Target on Our Backs
Page 13
"And why's that?" Genova asks. "Decided to go straight? Get a life? Get a real job?"
They laugh at that, laughing at my expense.
"Or maybe you're retiring," Genova continues. "Next thing you know, you're wearing penny loafers and got a house down in Boca Raton. Is that what you're going for?"
I say nothing.
I take the ridicule.
He thinks he can break me with it, bend me to his will, get me to do what he wants me to do.
I won't do it.
By the time the meeting finally concludes, it's pitch black outside, darkness long ago setting in. Genova waves me away from the table, sneering. "Get out of my face, Vitale. Think about it. Come back when you finally come to your senses."
The same guy from earlier shows me to the door, the armed soldiers trailing behind us, not a single man at ease.
I guess my reputation precedes me.
It isn't until I'm in my car and driving down the street, away from that house, somehow still breathing, that I allow myself to sigh with relief.
It always pays to be worth more than you take.
I may have denied him tonight, but Genova isn't done.
He won't give up.
When I get home much later, the house is still lit, even though it's nearing midnight. I head straight for the den, finding Karissa fast asleep on the couch. Schoolwork is scattered all around her. I told her not to wait up for me, but she was never very good at listening.
It would've been a long night for her had I not made it out of that house alive.
Kicking off my shoes, I grab her legs, picking them up so I can slip beneath them, sitting down on the end of the couch. She stirs from the movement, eyes opening. Blinking rapidly, she looks my way, a sleepy smile overcoming her face. She shifts onto her back as I place her legs back down, her feet right in my lap.
"You're home," she says, her voice gritty from sleep.
"I am," I say, running my hands along the tops of her feet before my thumbs graze the soles. She squirms, like she's about to yank her feet away, when I start massaging one of them. That stalls her, her toes curling as she lets out a sigh.
She likes it when I do this.
I learned that back in Italy.
It's quiet, except for the sound of the television she'd left on when she passed out. Food Network, as usual. She still spends her free time studying that nonsense.
"Really?" she says after a while, an incredulous note to her voice. "Of all things? Hotline Bling?"
"We're going to talk about this again?"
"Of course. I mean, I just expected if you ever got down with any music, it would be something else… something like, I don't know… Frank Sinatra?"
"How stereotypical." I shoot her a look. "Maybe I should've chosen the Godfather theme."
"Yes!"
I shake my head, continuing to rub her feet. "I just wanted something different."
Something that didn't make me think about that time of my life.
Something that didn't remind me of working for Ray, of being that man, every time my phone rang. Karissa loves music. The way she describes it, it's almost like it owns a piece of her soul.
Part of me wanted to know what that felt like.
Wanted to know if I had it in me to by that kind of person.
To feel that kind of thing.
"So you went with Drake?"
Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my phone and toss it to her. It lands right on her chest, and she huffs as she picks it up.
"Find me something else," I say. "But so help me God, Karissa, if you choose that Bieber twit…"
"Ugh, gross." She grimaces. "I would never."
She browses music as I continue to rub her feet.
It only takes a minute before a loud ruckus breaks the silence, high-pitched piano notes mingling with what sounds like kids shouting over a drum beat. It's obnoxious. Karissa tosses my phone back, and it bounces off my lap, hitting the floor.
Instinct takes over, and I almost step on it.
I almost stomp on the fucking thing just to get it to be quiet.
"What is that?" I ask, reaching down and snatching it up, pressing the button on the side to silence it right away.
"One Direction," she says.
"Seriously?" I shove her feet off of my lap. "That's even worse!"
She gasps as she sits up, grabbing her chest. "No way! Take it back!"
"Please stop."
"You're crazy! One Direction is the greatest band to ever grace the stage!"
"You're being ridiculous."
"They're utterly brilliant, the best thing to ever come out of the UK," she says, grabbing ahold of me when I try to stand up. Before I can move, she pushes herself across the couch and climbs into my lap, straddling me. "Rolling Stones, what? Beatles, who?"
