[ 17. You Are The Father ]

Georgette always gave me shit about my libido, calling me some kind of sex addict. But she'd never seen Hayes in action.

He treated it as some kind of sport—no, an art. It was in every movement, every sound, every angle. The smell, the taste. All of it. Maybe he was just good, or maybe he really was attentive in all the ways he should be. I didn't know. But to be on the receiving end from a guy like Hayes was truly once in a lifetime.

I was on my knees in the middle of the bed with his body flush against my back, his cock driving into me with perfect force. One hand was on my throat, the other on my dick stroking me from base to crown with slick precision. I was crying—actually fucking crying—because he wasn't letting me cum. Hayes blew in my ear alongside little shushes from my whiney pleas of desperation. It just felt so good. Too good.

"Stop, stop," I choked out. "Stop or I'm gonna—"

"Go ahead," he growled in my ear. "Cum for me."

My body obeyed his every word. As soon as he said the words, I was shooting over his hand and onto the bed sheets. An unfamiliar yelp left my mouth as I did so and Hayes picked up his pace with both his hips and his hand, milking me until I was dry. When it was his turn, he pulled out, ripped off the condom, and forced me to kneel down to finish him off.

He came all over my face. I couldn't even complain because it was the hottest thing I'd ever felt. Like I said, he treated it like an art, down to painting my body with his seed and smearing it over my lips for the final touch.

I was still reeling when he plopped down onto the bed and took my chin in one hand. With the other, he swiped his thumb over the spot where his cum had landed between my eyebrows and brought it to my mouth. I didn't even question it when I should have, just parted my lips and sucked it off.

I found his eyes when my tongue was lapping it clean and they were unrecognizable. Dark and heavy and so full of an emotion I couldn't decipher just yet. He leaned in, removing his finger from my mouth, and I closed my eyes in anticipation for the kiss.

But he dodged me at the last second, grabbed a towel from the foot of the bed and tossed it in my lap.

"I'll shower first and then you can take one," he said, clearing his throat and standing to create a distance between us that made me want to grab him and do it all over again.

I just nodded, collapsing onto my back on the bed. He didn't go before binding me to the bed frame for good measure, of course. Not that I could even run after that. I watched him leave the room, listened to the water start, and sighed. There was a feeling in the pit of my stomach that threw me off, one that wasn't appropriate for a time like this.

It wasn't fear, like it should have been. Hayes's guest was gone and, as far as I knew, we had the rest of the day to complete his mission of killing me for money. I should have been shaking in my boots for my imminent death. But I wasn't. I wasn't even thinking about that.

I was thinking about how brutally empty I felt every time he walked away like the sex wasn't amazing. It was ridiculous. What was I expecting? For him to get down on one knee and pop the question? Not to mention, I was a kisser. I loved kissing and to have sex without kissing was a crime in and of itself. It was so impersonal and, fuck. I understood it from Hayes's point of view. There was no reason to have some lovey-dovey, kisses and cuddling, illicit affair with your future victim. I got it. I just really didn't like it.

By the time Hayes got back, I was having a sort of emotional crisis. Just the sight of him put me on edge.

"Come on," he said, nodding toward the bathroom. He freed my wrist and touched my hip on the way, sending heat over my lower stomach. "I'm going to be right here, so don't try anything."

"Couldn't if I wanted to," I muttered. The tile was cool on my feet and the mirror was foggy, distorting my reflection while I stripped off my shirt.

I didn't realize how much I needed a shower until I was under the water. There was dirt under my fingernails and probably dried blood on my face somewhere. The heat stung my raw wrists, but it wasn't unbearable. I closed my eyes and thought about Ron and Georgette and little Nico and Mr. Ciraulo. About the family with the autistic son who loved to show me his custom world on his video game. I thought about the deli near my house with the best hoagies on the planet and the little shop owner who always threw in a free bag of chips with my order.

Unfortunately, all of those things would be insignificant soon. I'd be dead and gone.

It should have scared me how easily I adapted to the idea. At this point, I was just waiting for the ball to drop and for him to tell me to get in the chair with a gun in his hand. But I accepted my fate; bad guys don't get happy endings.

"Hurry up, Vinnie."

I scowled at the shower curtain. The audacity.

When I was out of the shower and wrapped in a towel Hayes left out for me, I followed him into the bedroom. He gave me some clothes, presumably his, and told me to get dressed while he made a phone call. It was still the middle of the day. I wasn't sure when we were going to do this.

