Page 43 of Twisted Trust
Levi told CPS that we’re engaged. As far as they’re concerned, he’s an important man in my life and the only thing standing between me and losing my son forever. But why did he do that? To keep me close and control me? To hold this over me and twist me into doing something I don’t want to do?
When I knew him five years ago, Levi wasn’t manipulative. He was cold and direct, which was part of his allure whenhe approached me on that party yacht. He went direct for the ‘you’re hot and I want to fuck you’ approach, which was rather refreshing. An older man interested in little old me just trying to scrape by in life was something out of a dream, and I was immediately hooked on him. His violent lifestyle was just the sexy garnish on top.
But my greatest love became my greatest threat and now I’m back in his clutches just to save my son. It’s fucked up how things work out.
I watch Scott sleep for around twenty minutes until curiosity gets the better of me. If I can get a layout of this apartment, then I’ll be ready for anything that could happen and know where to keep Scott away from. Lightly kissing his forehead, I run my fingers through his silky, soft hair and ease myself away from the bed.
The door opens onto a long hall that stretches from the elevator doors to my left to glass doors all the way at the end on my right, which lead to what looks like some kind of balcony. The entire penthouse is silent so I rise up onto my tiptoes as I move down the hall and peek into doors one by one.
One leads to a small office where the screensaver on the monitor bounces around and radiates a swirling pattern onto the wall. Another leads to a bedroom where everything is so pristine and white that it looks more like a showroom than a place a real person sleeps. The next door I investigate leads into a large kitchen that’s so large I’m pretty sure it would take me at least thirty seconds to reach the other side.
Gleaming granite counters line two walls, broken up by a large grey sink with a tall black spout, a microwave built into one of the upper cabinets, and a fridge that’s alarmingly taller than me. The island counter is surrounded by six circular black stools all neatly tucked underneath. I can’t fathom what a place like this costs. As I turn to leave, a soft, sharp inhale catches myattention. Walking deeper into the kitchen, a large archway to my right leads into a lounge area where Levi sits with his back to me. Just the sight of him is enough to send my heart into my throat.
He’s topless and miles of thick, rippling muscles stretch across his shoulders and down the arms I sought comfort in earlier. Or maybe it was yesterday. I have no idea how long I’ve been asleep, but the sky beyond the windows is still a dark blue. I either slept a few hours or a full day. Levi’s head dips forward and he hisses softly, busy with something in his lap that I can’t see.
I should leave him to it.
I’m about to turn and leave when he lifts his head and seemingly stares out the window in front of him. “Not going to say hi?”
I freeze like a deer in headlights until I realize he can see my reflection in the window. I feared he had some alarming sixth sense to my presence. “I don’t want to disturb you.”
“You’re not disturbing me.” Levi slowly turns to look at me over his shoulder and as he moves, I glimpse what’s in his lap. Or rather what’s on the table in front of him. A small bowl of pink water sits next to several bloodied balls of cotton. An uncapped tube of antiseptic cream rests against the glass bowl, and there’s a small closed medical kit just on the other side.
My worry spikes and I’m moving closer before I can stop myself, like the old me who had such concern for this man is taking over. “Levi, what happened?”
He grunts softly and flexes out his injured hand. The flesh along his knuckles is split and warped amid several cuts. Some are still bleeding. He holds a bloodied cotton ball in his other hand as our gazes meet. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s obviously not nothing.” He’s doing a terrible job of patching himself up if the twisted, discarded bandages on theother side of the medical kit are anything to go by. He was always terrible at taking care of himself. Some things never change.
“Here, let me.” Be it pity or sympathy, I end up perched on the table with his injured hand resting on my thigh while I clean up the worst of the cuts with a fresh cotton ball. My movements are much gentler than his own so it doesn’t take long for the wounds to finally stop bleeding. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”
“I had to talk to some people.”
“About?”
“Scott.”
My hands pause as I glance up at him through my lashes. “Why?”
“Isn’t it obvious? A kid is dumped on the Strip. Someone saw something, so I’ve been trying to find out who they are and what they saw.” Levi grimaces slightly as my grip briefly tightens on his fingers. “A lot happens down there that no one sees but it’s my job, and my people’s job, to make sure shit like that doesn’t happen.”
Why does he care? There’s unexpected heat in his words as if he has some personal stake in this. Has he worked it out? Does he realize that Scott is his son and the baby he so desperately wanted to kill four years ago? If so, then why does he care what happened?
I can’t think of anything to say that won’t alert him to the spiral of my thoughts so I stay quiet until his knuckles are fully clean and it’s time to bandage them.
“How are you?” Levi asks after a few minutes of silence. When I look up at him, he immediately looks away. “After yesterday, I mean.”
“I’m fine.”
“How’s Scott?”
I pause with the bandage looped around his thumb. “He’s tired. I don’t think it’s hit him yet.”
“Kids are resilient.”
“Speaking from experience?”
“No, but… that’s what they say, right?”
