Page 3 of Under His Skin

I work, I play here and there – though the latter is more appropriate considering how long it’s been since I’ve done anything but my job, and I spend time with my family. That being mom, Uncle Drew, Aunt Polly, and their son, Jeremiah, who is, for all intents and purposes, my older – and quite protective – brother. Speaking of, I know if I don’t talk to Uncle Drew soon, they will begin plotting their sieges. I might have to find the Fortress of Solitude, hide out there for a while. It’ll be a whole thing and I’ll probably have to do it without coffee, you know, being a frozen tundra and all, and that’s terrifying. Even more so than Aunt Polly, and I’ve seen grown men run when they see her coming.

**Simon**

“Shh,” I admonish Anthony when he starts talking, wanting to go over my day. Normally he waits until we’re in the car, but he’s readjusted to suit my new schedule. The one that has me on my doorstep each morning, not moving an inch from the spot until after she’s passed.

Tommy suggested he follow her after it happened twice to find out who she is. An offer he never repeated after finding himself pressed against my home, my hand around his throat. “Uhh, sir,” Anthony had said, talking to me as if I was a wild animal on the verge of attacking. “Tommy is just doing his job.”

Logically, I knew that, yet the thought of him getting close to her, of knowing more about her than I do, had me ready to strangle him. In broad daylight. In front of my house. Might as well deliver myself to the cops with a bow tied around my neck shouting, “Merry Christmas.”

“Sorry, Mr. Roanoke,” Tommy had apologized profusely after catching his breath, the hand massaging his throat making him sound as if he was in the midst of a case of laryngitis.

I don’t know what it is about her that has me so captivated. Maybe that she seems so focused on her task, that she gets to enjoy the freedom running provides without requiring men shaped like trees following her, numerous guns on their person. Or perhaps it’s simply the fact that she’s absolutely gorgeous and doesn’t appear to give a damn regarding who I am.

I’m not bragging. It’s actually the opposite. Being me comes with various difficulties. For example, women are attracted to the position, to what they believe they can gain by being with me. It’s why I haven’t touched one in many, many years, since before I took over the family.

My goal in life was to get out of this one, and that couldn’t be waylaid by girls. Nor could I trust my dad if I even attempted to have a relationship. To him, she would have been a bargaining chip, a tool to teach me more lessons, that it’s better to be unencumbered, to sample all the fare available instead of settling.

Can you see why I loathe – not past tense – him with every fiber of my being?

Mom was too good for him. She was a pawn to him. A pretty thing he saw, he wanted, and he took. She made the best of it for my sake, knowing she was the only bright spot in my life. But cancer doesn’t care about shit like that. Doesn’t give a damn that it’s taking a mother from her son, leaving him to fend for himself against his monster of a father. She fought, make no mistake about that. Simone Roanoke didn’t know how to do anything but.

And, as much as she loved me, she’d be so disappointed in me. That fact stings more than anything my dad did, and is still doing from the grave, to me. In the world I was born into – and I don’t mean earth – saying no to an elder, especially a father that ruled his domain with an iron fist, covered in spikes. He had no problem dispensing with anyone for even the smallest perceived slight, doing other than he commanded wasn’t a smart idea.

I’m not sure where all these maudlin thoughts are coming from today, the memories of all the bad, of the longing for something good.

But I think it’s her.

Chapter Four

Bristol

March 6th…

“Open up, missy. We know you’re in there.” Aunt Polly’s patience has come to an end. The jig is up. I’m busted. There’s no escape. Ooh, wait. There is. I can fit through the bathroom window, make a break for it. Mom will cover for me. I’m her favorite daughter after all.

“Jeremiah, go to the back.” Uncle Drew is a traitor. He sold me out.

“Smart thinking,” my mom chimes in. She’s in on this, too? The Fortress of Solitude is looking better and better. Bet I can get a heck of a deal if I go through Priceline. I mean, it’s good enough for Captain Kirk.

My phone buzzes and I hurriedly grab it, not wanting them to hear it and know I’m inside. Yeah, because your car in the driveway doesn’t clue them in. Don’t be daft, Foley.

Jeremiah: They might go easier on you if you let them in.

Me: *sings* Tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies.

His bark of laughter reaches me seconds before his face appears in the bathroom window. He gives a little wave, his tall stature allowing him to see in without the hindrance us shorties encounter, making me giggle as I put the step stool I keep in here for this possibility back. In my defense, I also use it to change the lightbulbs in the ceiling fixture.

But mostly for the first thing because them ganging up on me isn’t an unusual occurrence.

“Found her,” he hollers, knowing full well his bellow will carry to their bat-like hearing ears.

“Just for that,” I tell him as I get on my tiptoes and peer through the glass, “I’m not giving you any of the cookies I made.”

Horror-filled is the only way to describe his expression at my declaration and I do a little dance of glee. “What kind?”

My sweet tooth couldn’t have picked a better time to kick in than this morning. I didn’t know then that I’d be able to use this batch for revenge. Savoring this as I will each and every cookie I’m going to eat in front of him, I inform him, “Lemon Sprinkles.”

“You’re an evil woman,” he mutters. Wiping away a fake tear, he says, “You do me proud. I have nothing left to teach you.”

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