Home > Wicked(9)

Wicked(9)
Author: Amo Jones

The high black wired gates part when it senses my car coming and I pull in to the side of the house, right behind Wicked’s bike.

I turn off my car and open the door, letting Poppy out of the back. “I’m so hungry.”

“Well, we will go make you something to eat.”

She lets me pick her up out of the car and lead her to the front door. The house is quiet. Even when my parents are home, it’s like this. Dead inside. I was basically raised by the soldiers more than my parents. I was never upset about it, but now I guess I’d have to get used to having Wicked and Poppy here too.

Pushing open the front door, I lead her through the white and black marble foyer where the grand staircase leads to upstairs, and through to the kitchen. My mom designed this home and it was built before I was born, but along the way, they managed to keep things updated. It was the first thing she got to do as her hobby when she and Papa got together.

I pull out a barstool and place her down before flicking on the heating throughout the house.

“Okay,” I say, coming back in. “What do you feel like? We can order Uber Eats, or I can cook you something, but I have to admit, I’m not good at it.”

Poppy leans her face on the palm of her hand, staring at me from weak eyelids. At this rate, she won’t even last long enough to wait for either.

“Uber it is.” I pull my phone out and open up the app, clicking through the orders. I choose Shake Shack because, honestly, is there anywhere better, before placing my phone back onto the counter.

“You made it…” his voice drifts through the archway that leads to the dining room, and my shoulders stand back a little as I look up at him. He’s wearing loose gray sweats and nothing else. I force myself to not gawk at his body before nodding.

“Yep. I just ordered takeout.” I push off the counter and make my way to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water. When I close it, I realize how close I am to him.

He steps closer, the distance between us painfully tight. Closing my eyes, I slowly blow out my breath between my lips while raising the bottle to my mouth. When my eyes open again, he’s standing in front of me.

“You wanna know anything about us, you ask me—not her.” I turn my head to the side to check on Poppy when I see her lying on her arm, her mouth slightly open and her eyes shut. She fell asleep. I’m not surprised.

Warm fingers are around my chin, forcing my face back to his. “You hear me?”

My veins fill with lava when our eyes connect once again. “Can you tell me?” It comes out as a whisper, but he’s so close I know that I don’t have to repeat myself.

“Mmm,” he lets out a little grunt that has a direct line to every single thing that feels good inside of me. “Yeah, I just might.”

His lips look soft, like a perfect bow that dips at the top before slightly swelling out. The sharp edges of his jaw tease me and I have to force my hands down to not run my finger over them. “Why do I feel like I’ve known you both all of my life?”

Wicked shakes his head slightly, stepping even further into my space. His bare chest brushes my cleavage and my heart slams against my ribcage.

“Maybe because we have.”

As soon as he releases my chin, the trance that we were both locked in explodes around us and I’m back in the now. An ache forms deep in my belly and I rest my hand around my chin as if to replace his. It’s not quite the same.

Pulling Poppy up with one hand, he moves across to the archway. “Night, Ruby.” I wait until they’ve both disappeared up the stairs before I can finally breathe again. Pulling out a barstool, I sink down and run my fingers through my hair.

When I was old enough to understand what my father did and who my family was, I swore to myself that I wouldn’t willingly get with anyone in the mafia. I saw what it did to my mother, my aunts, and knew I never wanted that life, but I also knew what it felt like. I have been living with it all of my life, and if I could get out, I would. But even with that, I have been around attractive people all of my life, and I don’t just mean appearance. I swore I wouldn’t dabble within the business, or even at school. I pictured myself getting into Harvard and graduating with a bachelor’s in art and architecture. I wanted to open my own studio and paint and draw and listen to music all day while designing homes. I wanted to marry an accountant and enjoy the white picket fence lifestyle with the basic husband.

I wanted us to be happy.

Obviously, it was all a dream so far out of reach that I knew it wasn’t attainable in this lifetime.

Men have never fazed me.

Until now.

After waiting for the Uber, I grab the bag of grease from Oscar and someone I don’t recognize near the front door.

“Ruby, this is Val.” Oscar gestures to the man standing beside him. He’s not much older than me. This isn’t an uncommon thing. Papa generally has the younger guys on tap. He says they’re more disposable. Cold-hearted prick.

“Hi…” I open the bag. “You guys hungry?”

“We’re good.” Val smiles at me with his eyes.

“Mmhmm. You and I are going to be great friends, Val.” Making my way through the lounge, I shuffle the bag of food onto one arm and reach between my boobs for my phone. Eleven-thirty. “Man. I’m getting old.” Leaving the bag on the coffee table, I reach for a bottle of Don Julio before scooping it back up and tiptoeing down the long hallway, passing Papa’s office. I step backward, pressing the door slightly, but it doesn’t open. No surprise. Papa and his secrets. I continue down until the end, looking between the door to the cinema or the door to the garage.

I press the door to the garage open. Noticing the dim light above is already on, I kick the door closed behind me and pause when I look up to see Wicked leaning on his bike.

Sighing, I take the steps down and fall onto the bottom one, popping open the bottle of tequila.

“Really? That party wasn’t enough for you?”

“First of all…” I say, raising my finger while wrapping my lips around the tip. “I didn’t get to drink because of Poppy. And second?” I lean back on my elbow, taking another swig. “I’d rather drink at home.” When he starts moving toward me, my legs slam closed. Which is ridiculous because it’s not like they were open anyway.

He passes the Lamborghini, my Aston, and the Rolls, before stopping directly in front of me. My eyes travel up from his boots, past his bare chest and strong abs, and up past the veins on his neck before resting on his eyes.

He swipes the bottom of his thumb against the curve of his lip. “There a reason why you’re in the garage?”

I slowly lift the bottle to my lips, flashing my lashes up at him from below. “No. You?”

“Jesus fuck.” He leans down, snatching the bottle out of my hand. I think he’s about to toss a just-opened bottle of Don to the side when he stares down at me while tipping his head back slightly to take a drink.

I shuffle to the side for him and he falls down beside me, but a step up. “Do you know why Papa wants you yet?”

He shuffles his legs, and one comes painfully close to mine. I hold my breath before turning slightly to grab the bottle from him. Our eyes collide and everything around me fades to the back of my mind. “No, I don’t.” His tongue slides over his bottom lip. “Do you?”

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