Pierced (13 page)

Chapter Eight

Lia

My last class finishes earlier than normal, and I am stopping by the apartment to change clothes before going back to Lucian’s to finish up for the day. To my surprise, his cabinets have been well-stocked as if he actually has meals at his apartment instead of eating out every evening. My plan is to fix a simple dinner of shrimp pasta. Pasta in all forms is something I am well-acquainted with; it is easy, quick, and cheap.

I drop my book bag and walk to my bedroom when a knock sounds at the door. More than likely, it’s someone looking for Marissa next door. I have my suspicions as to why she is so popular, but who am I to judge? Several times a week, we have mostly men knocking at our door, looking for her apartment. At first, I wouldn’t answer the door when I didn’t recognize the person through the peep-hole. After a while, though, it just seemed easier to point them in the right direction to prevent it happening each time they visited. For safety, we always keep the chain firmly in place and speak through the small opening.

Another stranger looks back at me through the small glass, and I shake my head as I crack the door open. “Marissa is next door in 5B.”

Before I can shut the door, I hear the person ask, “Miss Adams?” Wow, I so wasn’t expecting that; it’s a rare day I have visitors.

Uneasy, I reply, “Can I help you with something?”

“Are you Lia Adams?” Well, crap, I don’t know whether to answer or not. Curiosity finally gets the better of me.

“Yes, who are you?” I instinctively take the envelope he thrusts through the opening.

“You’ve been served.” I stare after his retreating back, wondering what’s going on. The white envelope weighs heavily in my hand as I pull it slowly through the doorway. The university has never hand-delivered mail before. If they suddenly feel the need, then it can’t be good news. The only writing on the front is my name in printed form.

I shut the door behind me and carry the envelope like a bomb to our small kitchen table. I drop it in front of me, staring for a moment. Shit, this is so silly.
Just open the damn thing and get it over with.
What could it possibly be? Maybe I have some seriously-overdue book from the library or something. Impatiently, I rip open the flap and unfold the single enclosed paper. As I skim the official-looking document, I feel my heart stop for one brief moment. No, surely I have read it wrong. Taking my time, I read back through the jumble of words once again before dropping weakly into the nearby chair.

PLANTIFF: MARIA ADAMS DAWSON VS DEFENDANT: JIM NELSON DAWSON. YOU ARE HEREBY SUMMONED to appear. The words on the paper leap out at me as my head swims. I haven’t seen or spoken to my mother or stepfather since leaving home four years ago. Dear God, what is going on with them? Why is my mother going to court against her husband, and why am I being dragged into it?

There is only one person who might possibly be able to find out. Debra, my friend and previous boss, has a connection through her boyfriend. Martin’s brother Eli works with Jim at a tire factory, or he had the last time I heard. Almost in a panic, I punch in Debra’s number and pray she will answer.

“Lia? Where the hell have you been, honey?” This is Debra’s usual greeting, and I smile despite my apprehension. I love this woman like the mother I never had, and I know she loves me, as well. Her only complaint is I don’t see her as often as either of us would like.

“Hey, Deb. It’s so good to hear your voice, you have no idea.” She knows me well and immediately picks up on the strain in my voice.

“What’s wrong, honey? Do you need me? I can be there in just a few minutes.” Closing my eyes, I feel a tear slip out. She gives me everything and never asks for anything in return. I don’t see or talk to her as often as I used to, but I know that with one phone call, she would drop what she is doing and come to me.

“Have you heard anything from Martin about my mother?” I can tell by her silence that she is shocked by my question.

“No, he hasn’t mentioned anything. Why?”

“Something is going on with her and Jim. I was served papers today requiring I show up in court at the end of the month.” Picking the paper up, I read her the rest of the summons. The whole thing still feels unreal to me. The one time I hear from them, and it’s something like this.

“Son of a bitch,” she spits out the curse, her voice vibrating with anger. “I don’t know what those two fuckups are involved in now, but I’m going to find out. Just sit tight, honey, and try not to worry about it. I’ll call Martin and see if he can get some answers. You know I will be with you every step of the way. Those monsters can’t hurt you, Lia; I would never let that happen again.” She gives me more words of comfort laced with insults for my mother and stepfather before ending the call. I’m sure the line was barely free before she was calling Martin. If anyone can find out what is going on, it’s Debra.

I would love nothing better than to crawl in my bed and have the nervous breakdown I feel beating at my door, but I don’t want to slack on my first day of work. Lucian would understand if I said I wasn’t feeling well, but getting out of here right now can only help the panic I’ve been feeling since receiving the damned summons. Quickly, I gather my things and run to my Honda as if afraid more bad news will befall me. Luckily, that’s not the case, and I navigate through the heavy afternoon traffic to arrive back at Lucian’s around three. The same vehicles are parked in the garage with no sign of Sam and the Mercedes.

The last load of laundry has been put away, and I’m arranging ingredients for dinner when my phone rings. I see Debra’s name on the caller ID and answer quickly. I barely get out a greeting before she starts talking. “Lia, you aren’t going to believe this. Are you sitting down, honey?” She sounds worried, which in turn freaks me out; Debra is normally unflappable, so it must be bad.

“Go ahead, Deb.” I slip onto a barstool at the counter and brace myself.

“That asshole beat the hell out of your mother, and she has either wised up or is just trying to stick it to him. She filed charges against him for abuse, and I think they are summoning you as a witness for her. She must have told them you had seen him beat her. She probably also told them he had done the same to you.”

“Oh, my God!” Not only am I going to have to face him in the courtroom, but now everyone would know what he had done to me; everyone would see the scar, the damage. I feel sick to my stomach. Bile rises in my throat, and I literally gag on it. I hear Debra yelling my name in the background as the phone clatters to the floor. My hands cover my face as my body trembles in fear. I am so caught up in my terror I never hear the door open or the footsteps until someone touches my shoulders, causing a scream to escape from my throat.

