Sinful Hands (Chained Hearts Duet 3)

“John.” My mama’s voice rings through. I cringe as she walks over and touches his shoulder. “Let’s get high.”

“Woman, you’re already high. You smoked all our fucking shit.” Then his dark eyes fall back to me.

“Women are good for one thing…fucking. Do you hear me, kid?” I nod, having no idea what he’s talking about. “And yet, your mother sucks at it.”

“John, you weren’t complaining last night.” I glance at my mama to see her licking her lips. Then my father places the piece of glass on the counter, picks up a knife, and turns to me. He leans in real close to my ear, and I grip the bottle hard, wanting to run, but also hearing Brody scream for me.

It’s never them he screams for.

It’s me.

“You’ll remember what I said. Women are only good for one thing,” he says into my ear.

I nod.

“You’ll remember.” Then he drops the knife, and it falls straight into my foot. The pain makes me scream. The bottle I was clutching falls to the floor, and my father walks away, leaving me there staring at the knife sticking out of my foot.

Angrily, I wipe the tears away and pull the knife out, silently screaming as I do. Then I grab the bottle—luckily, it didn’t smash—and walk into Brody’s room. Giving him the bottle, he shuts up straight away. As soon as he’s settled, I open his door to peek out to see where they are. My foot is throbbing, and I need to cover it because blood is soaking the floor.

I hate blood.

They are both on the floor talking, getting high, needles hanging from their arms.

Picking Brody up, I walk us out of the room and past them to the front door.

Immediately, I head off to Merci’s house and knock. Her grandmother lets us in, fixes my foot, and gives me a nice new pair of shoes that fit my feet.

We stay there for two nights.

My parents never look for us once.

* * *

“Lucas is here,” Merci says, breaking my flashback.

I get up from the bed, taking my cell, and smile back at her.

“Tell Brody I’ll be back tomorrow.” I offer her a small smile before I walk out to find him waiting for me. Lucas says nothing, just turns and walks out.

I follow.

Because I’m stupid like that.

Maybe I am my mother—the one person I tried hard not to be.

29

Lucas

She walks into my house behind me, and I say, “I’m going to bed, and you’re coming with me.”

“You honestly think you can tell me what to do? That you can control me?” She chews the inside of her cheek.

“I don’t have the patience to fight with you right now.” I really don’t. All I want to do is bury myself deep inside of her and forget what I have to do tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

“What am I to you? Do you even know? Or is this just a control thing?” she asks.

I pause.

I can’t tell her what she is.

It would destroy us both.

“You are the woman who controls my fucking thoughts, who takes leverage in them, and doesn’t want to fucking let go.”

She remains silent at my outburst at first and then whispers, “You don’t even know me.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know you.” She looks away. “Why are we doing this? Will you let me walk out and away?”

“No,” I state with absolutely no hesitation.

“Figured as much.”

“I know that your parents mistreated you, that you raised your brother with the help of your neighbors. I know that you love pasta and ice cream. I know that I’m the only man who can make you come. That you bite the inside of your cheek when you’re nervous or antsy. And most of all, you hate that you feel something when you are around me, just as I do.” I turn and stalk into my room, tearing off my clothes on the way, and I sense her behind me as I kick my trousers off.

“You have a problem with control. You think you can control every aspect of your life, and you hate that you can’t control me. That’s why you want me so badly,” she whispers, and I turn to see her looking at the floor and not at me. “You love your mother, even though you love no one else.”

“I…” I pause.

Do I love her? I’m not even sure what this is.

“And that word is so foreign to you, that I have a feeling not even your mother says it.” She’s right. I do love my mother, but we don’t tell each other. My father never said it to her either, or me. “But I don’t know anything about your father. You keep that hidden.”

“I need you undressed.” I reach for her, but she shakes her head.

“I’m tired, Lucas. So damn tired.” She leans forward, and her head rests on my chest. She takes deep breaths, breathing me in, and I pat her head, holding her to me while my fingers stroke through her hair.