Page 21 of Beautiful Liar

Beautiful brown eyes searched for something in mine. I held my breath, wondering what he saw. Could he see how my soul yearned for him? Did he know I couldn’t ever let him go? My heart cracked when he pulled away and crawled under the sheets, rolling onto his side. Conversation over.

The need to do something useful crawled under my skin, so I started to clean up. The used gauze and tape went to the trash. I even cleaned the bathroom of the broken shards to make sure he didn’t hurt himself again. Then I went downstairs and cleaned up the kitchen. The normalcy of fixing things, cleaning things, erasing any trace evidence, settled my nerves. My emotions were jacked. My headspace dull. The void inside of me just kept growing. The cabinets were ruined, some hanging off hinges. Things I couldn’t fix, I threw away. Didn’t matter. Tomás did not belong here. He belonged with me, where I could take care of him. Where I could … I didn’t even know anymore.

Once done cleaning, I munched on an apple. My insulin pump working its magic. Thank you, technology.

I tossed the apple core away, washed my hands, and went back to check on him. His eyes were open, his breathing even, his hands under his cheek. He blinked a few times.

“I’m going to head out,” I whispered.

The silence that followed ruined me. I wanted him to tellme to stay.

He didn’t.

And because I was an asshole, I toed out of my shoes, took off my clothes and folded them neatly in a pile on the chair, and climbed into bed with him. He didn’t tell me to leave. He didn’t move away as I adjusted him in my arms, burrowing into him from behind. His body so cold against my heat. As soon as we were comfortable, he melted into my arms the way he always did when I touched him. As if he were a flower bending to the light, and I was the sun.

I wanted to be his sun. His world. His everything.

“If you want me to leave,” I whispered into his hair, taking a deep breath of his scent. “Tell me.”

I wasn’t sure what I’d do if he’d tell me to fuck off. Luckily, I didn’t have to test myself because he didn’t tell me to leave.

“I’m still fucked up,” he said so low I had to lean closer to listen. “I couldn’t remember at first. But the drugs, they opened something inside my head I can’t shut anymore.”

I said nothing. My body on full alert to capture everything he said and didn’t say. I needed the information to find the fucker who hurt him and kill him. I wouldn’t even bother with torture. I just wanted the fucker dead.

Chapter Nine

Tomás

There were things I clearly remembered about my time with Enzo and there were things, especially as I got older, that I couldn’t remember.

I remembered the first time moms had sent me to him. There’d been a driver wearing a black suit and sunglasses. He reminded me of theMen in Blackpeople. His face was even serious the way they were in the movie. As if he didn’t have facial muscles. Although I couldn’t see his eyes behind the glasses, I knew his type. He wouldn’t feel guilty about throwing me out of a moving car.

I may have been young—ten years old—but age meant shit when you saw what I’d seen. And I remembered the car. A black, sleek sedan with chrome rims and tinted windows. Despite the heat outside, the leather seats inside were cold against my skin. I’d worn a short basketball set with some Nikes. It was a clear summer day. I played with the window, pushing the button that makes it go up and down because I liked the soft pop it made every time it changed directions. That went on for a few minutes until the driver locked the window.

As we reached the city, I pressed my nose against the glass trying to get a look at the top of the buildings. They were so high. One of the buildings had been under construction and they had a crane with beams. My stomach protested at seeing those people up there.

I hated heights.

We parked underground, so I couldn’t tell which building we’d gone into, and used the elevator to climb to the top, or almost to the top. I remembered the place was big. Tall windows overlooking the city, but that hadn’t been what drew my attention.

Near one of the windows stood a black, shiny piano. A Steinway, I learned later. It called to me like a siren, and I wanted to touch it. To feel the smoothness under my fingertips. To listen to the sounds I could make with it. I wanted that so bad.

But the driver squeezed my shoulder and led me to the couch instead. I plopped down, my eyes drawn to the piano. At least until a man entered the living room.

He was tall. He had dark hair, dark eyes, and was old. At least my mom’s age. He wore dark slacks, his shirt untucked, and his silver watch caught the light, throwing prisms of colors on the furniture. I liked the light as much as I liked the piano. But I couldn’t touch either. Maybe that was why I liked them. I was always drawn to things I couldn’t have.

The man smiled as he took a seat in front of me. “Tomás,” he said, “do you know why you’re here?”

I shook my head.

“Your mother sold you to me,” he said, wearing that smile.

I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t jump out the window and I didn’t think I could make it to the door beforeMan in Blackcaught me.

“Do you know what that means?” he asked.

Yeah. It meant he was going to hurt me. I shook my head, swallowing hard.Daniel wouldn’t let mom’s pimp hurt me. Would he?

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