Page 38 of His Innocent Muse

My head snaps up. That’s not Damian, but I know the voice. Deep, guttural, like a wolf in sheep’s clothing revealing himself before the kill. The one with the tattooed hands and wild dog smile.

Mayhem.

“I’m gonna kick this fuckin’ door in if you don’t—“

“I’m alone,” I squeak. “I’m alone.”

“Alright, open the door.”

“But...”

“I ain’t Ghost,” he snarls. “I don’t find this shit cute. Open the goddamn door.”

I cringe, not sure if it’s from the sound of his name or the promise of violence in his voice. I bring my legs up to hide myself, and scoot away from the door, letting him open it and step inside.

He looks around the tiny space, as if to verify no boogey men are in here with me, before he looks down to meet my gaze. His eyes bug, a flicker of excitement coloring his cheeks. “Someone’s gonna get hurt,” he says, dropping to a squat to get a closer look at my face. “You good?”

No, I’m the opposite of good. What kind of question is that?

“Wh-What are you doing here?”

His brow pitches like I’m stupid. “Spreading the Lord’s word. The fuck you think I’m doing here? Ghost doesn’t like playing hide ’n seek, y’know.”

“I-I’m getting the money back,” I whisper. “I just got here. I was gonna come back.”

“Money?” Mayhem blinks. “What money? What are—you know what? Never mind. I just remembered I don’t care. Get dressed, I’m taking you home.”

He stands up and walks out, leaving me too dumbstruck to do much more than get my clothes back on. Mayhem is poking around the house, looking in closets and behind the couch, so I take the opportunity to hobble into my room.

Guess I could get a clean shirt, if I wanted to smell less like sweat and apples and get out of the T-shirt Ghost got for me. Or… Or had someone get for me, I guess. Either way, he put the effort in. I pull up the floorboard and pull out my secret wad of bills, straightening one of them on my thigh and counting through the lot of it.

Jesus, what is going on? Why is Mayhem here, looking for me, and on behalf of Ghost? If I thought he’d be so mad about the money, I would’ve left a note. I just didn’t want to leave any unnecessary mess.

I clear my throat, trying to quell the tears fighting so hard to break free. What a new twist on an old birthday tradition. Spending the eve of my nineteenth crying over a man and scrambling for cash, hoping it’s enough to keep me in one piece.

Stupid me for thinking anything different might’ve been mine this year.

“At the old house. Yeah, Chuck’s h—Yes, I’m sure it’s your Lucy, the fuck? You want a picture or something?” Mayhem trails me into the room, narrowing his eyes at the sight of me on the floor, flattening my cash. “Er… Never mind. That’s a bad idea. Got enough on my plate without triggering your ass.”

“Is that…” My voice catches in my throat and I end up coughing again, more soapy water coating my tongue. I shudder, wiping my mouth with shaky hands.

“Oof… Lucy, you—shut up, boss, hang on—are you okay?”

He’s closer now, his voice deep and serious and even a little concerned. I shift my weight away from him, hoping he doesn’t take offense, but there’s only one person who could get close to me right now. I nod instead of answering, turning my head away to swipe at my nose and eyes.

“Just trust me for once, would ya? Shit. Here.” He holds the phone out to me, shaking it in my face when I don’t reach for it. “I’d rather not lose my ball sack, alright, so could you just say hi?”

I squirm, shifting my weight as far away from him as possible.

“Lucy?”

I glance down at the phone, where the voice of a man who owns my whole soul is saved with no picture under the name Moneybags Tantrum. Seconds tick by on the screen while my breath tangles up in knots in my throat, my voice hoarse when I force out, “Ghost?”

“Lucy…”

He sounds so relieved it’s me, not in the least bit angry, and it’s like a chainsaw through my spine. “H-Hi,” I stammer, fresh cries falling off my tongue. “I’m so sorry.”

“Shh, it’s alright,” he soothes, a soft tremor in his voice, too. “We’ll talk when you’re home.”

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