paid attention to it.
“You mean Grey hadn’t talked you into believing your life is greater than everyone else's? That killing is a part of life? The strong survive, and the weak die?” His questions were rushed. Packed with emotion.
I chuffed out another watery laugh. “He tried. But I’m not built that way.”
He set his feet on the ground and leaned back against the couch. Looking forward, he gripped his knees with his hands. “Yeah…Me neither.”
What an…unexpected answer from a man who helped run the cartel, or whatever the hell organization this was.
“You haven’t killed?” That wasn’t something I ever wanted to ask anyone, but I had this drive to understand why he said that.
In the back of my mind, I knew, logically, that I was searching for someone to who I could relate to, even on a superficial level.
Realistically, I could admit I was curious.
It was a strange feeling after flashing between burning in a vat of self-loathing and numbness.
“I have.” His voice was flat. “Too many to count, probably. And I will again, I’m sure. But some kills, they’re not needed. They stain the small fragments of my soul I’ve tried to keep clean. I’ve tried to explain that to my brothers, but they just don’t understand.”
That was exactly how I felt. Like I had this one shining part of myself that nothing could touch. I had thought it to be my morals, my beliefs, but the foundation of everything I thought I knew was cracked and threatening to crumble.
My soul. That was what I’d tainted.
I was no longer innocent. I was an accomplice.
And it burned like nothing I’d ever experienced before.
He stood, grabbed the remote from the floor and held it out. I took it with a trembling hand.
His face and body were shadowed as he towered over me. “Here. Stay and watch a movie. Take a nap. You look like you need it.”
I waited for the anger to rise, like anytime Grey antagonized me. But it didn’t. Lafe wasn’t being an asshole; he was telling me I needed sleep.
When he reached the door, he gripped the edge as he glanced down, then over his shoulder.
“I know . Parker and Grey have both told me what happened. Some deaths…they’re wrong.
They dig under your skin and never let you forget the piece of shit you are.
But you shouldn’t feel that way about that skitstovel.
He would have taken your life and spit on your dead body.
Men like that don’t deserve your tears or your guilt. ”
Then what kill got under your skin?
If he had stayed, I would have asked him. I wouldn’t have been able to help myself. Instead, he was out the door before he even finished speaking.
I didn’t nap, but I did turn over his words for the next few hours.
The next time I saw him, I’d have to thank him once again. For putting things in a different perspective that I hadn’t been able to reach on my own.
But would he appreciate the gesture? Would I hate him if he didn’t?