Shit. Poppy.
“He killed her, so I killed him. Simple.” I stare at the family portrait hanging on the wall. “I came down to see he had already killed her. He didn’t think I could do it.” I shrug. “So I did.”
The smell of Cuban smoke wraps around me, and I shuffle to the side to watch him. He doesn’t look familiar.
“You can take me to jail, but can you please make sure Poppy goes to a good home?”
His eyes come to mine and I follow the mustache that curls around the corners of his lips. “You’re not going to prison, son.” He stands to his feet. “Get up, get your sister, and pack some bags. You’re coming with me.”
“What?” I look up at him again but follow his command. Anything he wants, I do. There’s an air of authority that hangs over him, and I know I have to take him seriously.
“I don’t like to repeat myself, son. Go get your sister, and I’ll meet you both outside.”
Poppy doesn’t pack much even though I tell her to. I break the news to her and hold her as she cries all of her tears into my chest. It’s an hour later that I finally manage to drag her downstairs.
He’s already waiting outside a black SUV, that same cigar burning bright orange in the dark night.
“In the car.”
“How do I know you’re not going to hurt us?”
The man turns over his shoulder and the dimple on his cheek sinks in. “You don’t, but I’m all you’ve got.” He has a point. Opening the back door, I push Poppy in gently, shutting the door once we are inside. He pulls us away from the curb and every now and then, our eyes meet in the rearview mirror.
“Where are you taking us?” I ask when I notice he drives us onto the highway, the one that heads out of town.
“To my house.”
“What? What about my parents?” I could have just directed Poppy into a bad situation. Why haven’t I called the cops? Wait… the cops are here.
“They’re gone, son. I’m not here to be your friend. I’m here to help you both because, well, shit, I don’t know why.”
“You do,” I say, studying the way the corner of his eyes crinkle as if reliving a memory. “You do know why you saved us.”
His hazel eyes meet mine. “Yes. I guess I do.”
After a few minutes, when I know he’s not going to elaborate further, I add, “So do you usually take in strays?” As soon as the words leave my mouth, he pulls us into a long cobblestone driveway. The entry is lit with two lanterns sitting on high posts, and at the end of the drive is a little tower where a man is parked inside, pushing the button to let his car through.
He pushes the button near his steering wheel, turning in his chair to face me. “Never. But let me lay down some rules to you both being here. One, stay away from my daughter.” Tsk. I don’t bother telling him that I’m not interested. He continues. “And two? I’m never your enemy.” He pushes open his driver’s side door and I shuffle out the back, tucking Poppy beneath my arm. I don’t know what the fuck is happening, but right now all I care about is keeping Poppy safe, and to keep Poppy safe, I need time to think. Worst-case scenario, I’d go to prison. I could live with that knowing that that piece of shit can’t touch her.
Stairs lead to twin doors, and little lantern lights leading the way give a warm entrance into what I’m guessing is probably an equally warm home. I can already hear laughter flowing from the kitchen. I don’t know what I expected when he said he was taking us to his home, but this isn’t it.
The front door opens, and a woman stands on the other side holding a spatula in one hand. Her blonde hair is up in a tight knot on the top of her head, where a white bandana ties to the front. She’s in loose jeans and a blouse slightly unbuttoned at the front, and fuck, but she’s beautiful. Her skin glows against the setting sun behind us, and when her wide hazel eyes meet mine, I feel it in my gut.
“Where’s your mother?” the cop asks, tucking her beneath his arm and kissing her on her head.
She looks between her—I’m guessing father—and me. “Um, she’s in the kitchen. Papa, what?” I realize I still don’t even know his name, but he looks down at me and smiles.
“Don’t you worry about that. How about you go show them the guest rooms so I can handle your mother, and then you can all come down for dinner.” The girl’s cheeks blush when she gives her dad the spatula, closing the door behind us.
“Sure.” She flashes him a wide grin as he disappears through the foyer. I squeeze Poppy tighter beneath my arm. We must look a fucking mess. Blood still clings to my clothes, and I know that if I look down at Pop, she’ll be wearing a blank expression.
“I’m Ruby…” The girl waves her hand in front of herself awkwardly. When I ignore her, she turns slightly. “Okay, anyway, follow me and I’ll show you where you’re both staying.” The house smells like caramel salted popcorn. Music floats through the space as we follow her up the wooden stairs. Family portraits hang on the walls, but nothing like where we just came from. Where the mother we were used to seeing had sadness in her eyes, Ruby’s sparkle with love as she looks up at—
“—What’s your dad’s name?” I ask as we hit the top.
She cusses under her breath as if she isn’t surprised her father left out an important detail. “Victor La Rosa.”
I continue to follow her down the long hallway, passing multiple doors that are closed. An opened one catches my eye and I pause, glancing inside briefly. Walls painted yellow with white cornices and posters hanging on the walls. More music pours out of her room—something unfamiliar. Never heard it.
Her little face fills the space instantly, the door shutting off my view to her room. I look down at her, watching as her pouty lips disappear when she curls them beneath her teeth.
Shit.
Why does she have to be so cute?
“How old are you?” I tilt my head to the side. It isn’t intentional, but when her cheeks flush and she ducks out of my space, I’m thinking she maybe thought it was. She’s shy.
Ruby La Rosa…
“Seventeen.” Same age as me. Worked. Don’t feel like a complete fucking creep perving on her. But she’s way too fucking shy for the girls I know around her age.
She widens the door beside her room and gestures inside. “It might be a tight fit for both of you on that bed, but it’s comfortable.”
My eyes narrow, and when hers swing back onto mine, I realize what she is implying.
“She’s my sister.”
“Oh.” Her brows hit her hairline. “Well, then she can sleep in here and you can have the room opposite.”
I shake my head. “I’ll take the floor in her room.”
“Okay.” Ruby runs her hands down her arms. She has a small body. I’d crush her if I touched her. “Well, I’ll get some clothes for her to wear and leave you both to—” She waves her hand up and down my body. “Wash up.” She quickly scatters off, leaving me thinking who the fuck Victor La Rosa is, and why the hell would he allow someone like me into his house where he keeps someone like her.
The room is larger than mine at our house and has its own bathroom. We aren’t this kind of rich, but we have money.