Paolo
For the first time in my life I’m off-kilter. I don’t consider myself a real emotional guy. If shit upsets me, I bang some heads and I feel better. End of story.
But this is different. It’s a low-level unease. Not anger. Maybe it’s my non-existent fucking conscience waking up. I didn’t like letting Caitlin go, and as the days wear on, that sensation only increases.
I pay a visit to Junior and Gio, my brothers who live locally to find out if they remember anything about Lake West. Neither remembers any more than I do. The guy was shady-possibly a middle man for stolen goods-but not much else. Gio thinks he might have worked for the Russian bratva. Not Vlad’s cell, but an older organization. One we had some uneasy ties with at one point. If that’s true, it could’ve been one of theirs who killed him.
I keep my soldier’s eyes on Trevor West for a few weeks after I let Caitlin go. And I take the job of watching Caitlin myself.
Vlad had no problem transferring and laundering the money from her account and he reported that she deleted its existence completely, which bodes well for her not getting herself caught for the crime she committed.
Still, I keep tabs on her. I like knowing she’s safe. Back at school and teaching her cardio classes. Wearing the hell out of her yoga pants and t-shirts under her red puffy jacket.
I don’t like the deadened expression in her eyes. What bothers me most is thinking I’m the one who put it there.
Except I can’t quite make myself believe that. She found pleasure with me, I’m sure of it. She may have used sex to inure me to her, but those orgasms weren’t faked.
God knows I found pleasure with her. She’s an addiction. Now that she’s gone, now that she’s taken that aura of chaos she carries with her away, my house feels empty.
I find out her graduate advisor is a guy named Noah Alden and I pay him a visit in his office. The guy screams pompous ass from ten miles away. He’s short and slovenly dressed with a paunchy belly. I’m pissed that Caitlin’s lips were anywhere near this guy’s junk. In fact, I want to kill him just for that. But that’s not why I’m here.
I break into the guy’s office and sit down in his chair to wait for him. He nearly pisses himself when he finds me there.
“Wh-what’s going on here? Who are you?”
I take my time and stand from the chair, giving him a moment to register my full size. The flash of the gun I carry in the holster under my arm. The size of my fists.
I saunter around the desk. “I’m here to discuss one of your graduate students with you.”
“Wh-who is it? What is this about?”
“Why did you pass Caitlin West over for the TA position you promised her?”
His face crinkles into scorn. “Caitlin? She’s crazy.”
And that’s all it takes. My fist slams into his nose and he slams into the wall. “Say it again,” I challenge, fisting his shirt to pick him up from where he slumped down to the floor. “Go on. Call her crazy to my face. I’ll fucking show you crazy.”
Blood gushes down his face, spills over my hands. “I-I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it, I swear! She’s a nice girl. Real sweet. Just a little… unique, is all. Is she your girlfriend or something?”
“Something,” I say, slamming him back against the wall. “Now you listen to me. You’re gonna give Caitlin that TA job she deserves, or I’m gonna break every bone in both your hands. Capiche?”
“I-I-I can’t give her the job, I already gave it to someone else.”
“Yeah, I heard that. You’re gonna take it back. Or I’ll get rid of him and it’ll be on your head. Got it?”
“Yeah, yeah, I got it.”
“By tomorrow, and don’t tell anyone-including Caitlin-about this conversation we’re having.”
“I won’t. Okay, I got it.”
“And if you ever disrespect that girl again, I will fucking kill you. Understand?”
“I understand. I won’t disrespect her. Please.”
I punch him once more in the gut to make sure he gets the message before I release him.
I stalk out, still pissed as hell.
Fucking stronzo-calling Caitlin crazy. People are so fucking stupid if they can’t see that’s all a big act to make sure people underestimate her. It’s her way of controlling her surroundings from a position of weakness. Some survival skill she probably had to learn after her dad died, if not before.
Caitlin
The first thing I did when Paolo dropped me home was go over and see Trevor. Paolo was right. He hadn’t noticed anyone watching him. Didn’t even register that I hadn’t checked in.
I debated telling him what happened, but I decided not to worry him. He’s happy. He’s almost like a normal college student, partying and hooking up with girls and having fun. His existence has been different from mine. We got separated into different foster families. His adopted him. They were decent. He’s turned out normal.
I don’t want to disturb that.
So I go on.
Only everything’s different now.
I’m different.
I keep thinking about Paolo. Wondering if I should’ve played anything differently. If I made a mistake having sex with him. The old me would’ve beat myself up for my crazy. Wondered when I’m ever going to be normal. Not turn to sex and pain to get through stressful situations.
New me can’t find it in me to condemn myself. I don’t feel dirty or cheap or used.
I feel satisfied. Satisfied enough to wonder at least ten times a day if I’ll ever see Paolo again. If he’s into having sex or scening with me again. Maybe meeting up at the BDSM dungeon. Or at his place.
And I keep replaying his offer. The way we left things. That I could call in a favor if I needed one. And he didn’t give me his phone number or anything, but I’m a hacker. I could find it easily enough.
But all those thoughts are pretty pointless when I remember that any day now the FBI could show up at my door to arrest me.
