You Don't Know Me: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (13 page)

Tasha Evanoff

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bqIxCtEveG8

Beneath Your Beautiful

‘H
ave I hurt you?’ he asks softly.

I blink in amazement. ‘No,’ I whisper. ‘Of course not.’

‘Then tell me why you’re crying.’

‘I’m crying because everything has been just beautiful. I couldn’t have asked for more.’

He trails his fingertips down my cheek. ‘It will be all right. You’ll see. I’ll make it good for us.’

I want to burst into tears, but I don’t. I nod.

‘Will you trust me?’

I nod again.

‘I’ll sort it out. I promise.’

‘Okay. I need to go to the bathroom,’ I say.

He moves and I get up. I pick up my dress and underwear from the floor and go into the bathroom. I close the door and lean against it. I thought I was going to stay all night. I thought I could do it, but I can’t. My heart is breaking. I can’t stay here a moment longer. My legs give way and my body slides down to the floor.

‘Tasha,’ Noah calls from outside.

I press the heel of my hand against my teeth. ‘Just give me a minute,’ I say.

I hear him walk away.

I stand up and dress quickly. My hands shake so much I can hardly pull the zipper up. I run my finger through my hair then, squaring my shoulders, go out into the room. He is sitting on the bed, and he has pulled on his sweatpants.

‘What’s up?’ he asks, his face expressionless.

I exhale the breath I’m holding. ‘I should go home.’

‘Yeah?’

I take a step towards him and shrug. ‘And I won’t be coming back again.’

His eyes narrow. ‘Why not?’ he asks calmly.

I swallow hard. ‘This was meant to be a temporary arrangement, after all. My father is back and really it’s time things went back to the way they were. It was only meant to be one night, but you’re very good in bed and it was fun so …’ I trail away.

He stands up and starts walking towards me, and I don’t think, I just run. I get as far as the door before he catches me and slams me up against the wall. Not hard enough to hurt, but just enough to shock.

‘Why are you running?’ he asks curiously. There is something eerily calm about him.

‘Will you please let go of me?’

‘After you’ve answered my question.’

‘Let go of me first.’

‘Just answer the question, Tasha,’ he sighs.

‘Look, it’s finished. We’ve both had our fun and now I’m going back to Oliver. Don’t make this difficult.’

‘You’re going back to Jarsdale?’ He says each word slowly.

‘He
is
my fiancé, and you knew that.’

He smiles nastily. I’ve never seen him smile at me like that ever. ‘That’s a funny thing to say while you got more of my DNA inside you than an episode of CSI.’

‘Don’t make me dislike you.’

His eyes widen. ‘Dislike? How about I make you hate me?’

In a flash he has stuck his hand under my skirt and ripped my panties off my body.

I slap him hard. It just happens. My hand rises up, flies in the air, connecting with his cheek. And it isn’t one of those girl slaps either. It cracks in the air, makes his head jerk, and leaves my handprint on his cheek.

His eyes glitter as he smiles slowly. ‘Your father shouldn’t have bothered with a paternity test. You’re his daughter all right.’

My knees start trembling, and my mouth opens with shock. He is like a stranger. So cruel. He’s never spoken to me like that. I have never seen this side of him.  Just because he has always been so gentle, kind, and considerate I had the false illusion that there isn’t another side to him. Or rather, I chose to ignore the side of him that has hurt, killed, and maimed. Perhaps I don’t know him at all. He and my father are from the same world, after all.

‘Noah,’ I cry, my voice hoarse with hurt and horror at the beast I have unleashed. My shaking hands reach out for him.

Suddenly his mouth is on mine, crushing, rough, possessive, demanding, taking. He forces his tongue into my mouth, hooks my tongue with it and, pulling it into his own, sucks it hard. I whimper as his leg parts my thighs, and his hand moves upwards to find my slick entrance. His fingers slide in, and he begins to pump them in and out of me. I’m so wet his fingers make a squelching sound. He lifts his head.

‘Started to hate me yet?’ he asks.

‘I hate you.’ The words tremble in the air between us. 

‘Who should I believe? Your body is telling me a different story,’ he snarls.

He lifts me in his arms and carries me to his bed. The covers feel cold against my heated skin.

‘What are you going to do?’ I ask stupidly.

He laughs a little. ‘Little innocent Tasha,’ he taunts.

He pushes down his sweatpants and he is hard and erect. He gets on the bed.

