He raises both hands to his face and rubs vigorously, like he’s trying to scrub away the day. Too late for that.
“Baby?”
“Be quiet and let me think,” he says, grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes.
My confidence shakes, just a little. I don’t really think he’s gonna kill me. Maybe he was sent to, but he won’t. Not me. Not after the universe has hit us over the head with this great big coincidence-that-can’t-be. But: “You do remember me, right?” I ask.
He looks up at that, squinting at me like I’ve said something stupid. “You saved my life.”
I snort. “Now that’s dramatic. Say, whatever did happen to all those guys who jumped you? The ones who limped out of the alley alive?”
“I killed them.” He says it simply, impatiently, as though it couldn’t matter less what happened to them. I guess it doesn’t, not really.
“And now me?” I ask.
He stalks over to me. “You’ve really fucked things up for me, you know that?”
“Well, I sure am sorry I screwed up your morning. If it’s any consolation, this wasn’t scheduled in my day-planner, either.”
He takes my chin and looks my face over. “They hit you when they grabbed you?”
I nod. “Yeah, that cheeky little monkey—Joey? He punched me a couple times more than he was supposed to, according to your brother, who was super pressed about it in the back of the van. Or at least, as far as I could make out.”
His mouth tightens as he takes that in, and I take the opportunity to give him a long, appreciative stare. He’s filled out some since the last time I saw him. Still ropy like a panther, gleaming black hair shorter now and slicked back, but skin still pale enough that he could pass as a Victorian consumptive. Under the jacket I can see his shoulders have broadened out, and his tight white shirt strains just the slightest bit over his pecs. I wonder if he still has that gorgeous pelt of hair on him.
I wonder if his cock is just as thick and juicy as I remember it, and lick my split lip. His eyes follow my tongue, so I do it again, lick my lips, slower this time, and give a twisty smirk.
“You changed your hair.”
“Aw, you noticed. Yeah, I got tired of pink.” These days I just bleach it blond and have done with it.
“I liked the pink.”
“I mean, I can dye it back if that helps get me out of here?”
He pulls his eyes away, looking over my head. “The plan was to take you out to send a message to your father that he should pay his debts.”
“Hm. That would be kind of like nuking a mosquito, I feel,” I say thoughtfully.
“You feel right, but it wasn’t my decision.”
“Georgie, you mind untying me? My nose is real itchy.” He ignores me. “Or not,” I sigh.
He paces around again, but there’s no scrubbing at his face this time, so I figure the bricks are lining up in his mind just how he wants them. I make a mighty effort to keep my mouth shut, for at least a minute.
“Alright,” he says after forty-three seconds (according to my count, anyway). “The last time we met, angel, you laid the world out before me and suggested I take it. That’s what I’m working towards. Now, you—you could be useful to me.”
I laugh again. “Okay, baby. If that’s the way you wanna play it. Sure, I can be useful.”
“Only I need to know your goals, too. There’s no point us making a deal if we can’t be useful to each other.”
My nose hurts when I laugh too long, so I stop and cough instead. “My goals? I got everything I ever wanted already, babes. As long as I play by my Pops’ rules—”
He points a finger at me. It’s like I’m looking down the barrel of his gun instead. “I don’t think you like his rules though, do you, angel? I read up on Howie Donovan the Third. He did end up going to Harvard. But then he got cut.”
I grin. “Ahh, just an unfortunate series of misunderstandings. You know what those places are like; they don’t fuck with drugs. Or maybe you don’t know. I guess you never went to college.” I didn’t mean it as a diss, but it comes out that way.
But he shrugs it off. “Reading’s free; life is a lesson.”
I’m glad to hear that. If he’s a reader it means he’s a thinker, and that means I might get out of this alive. And I find, strangely, that I do want to stay alive, now that he’s back in the picture.
“So what are you suggesting? You gonna let me go, send me back to Pops with a message?”
I don’t know if I like that idea much. Pops has been tightening the purse strings lately, and threatening rehab again, or even home detention. If I limp back to Boston with a message about how I got kidnapped and almost killed—
But my man shakes his head. “Can’t do that. I’m under strict orders to kill you. If I let you go…” He spreads his hands with a shrug.
I give a shaky smile, let out a breath. “At last.” He looks at me, head cocked to one side. “I’m glad it’s you,” I tell him. I really am, now that the time is finally here. “I’m ready to die. Just make it quick.”
“I’m afraid it’s not that simple.”
“Then what—”
He makes a sharp hand movement, cutting off my words. “I owe you a debt, and I honor my debts. You saved my life, so I can’t kill you.”
“Is that the only reason?” He doesn’t reply to that. “I mean, you could just kill me,” my runaway mouth says, even though I don’t mean it to. “Then everything could go back to your original plan. Whatever that was.”
He looks me over, his eyes contemplative. The hairs on the back of my neck