I go into my graduate advisor, Dr. Alden’s office after he left me a message saying he needed to meet with me.
The minute I see him a flood of hot and cold rush through me. Both his eyes are black and there’s tape across his nose.
Paolo’s been here.
Oh my God.
I should feel guilty, but I guess I’m immoral enough that I don’t. All I feel is vindicated.
And something else-some part of me is celebrating.
Paolo does care.
“What happened?” I try to make my voice sound normal.
“I ran into the door,” he says in the strained voice that confirms everything.
I pull out a chair and sit down, my heart thudding. “You wanted to see me?”
“Yeah, uh, listen. We had a situation come up. Todd can’t do the TA job anymore and I wanted to see if you could step in. This semester-right away.”
“Oh, uh… yeah. I could do that.” I try to sound surprised, natural. But who am I kidding? We both know what happened here.
“Great. Here’s everything you need.” He pushes a stack of papers across the desk at me. “Be ready to teach tomorrow.”
“All right. I will. Thanks.” I stand.
Well, hot damn. That’s $15, 000 a year, which I will definitely need since I don’t have the Tacone money coming in any more.
I leave the office, debating whether I should try to contact Paolo to thank him.
No, I should leave it alone. We had sex while he held me prisoner. This isn’t some romantic gesture. It’s probably considered sociopathic.
I’m getting on my bike when I get that feeling I’ve had lately that I’m being watched.
I thought it was me being paranoid about the FBI showing up to arrest me, but I suddenly realize it might be Paolo. I scan the streets. No sign of the Porsche.
But there. I see a dark blue Range Rover parked on the street across the way with a large figure behind the wheel.
I can’t stop the smile spreading across my face.
And suddenly I’m lighter than a helium balloon. I sail across the street, open the passenger door and scoot into the seat, uninvited. “You missed me!” I sing out. “So, are we dating now?”
His face is inscrutable, as usual, except I catch the twitch of his lips that tells me he doesn’t mind my crazy.
I lean across the console to peck him on the cheek, but he turns and catches my jaw in his large hand and stays my approach.
My pussy squeezes at the dominant hold. His grip isn’t painful, just controlling. He holds my face immobile and studies it. “You look tired, doll.” He leans forward and I close my eyes. Then open them again to find him paused, halfway to my face, like he’s debating whether to actually kiss me or not.
“Come on,” I urge. “It’s just a kiss.”
The lips twitch again. He kisses me, just once. Sensual but still perfunctory. Like he’s teaching me a lesson I don’t understand. Then he releases my face.
“I see you visited my advisor. I told you not to, but thanks.”
“I didn’t do anything,” he maintains and for a moment, I’m taken aback. I didn’t read the situation wrong, did I?
And then I realize. It must be standard procedure to never admit a crime out loud.
“Well, thanks for whatever you didn’t do,” I say.
He accepts that with a nod. “I’ll sink that fucker in Lake Michigan if he ever disrespects you again.”
I give him my widest smile and his eyes crinkle even though his lips don’t match mine.
“You hungry? There’s this amazing taco joint right around the corner.” I point in the direction of Pancho’s Street Tacos.
“You buyin’?”
“Um, yeah,” I say, trying to quickly calculate how much cash I have in my wallet.
“Kidding.” He swings his door open. “I’ll buy. Let’s go.”
It’s ridiculous how excited I feel. Like we’re going on a date, rather than me catching him stalking me after brutally attacking my advisor. But I can’t find it in me to be afraid of him in this moment. I can’t drop the buoyancy that’s come over me at seeing him again. Knowing he cared enough about me and my situation to exact his form of justice.
I take him into the taco joint and order my favorite-two grilled shrimp tacos on corn tortillas.
“I’ll have the same,” he says and gets two drinks to go with them. We take our trays and find a place by the window to squeeze in.
I sit down and take a giant bite. “Mmm, thanks for buying lunch.”
He takes a bite of his.
“So why are you still watching me? I thought we were square.”
He shrugs. “Making sure you don’t leave town suddenly. Or turn yourself in. Or anything else that will make us both sorry.”
“Bullshit. You missed me. Admit it.”
His lips actually quirk. “A little.”
A rush of pleasure rolls through me. “A lot.” I finish my first taco and pick up the second.
He neither confirms nor denies.
“Are you still watching my brother?”
He doesn’t answer, just takes another mammoth bite of his taco.
“Leave him alone,” I warn, all serious now. Not that I have anything to back up my warning. “I mean it. I did what I was supposed to do.”
“Then you have nothing to worry about.” He finishes his second taco and wipes his mouth with a napkin.
I pick up my lemonade and take a long pull on the straw. “Thanks for lunch,” I repeat as I hop off the stool. “I’ll see you around, big guy.” I give him a saucy wink and a toss of my hair as I sashay out.
It was a great exit and I enjoy getting on my bike and riding away, imagining he’s still watching me. It’s only after I’m riding that I wonder what would’ve happened if I’d stayed.
Whether I should’ve given him my number and told him to call next time instead of watching from his car window.
And then all those thoughts disappear.
Because when I get to my apartment, I find it swarming with FBI.
I guess the jig is up.