Page 5 of Toy Shop

He disconnects the call, leaving me to scurry around the shop.

It’s the worst idea I’ve had in eternity, I’m aware.

However, just as the moon is high in the sky tonight, I’m sure it’s probably one of my best, too.

CHAPTER TWO

Alistair

“Matteo,” I address the barman working SunsOut tonight. I don’t frequent here often, trusting the staff I treat as a family to take care of the place.

“Yes, boss?” His friendly reply flows out naturally as he wipes a beer glass.

“A gi—”

Fuck no. She’s not a girl. You are not about to be sexually involved with a girl.

Twenty-one is old enough to drink, meaning she’s old enough to play.

Right?

“A woman should be here soon. She’ll carry a large pink and white shopping tote. I’ve alerted Tonya at the entrance, she’ll let her in.” I unveil the private room in the back, turning to Matteo. “But give me a heads up when you see her.”

Matteo’s dark brown eyebrows furrow. “A woman? Like a date?”

“No.” I give him a look that I hope translates to I don’t plan on digging any further into this. A line has to be drawn, family or no family.

“Che peccato.” What a shame. He pulls out his hair band, redoing his man bun on top of his head. “A pink and white bag, you say? There could be more than one.”

My lips curve to the side. “There’ll be one. Soon.”

Something in Nola’s voice, in her eagerness that matches mine, told me it wouldn’t be long.

“If you say so.” He grins back, turning to serve a couple who settled on the bar.

Releasing my hold of the thick blue veil that serves as a buffer between the private area and the rest of the bar, I survey the room.

I make sure no empty wine tumblers or platters were left unattended on the singular dark, round wooden table in the room. The bright blue walls had recently been painted, the lighting fixture has no burned light bulbs and is dimmed exactly to my liking.

Jefferson Airplane is playing in the background, one of my favorite bands from one of my favorite music eras.

Everything’s as it should be.

While I wait, I roll up the sleeves of my gray shirt, shoving my hands in the pockets of my black suit pants. I amble toward the round wall mirror and stare at my reflection. Though the years have gone by, I’m not too modest to say I’m not the average forty-two-year-old.

My parents’ genes ward off any signs of age, my brown eyes are sharp, and the short, darkish-blond hair cut short on my head is still full. I work out, eat healthy, consume my adequate water intake, yadda, yadda, yadda. I’m a walking cliché, but at the end of the day it pays off.

Not like I should care what Nola makes of me. It’s a one-off, the last hurrah. Since Donna found the man she proclaimed to be the one, I decided she’ll be the last. The sex was good. That’s never been the issue.

She and the women before her have fed the need burning inside me to win the war against the Almighty by inflicting pain exactly to my liking. I’ve been robbed of something by mother nature, and by fucking those women raw and hard, I flip the tables, taking the reins back.

When I control the pain, I become stronger than life itself. I dominate another human, holding the responsibility to keep them safe throughout the torture.

The power is mine. My past mistakes are somewhat erased in these moments. I’m no longer the negligent brother who let his sister go tombstoning with her friends and didn’t tag along to protect her. I’m not a bystander.

I take ownership of the control life stripped from me.

Or I have. Until recently.

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