I listened in on his phone call but it wasn't anything interesting. Something about suspicious charges to his credit card, or something. His clothes were only slightly too big for me, but not enough so that they were falling off. When Hayes came back in the room, he looked me up and down subtly, and licked his lips. I wasn't quite ready for round three.

"Murder time?" I asked.

"Why do you keep doing that?" he snapped. My eyebrows raised in surprise. "Do you... want to die or something?"

The break in his voice on the emphasized word startled me. Want. Did I want to die? I supposed I'd never thought about it too hard. I had my fair dose of trauma just like the next guy, maybe even worse around. It was less of wanting to die and more of not necessarily minding the idea of not... living. Things were pretty mundane for me. I loved my people, I loved the work I did, but... there wasn't much for me at that point.

I'd never have killed myself. But when faced with a situation where my life was on the line against my control, I wasn't opposed.

I changed the subject. "Who's Jake?"

Hayes's expression changed like night and day. I watched it happen, the spread of bewilderment in his eyes and brows blanked completely. He went cold on me. I felt the urge to shake his shoulders, demand he give me something, but I remained seated on the bed with my hands in my lap.

I thought he'd blow me off. Dodge the question, maybe ignore me completely. But he shook me when he said, "My son."

He said it so casually, almost in passing. He had a child? A million questions bounced off the walls of my head and I wanted to ask them all, but how much could I push him before he got pissed off? I was sure that was already more information than he'd have liked me to know.

"How old is he?" I asked, starting off easy, but what I really wanted to ask was, 'Why do you only see him on the weekends? Why does he have to ask your handyman about you? Where's his mother?'

"He's ten."

I glanced around, wondering why I'd seen no sign of a child living in this house. It'd make sense that maybe one of the other rooms with the door closed was his son's bedroom, but still. Most people's houses that I'd seen that have children had signs. Art on the fridge, toys on the floor, a swing set in the backyard. Hayes's house was void of any familial living.

Hayes knew I wanted to ask more questions, but he shut it down before I could. "I'm not telling you anything else about him," he said, holding a hand up. I nodded slowly. "Keep his name out of your mouth if you know what's good for you. You understand?"

I nodded again and he nodded back. "So you're from Tennessee?"

"Yes," he replied. "You?"

"Born and raised in the Bronx."

He seemed to untense, shoulders relaxing as he made his way to the bed. "That makes sense," he said and flipped down on his back. "What was it for you, then, that made you the way you are? Mommy or daddy issues?"

I rolled my eyes. "Neither. Or... both. Put me in the system when I was two," I said, then shot a pointed look toward him, looking so relaxed and unbothered. "I could have turned out a lot better with a consistent father figure, but what do I know?"

"Yeah, Vinnie," he bit back. "What do you know?"

The way he was looking at me made me feel stupid for getting in my feelings about not kissing him. If there was one thing that could immediately change my opinion of someone, it was learning that they weren't living up to their potential as a parent. No, I didn't know his story, but I didn't need to. I was a kid who needed stability and at least one parent who protected me at one point. And look at me now.

"Come here," Hayes said, gesturing to the bed. I considered defying him because he pissed me off and I wanted to know what would happen. But I didn't. I joined him at the pillows and he pulled a zip-tie out of thin air—seriously, it was starting to get comedic. My wrist was tied to the headboard once more. "We're taking a nap."

I narrowed my eyes. "What."

"I'm tired. Gonna take a nap."

"No."

He cracked an eye open. "Seriously? Is there anything you won't fight me on?" he grumbled, then smirked. I tried not to find it attractive. "Besides sex."

I scoffed. "You're a dick."

Did he not have more important business to attend to? I didn't understand this man whatsoever and I wasn't sure I ever would. My heart thumped at an even pace and I looked down at his lain body, so at peace with himself when his next victim was literally in the bed with him. He was back in just sweatpants and no shirt, his body turned only slightly towards me on his back.

I wasn't going to take a nap. Maybe he did have some dad tendencies I hadn't noticed before because he liked to treat me like I was four years old.

But the more I watched him with his eyes closed, deep breaths blowing past his nose, as if he had nothing to worry about, I calmed down, too. He had everything to worry about! I was a living breathing human who had enough on him to take his ass to prison should I figure out how to escape. But maybe he knew something I didn't. Maybe he knew I wasn't going to try very hard.

Maybe he was smarter than he looked.

As I felt drowsier and drowsier, I told myself for the umpteenth time: I am not taking a nap with Hayes.