Page 32 of Caruso
Fuck, did I really say that out loud? And yet his eyes flash with a gleam than excites me—it shouldn’t but I’m fast realizing that turns me on. He smiles, at least I think that’s what it is, it’s almost a triumphant movement of his lips as he growls, “I like to possess, to own and to control. I’m not certain you would be a good fit for that, but I am willing to try.”
He squeezes harder and says roughly, “I’m kind of hoping you fight me on that because as you just pointed out, I would be bored within twenty-four hours, so Taylor, do you accept the challenge and do you promise not to make it easy and suffer the consequences of that?”
I fix him with a withering glare and nod, his fingers still gripping my face as I whisper, “I’m used to monsters, Mr. Caruso, and I’m kind of hoping you don’t let me down on that.”
He releases me as the jet comes to a stop and turns away, the conversation definitely over, and as I catch my breath, the brothers completely ignore me. It’s three cold shoulders at once, and yet I wouldn’t have it any other way. When you make a deal with one devil, it’s bad enough, but when you multiply that by three, hell welcomes a new demon inside.
I am beginning to realize what I have signed up for. Three black cars are waiting, their drivers wearing dark shades and an even darker attitude. Tommaso takes the first car, Matteo drags me into the second, and Giorgio heads to one at the rear. In each car are two passengers up front, their firearms glinting in the sunlight as their jackets part. It’s ominous as hell, and I wonder what Carl will think when we crash through the front door.
Matteo says nothing the entire journey. I relayed the address yesterday, and so I have no reason to offer any assistance. Instead, I gaze out of the darkened window at the familiar landmarks of home and wonder what the neighbors will think when I exit the car dressed in a freaking catsuit wearing high killer heels. I’m like a modern-day Catwoman, and my superpower is I know how to kill a man twice my size. I can fight, but I can’t shoot a gun. Bare fists and cunning have defended me well these past years, and I have Jason Evans to thank for that.
I try so hard not to think of him, but when I’m at my most vulnerable, the memories tear another hole in my soul.
“That’s it, Tay. Hold up your fists in front of your face to protect it, keep your elbows in tight, protect your body. That’s right, keep a tight ball and use your body to deliver the punch. That’s it—good girl—hit me. Take me down.”
My fist connects with his head, and he grunts. “Fuck, that’s the way to go. Try again.”
Iflail out and he delivers an uppercut to my jaw, tapping it carefully, demonstrating but not inflicting any pain.
This was how we spent our time. Scrapping behind the barn in Scooter Barlow’s field. Many nights and days were spent there as Jason taught me everything he knew.
I was six when we started; he was twelve. I was the ragged girl with no friends, and he was the son of the local mechanic. He was unpopular, so was I but he had a huge heart and took pity on me when he saw my stepfather taking a shot at me one day outside in the yard. Jason was cycling past and saw what happened, and the next day he was waiting for me after I finished school. He was my only friend, and as we grew, I followed him around like a puppy dog.
Then, one day, he was gone, and I never saw him again.
“Taylor!” Matteo’s sharp voice penetrates my memories, and as I shake myself from the past, I’m aware we have come to a stop outside the rundown heap I once called home.
“Is this the place?”
My mouth dries as I nod, licking my lower lip before saying, “Yes.”
The door opens, and as Matteo exits, a burst of heat hits my face as the temperature reminds me how freaking hot this place is.
But I’m cold inside. An ice princess if you like,returning home with not one Prince Charming but three evil villains.
Matteo leans in and extends his hand, and as he pulls me from the car, I stare at the veranda with the old wicker chairs set on either side of an upturned pail. The paint peeled long ago, and the decrepit floorboards are missing some slats, and if anything, it appears even more derelict than it was before.
The three brothers surround me on all sides, almost protecting me. It certainly feels like that, and I notice the guards who traveled here with us wander around the back of the house, and my stomach lurches as I sense there is no backing out now.
“Shall we?” Matteo nods toward the steps, and I follow him as we tread a path to the broken front door that has been in a state of disrepair for many years now. Our doors are never locked because it’s obvious there isn’t anything worth stealing inside, and it reminds me of the many times I cowered in my bed as drunken men played card games with Carl in the kitchen.
Giorgio bangs hard on the door before placing his boot on the wooden frame and kicking it hard, the wood splintering under his designer boot, causing him to grunt in satisfaction. “Fuck, that felt good.”
The other two say nothing as we follow him inside, and my nose wrinkles in disgust at the scent of tobacco and human waste mixed with sweat and perspiration.
“What the fuck?”
My heart stills as Carl wanders from his room,bleary-eyed and buck naked, save for some old pants that are ripped in the wrong places.
His eyes lock onto me first, and he cackles, his teeth brown and chipped, a few of them missing.
“Well, fuck me, if it ain’t little miss runaway come back to beg for my forgiveness.”
He turns his attention to the three brothers, who gaze at him with derision dripping from their expressions.
“What are you, her pimps?”
Carl laughs loudly and then stops as Giorgio grasps his face hard and throws him back against the wall, his head hitting it with a resounding thud as he is held there by Giorgio’s fingers, squeezing his windpipe, causing Carl’s face to turn an interesting shade of red.