“Lia, baby, what’s wrong?” I struggle against the hold until I recognize Lucian’s face, full of concern, looking at me. Without thinking, I launch myself from the chair and into his arms. After a moment’s hesitation, he pulls me against him, murmuring, “Shhh…baby.” Still holding me, he reaches down to pick up my phone lying near his feet. I pay little attention as he speaks briefly to Debra. I know she must be shocked to hear a man on my phone, and I absently vow to call her back later to explain.

Lucian pulls back a little to look me over, probably searching for signs of injury. Seeming satisfied that there is no blood, he gives me another moment before asking, “What’s happened to get you so upset?” Mutely, I reach for the summons and hand it to him. He skims it before looking at me in question.

“Its…it’s from my mother and stepfather. He…hurt her, and she is pressing charges.” Choking on a sob, I add, “They are going to make me testify against him, about what he did to her and me.” Lucian bites off a curse before pulling me back into his arms. After seeing my scar that morning, there is no way he can miss the fear I feel.

“I’ll give this to my lawyer tomorrow and find out what in the hell is going on, okay? I won’t let that bastard hurt you. Please believe that.” Sinking further into his strong arms, I let his words wash over me. I relax for the first time since reading the summons, feeling some of my fear lessen. This beautiful man is offering me protection; when has that ever happened to me before? Even my own mother doesn’t give a damn whether I live or die. I have no idea how she even knew my address to have me served. “Now,” he says against the crown of my head, “I’m starving; how about we go out for dinner?” I think about the clothes I’m wearing and fight the urge to ask him if there is a Burger King nearby.

His arms drop as I step back. Putting on a smile that is still forced, I say, “I was planning to fix dinner to impress my new boss. I already have everything laid out if you’ll give me half an hour.” He looks over the items I have on the counter before opening a wood panel that conceals a large wine cooler. He studies several different bottles before selecting one.

I fully expect him to go relax in the living room, so I’m pleasantly surprised when he says instead, “I’m going to go change clothes, I’ll be back to help in just a moment.” I shake myself from my staring-at-Lucian daze and pull a skillet and sauce pan out of the cabinet for the shrimp, pasta, and cream sauce. Thankfully, Rose has shown me how to make homemade Alfredo since there are no jarred sauces in Lucian’s cabinets. I have just pulled a red and green bell pepper from the refrigerator when he returns in jeans and a worn-looking Bon Jovi shirt. My mouth waters, and my body hums; Rose is right, he is a walking wet dream, and I am like an animal in heat around him. As he turns to get wine glasses, I ogle his taut ass, my hands tingling with the urge to cup his cheeks. His dark hair curls against his neckline, and I remember how it feels to have my fingers buried in its silky softness. When he is facing forward again, my eyes drop to the outline of his big cock nestled against one leg. Oh, sweet mother, my panties are wet and getting wetter. When his fingers snap in front of my eyes, I lift my eyes from his crotch. His sexy grin assures me he knows exactly what was on my mind. What is happening to me? I have never been a cock-gawker. The man has been home less than an hour, and I am staring at his package; somehow, I don’t think that is part of my job description.

He chuckles behind me as I spin around, trying to hide my embarrassment and get a grip on my libido. He puts a wine glass down next to my hand, and I mutter a sheepish, “Thanks,” before turning back to the stove.

“What can I do to help? Do these peppers need chopping?” Now, that I wasn’t expecting: Lucian offering to help with dinner. Personally, I am all for throwing the whole meal in the trash and begging him to fuck me against the stainless steel appliances, but nowhere in the word ‘housekeeper’ does it spell slut, so I keep those thoughts to myself.

“Er…yes, that would be great. I’m making shrimp pasta, so I’m going to sauté those in olive oil before mixing them with the shrimp.” I continue explaining the entire meal to him before I realize I am rambling. He listens to me attentively, although I’m sure he couldn’t give a crap as to how long shrimp cook before they are ready.

We have just settled at the bar on our stools, and I’m taking my first bite when he asks as casually as you would mention the weather, “Do you have a vibrator?” My fork clatters back into my plate as I look at him in disbelief. He takes a moment to chew and swallow before looking at me. “What? It’s a simple question.” I have no idea how the man can continue calmly eating while asking me such a personal question. My first inclination is to tell him to shove it… unless he is open to equal sharing.

“If I answer your question, will you answer one for me?”

With no hesitation, he says, “Within reason, yes.” I have no idea if my question is considered reasonable, but if he doesn’t answer it, I won’t answer any other questions he might have.

Picking up my fork, I spear a piece of penne pasta before answering. “Yes, I do.” He shows no surprise at my answer, and I quickly ask my own. “Have you slept with Monique?”

“Yes,” he answers as he pops a shrimp in his mouth. I’m not sure what surprises me more, that he has slept with Cruella or that he admitted it. Really, I already knew the answer before I asked; Monique is too possessive of him without there being more involvement, even though he seems to feel nothing for her in return. “How long were you with the guy you slept with?”

Ugh, why did I agree to this little question-and-answer session, and why does he care about my sexual history? It’s obviously nowhere near as busy as his. I debate shutting it down, but dammit, I want to know more about him, and I have a feeling this is the easiest way to go about it. He already knows I don’t have much experience, so it’s not like I am revealing shocking facts. Somehow, it is still embarrassing to admit. “It just happened one time.” It appears I now have his undivided attention. You would think I have just admitted to having two vaginas. Clearing my throat, I add, “It’s my turn again. How many times have you slept with Monique?” Shit, why do I keep harping on that? Wasn’t knowing he slept with her enough? Do I need details? Yes, it appears I do.