Illya
“Aunt Carol, I’m going out. Can I have my card?” My aunt looked up from that mail she was sorting and frowned, taking off her glasses to squint at me. “I told you, remember? I have plans with my friends tonight.”
“You know, spending it little by little may not seem like much at the time, Illya, but you’ll run out faster than you think.” Frowning myself at that, my brows furrowed as my aunt patted the table, and I shuffled over to sit stiffly. Suspicion clung to my ribs like a sticky tar— as it did every time she tried to dissuade me from using my own money— and I leaned back to watch her closely. My dad’s sister didn’t appear anything like him, but it still hurt to look at her because . . . she was slimy. “How’s your job search going?”
“I have to leave soon, so give me my card.” This time, I wasn’t so polite, and I held out my palm as a brief, miffed panic flashed in my aunt’s eyes. “It’s my money. I don’t need you to approve what I do with it. I’m seventeen now, and I let you hold the card to make you feel better, Aunt Carol, but you’re not going to dictate when and what I can do with it.”
“Fine. Fine. I just wanted to know so you can replace what you’re spending, Illya. Good financial habits are important.” She dug around in her purse, handing me my card in its paper sheath, but she didn’t let it go immediately. Her french nails clung to the encased plastic, and I met her gaze as it sharpened sternly. “Make sure you’re back by midnight. You have Saturday school tomorrow at one p.m.”
“I know.” My aunt released my card with a slight nod, and I stood up only to wince at the pull of my scars. Licking my lips heavily, I stuffed the object in my front pocket, and she turned back to her mail to pick up a bill. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Alright, and don’t forget to put gas in the car.” I hummed at that, and I shuffled out of the kitchen to pull my phone out of my back pocket on my way through the living room. My aunt had a PIN on my card that she thought I didn’t know, but . . .
Oh, boy, did I know.
“Little by little, yeah, right. You’re stealing it all.” Grumbling to myself once I’d shut the front door behind me, I dialed the number to check my balance. Twirling my keys around my finger, I sat in the little two-door I’d bought and left my leg hanging out the open door. Navigating my way through the automated menu, I tapped in the PIN with my thumb and braced myself.
My aunt had used almost all of the eighty thousand dollars that she’d gotten from suing over my parents' deaths, money that was supposed to be mine, to be saved until I was eighteen. At least eighty thousand was the number she gave me, but even that was a lie.
Now, I had less than a thousand dollars in the account, and I’d had over four thousand dollars when I’d checked two weeks ago.
“It’s not even like she’s struggling. They both have great jobs.” My aunt and uncle, collectively, made upwards of six figures a year, and bitterness soured my tongue. Checking the time as I ended the call, I set my phone in the cupholder and stuck the key in the ignition. “She’s going to be really pissed when I sue her.”
I’d already had a lawyer. I had already gone to the bank and gotten statements. I’d gone to the contractor my aunt hired to remodel the house and gotten paperwork that she’d used my money to pay for it. I just needed to put the paperwork in.
Why was this happening to me? Carol was my dad’s sister, my aunt, and she still couldn’t get over her greedy, selfish ways. Scowling at the windshield, I glanced at the rearview and started to back out of the driveway. Her brother was dead, but all she cared about was the money from the wrongful death suit.
“She doesn’t know about my inheritance, at least.” That, at the time, I’d gotten mostly in cash and stashed it because I suspected Aunt Carol would do something like this. No one else in the family would take me after my parents died, so I got stuck with her. Even now, three years after their deaths, I could hear my parents with crystal clarity complaining about my aunt being a leech. I didn’t spend a lot of time with my cousins because my parents were always the ones paying, and they didn’t make nearly the same amount of money, let alone more.
“Illya?” Blinking at the touch on my arm, I tore my eyes off the check that Carlyle had given me a week ago and frowned under furrowed brows. Theo stared and stared with that heavy gaze of his, and I sighed as I folded the rectangular paper. “You haven’t cashed it yet. What’s up?”
“It’s the same amount of money my aunt won in the suit against the management agency that handled my parents' house.” Understanding flickered in his darkening eyes, and I licked my lips heavily as discomfort dried my mouth. “My aunt, she used to tell me that spending it little by little, it’d run out quicker than I thought. I barely ever used it, and I knew from basically the beginning that she lied about the amount. The only money she didn’t spend— because she didn’t know about it— was my inheritance. My mom’s ring, some cash, and some priceless family heirlooms.”
“She sounds like a cunt.” The tactless-yet-true statement earned a nod from me, and I leaned over across the sofa to rest on Theo’s side. His body was warm, so much nicer than Carlyle’s, but like Hell, I was going to bringthatup. “Do you wanna, I dunno, talk about it?”
