Romeo
Sitting on my couch, the coffee table in front of me, I have my laptop open, a notebook, and phone. I gotta find this woman’s next of kin or something. Opening my browser, I look at the missing person’s which seems to go on forever and ever. So many people are missing, mostly children and women. It takes me almost an hour to get through them all, but none are the woman in my guest room. Sitting back defeated, I bite my lip with rising frustration. Her defiance is maddening by the second.
How can someone just disappear and not be missed by anyone? Standing with my phone in my hand, I go to my wet bar and pour a drink, the smooth whiskey coating my throat and filling my stomach. I wonder if someone filed a missing report? Pulling my phone up, I call one of the men at the police station I happen to know; Marcowsky. He’s not on our payroll but he and I have a relationship based on if he scratches my back, I scratch his. He usually asks about break-ins around the area or sloppy robberies at the corner gas station, nothing to do with what DeAngelos do. Dialing his number, he picks up on the second ring.
“Yep.” He already knows who’s calling.
“I need a favor,” I tell him, taking another sip, my eyes focusing on the amber liquid in the glass.
“Shoot.”
“Do you have any missing persons reports on a short female with really long blonde hair, green eyes, mid-twenties?”
“That all you got? Any tattoos, piercings? What about a name?”
I try to think if I saw anything, but her skin was pure, not a spot of ink or jewelry on it.
“No, that’s all I got,” I tell him flatly.
“I’ll look through recent reports, but with that bland description, we will either find a bunch or none,” he states.
“Just let me know what you find.”
I hang up, ending the conversation. Setting the cup down, my eyes glance in the direction of her room, she’s been in there since breakfast which was hours ago. Tucking my phone in my sweats pocket, I go to the guest bedroom and press my fingertips gently on the door to push it open, not wanting her to know I’m peeking in on her. I don’t see her. She’s not sitting on the bed.
Frowning, I push the door open a little bit more and find her in the damn corner again, re-braiding her hair and singing to herself. She’s still wearing my clothes that are way too big for her. Pulling the door almost all the way closed, I rub my face in deep thought. Should I buy her some clothes? Doesn’t she need girl shit?
Turning around, I sit at the counter and pull my phone out. I don’t want to call Leona for help on getting me a few things for her, knowing her, she’ll show up with Chanel and Coach shit, trying to give the girl a makeover.
Exhaustion pulls on my eyelids, the need to sleep making me just want to forget the whole idea and crawl back into bed. Shit, I haven’t had my meds today. Standing, I open a cabinet and take the orange pill bottle out and pop the couple of pills into my palm before tossing them into my mouth. Here’s to feeling numb and questioning everything I do for the next twenty-four hours. Turning the sink on, I lean down and sip some of the running water into my mouth to wash them down. Exhaling, I lean against the fridge and open my contacts. Denise.
Aside from my mother, she’s the only other female that might be able to help me, then again she’ll think this personal call is one of intimacy and not business. She’s been wanting me to contact her outside the Blackwater Estate.
Shit. I don’t know what to fucking do.
The phone rings in my hand, my dad’s name sliding across the screen.
“Fuck,” I mumble before hesitantly answering it. If I don’t, he’ll just show up. I don’t want to see him right now. Last night he knew he’d be pushing me into something I wouldn’t like. He did it on purpose, enjoying seeing me uncomfortable. He’s never liked me, and even with Kieran gone… he’s bound to prove to everyone I’m too weak for the job.
“My boy, how is your new gift doing today?” He laughs into the phone.
“I let her go,” I tell him. Something tells me this isn’t the first time he’s made a trade with a human person, and if he knows I still have her… fuck knows what he’ll do.
“You what?” His maniacal chuckle ends abruptly, his voice serious.
“You heard me, I let her go. I don’t want anything to do with that side of business,” I clip, the urge to tell him I’m done on the tip of my tongue. But one battle at a time, right now I need to deal with the girl.
“Do you know what she cost me?” he scorns in disgust.
It makes the pancakes from earlier want to hurl up my throat. How is this man my father? It goes to show why I’m so nervous about having her in my house. If my father’s DNA is anything to go off of, she’s not any safer here with me.
“I gotta go, I got shit to do today.” I ignore his threatening tone and hang up. Going back into my living room where the laptop sits. I open it up and Google women’s clothing, a bunch of shit pops up on Amazon.
I click on some gray women’s sweats, but it wants a size?
“Fuck, I don’t know,” I mumble. Biting my lip I look at the sizes and the inches it claims to be, Imagining her waist, I click medium. She’s thin, but
