I can’t come.
“Lucian? What’s wrong?” Her fingertips slide down my hairline, and I snap my head away, irritated by the distraction.
Frustrated, I pull out of her and slide the condom off, tossing it to the floor, and furiously pump my dick with my own hand.
Still nothing.
I dip my fingers up inside of her, where the remnants of her climax leaves a warm sticky coating on my skin, and hold it to my nose, breathing in the smell of her pussy.
Nothing.
“Fuck!” Humiliation gets the best of me, the anger swelling inside of me as my cock turns flaccid.
“Do you want me to suck on it?”
“No.” I rest my head in the crook of her neck, and half-heartedly stroke myself in a futile attempt to come. Disappointed, I still against her, giving one last squeeze to the limp flesh in my hands. Through the agony of missed climax, I tuck myself back into my pants and flick the chain beside me, flipping on the light in the closet.
Stray hairs stick out from Amelia’s up-do, the chiffon of her dress crinkled and disheveled. On the floor beside us lies a broken glass jar of some kind of cleaning fluid, the potent scent of which now fills the small closet space. The discarded condom and its wrapper sit in the pool of clear fluid, and I reach down to grab it, tossing both the condom and bits of broken glass into a nearby trash can that sits against the wall.
Once decent again, the two of us exit the closet and return to the party, neither one of us saying a word. As we enter the room, my mother spins away from a group of hens she’s been chatting with since the night began, and her eyes light up.
“Lucian! Your father’s been looking for you!” Her attention falls on Amelia. “And, Amelia, how nice to see you again, my dear. You look lovely in pink. Where have the two of you--” Eyes narrowed, her gaze turns appraising like she’s suddenly noticed the mess of Amelia’s hair. A subtle smile plays on her lips, and she clears her throat, the way she does when something makes her uncomfortable. “Amelia, darling, your father and I were discussing having you stay here at the manor for a few days. Would you like that?”
My blood freezes inside my veins, and I snap my gaze to Amelia, and back to my mother.
“Well, that’s very kind, but …” Amelia stammers, like she’s shy all of a sudden.
“Please. We’d be delighted to have you.” Tipping her head, my mother shoots me the same fake smile she reserves for the wives of my father’s friends. “Wouldn’t we, Lucian?”
Chapter 28
Isadora
Present day …
Duffle bag slung over my shoulder, I slam the passenger door of Kelsey’s old Corolla, and wave as I make my way toward the front door of my house, mentally praying my mother isn’t here.
The slightly cracked door is the first cue that something isn’t right. Although Aunt Midge isn’t one to lock all the doors and windows, like me, she also isn’t so trusting as to leave the front door open for anyone to stroll in.
I step inside, eyeing the blankets strewn in disarray on the couch, where my mother must’ve slept the night before. An ashtray on the coffee table, overflowing with cigarettes, tells me it was a long night. One of a half-dozen beer bottles lies tipped on its side, dripping into a small pool collected below its mouth. A sulfur-like, burnt smell lingers on the air as if they tried to cook while drunk.
Must’ve had a party last night.
The sound of sniveling draws my attention toward the kitchen, and I tip my head just enough to see bare feet sticking out from the end of the counter. “Aunt Midge?”
Dropping my duffle, I hustle toward the feet, and round the counter to find her lying on her side, in the fetal position, her hands tucked into her chest while she sobs.
“Aunt Midge!” Hard tiles hit my knees, when I fall to the floor beside her and help turn her over.
Her eye is swollen like a plum, her lip split and caked in dried blood. When she looks up at me, deep red swirls fill the whites of her bruised eye, like one long, irregular pupil. Body trembling, she tucks her hand closer, but I reach for it, gently pulling it away from her.
Unraveling her fingers sends a shot of nausea to my stomach. Bruised and swollen, almost black, two of them appear to be bent the wrong way, undeniably broken.
“Who did this?” I release her hand and brush away the strands of hair that’re matted to her face by tears and blood. “Was this my mother?” Though she isn’t known to be violent, my mother is desperate for drugs, and stupid, at times.
She shakes her head, eyes shuttering with another sob. “No, it wasn’t your ma.”
At the raspy sound of her voice, I scramble to the cupboard, snatch a glass that I fill with water, and return to her side. Setting my hand to her nape, I help her into a sitting position, cringing when she cries out, and set the glass to her lips. Water trickles from the corner of her mouth as she guzzles the fluids, and at her first cough, I lower the glass.
“We were … sitting. Talking. It was nice, you know? Catching up with her. It got late.” Lip quivering, she stares into her glass. “I was sleeping when they dragged me out of bed. He said he was looking for Tony, your mom’s boyfriend.”
“The drug dealer. Jesus, Aunt Midge.” Threading my fingers through my hair, I cap the irritation and the told you so that’s cocked at the back of my throat. Instead, I busy myself with gathering ice from the freezer, wrapping it up in a cloth, which I set to her broken fingers.
“They kept … punching me. Asking me what I knew. I heard Jenny in the other room. One of ‘em must’ve been burning her ‘cause I could smell it.” Another sob leaves her bent forward, shaking, and I lean in, letting her rest her forehead on my shoulder.
“Where is she now?”
“They took her.” She lifts her head from my shoulder, her nose and cheeks shining with snot and the tracks of tears. So helpless looking and terrified. The sight of her brings tears to my own eyes. “They said … they’re going to kill her.”
I should feel something after hearing this. An urgency, like the one that has my aunt’s eyes widening, in spite of the swelling. I can’t even muster surprise at this point. “If what?”
“If we don’t pay him fifty grand. The fifty grand worth of drugs that asshole took off with.”
My chest turns cold, disgust sinking to the pit of my stomach.
“He’s coming back … in three days to collect it.” The worry in her voice isn’t right for Aunt Midge. No matter what we got into financially, she always had a plan, or faith that it’d all work out. Whoever this guy is, he scared the crap out of her. “He says, if I don’t have it, he’ll kill both Jenny and me.”
“Who? Who’s coming back?”
“His name was Franco. Franco Scar-something. Oh, God, he’s coming back.”
Anger rattles my grinding teeth. “This is … this is why I said. You can’t help her, Aunt Midge. She’s a fucking walking disaster!”
“I didn’t want to see her get hurt, Isa. She’s my sister.”
Cold waves of shock leave my body feeling numb. The logic I’m desperate for, in order to get us out of this mess, is tamped down by the tension squeezing my brain. I tip my head to get her attention. “We have to go to the police. Hear me? We have to report this.”