“There’s not much to say. I sued her for it all when I turned eighteen, and then she had the audacity to fucking kill herself because of ‘the stress and grief and regret.’ Well, a letter saying you’re sorry doesn’t fucking fix the fact that you spent all my money and kicked me out when you got served and then killed yourself rather than pay.” A little, condescending laugh escaped me at my own tirade, and I huffed a hot breath. “The case is supposed to be sealed, but Carlyle knows the exact amount. It seems like he knows everything about me— more than I know about me.”
“How, exactly, did your parents die? Is that when you hurt your chest?” Nodding, a strange gap hollowed out my chest like every time I had to talk about it. Therapists made me feel the worst, by far, but I hadn’t felt this way in a long, long time, at least a decade once my aunt stopped forcing me to go to therapy. “What happened?”
“The ceiling fan in my room had faulty wiring because the management hired someone unqualified to spruce the place up so it’d rent higher. It caught fire and fell on me. My dad got to me first and threw me out the window, but when they went back in, they both died of smoke inhalation. The fire spread through the wires really fast because nothing was grounded. My aunt got custody of me because no one else wanted to take me on after I got out of the hospital.” The bulky arm around my shoulders rippled in comforting anger, and I closed my eyes to draw my knees up. “One time, I took off my shirt after my boyfriend told me he could handle it, and he puked all over me. I started wrapping up after I moved because the heat made my shirts stick to my scars, and I always made sure the guys were blackout drunk.”
“I guess it wouldn’t matter if I told you I could handle it, huh?” I shook my head, and Theo sighed heavily, shuffling to cup my cheek against his cheek. “What about now? How do you like the place? You slept in a real bed last night.”
“Yesterday was really . . . overwhelming. I could go back to sleep right now, I think.” Theo had woken me up when he knocked on my front door, and he squeezed me gingerly as memories of the day before flashed behind my shuttered lids. After Carlyle left, I passed out dead and blocked out the fact that he touched me because I knew it was just an intimidation tactic.Admittedly, a little belatedly, I realized Carlyle might be pushing me closer to Theo.
It was his smirk, not his brush against me, that haunted me, to be perfectly honest.
“Let’s go, then.” Hooking his arm under my knees, Theo hoisted me into his lap before standing up, and I wound my arms around his shoulders. His muscles played against my side, and he flashed me an almost charming smirk. “I promise not to watch you sleep like a creep.”
“I don’t think you’re a creep anymore, Theo. I am kinda pissed you ignored me for the past week, though.” Reaching up to touch the scar on his face, I dragged my fingertips down the smooth, jagged surface as warmth skittered up my arm just under my skin. “What about this one?”
“I got into a bar fight. It looked worse than it was.” Kicking open my bedroom door—that’s so strange to think—Theo sat me on my bed—even more strange.Rubbing my palms against the soft comforter, I scooted back into the rumpled sheets as he pulled his shirt off. Blinking hard, the hairs on the back of my neck bristled at the huge, gnarly gashes that indented his entire right side. It struck me hard that he’d never taken off his shirt in front of me. At the crackhouse, he had a wife beater on underneath, so I’d never seen these scars. The pink line that ripped up his bicep stopped just under his armpit, and actual dents marred his otherwise wonderfully sculpted muscles.
Crawling onto the bed to loom over me, Theo grabbed my hand to put my palm on his right side, and his skin twitched noticeably. My breath caught at how smooth it was— how the coarse, thick hairs on his chest just stopped and gave way to pink and grey scars.
“The tire.” Dragging my palm up over the side of his pectoral muscle, Theo’s mumble drew my gaze to his, and I bit down on my bottom lip hard. His face was so close, his heat seeping through my pajamas—so weird—and he held my hand to his right shoulder to cover with his own. “Bullet.”
“Kiss me.” Blurting out the demand, heat engulfed my face when Theo’s lip twitched up, and his gaze tenderized. Wrapping my hands around his neck, I rubbed my thumbs against the stubble of his jaw, but he only shook his head. My heart hammered against my ribs, the ruined skin on my chest tightening painfully, and my mouth dried as it opened. “Why not? You said you would.”
“Take your bandages off.” My breath caught, and I tensed as my heart sputtered briefly, but it was enough for Theo to grumble lowly in his chest in acknowledgment. Pressing his forehead against mine, he held my gaze despite being so close, and I licked my dry lips as shame sloshed in my chest. “That’s why.”
“Yeah.” Gulping down the dense lump in my throat, I held my breath as Theo shuffled back to kick off his jeans. He bent over the foot of the bed to grab my pajama pants by the ankles, and my core clenched at the bulge in his loose, plain, black boxers. The scar on my chest stretched down almost to my knees at its longest point— an outline of the fan blade— and he caressed up my inner thighs with questions in his eyes.
“Lay down.” Despite saying ‘no,’ Theo’s voice came out a rough growl, and goosebumps blanketed my legs as he crawled up my body. He was a tiger ready to pounce but waiting for the perfect moment, and he dropped against my side to pull my knees over his thighs. So close, he was all I could smell, and he caressed my cheek as he worked his arm under the pillow.
