49

Calvin

It’s the click of Cataline’s closing door that jars me from staring at the floor where she just was. Anger riots through me for allowing her to drive me to the edge. I wanted to be better. But I’m still her own personal brand of fear, the creator of the demons inside her, the shadow blocking any light. I lost control, and she got the confirmation she was looking for: I can’t be anything other than this. Do I love her? I don’t know what else to call this way she’s consumed me.

Before I know it, my fist is through the wall, my face burning as I overturn the table. Food, pitchers, dishes clatter to the ground. Fuck all of this. Fuck my parents for putting this life on me. Fuck Cataline for not being able to protect herself from me. Fuck me for not being good enough.

Nerves are unfamiliar to me. After staring hard at Cataline’s door for some minutes, I inhale deeply and rap twice. She makes me wait.

“Come in,” she says eventually.

The room is orange from the flood of late afternoon sunlight. Under the comforter, she’s in bed, curled onto her side. Her heavy lids and dull, red-rimmed eyes tell me she’s been sleeping. She looks at me expectantly, so I clear my throat and close the door behind me.

“You’ve been up here a while,” I say, sitting tentatively on the edge of the bed. “Thought I’d check on you.”

She shrugs. “I’ve been thinking.”

“This whole time?”

“I also took a catnap.”

“Catnap?” I repeat.

She raises her eyebrows and smiles. “You’ve never heard of a catnap?”

I shake my head.

“It’s just a nap but quicker, I guess.”

“I see. A nap for pussycat.”

“No,” she says, smiling wider. “It’s just catnap. No pussy.”

“Is there such a thing as a pussynap?”

She giggles and hides her face under the covers.

“I, for one, think it’s a great idea,” I say.

She peers over the blanket, and I can see by her eyes that she’s still smiling. “I’m sure you do.”

I take the comforter from her hands and slide it over her bare shoulder. “Just out of curiosity, are these catnaps done naked?” I run my fingers over her skin, watching the trail of bumps they leave behind.

“Sometimes,” she says.

“And this time? Do I have your permission to find out?”

“Do you need it?”

“No. I’d like it, though.”

She swallows and nods, so I slip my hand just under the covers and take her soft breast in my hand. It fits perfectly into my palm, and when I squeeze, she moans softly.

“Just one touch, and I’m hard. Nobody else does what you do to me.”

“Calvin,” she whispers. I pinch her nipple, and she bites her lip. “You can move it lower.”

I want to. But this morning is fresh in my mind, so I release her reluctantly. “I didn’t come in here to feel you up. I actually came to invite you somewhere tonight.”

She pulls the cover back over her shoulder. “Oh. Where?”

“I’m on the Board of Directors for an organization that focuses on fighting poverty in the city. We implement programs in the East Side to develop services for families in need.”

“The East Side is in such bad shape.”

“I know. Trust me, I know. That’s why they need us.”

She sits up against the headboard, clutching the comforter to her.

“It’s formal attire,” I tell her, “but you should have plenty to choose from.”

She looks down at a spot between us and tucks hair behind her ear. “Are you ordering me to go?”

“What?”

“Do I have to?”

“No. I meant what I said. You’re not my prisoner anymore.”

“Why would I go?”

“Because I want you there.”

The hair falls back into her eyes when she nods. “Okay.”

I reach out and run my finger under her jaw. “We leave in two hours. I’ll send Rosa in to help you get ready.”

I’m thankful that she’s willingly agreed to accompany me. Cataline will be the first guest I’ve ever brought to a function, although she won’t be the first I leave with. I’ve found that the graver the charity these functions benefit, the easier it is to find women. Somehow, that seems inconsequential now, as though it were a lifetime ago.

That evening, I wait for her downstairs, pulling at the bowtie that strangles me. When she reaches the top of the staircase, I’m certain I’ve never felt anything like this. For so long I’ve watched her, but I have yet to see her this way. She’s dressed to perfection with no trace of the little girl I met sixteen years ago. She’s an adult, striking and confident. Her dark crimson dress is the color of ripe blood and that she chose it isn’t lost on me. It reminds me of holding Riviera’s still-beating heart in my fist, his life dripping over my knuckles in red rivulets. For her, I pulled that heart out, and just to know she’s safe, I’d do it again.

Her bare shoulders and chest beg for my hands, but I shove them in my pockets. Her breasts are pushed up and plump. I want to slide my dick between them and come all over her long, slender neck. I blow out a breath as she descends the stairs and try to find a spot where I don’t see the slit traveling up her thigh or the slight bouncing of her tits. She’s incredibly stunning. I think about how nothing will stop me from getting my hands on her later until I reach her steely eyes.

“Calvin?”

I blink slowly. “Yeah?”

She’s standing a foot from me now, her head inclined toward her shoulder. “Are you just going to stare at me, or should we go?”

“You look . . .”

Her cheeks tint pink as I grasp for the right word. “Beautiful” doesn’t begin to describe the creature in front of me with a pound of dark hair piled on her head and eyes rimmed in charcoal.

“You look nice too,” she says. She leans in, and I’m sure my cock will break right through my pants if she touches me, but she reaches behind me to take something from the foyer’s table. “You forgot your glasses.”

I’m rigidly still as she takes two tiny steps into my body, infiltrating my space with a fresh scent that seems to scrub away everything bad inside me. She lifts both hands and slides the glasses on my face. After adjusting them, she steps back again, leaving me in her dissipating cloud. “There. Now you’re ready.”

Ready. What she means is that I’m back in one of my disguises, a person she can catalogue in her mind as good or bad. I still haven’t figured out which version she thinks I am now, though. I’m not sure I know myself.

When we walk through the doors of the event, Cataline can’t hear the low whistle of one man or see the way he nudges his friend and nods in her direction. But I can. What he doesn’t know is that her date can snap his neck without batting an eye. “Stay close to me tonight,” I say.

“You’d tell me if there were danger, right?” she asks. “Please, Calvin, don’t keep me in the dark anymore.”

“There’s no danger,” I reassure her. “But I want you close anyway.”

“Are you afraid I’ll say something I shouldn’t?”

“I wouldn’t have invited you if that were the case. However, I’d advise you to be careful. I’m trusting you.” Her fingers compress around my bicep as she nods. “What’s your poison?” I ask.

She scans the room up to the second floor balcony and over the crown molding along the ceiling. “They’re even richer than you.”

“Helpful when it comes to charity functions.”

She looks back at me while biting the inside of her bottom lip. “I was never much of a drinker. Can you order for me?”

“Gladly.” I get her a glass of red wine and keep her close as I roam the party and make my presence known. In the wake of this week’s headlines, it’s important as ever to maintain a sense of normalcy. Cataline’s Hero fell days ago, so I haven’t bothered sharing the news with her. When the story broke, not even my own publications could skirt publishing the photos.

Cataline shows me someone new at the party. She’s the woman in the crimson dress: sophisticated, sexy, restrained. Hardly the same girl I kidnapped months ago. I don’t know how to feel about it. Mostly she’s composed, smiling and nodding at the right times, but I note how her fingers curl in and out of little fists. Finally, mid-conversation with two other couples, I still her hand with mine. She blinks up at me as I lace our fingers together. Her mouth opens slightly, and she squeezes my hand. I wonder how it would be to kiss her here, claiming her in front of all these people.