My hands find their way to her hips, holding onto her, as I stare at her pointedly. "You're embarrassing yourself, Karissa."
She laughs, like I'm not being dead serious, and presses her lips to mine before I can say anything else. She kisses me passionately, deeply, tongue gliding out and meeting mine. After the night I've had, it's a welcome change. I couldn't think of a better distraction. She hums against my lips as my hands move from her hips, sliding around the curve of her ass. I groan when she shifts in my lap, rubbing herself right against my crotch. It doesn't take much, just a warm brush against my cock for it to stir, standing right at attention for her.
I shift my hips up, slowly grinding against her, eliciting a gasp from her as she breaks the kiss. My lips trail down her jawline, making their way to her neck, as she whispers something.
Something I don't quite hear.
"What was that?" I ask, my teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below her ear.
She repeats herself again, and again, her voice breathy, almost melodic. It takes a moment before the words strike me, for me to realize what she's doing.
She's singing the fucking song my phone was just playing.
"That'll be about enough of that," I say, grabbing her hips and shifting her right off of me, back onto the couch, as I get to my feet. She tries to cling to me, laughing, but I peel her off and walk away.
"Wait, where are you going?" she asks, turning to watch me.
"To take a shower."
"But your, uh, situation," she says, motioning right toward the crotch of my pants. "Don't you wanna take care of that first?"
"I'll handle it myself."
I walk out, and all I hear is laughter… loud, carefree laughter. Shaking my head, I can't help the smile that fights to break free. It's completely ridiculous. It's probably the most absurd few minutes of my life. But the sound of her laughter, of her happiness, does to me something nothing else can.
It cuts straight through my darkness.
With her, I almost feel light.
I head upstairs and strip out of my suit as soon as I reach the bathroom. I don't bother to turn the light on, navigating it in the darkness. A small nightlight is plugged in above the sink. It's really all I need. My eyes fix on my reflection in the mirror as the water warms up for my shower.
I'm not sure if it's just my perception, but I look older than my thirty-eight years.
I certainly feel older, too.
They laugh at that, laughing at my expense.
"Or maybe you're retiring," Genova continues. "Next thing you know, you're wearing penny loafers and got a house down in Boca Raton. Is that what you're going for?"
I say nothing.
I take the ridicule.
He thinks he can break me with it, bend me to his will, get me to do what he wants me to do.
I won't do it.
By the time the meeting finally concludes, it's pitch black outside, darkness long ago setting in. Genova waves me away from the table, sneering. "Get out of my face, Vitale. Think about it. Come back when you finally come to your senses."
The same guy from earlier shows me to the door, the armed soldiers trailing behind us, not a single man at ease.
I guess my reputation precedes me.
It isn't until I'm in my car and driving down the street, away from that house, somehow still breathing, that I allow myself to sigh with relief.
It always pays to be worth more than you take.
I may have denied him tonight, but Genova isn't done.
He won't give up.
When I get home much later, the house is still lit, even though it's nearing midnight. I head straight for the den, finding Karissa fast asleep on the couch. Schoolwork is scattered all around her. I told her not to wait up for me, but she was never very good at listening.
It would've been a long night for her had I not made it out of that house alive.
Kicking off my shoes, I grab her legs, picking them up so I can slip beneath them, sitting down on the end of the couch. She stirs from the movement, eyes opening. Blinking rapidly, she looks my way, a sleepy smile overcoming her face. She shifts onto her back as I place her legs back down, her feet right in my lap.
"You're home," she says, her voice gritty from sleep.
"I am," I say, running my hands along the tops of her feet before my thumbs graze the soles. She squirms, like she's about to yank her feet away, when I start massaging one of them. That stalls her, her toes curling as she lets out a sigh.
She likes it when I do this.
I learned that back in Italy.
It's quiet, except for the sound of the television she'd left on when she passed out. Food Network, as usual. She still spends her free time studying that nonsense.
"Really?" she says after a while, an incredulous note to her voice. "Of all things? Hotline Bling?"
