Page 62 of Villainous
She places the small bottle of foundation back into my black bag and grabs my eyeliner. As she glides it onto my eyes, I feel her breath on my cheek.
“You deserve better than him. And you shouldn’t be with someone who is abusing you.”
“Villainous was never abusive before when we were together in high school, and a lot of things he did because he was so hurt. I’m not trying to excuse his behavior, but I can see his reasons behind it.” I sigh.
“It’s your grave you’re digging yourself,” she says, stroking my lashes with mascara.
I know Villainous inside and out, and if he vows never to hurt me again, then he won’t. I trust him enough.
Once she’s done making me look like a doll, Wyatt comes home and says he’ll babysit AJ. I eye the bruises on his arms.
“What the hell happened to you?”
“I was practicing kickboxing. Villainous is training me to become a soldier.”
“Are yo—”
He waves his hand. “Yes, it was my idea. I will never be part of the mafia because my father isn’t Italian, but I can be an associate. Please don’t try to talk me out of it.”
He’s eighteen years old, and only he knows what’s best for his life.
“I’m not. I just want you to know what you’re getting yourself into, that’s all.”
He nods.
I tell him the chef is going to make them whatever they like, then grab my coat from the rack and shrug it on my shoulders. Noemi puts hers on too.
“I’m headed to the city. Do you want to ride with me?” she asks.
“Um…Villainous already has a driver for me, and my bodyguard has to come with me.”
“Okay, cool.” Disappointment laces her tone. “I can ride with you if that’s okay.”
“Sure,” I answer.
Once we’re in the garage, my bodyguard opens my car door. We both slide inside, and I strap my seat belt. When we’re riding on the highway, Noemi glances at me in a strange way, and it creeps me out.
“Before we head to the city, can we stop by Flanders? It’s where I live. I need to let my dogs out before we go to the city.”
“Sure,” I say, crossing my legs over the other.
Noemi tells the driver her address.
“You never told me about any of the men you dated. Who was your last boyfriend?” she asks out of the blue.
“He passed away.”
The car gets eerily quiet, and rage burns in Noemi’s pupils. Twenty minutes later, we pull up to a small cabin surrounded by gigantic trees.
“Do you know how?”
Why is she asking me these questions?
“No, I don’t.”
“You know a man named Chuck Moore?”
“Y-Yeah…how do you know him?” I say nervously.
