Page 36 of Vow of Vengeance

“You’re wasting precious time.” He adds a squeeze of dish soap.

I give my final, feeble attempt. “You know my biology teacher only gives partial credit for redo’s. Are you sure it’s worth it?”

“When we reviewed your schooling for today, you told me about your grade on the first try. Can you remind me?” he asks, already knowing the grade because I had to explain the school’s unfamiliar-to-him grading system, thus making him aware I’m doing terribly.

I shrug. “A 64.” I don’t tell him I’m in the lowest level class, too. The easy one. The one the other kids call the “baby class.”

“Oh, it’s worth it. It’s certainly worth it.” He nods to himself, turning off the tap. “Go on. I’ve already got the fireplace on for you.”

Remembering the tub, I make an excuse to go upstairs. “Thank you. I’m just going upstairs to grab something.”

“Alright.”

I need to tidy up. I’m sure a daily cleaner is coming to this spotless house, and I don’t need the humiliation of what theywill find. I pop into my bathroom. The tub is drained, sparkling white, and the toy is gone.

I don’t know what to think or how to feel. Here, Haze has taken care to preserve my dignity, yet he put the thing inside of me in the first place. I think of the warmth of his arms holding me last night, so different from the coldness in his eyes this morning.

After making my bed perfectly, I head back downstairs while trying not to think about the confusing state of my life.

I can’t keep my worry about my family at bay for long. Despite my best efforts, the words start to blur on the pages. My gaze travels to the flames licking the logs in the fireplace. Red at their tips, they change to orange and blue in the center. Like my mother's dress the last time I saw her, its circular pattern orange on the outer ring with red spokes leading to a blue center.

Yesterday morning seems like a lifetime ago. I’m still puzzled that Mom told me she’d paid my full tuition right after we lost our scholarship. And that she told me not to worry about adult stuff when I asked her where she’d gotten the money, which upset me.

It’s not like I’m the average teen, hanging with friends and staying up till midnight scrolling on the phone. I’m working or studying with my time.

I also didn’t like that she wouldn’t meet my eye.

Now I know why she was acting weird. Still, I can’t picture my sweet, young mother stealing, much less from the mafia. I trust Haze when he says my family isn’t hurt, but I must talk to Mom. I need to know everyone is okay, and I want to know what she did to get the money.

I think of Carter on the ground below my window, groaning in pain. I believe Haze when he promised me that Carter was taken home safely, but what about this morning? Did he arrive at school safe and sound, except for a few scratches?

I trust Haze.

Maybe it’s ridiculous, maybe I’m naive, but I trust him. Hearing Gian say how tied he is to Haze doesn’t hurt either. Still, how he went from warm last night to cold this morning left ice in my veins. That coldness makes me question him. I need to hear from my family and make sure they are safe.

Can Gian help me?

“Can I get you anything?” Gian’s voice breaks through my thoughts, jolting me to the present. He stands at the doorway, a helpful look in his eyes.

“Maybe…” I say.

“Anything,” he says, expecting a request he can fulfill in the kitchen. An espresso machine can’t cash in this favor. Though a second latte would be incredible.

“I have a question…” I start. “But it’s a bit delicate.”

He looks up for a moment, contemplating. “Ask away, and if I can answer, I will.”

“Okay…” I hope he can answer because this question has been burning in my mind. How do I word it? “Does Haze have any children?”

Gian pauses a moment and then breaks into a big belly laugh. “God, no!”

What about the woman in the street who shrieked like the devil and wore a gray coat?

“Really?” I ask. “Not even, like, a baby hidden away somewhere?”

“Absolutely not.” He shakes his head, recovering from his laughter. “Anything else before we begin work on your essay, my dear?”

“There is one more thing,” I say.

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