Page 64 of Was I Ever Real
I can’t find the humor in any of it anymore. Not when she looks at me like this, water clinging to her long eyelashes, her gaze missing the familiar hardness from the armor she usually hides behind. Especially not when I finally pieced together what those scars on her thigh might have originated from. I might not know the exact way she got them, but it still fills me with such murderous rage that it’s hard to keep my face relaxed, even here in the shower.
The itch to kill is getting more difficult to ignore, but I push it down for now.
It’s not time.
Not when I can hold Lenix like this and let the pretenses fall for a while. I kiss her one last time before turning off the shower, and we step out. I’m half-convinced this was all just a figment of my imagination. And we’ll fall back to our old ways before our skin even dries from the water still clinging to our naked bodies. Maybe that’s exactly what will happen.
But one thing did change.
She’s mine now.
And I’ll burn the whole fucking city down in my wife’s name.
We’re back home.
I know what I just said. And I fucking mean it.
Lenix took the day off, napping in the guest room. Little does she know this is the last time she’ll be sleeping in there. She belongs in my bed from now on. Knowing her, she’ll probably dig in her heels and tell me I’m crazy, but I couldn’t give two fucks about it.
Let her.
She can act like she’s mad, fuck me like she hates me, and pretend she’s not as obsessed with me as I am with her. I don’t care. As long as she leaves the impression of her warm body in the sheets beside me every morning.
I’m pacing back and forth near the wide window in the study, waiting for Byzantine and Bastian to arrive. The polaroid picture I took of her this morning weighs heavy in the inside pocket of my suit jacket, but I force myself not to pull it out and look at it again. Or else I’d be glued to the damn thing all day. I’ve never seen something so beautiful in my goddamn fucking life. And I know I’ll be replaying what we just did on loop until I can get my hands on her again.
“You good brother?” Byzantine says while he walks in, Bastian following right behind. There’s an edge to his casual question, as if he’s already picked up on something by just a quick glance my way. It wouldn’t be the first time.
I roll my shoulders, trying to release some of the tension to no avail. I walk over to the leather couch near the fireplace and sit while the guys find seats of their own. I ignore his question and jump straight to why I called them here.
“I’m killing Governor Morrissey. Figured I should let you two know,” I say casually.
Byzantine eyebrows shoot up, then frowns, smoothing his hand over the tattoo on his neck that hides the scar from when he almost died. It's an unconscious tick, and it usually means he’s lost in thought or piecing something together. Today, I’m guessing it’s the latter.
“Care to elaborate?” he says.
“You finally discovered what your wife was hiding,” Bastian cuts in.
Byzantine gives him an odd glance, most likely because of how casually my cousin keeps referring to Lenix as my wife. But I refuse to acknowledge either of their statements and focus on what’s important—eviscerating Josiah Morrissey.
I place an ankle over my knee, leaning into the cushions of the couch behind me. Pressing my hand over my mustache, I fall silent for a beat.
I try to keep my voice as even as possible when I finally speak. “Remember that girl we saw running into Martha’s diner in a wedding dress years ago?”
“Why do you keep bringing that up?” Bastian remarks.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I bite out, glaring at him. “Can you answer the fucking question?”
He gives me his classic impassive look and crosses his arms, I’m seconds from pummeling his face with the butt of my gun. I take a deep breath, my jaw ticking and continue, “The girl was Lenix.”
“What?” Byzantine says incredulously. “How—”
“I pieced it together when she told me she ran away from Sacro Nuntio when she was sixteen with nothing but a wedding dress on.”
“Lenix grew up in a cult?” he adds, still confused.
“Look,” I break out in a sigh. “You’ll have all your answers when she decides you can know. Not even Sunny knows, so keep this shit to yourself.” I fix Byzantine with a hardened stare. “What’s important right now is that Morrissey is part of that fucked up cult and not only threatened Lenix physically but blackmailed her into returning so they can do God know’s what to her.”
I can see Byzantine chewing on his unanswered questions but I don’t have the patience for any of it right now. I know he can tell and luckily keeps his mouth shut.