Page 4 of Protecting Charity

When I told him I dumped Morgan in a dark warehouse with fresh track marks all over her arms, Tom Macaney’s number in her pocket and phone, he blew through the roof.

The man he had strapped to the chair lost his head in Luca’s rage—I thought heads would roll was a metaphor. When he turned around, you couldn’t see his olive skin underneath the brilliant crimson blood smeared over his hands. It was as if I was looking at someone else. He had let go of his control and obliterated the man before him. It terrified me to think of what could have happened had that man not been there for him to take his anger out on.

Would he have hurt me? I shudder to think.

Then, there were Nico and Max… for some pitiful reason, I thought they would back me. When they showed up, I imagined them helping me and telling Luca off like I had for the past two days, but no, they sided with him instead. No loyalty from them was like a knife to the gut… again.

They didn’t believe me. Since when had I ever lied to them? Everything I did was to protect them or someone within the family. I didn’t kill people all willy-nilly. There were rhyme and reason for my madness.

When Luca threw me in my prison, I swam with unmistakable fear for the first time in a while. Of course, I always had the probability of losing my life and, in turn, my brother’s, but this was different. I had a serious possibility of destroying everything I had worked to protect. If I’d known that Luca would have reacted so severely, I never would have gone through with it, or at least I would have made a quick phone call.

Everything had just lined up so perfectly. She was there, displaced from the fire, and as erratic as ever. When I saw her in the crack house, ready to slice a woman’s throat clean open for no apparent reason, I realized she was a ticking time bomb.

She had drifted out of an underground bar, high on something, and belligerent as hell. When she struck a bouncer in the nuts, I followed her to the warehouse she had run off to. It seemed like the right thing to do. I guess I couldn't have been more wrong, but I couldn't have the police out there looking for a girl with my description. Dad said it before—she looked just like me.Shebeing me in the video of my stupid-ass walking out of the motel room after killing Tom.

I ran my fingers over the sunken muscle that held my fresh scar. So maybe being locked in the room with Luca wasn’t the first time I experienced outright fear of losing it all. I had more to lose lying on the table bleeding to death with all three guys looking over me, wondering if I’d ever see them again.

As far as my theory with Luca, the results were inconclusive yet but were coming out in my favor. Luca had feelings, like Giovanni said, and I got closer to believing it every day. If he didn’t, it wouldn’t have mattered who I was—he would have killed me without hesitation.

My phone shrilled from the counter, interrupting heavy thoughts I could do without. “Hi,” water dripped down my frame as I held the phone to my ear.

“Where in the world have you been? You’ve had me worried sick.”

“Sorry, Mom. I was tied up.”

He didn’t have me literally tied, but he sure wanted to. He threatened to ‘tie me up and turn my ass pink.’ I’d be lying if that didn’t make me want to go out and misbehave again. The tension between us was so thick you could suffocate on it.

“Well, you could have called or sent a text.”

“What’s up, Mom?” I’ll be damned if I’m going to stand here naked, soaking my floor from my interrupted shower, and listen to her reprimand me.

“Your father told me you lost your job.”

I scowled and white-knuckled my phone. “And?”

“I have a friend—”

I mocked. “—Let me stop you right there. I have no desire to have you set something up again. Besides, I have a thing lined up.”

To be honest, I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner. Josh brought it to light on purpose for reasons I still have yet to find out, but rest assured, when I did, I’d make him regret it. There was this thought that took root and wouldn’t let up. Did he do it to throw a wrench between Dad and me? We had a great relationship, and Josh was always jealous of it. That would be right up his alley.

Josh used to pull this crap when we were young kids. There would be times I would watch Dad work on a car or sitting and working on a puzzle together, only for Josh to run to Mom and tell her about a chore I didn’t finish, the homework I put off, or the times I’d snuck out of the house to watch the stars. It was only into the backyard, but even that was forbidden.

“What is it?Pleasetell me it’s not another call center job.”

I ground my teeth. “There is nothing wrong with a call center. How degrading.”

“Oh, please. We all know you can do better than that.”

Do I take that as a compliment from her? It would mean that she saw me as having more potential than I presented. What they didn’t know was that I was well off. If they ever found out the extent of my success and how I got it, she’d have a coronary, and Dad, well, he’d throw my ass in prison and let me wither.

“Yeah. I was pondering a laundromat,” I teased as I drew a heart with an arrow through it through the fog on my mirror.

I heard her muffled shriek come from the other end, and I struggled to repress my laugh. My title should be Queen of Torture. There are so many methods of torture, and it didn’t have to be violent or bloody. Psychological torture was a skill set I learned early on, and it was a particular favorite of mine to use on my mother.

“Real mature, Charity.” The phone clicked before I retorted.

Shrugging, “I thought so,” I said even though she couldn’t hear me.

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