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You’d think hands like hers would be capable of doing so many wonderful things and wouldn’t have needed teaching. But she did, and I was happy to acquire a student. Happy for a reason to touch something other than her pretty little toes...
Happy, for the first time in fucking months.
“What are you daydreaming about?”
I heard Damiano but ignored him as he flicked dirt from his nails to the powder blue carpet.
“Uh, hello! What are you fantasizing about over there?”
Too often, I missed my voice, purely because I wanted to tell this guy to shut up and mind his own business. Too often, my hands wanted to say what my mouth couldn’t. But him showing up to meetings with shiners and bruises on his face wouldn’t look professional.
But neither did the snow boots slotted under the table, not with suit pants tucked into them.
I had met him under unusual circumstances, ones I’d never shared with Nonna. She didn’t trust him. I couldn’t imagine her finding out I’d met him when he pulled a gun to my head, catching me in the act of hunting down the traffickers who took Chandelle. He was one of them, not personally involved with her kidnapping or death—or I’d have found a way to fucking kill him—but a trafficker, all the same.
The right amount of money and the promise of more put him on my side. And got me what I wanted—the blood of his acquaintances.
That was why he was here...getting paid for sitting at my side and doing fucking nothing. Tolerated when he shouldn’t be.
“Did you screw her again?”
I turned around, the frustration clawing through my veins, settling within the agitated expression on my face made it obvious I hadn’t had sex again.
“That’s a no then?”
My scowl grew, focusing only on Damiano and not whatever Ethan was doing on his phone. Probably checking with the next client who hadn’t rolled out of bed yet. The next guy was good, but his time management skills were as slim as my patience.
“Can’t imagine her being much fun...not that we need to imagine her skills.” Damiano leaned over to Ethan, giving him a nudge. “Catch my drift?”
“Shut up, man.” Ethan moved away, creating a bigger distance between himself and Damiano, his phone still in hand. He stared down at the mirrored screen protector, turning his back on us.
My eyes narrowed on Damiano...if only looks could kill.
“I mean, come on, she’s fucking paralyzed, and she looks nothing like your Chandelle. She’s got her heart, but you’re not dipping your dick into her fucking heart. You’re dipping it into her cunt, and she can’t even raise her hips to meet you. The girl has fucking nothing going for her.”
Steam flurried down my flared nostrils, so much of the anger he caused not fitting inside me
“Your ex-girl would be saying, what the fuck happened to your standards?” he said with a feminine voice, and fuck, it did sound like Chandelle.
From my pocket, I pulled out my pen and Post-it notes. Ethan’s eyes were on me as I stabbed the inky tip into the page, breaking it like I wanted to Damiano’s neck.
Three long strides got me back to the table.
I slapped the green note in front of him, my hand sliding off it to reveal tiny words he read quickly.
She probably would have. She was a right bitch, at times. But I’d tell her the same as I’ll tell you. To shut your fucking mouth because I don’t feel that way.
“She’s got nothing, man. Nothing you could like but a wet cunt and an organ that isn’t hers.”
Evil rushed through me; my hands twitched at my side. Fingers curled into tight fists, both eager to race to his temple…but it would be just my luck for the next artist to show up at that exact moment.
My feelings for Feebee were complicated but definitely there.
Definitely real.
And none of them were any of Damiano’s fucking business.
The desire to give him a heavy fucking punch grew, and as my fist tightened, my vengeance was interrupted by Nonna’s sweet voice as it blared from the call Ethan had been on for fuck knows how long. I hadn’t been listening, lost in thoughts and daydreams, no sound dragging me out but Damiano’s voice slicing through my peace and invading it.
