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His small smile fades. “Come and sit.” “Are you gonna make me?” “Do you want me to?”
What would I do if he touched me now? What would I feel?
I knew it would be like this. She’s still afraid, but soon, she won’t be. Zita’s no coward. She’s a fighter. I can’t wait for her to throw down.
But from that moment on, it’s been Zita Graziano. That’s the answer. A shrink might be able to explain it, but I can’t. Some men have Jesus. God and country. A dream. Ambition. I have Zita.
“You’re wet,” he says, so close I feel his warm breath on my lips. “You’re bleeding.” “You like it.” “Fuck you.”
“She doesn’t believe it, but she is. She always has been. She’s a good thing in an ugly world, you know?”
“Why can’t we have what we want?” he asks. I blink, pressing my spine into the hard wood. He raises his firm chin. “The house, the yard, a dog— Why can’t we have that?”
Paul was fairly insatiable when we lost our virginity to each other, but he never fucked me like that. Like he’d been waiting his whole life.
I am broken, but I’m not afraid.
I know her better than I know myself, but I often don’t understand her.
She is everything I knew she’d be. Soft. Hungry.
When I fucked her out of her head, she treated me like what I am—hers.
Some men have hearts. Souls. Walls. I have Zita Graziano. I’m not ashamed. I look at her, and something inside me chants “thank you” into the void like a hallelujah. I’m weightless. Superhuman.
“I’ll make you feel good,” I tell her. I’ll drive all the demons out of her mind. I’ll break her free, and I’ll build her a new life. I’m gonna see her laugh out loud. The little crease on the bridge of her nose is going to disappear forever.
Nicky fucks like he’s lost his mind, and he’s trying to find it between my legs. He fucks like I’m hiding something that he’s desperate for. Like I’m the holy grail, and he’s an infidel, so he doesn’t want to worship me, he wants to convert me, despoil me until I belong to him.
“I’ll always give you what you want,” he says, breathless in my ear, his weight covering me. “Just ask. Always.”
“A house. A dog, if you want. A cat.” He pauses, scrubs his neck. “A big yard. Pictures on the walls. One of those swings on the porch.” I struggle to my elbows. What is he saying? “Whatever you want, Zita.”
“If Zita doesn’t want your crazy, stalker ass, can we still have this?” he asks. “Yeah.” “Big brother?” he says. “Yeah.” He first called me that when I picked him up soaking wet and wasted at a convenience store all the way in Shady Gap.
He’s a gun. My gun.
One time, there was an incident with a clerk. We left, and Nicky hung back. The clerk doesn’t work there anymore. That’s how Nicky is. He hangs in the background, quiet, but he’s always there, protecting us.
“Yes?” Hope makes his deep voice ragged. “Yes,” I say, and he slips the ring on my finger. It’s only fair, I think, since he belongs to me, that I belong to him.
