Her eyes got bigger and then she laughed softly.
“Then we’re going to see a man about a tattoo.”
* * *
The night seemed like a quick magic trick, not enough of it, and I blinked at the light, attempting to will it away. It wasn’t even that bright. The sky had a gray tint to it, the air thick with fog. It was enough, though, to get me to stir.
“Brando!” I could still hear her calling my name in a way that no one else could, in a way that made me feel like a fucking king. I could still hear her begging, feel her nails digging deep into my skin. I grinned into my pillow, her scent floating underneath my nose, letting the memory of it settle in my thoughts before I fell asleep again.
“Brando!”
“Baby,” I said, my voice drifting out. I blinked at her thighs. I was still drunk. I hadn’t slept much. “You have bruises. Slow.Lento.” I ran a tender hand along her skin, between her legs, feeling her heat—she was ready, always so ready for me.
“Brando, you have to get up.Now.”
The panic in her voice forced my eyes open. I blinked at my hand on her thigh, then up at her. The last I remembered she was in the leather jacket and nothing else, riding me.
“A minute,” I said, forcing myself to rise. She took a seat next to me, a silk robe covering her body, her hair in a low bun. Her thigh was exposed—and it was bruised. I put a hand over it, noticing bite marks on my skin. The fresh claw marks on my back burned.Love and war.
“It’s—”
“Are we in immediate danger?”
“No, but—”
“A minute, Scarlett.”
She didn’t want to give me a minute. Her foot kept tapping against the floor, and I noticed it was coated in a thin layer of dirt.
“Okay,” I said, scrubbing my face with a hand, smoothing my hair back. “Tell me.”
Just as she opened her mouth to speak, the sound of someone getting sick came from another room. I looked toward it.
“Carmen,” she said. “She’s sick.” Instead of sitting and having this conversation, she handed me a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, urging me to dress so we could talk and walk.
“Pregnant,” I put out there.
“No,” she said, almost too quickly, pulling me along.
I lifted my eyebrow. She sighed.
“They haven’t been together.” She raised her eyebrows, putting more emphasis on the words. “So she can’t be.”
“Moving on,” I said.
“Uncle Tito says food poisoning, or something viral. He’s taking care of her. Uncle Tito and Dario. He won’t leave her side.”
“Shoes.” I pointed to Scarlett’s feet when we made it outside and she didn’t have any on.
“We don’t have time for this!” she hissed, but she stuck her feet in a pair of boots she had called “Wellies” the other day. Then she pulled me along toward the cottage Romeo shared with the men.
I stopped and she yanked my arm but was forced to give in. “Why can’t you walk and talk?” she demanded.
“I’m a man. Same reason why we can’t have sex and think about all the world’s problems.”
“Grrrr!” She made such a frustrated noise that I grinned, but it only set her off more. “Stop being an ass! Romeo needs you!”
“Tell me.”