‘You are mine,’ he growls harshly as he thrusts deep into me. I groan and he puts his fingers slick with my juices into my mouth, making me suck them. My fingers grasp the cool sheet under me as he quickens his speed. He stares at me, and unable to bear his gaze, I close my eyes.

‘Open your eyes,’ he orders sternly.

My eyes fly open.

‘Tell me you want me to stop.’

‘I … I … ah …’

‘Tell me you want me to fuck you.’

‘I want you to … ah … fuck you …. me, fuck me.’

‘Tell me your pussy belongs to me.’

‘My pussy belongs to you,’ I cry.

‘I didn’t hear that.’

‘My pussy belongs to you,’ I scream uncontrollably as the waves of an incredible orgasm engulfs me. It rips through my very core like a hurricane. It drains me completely before it is over. I stare up at my gorgeous man as his body contracts and arches, and he goes off to meet his own climax. 

He pulls out and cum gushes out of me.

‘I have to go,’ I whisper.

‘I know. Let me call Sam.’

He gets off the bed and walks out of the room.

I go into the bathroom, clean myself, and go downstairs. He is standing by the drinks cabinet. There is a glass in his hand. I have a sense of
déjà vu
.
I go into the room and stand in the middle of it.

‘I’m sorry I said all those horrible things,’ I admit.

He looks at me sadly. ‘Don’t apologize, Tasha. It was nothing. Between us there is nothing to be sorry for.’

‘But I said such nasty things and made you so angry.’

‘Do you really believe that just some silly words could change anything for me? I would die for you, Tasha Evanoff.’ 

I run sobbing into his arms. He holds me tight. ‘My poor, poor Tasha,’ he croons. He pulls me away from him slightly and strokes my hair. ‘Don’t come to see me anymore, OK? Leave it all to me. Don’t do a single thing.’

I feel the pain of his words like a knife in my chest, but I nod.

He kisses my wet eyelids one by one. ‘I promise you’ll be mine, or I’ll die fucking trying.’

Like a fool I start sobbing again. I hardly ever cried before I met him. Now I’m like some sort of broken tap that can’t stop gushing.

‘Shhh … my darling.’

‘I don’t want you to die,’ I bawl.

‘We all have to die. It’s how we die that counts. I’m not afraid to die for you.’

‘My father—’

‘I’m not afraid of your father. I may have a card up my sleeve.’

I stop crying and stare at him. ‘Really? What?’

He smiles. ‘You seriously think I’m gonna tell you?’

‘Give me a clue what it’s about?’

‘No.’

Then the taxi comes and he walks me to the street. At the open door of the cab our fingers linger. In the light of the streetlamps his face looks distant and sad. Both of us know this could be the last time. I kiss him on his cheek. His skin is warm and bristly. I inhale the smell of him one last time and turn away blindly. The waterworks have started again.

Tasha Evanoff

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ak7kedzR8bg

Ten Green Bottles

I
leave my grandma in the kitchen enjoying her pot of tea, slip my shoes off, and I take the stairs two at a time. The house is still and gloomy. My father must still be asleep.

I open my door. I don’t know why, but I have the craziest … I mean it’s just so stupid that I could even think something like that … but I actually think Sergei is wrapped up in his blankets, so fast asleep he did not hear me come in.

The fantasy that he is asleep continues as I walk towards him. Even though the air in the room smells funny. Metallic and sweet. Even as I stand over him, my mind stubbornly refuses to believe what I am seeing.

Then it hits me and my legs give way beneath me. It feels as if I am under water. There are no sounds, there is resistance to my movements, and everything is happening in slow motion as I fall to my knees in front of him.

In slow motion my hand reaches out, grasps the edge of the blanket, lifts it, and that is the moment the slow dream ends. With a startled shriek of horror, I fall backwards onto my butt. In a mad panic fueled by terror and disbelief, I scramble away on the palms of my hands, my heels kicking, scrabbling, and scurrying on the ground like some demented four-legged animal. My back hits the wall and I stop. I sit propped up against it, breathing hard, and staring in utter shock at my beautiful, beautiful beheaded baby.

Someone came into my bedroom and
beheaded
my baby!

Chopped off his head.

It is completely severed from his body and whoever that sick monster was, he has placed Sergei’s head at the end of his tail. It is the most grotesque sight I’ve ever seen in my life. Slowly, I crawl back to him.

‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to run away from you. I love you.’

I reach into his basket and my hand touches his fur. There is no more give to his still skin, so his fur feels hard and cold. I flinch. Sergei has been dead for a long time.

