Erased (8 page)

As he walks toward me, a steamy cup of coffee in hand, my eyes fall to his pajama pants, which are slung dangerously low on his hips. The dark spattering of hair just above the hem of his pants has me wanting to drop my blanket and jump him.

He’s so delicious-looking.

His hand extends to offer me the mug, and when I reach for it, my shaky fingers once again lose grip of the blanket. I watch his eyes follow the blanket and then run back up my body to my naked breasts. Under his lust-filled gaze, I should feel embarrassed, but I don’t. Instead, I take the coffee and pull the blanket back up as if I’m not bothered by the fact that he saw me naked.
Again.
An ache deep inside my pelvis begins a seductive throb. My body seems to lose all sense of reality when he’s around.

“Thank you,” I whisper and slowly sip the hot liquid.

For someone who doesn’t know me at all, he made my coffee perfectly—with a little creamer and a sugar. I wonder if Dad told him how I like it.

He waves me off with a growl, as if it’s no big deal, and swiftly turns his back to me. I didn’t miss the way his pants were tented due to a thick erection though.
Yes, very thick.
Ignoring the burn that tears across my body, I watch him walk over to the wall on the other side of the bar and straighten a picture that didn’t need straightening.

The thick muscles in his back go taut as he raises one of his sculpted arms. I can see just a hint of his ass crack above his pajama pants and want nothing more than to shed him of those evil pants. My eyes skitter over a couple of tattoos that are difficult to see from this vantage point, and I narrow them when I see a jagged scar on the lower left side of his back.

I wonder how he got that.

“You should wear more clothes,” he grumbles, his back still turned.

A wicked grin chases away my earlier melancholy features. Jill likes being naked. Especially around Slade.

“You should wear less,” I retort with a giggle.

Today, his demeanor is softer and playful. I can’t help feeling the need to draw more of that out of him. He seems to have composed himself and straightened that dreadfully almost-crooked picture before he faces me. His hard features are gone as he rewards me with one hell of a sexy-ass lopsided grin that effectively melts me right into a puddle of want.

“Cupcake, you’re walking on very thin ice.”

Jill likes living on the wild side.

I DIDN’T SLEEP much last night, so when I hear her footsteps past my door, I get up to see what trouble she is getting into. I grab a couple mugs of coffee and almost laugh when I hear the tinkling notes of “The Itsy Bitsy Spider.” I make my way to the front room and halt, blown away by what I see. My eyes are glued to the perfection sitting on the piano bench before me. I miss the sweetness of her blond hair, but the dark color also gives her an exotic look that is fucking gorgeous. Her long hair is pulled up into a messy bun atop her head, baring her tall, elegant back.

As the music begins to move into a melancholy section of the melody, tension seems to seep from her muscles and she sways to the music. A force pulls me farther into the room, and I set the mugs down on the table nearest the piano but still out of her sight line.

I seize a chair and settle in to listen, my eyes glued to the muscles working in her arms and back. The blanket she’s wearing has fallen to her waist, and I can just barely see the swell of her right breast as her fingers manipulates the keys. Her face isn’t really visible beyond a slight profile, but there is defeat in her posture, the music reflecting her emotions. She is a vision sitting there in all her glory.

When the song picks up once more, her fingers fly across the keys, her posture straightening in determination then softening as it finishes with a romantic flourish. When the last note is done, her countenance is lighter than I’d seen it in the two days she’s been here.

She turns to me when I clap and seeing the sassy tilt of her lips and the mischievous sparkle in those dazzling blue eyes, I’m ready to buy her a concert hall. Anything to see that happiness in her expression. All the effort it had taken to calm myself went out the window when that damn blanket slipped again. Nothing marred her creamy, white skin, and the heavy globes of her breasts were just begging to be lifted in my hands.

After I gave her the steaming cup of coffee, I had to get away from her. My dick was standing at attention and it was too fucking obvious in these pants. I straightened the picture and thought of hairy, bald men to get rid of my boner.

“Cupcake, you’re walking on very thin ice,” I tell her after I’m composed. As I walk back toward her, I can’t help the stupid grin that’s on my face.

A sexy little smirk lifts one side of her lips and she shrugs, the movement causing the blanket to slip even farther, and she pulls it up once again. Shaking my head at her in mock exasperation, I turn to walk back to the kitchen. “I’ll make us some breakfast.”

“What if . . . What if I want to be your breakfast?”

My feet become cemented to the floor and I hear her gasp. Slowly turning around, I see her standing with her hand firmly over her mouth, her eyes wide with shock. That’s it. My very last shred of control snaps, and suddenly I’m in front of her, grabbing the front ends of the blanket and dragging her into my arms. The shock fades from her eyes and as they begin to glaze over with lust, I lower my head and seal my mouth over hers.

Yes. Fucking finally. When I lightly trace my tongue along the seam of her lips, she opens them. There’s all that vanilla and sugar again. She throws her arms around my neck, her body plasters against mine. Pulling her even closer, my hands run down her back, landing on her ass and she lets out another one of those sweet whimpers. I’m done. I’m about to haul her onto the piano bench and bury myself deep inside her when the phone behind the bar begins to ring.

The sound is like a bucket of ice water flowing through my veins, effectively clearing the haze and forcing me back to reality. I can’t do this. We can’t do this. She needs to remember what I truly am.

