Page 9 of Delicious

The idea of her dressed like that on some grimy, shitty city bus, surrounded by God knows who leering and lusting after her, turns my blood cold.

“There will be a car waiting for you downstairs. And, here…” I let her leg go and pull the money clip from my pants pocket, reach down and press it into her hand. “There’s not much there. Five grand, maybe, but I’ll get you a card with your name on it. I’ll have it couriered over after my driver drops you off. You stay put and keep your phone next to you. Are we clear, Tootsie Pop?”

There’s a flicker of doubt in her eyes as she stares at the folded pile of bills in her hand, but after a few seconds, she’s on her feet. I help her with her coat and send her on her way.

I have things to take care of. Like making sure Buffalino, and whichever goons put their hands on her, are buried in the debris of the next building I bring down.

3

Andrea

“Her numbers are looking good. The doctor said he wants to keep you on dialysis three times a week.” The home health aid smiles as she taps on the tablet. “How’s your breathing been? Any significant changes?”

Jess answers with a shrug and a look my way. She and I barely slept last night after I returned from my visit to Erik’s office, so everything just feels a bit blurry and dull.

I told her I had a casting call for a modeling job when she questioned how I was dressed as I was leaving yesterday.

I also worked a half shift at the frame shop after I changed, and by the time I got out of there at 9:30, I was exhausted and starving, with a wad of cash in my pocket. I splurged on my way home with a double order of orange chicken from The Peking House.

So. Good.

She questioned where I got the money for such an indulgence, but I just told her I won some money on a scratch-off ticket.

It’s not a complete lie. I did win some money, and Erik is the ticket I scratched to get it.

Thank goodness she was napping when the courier brought over the package last night.

Just like he said, there was a black plastic credit card inside with my name on it, along with a grape Tootsie Pop and a note that said, ‘Can’t wait to see your mouth enjoying the candy. Be good. I will see you soon.’

As I recall the words on the note, my insides clench in gut-punching pulses. Why does his simple, sweet manner make me so incredibly horny?

I refocus on the aid, who is politely waiting for one of us to respond.

“She’s been coughing more at night,” I answer, raising my eyebrows when my aunt frowns.

“Okay, do two breathing treatments this evening instead of one. Then two more tomorrow morning. If things don’t improve, make an appointment with Dr. Snyder.” The aid closes down her tablet and pushes it into her black bag, her eyes tracing up and down Jess before she scratches her head, nodding toward the exposed flesh of her upper arm. “What happened there?”

An angry purple and black bruise has formed where Jess hit the floor yesterday, and the anger toward the men that hurt her comes back, covering me in a hot burst.

“I don’t even know.” Jess pokes at the spot inquisitively, like she’s unaware of how she got the injury. “I bruise so easily these days. I could have bumped it on a butterfly and ended up with a bruise.”

She waves her hand dismissively, as I fight back the urge to tell the truth.

But what good would that do? Would Wanda the home health aid have some superpower connections that would solve all our problems?

No. But I might.

At least, from the messages Erik sent me last night and this morning, there’s some hope. Yesterday, my hope well was running empty.

The aid packs up, leaving an envelope from her agency. I know our overdue bill is inside. We say our goodbyes, I tear open the envelope, and then toss it on the stack as Jess pulls a fleece blanket from the back of the sofa and settles it around her thin legs.

“I’m always so cold.” She shivers as my own core heats, thinking of how Erik brushed his fingers down my neck when he helped me with my coat yesterday, and rubbed my ankle like it was some sort of foreplay.

I felt that touch down into my toes. That’s new. A part of me knows it’s dangerous, but I also don’t seem to care.

He’s older. I’d say twenty years maybe, and older men have never appealed to me until I saw him walk into Cassie and Magnus’s house while I sat on the counter like a toddler, sucking on my grape Tootsie Pop.

From that second, something about him made me think of how it would feel to have a father that made you the center of his universe. Then, shame drowned me when my next thought was how it would feel to have that fatherly figure on top of me, taking what he needs and telling me what a good girl I am.

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