How he must have suffered.

How frightened he must have been.

There is an A4 size paper on his body wrapped around something. I unfurl it. It’s one of those tiny tape recorders that bosses use to dictate things for their secretaries. I read the note. Only three little words but they turn my heart into a fist of ice.

One by one.

In a daze I press play on the tape and the nursery song
Ten Green Bottles
starts playing. The innocent but strangely eerie children’s song seems obscene beyond all words. The greatest insult to Sergei’s bloodied, mutilated body. I fling the tape to the wall and it crashes and opens. The tape flying out and bouncing. It falls close to the treat I gave Sergei.

He never ate it.

My hands clench with a sick helplessness.

I go to the bed, my knees knocking together, and pull the sheet off. I fold it into four and spread it in front of Sergei’s little body. Kneeling in front of his bed, I bend down and pick him up. His severed head first. The congealed blood is like runny jelly underneath him. My hands immediately become dark red.

Tenderly, I lay his head on the sheet. Then I pick up his body. In death he is much heavier and I have to grunt to lift him. Once he is in my arms it is easier and I lay it next to his poor head so that both halves of him are joined. 

Then I lay down beside him. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,’ I whisper again and again as I hug his cold, hard body. The guilt is terrible. I wasn’t here to protect him. I was out having a good time. I should have been here. If I had only left him in Baba’s room. I even thought about it and then I thought no, he might bark when I call or make a noise and wake Papa.

So I didn’t leave him in her room.

He must have had a premonition. No wonder he whimpered and cried when I left. And I still left. I close my eyes and grit my teeth with regret.

I kiss the top of his head. I kiss his closed eyelids, and I hold his elegant bloodied, little paws. The pads used to feel soft and warm. They feel hard, rough, and cold. When his nose touches my lips it is dry and not wet with life.

I sit up and look down on him. It doesn’t feel real. It can’t be real. My mind is blank. I can’t think. It is my fault. Poor Sergei. I cover his remains with the sheet and go to open a window.

Fresh morning air rushes in.

I think of Sergei running free in the park. I think of Sergei licking my face. I think of Sergei as a puppy hiding under the bed when he heard thunder and how I had picked him up, holding him in my arms, taking him to the window to show him that it was just a storm. There are no tears. I am too shocked to feel anything. Not even anger at my father.

I think of my father. How could he? He brought Sergei home for me. Having said Sergei always hated him.

I sit in my room hunched, confused, and immobilized with shock and horror, until I hear Baba come up the stairs. Then I run to the top of the stairs and she stops mid-step.

‘What is it?’ she asks, her hands roaming my bloodied clothes and hands.

‘Sergei is dead,’ I say.

Her reaction is instant and shocking. She goes white and her knees buckle so that she has to tighten her hold on the banister to stop herself from falling. She closes her eyes in pain. I run down the steps to where she is and take her hand.

‘It’s okay, Baba. It’s okay,’ I tell her, even though I want to lay my head on her chest and bawl my eyes out.

She catches my hand. ‘How?’

I shake my head.

‘Show me his body,’ she demands suddenly.

I shake my head vigorously. ‘No, don’t look at him, Baba.’

‘Is he in your room?’

I nod, because I am suddenly so choked up I cannot speak. It’s the strangest thing, but while I am standing there with Baba, part of me doesn’t believe that Sergei is actually dead. It’s more possible that this is all a nightmare or a mistake. My brain can’t comprehend that it could be real. He can’t be gone. Just like that. It almost feels as if all I have to do is let my grandmother into my room, and she will not find my beloved dog cut into two pieces and wrapped up in a sheet.

Baba starts up the stairs, her face determined, and I follow.

I stand back as she opens the door, and for a few seconds just stands at the doorway. Then she walks towards the covered cloth and I go into the room and close the door. The air is freezing cold because I opened the window. My eyes fall on the sheet stained dark red.

That isn’t my Sergei under there. He’s gone.

I watch Baba get onto her haunches with difficulty, and lift the sheet. Silently I watch her sigh deeply and let the sheet drop back down. Then she looks up at me. Her eyes are totally blank and her face is like stone. I have never seen my grandmother look like this before.

‘My son is a monster.’

I don’t say anything. My eyes sting and my throat feels as if there is a stone in it.

‘Whatever you want from me, just ask,’ she says.

I swallow the stone. It goes down hard. ‘Come for the funeral.’