I lift my head and look down into her heated eyes. I have to do it.

I am an asshole.

“For being such an innocent girl, you sure kiss like a woman,
Jill.
” I take a deep breath and feel my chest rip open as I deliver the final blow. “You could give Niki a run for her money.”

As soon as the words have left my mouth and I see the raw hurt flare in her eyes, I want to call them back, go to the moments before, and make a different choice.

Her eyes are wide as she stares at me. I see the moisture gathering, but just as quickly, the hurt is replaced by rage. She rips herself out of my arms, grabs the blanket we’ve only just noticed has fallen to the floor, and stalks past me. Before I can think, I grab the blanket to keep her from leaving.

“J.”

She pulls away again, but I tighten my grip on the material. I don’t know what I want.

Then she looks back at me for a moment. “You’re an asshole, Derek. Leave me alone.” And with that, she drops the blanket and marches past the bar to the back room.

I stand there holding the damn blanket, listening to her stomp up the stairs, and do everything I can to keep from going after her. I can’t believe I’m swallowing an apology. I don’t apologize for who I am or what I’ve done. You’d have to have a conscience for that. You’d have to have a fucking heart.

There is nothing in this shell but a black soul.

The small puppy is squirming in my arms. I can feel its little bones from having been starved and can’t help but want to take care of it. I’ll just get him in my room and hide him. Then I’ll sneak some food out of the kitchen. It’s not like anybody here pays much attention to a twelve year old kid.

The front of our apartment building looks nondescript. Just another five-story brownstone in Brooklyn. I slip through the back door and breathe a sigh of relief when I find the hallway empty. The halls are often filled with passed-out girls and their customers. No one would guess that it houses working girls all under the “protection” of my uncle. His other jobs use it as a base as well.

I quickly sprint up the stairs and then press my ear to the door of the flat I share with my uncle. I don’t hear anything, so I tuck the puppy into my jacket and slowly crack the door. Empty. Another sigh of relief. I slip inside and noiselessly shut the door, scanning the open living room for signs of life.

Uncle Mick owns the building but he doesn’t put much effort into maintaining it, with the exception of our apartment. He doesn’t skimp on his own luxuries. The furniture is made of expensive leather and black-lacquered wood. There’s a massive television with a full surround system and every gaming system out there. It’s ugly as shit, but I’m not deprived of anything tangible, so what the hell do I care?

I creep back to my room and pull out one of the drawers in my dresser, throwing the expensive clothes on the floor. Using an extra blanket from my bed, I make a little cradle.

After getting the makeshift bed situated in the corner, I return to the kitchen to scrounge up some food. The kitchen is pretty bare, with the exception of empty takeout boxes and dirty dishes scattered about. Uncle Mick likes the expensive lifestyle, but he’s a shitty housekeeper and he doesn’t trust a stranger to come in and clean. Still keeping as quiet as possible, I go through the cupboards and refrigerator looking for anything edible since all we ever eat is carryout or delivery. Success! I come across a jar of olives and a couple of hot dogs.

I’m cutting up the hot dogs into pieces when I hear the front door open. Shit! I grab everything and rush back towards my bedroom.

“Derek!”

I know better than to ignore him, so I freeze and gradually turn to face him.

“What are you doing with all that shit? If you’re hungry, order a pizza. I give you money for a reason.” He walks towards me, his face devoid of telltale signs to clue me in on his mood.

My twelve-year-old body is scrawny, but I straighten up and don’t cower. Showing any fear or weakness will get me another “lesson.”

“I wasn’t sure what you wanted for dinner and I wanted a snack.” I keep my voice level, careful—so careful not to let my fear be heard.

He looks at my stash and rolls his eyes before heading to the kitchen. “The guys are coming over tonight to watch the fight, so I’m going to order some pizza anyway. Throw that shit away.”

My shoulders sag for a moment until I remember to straighten back up. Then I throw the food in the trash and wonder how I’m going to feed the puppy.

I’m heading back to my room when a little yelp sounds through the closed door. I freeze and pray he didn’t hear the sound. But when has God ever come to my aid? I don’t know what I was hoping for, but I certainly didn’t get it.

Uncle Mick heads to my room and opens the door. The little puppy is waiting there, anxious for attention. He stares at it for a moment, glances around the room, sees the little bed I made, then looks back at me.

“What is this?”

“It was starving.”

He’s silent, watching me. My eyes slide to the puppy, and before I can contain myself, I feel an expression of longing cross my face. I quickly school my features, but it wasn’t fast enough and Uncle Mick’s face hardens before he reaches down to pick up the wiggly animal.

“Come with me.” He doesn’t wait for a response. He knows I’ll do as I’m told.

He goes all the way down into the basement, a dark and musty room with a low ceiling and boxes piled up in the corners. There are a couple doors on either side of the room connecting it to the basements of the neighboring buildings. These rooms were built as bomb shelters, but Uncle Mick makes use of the connecting doors to hide stuff when the cops come around.

He calmly walks over to one of the large utility sinks, fills a bowl with water, and sets it down for the puppy to drink from. I start to wonder if he’s actually going to let me keep him. Hope rises in my chest and I almost let out words of thanks. But my mouth snaps shut when Uncle Mick whirls from the sink and points his pistol at my head.