"We're going to talk about this again?"
"Of course. I mean, I just expected if you ever got down with any music, it would be something else… something like, I don't know… Frank Sinatra?"
"How stereotypical." I shoot her a look. "Maybe I should've chosen the Godfather theme."
"Yes!"
I shake my head, continuing to rub her feet. "I just wanted something different."
Something that didn't make me think about that time of my life.
Something that didn't remind me of working for Ray, of being that man, every time my phone rang. Karissa loves music. The way she describes it, it's almost like it owns a piece of her soul.
Part of me wanted to know what that felt like.
Wanted to know if I had it in me to by that kind of person.
To feel that kind of thing.
"So you went with Drake?"
Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my phone and toss it to her. It lands right on her chest, and she huffs as she picks it up.
"Find me something else," I say. "But so help me God, Karissa, if you choose that Bieber twit…"
"Ugh, gross." She grimaces. "I would never."
She browses music as I continue to rub her feet.
It only takes a minute before a loud ruckus breaks the silence, high-pitched piano notes mingling with what sounds like kids shouting over a drum beat. It's obnoxious. Karissa tosses my phone back, and it bounces off my lap, hitting the floor.
Instinct takes over, and I almost step on it.
I almost stomp on the fucking thing just to get it to be quiet.
"What is that?" I ask, reaching down and snatching it up, pressing the button on the side to silence it right away.
"One Direction," she says.
"Seriously?" I shove her feet off of my lap. "That's even worse!"
She gasps as she sits up, grabbing her chest. "No way! Take it back!"
"Please stop."
"You're crazy! One Direction is the greatest band to ever grace the stage!"
"You're being ridiculous."
"They're utterly brilliant, the best thing to ever come out of the UK," she says, grabbing ahold of me when I try to stand up. Before I can move, she pushes herself across the couch and climbs into my lap, straddling me. "Rolling Stones, what? Beatles, who?"
My hands find their way to her hips, holding onto her, as I stare at her pointedly. "You're embarrassing yourself, Karissa."
She laughs, like I'm not being dead serious, and presses her lips to mine before I can say anything else. She kisses me passionately, deeply, tongue gliding out and meeting mine. After the night I've had, it's a welcome change. I couldn't think of a better distraction. She hums against my lips as my hands move from her hips, sliding around the curve of her ass. I groan when she shifts in my lap, rubbing herself right against my crotch. It doesn't take much, just a warm brush against my cock for it to stir, standing right at attention for her.
I shift my hips up, slowly grinding against her, eliciting a gasp from her as she breaks the kiss. My lips trail down her jawline, making their way to her neck, as she whispers something.
Something I don't quite hear.
"What was that?" I ask, my teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below her ear.
She repeats herself again, and again, her voice breathy, almost melodic. It takes a moment before the words strike me, for me to realize what she's doing.
She's singing the fucking song my phone was just playing.
"That'll be about enough of that," I say, grabbing her hips and shifting her right off of me, back onto the couch, as I get to my feet. She tries to cling to me, laughing, but I peel her off and walk away.
"Wait, where are you going?" she asks, turning to watch me.
"To take a shower."
"But your, uh, situation," she says, motioning right toward the crotch of my pants. "Don't you wanna take care of that first?"
"I'll handle it myself."
I walk out, and all I hear is laughter… loud, carefree laughter. Shaking my head, I can't help the smile that fights to break free. It's completely ridiculous. It's probably the most absurd few minutes of my life. But the sound of her laughter, of her happiness, does to me something nothing else can.
It cuts straight through my darkness.
With her, I almost feel light.
I head upstairs and strip out of my suit as soon as I reach the bathroom. I don't bother to turn the light on, navigating it in the darkness. A small nightlight is plugged in above the sink. It's really all I need. My eyes fix on my reflection in the mirror as the water warms up for my shower.
I'm not sure if it's just my perception, but I look older than my thirty-eight years.
I certainly feel older, too.
