Page 72 of Petrichor

“Joel Locke. You don’t look anything like your shithead of a father. The surname is also different. Are the roots rotten all the same?”

My lips part, but nothing comes out. My eyes squeeze shut. Rotten. Hearinghimsaying it almost makes it true. Almost. How can I make him trust me? I’ll answer all his questions honestly. Bare myself to him. Hopefully it won’t end badly. Hopefully he’ll believe me.

“I don’t know who he is.” I point at the tortured guy. “I never talked to him. I saw him at the club the night we…had fun in the alley.”

“Fun,” he echoes sternly. “For a moment, I thought you’d been forced to do it. But then I saw the pictures. I bet you shared a lot of laughs with the Enzinos.”

“I didn’t do anything.” How can I reach him? The first tear wets my cheek as I take a step back. I can’t breathe. It feels like he’s sucking all the air around me. “I never lied to you?—”

He cuts me off. “Did you do it for the money?”

Another step as I feel more tears roll down.

“For the thrill? What was the plan? Spying on me? Trying to get information on Seb, and then what? Kill me? I mean, technically, you finished your father ten years ago. The thrill of taking a life. Tempted to take another one?”

I didn’t kill my father. He did. Why is he saying that I did?

The abrupt coldness of the wall against my back stops my train of thoughts. Marco is suddenly on me, shoving me back. Bloody hand around my throat, jaw tense, and lips an inch from mine.

“I told you not to move,” he growls. “Why does only the prospect of a hard cock inside you make you follow orders? I want a fucking answer to my question, or I’ll hang you next to that fucker.”

Would he really? Can I still have faith in him now that I fear him? This morning, I finally felt like he was coming closer. Was it only an evanescent feeling, a fleeting dream?

“I came to New York for my brother.”

He narrows his eyes at me, and his body pushes against mine painfully, pinning me against the wall. His fist is placed near myhead, as he says, “He’s dead. I checked. He died when a shop was set on fire. Do you blame me for that?” He’s regarding me grimly as he waits for an answer. His breath feels warm on my face; his scent of orange blossom and cigarettes still makes me want to nestle my head in his neck and just breathe. That mouth that kissed me so passionately only a few hours ago is now spewing agonizingly painful nonsense. I close my eyes for a moment, letting more tears fall down.

“No. You-you saved us, how can you believe I’d think that?”

“So why didn’t you tell me who you were?” he snarls.

“You were so damn closed off. Would you have let me stay near you? You were looking for an excuse to get rid of me, and now you have it,” I snarl back.

“Is that what I did this morning and last night, when my cock unloaded inside you again and again?”

My throat tightens as I remember the way he kept me close to him all night. Safe and warm in his arms. Was that our first and last time?

“You are a good fuck, I have to give you that.”

I hear the sound of my heart shattering inside my chest, blood flooding irreparably.

Stop! Please.The words don’t come out. A sob does.

“I’m pretty sure it wasn’t your first time using that hole to get—” I don’t let him finish, I slap him hard. The hand around my neck tightens. There’s only blind rancor filling his gaze. Seeing any kind of emotion, even fury, on his face is better than cruel blankness.

My palm burns after hitting him. The physical pain shakes me from my disheartened acceptance, though. I reach for my innerstrength and pull at it. Because this is not how things will end between us. I need to try at least to explain.

“The first time I met you I thought you were the worst and most wonderful thing I’d ever felt. An unconventional savior. My savior.” Bitterness invades my mouth. “You’ve made constant appearances in my dreams since that night ten years ago. You and my brother, who I lost that same night. The same night I found freedom and agonizing loneliness. I told you he took me to a neighbor, an old lady who helped us the times we were able to leave the apartment when our father was pissed. She liked me. I reminded her of her son. She was about to move to Boston and asked me to go with her a couple of times before. She couldn’t afford to raise my brother, as well. And I couldn’t, would have never left him behind so I stayed with him. That night though, he didn’t give me a choice. He just left me with her and disappeared. I told you my reason for coming to New York was to look for someone. It was him. I knew something must have happened to him, or he’d have found me during those ten years, and I needed to know…” My voice cracks, and I might be a fucking masochist, because the feel of his tight hand around my neck starts to comfort me. “I felt lost. That’s when I really got closer to Art. He bought a bucketload of lingerie from my website, and after chatting, we met. He helped me find out about my brother. Made me laugh. Made me feel light again. We just hit it off. I didn’t know who he was. But I knew who you were. I recognized your voice, and I couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t resist. I needed to thank you, to tell you how much I thought about you.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“You were drunk, bellicose, and rude. I was afraid you’d push me away.”

I’m not afraid of him. I’m afraid of losing him.

“Bullshit! You had too many occasions to come clean with me, and you didn’t,” he hisses, tilting my chin up as he leans in further.

All he’s doing is threatening me. He’s not hurting me; his gun is still in the holster.

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