Page 49 of Pen Pal

Sick of his stupid voice, I opened the passenger door and shoved him out, enjoying the sickening thud as he landed on the pavement.

I glared in my rearview mirror as I sped away, sighing with irritation when I saw him move.

He wasn’t dead yet, but he would be.

Taking the next exit, I swerved and returned to my little pen pal. I had to be careful not to call her that while Mark was there. He didn’t know who I was, and I didn’t need him to find out.He could jeopardize her job, and I knew she wouldn’t forgive me if he did.

So I carefully traced my steps, blindfolded him, and dropped him off inside Ashwood city limits so he wouldn’t know where I took him and Amara lived.

I pulled the burner phone from my pocket and dialed my brother. “Ricci,” he replied, his standard greeting.

“It’s done,” I claimed.

He laughed. “What is it with you and this bitch? She’s just some lawyer stuck with your ass as you pile on charges. Are you going for a world record?”

“You got anything on the ex-husband, Alessandro?” I asked.

“Oh yeah,” my brother Alessandro bragged. “He’s got a sleuth of ex-girlfriends willing to put him in prison. Did you know he has a warrant a couple states over for nearly beating a woman to death?”

“Hmm,” I mused. “Wish I had known. I would’ve dropped him off there instead of in his hometown.”

“Next time,” he hinted. “Are you going back?”

“Not quite yet,” I smirked. “I still have a few things to do.”

I eyed the divorce papers I had sticking out of my bag. I pulled up to Amara’s job and parked my car. I stuffed the documents in a manilla envelope, labeled it with Amara’s divorce lawyer’s name, and slid them under the door.

Then I got back in the car, circling behind her house, gazing through her bedroom window. The glow of the nightstand light was still there through the curtains.

“Is it love?” Alessandro blurted.

“What?” I snapped, his voice pulling me from my focus on Amara.

“Do you even know what it is?” my brother laughed.

“Sure I do,” I grunted, rolling my eyes at the concept. Alessandro was much older than my sister and me, so he never had to suffer through the foster system like we did. But when we were placed, he was only eighteen and deemed unfit to raise us. “It’s abusing those you care about. That’s what fuckers like these do. So no, I can’t love her.”

“You poor bastard,” Alessandro tsked. “I wish they’d let me take you two in. Maybe then you wouldn’t be so fucked up.”

“Sofia got her husband and her family. She got the happy ending. It’s not in the cards for me.”

Alessandro sighed. “Maybe this girl’s as close to paradise as you’ll get.”

“She is,” I agreed, stepping out of the car and shutting the door behind me. “And I’m never letting her go.”

I ended the call, my shoes squelching in the grass as it began to rain. I ducked inside Amara’s house, gently closed the door behind me, and took the stairs two at a time.

Amara was fast asleep, still cuffed to her bedpost. I smiled, taking the keys and uncuffing her, and her arms fell limply above her head. I curled my arms under her shoulders, dragging her up her bed, resting her head on her pillows. She mumbled, turning to her side as she snuggled into her bedding. I peeled the sheets back and laid them on her, admiring her peaceful expression.

I sighed, turning to the blood Mark left on her floor. I didn’t want him to lie and get her in trouble, so I had to clean up.

So I went to work. I didn’t stop until every trace of him was gone from her house, and only then did I allow myself the pleasure of crawling in bed with her. I kissed her, holding her as she leaned into me, succumbing to slumber.

18

Amara

Friday night turned into Saturday morning, and by the time I woke up, Enzo was gone. Whether he went back to prison or not, I wasn’t sure. I yawned, stretching my arms, and crawled out of bed. A letter sat on my nightstand, his distinct handwriting scrawled across the page.

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