14

Callahan
“Do you know the story of Heathcliff the Betrayer?” she asks, slurring her words.
“You’re drunk, Portia.”
“First, he tricked his brother.” There’s that finger again, making some drunken point. “Then his father. Do you know it?”
“Yes, I know the story. What does that have to do with anything?”
“My uncle is a liar. Among other things. He can’t help himself. It’s in his name. You can’t escape your name.”
I step closer, narrow my eyes. “Are you always so philosophical when you’re drunk?”
“I’m not drunk.”
“Besides, there’s no such thing as destiny. We have free choice. People choose what they are.”
“You mean who they are.”
“I mean what they are.”
She considers for a moment before standing and coming up to meet me, to push her slender finger into the middle of my chest.
“Do you know the man you have aligned yourself with, Callahan Scarfoni? Do you have any idea what he is?”
One knee gives out and I catch her elbow to steady her. I open my mouth to tell her I know exactly what her uncle is, but she shifts her gaze, distracted by the little bit of red on her finger. She looks from her finger to the smear of blood on my chest, then at the tattoos, at the reddened skin. She peers closer, wipes her finger over the name of her brother.
Then, she scratches her nails across the tattoos, across that raw skin.
“Fuck!”I grab her wrist. “Like I said, you’re drunk.”
She looks up at me. “Did you just do this? Is that what you were doing? Crossing off my brothers’ names?”
I nod.
She shifts her gaze to some of the others. The dozen or so that also have lines running through them. The few that haven’t yet met their fate. Then she does something completely unexpected. She lays her cheek on my chest, soft and warm, her hair tickling my chin. She slides it over the tattoos.
“What the hell are you doing?” I ask, releasing her wrist.
She draws back.
I see the smear of blood on her cheek and she looks as confused as I feel. But then she touches Nathan’s name. When she turns those burnt-sugar eyes up to mine, they’re wet.
She sighs deeply, backing up. I think she means to sit on the edge of the bed but miscalculates and slips off the sheets to end up on the floor.
I shake my head. “No more whiskey for you, Fury.”
“We’re going to die, aren’t we?” she asks me, eyes wide when she turns them up to me. “What you’re doing now, it’s a game and when you’re finished playing, you’ll kill us. Or have my uncle do it.” She makes a gun out of her hand, points at her own head and shoots. “Pow. Dead.”
She touches her cheek, smears tears into the blood. “He’s just a kid, you know.” She shrugs a shoulder then lays down on the floor at the foot of the bed and squints her eyes to look up at me.
“Some girls are fun when they drink,” I say, crouching down to pick her up.”
She turns her face to me. “Newsflash. I’m not. I was never fun.”
“No, I’m getting that. You are a depressing drunk.” I gather her in my arms.
She smacks my chest but it’s like butterfly wings fluttering against me
.
I smile. It’s kind of cute. “Give Fury a little whiskey and she turns into a little kitten.” I lift her up and carry her to the bed, draw the blankets back to lay her down.
“I’m not drunk and I’m not a little kitten.” Her eyelids flutter closed hair splayed out around her. She’s taken it out of the braid, and it’s got some wave to it. A thick dark mass on the pristine white pillow.
I walk into the bathroom for a washcloth, running it under the tap to wet it before returning to the bedroom. She’s in exactly the same position as I left her. I can’t help but shake my head.
This is not how I expected tonight to go.
When I touch the cloth to her cheek, she startles, gasping, eyes blinking open, hands coming to capture my wrist. On guard. I get the feeling she’s always on guard, like me.
“Relax. I’m just cleaning off the blood.”
She studies my eyes, tilts her head a little and peers closer. “Your eyes are sad.”
I don’t say anything. What can I say? I just watch her, this confusing girl.
She reaches up to touch my temple, the scar there, a divot of missing skin.
“My brothers did this.”
Again, I remain silent.
She shifts her gaze to my chest again, my arms, touching the scars there. The two more distinct ones are where the bullets penetrated my chest and side. I’m used to it, but I remember the shock I felt when I’d first seen them and imagine her reaction must be somewhat similar.
When she looks back at me, she looks resigned. “No.”
“No what?”
“I didn’t fuck him. I’ve never fucked him, and I swear I’ll throw myself out of a window if it ever comes to that.”
“That why they put you in the basement? The bars on the windows?”
She smiles, eyes heavy-lidded. “I’m sleepy.”
“Half a bottle of whiskey will do that to you.” I walk back into the bathroom to drop the washcloth in the hamper. When I get back into the bedroom, she’s rolled onto my side of the bed, her head resting on my pillow, hands tucked beneath her cheek.
I pull the sheets back and consider what to do about her clothes. I decide to undo the tie, which is pretty tightly knotted.
She makes a sound, her face contorting.
“Shh. Relax.”
She does. Just a harmless little kitten now.
I push the sweatshirt up a little to get the knot undone, see a glimpse of smooth skin, her belly button. I look at her face. She’s pretty. Very pretty.
And out cold before I even know it.
It’s what she wanted. To not remember me touching her. To not feel the pain.
Do I believe that she hasn’t fucked Fernando? I get the feeling if she did, it wasn’t by choice. The thought makes me grit my teeth. Makes my blood run cold.
I draw the blanket back and climb in. I tug her closer, so she doesn’t fall off the bed. At least I tell myself that’s why. She rolls over, her back to me, ass against my dick which my dick registers as an invitation.
I groan, adjust myself and learn something about Portia Esmeralda a moment later.
She snores. It’s a quiet little snore. Mostly. It makes me smile.
Nothing but a harmless little kitten.
But when she nuzzles against me again, I don’t dare think about how cute the snore is or how warm she is or how good her ass feels against my dick because, fuck me, it’s going to be a long night.