Target on Our Backs Read online

  "I'm seriously so sorry," she says, rooting through her dresser drawers. "I would've never stood you up like that. It completely slipped my mind."

  "It's fine," I assure her. "I just wanted to make sure you were all right."

  "I'm more than all right," she says, snatching up a shirt and a pair of pants before turning to me. "I'm perfect. He's just... wow. He's perfect. He took me to dinner last night at Paragone... you know, that fancy ass place over near Central Park? Can you believe it? I've always wanted to eat there!"

  Can I believe it?

  I don't know.

  I ate there once before.

  Naz took me on our first date, I guess you could call it. He dropped thousands on tiny plates of food and crazy overpriced champagne. He had to intimidate the staff to get a table because they book up weeks in advance.

  "Wow," I say. "How'd he get a reservation?"

  "Who knows," she says, "but we showed up and there was one in his name! We ate and talked and laughed... and then we went back to his place and we slept."

  "You... slept."

  "Yes." She turns to look at me. "We both fell asleep. It was the first time in my life I just slept with a guy all night long, you know? No hanky-panky."

  I seriously don't know what to say.

  Boy crazy Melody Carmichael is standing in front of me, half naked, telling me she kept her clothes on last night?

  "So you guys didn't, you know... do it?"

  "Oh, pfft, of course. Fucked his brains out first thing this morning."

  She laughs.

  I just shake my head.

  Kimberly, across the room, slams a book closed and runs her hands down her face.

  Melody shoots her roommate a look, rolling her eyes, before focusing on me again. "So that was my night. I had to make the trek back here from Brooklyn looking just like this."

  "Brooklyn?"

  "Yeah, like, Bensonhurst or something. Took forever. Anyway, I'm going to take a quick shower. Don't go anywhere, okay?"

  She doesn't give me time to respond before jetting off to the bathroom, leaving me here. I sit in silence, absently smoothing and folding the dress to occupy my time, as Kimberly shifts things around on her desk, arranging her books. She pulls one out of her bag, and I catch sight of the black and white cover. History: A Definitive Guide.

  I have that book, too.

  "Are you taking Rowan's class?"

  The question is out of my mouth before I can even talk myself out of asking it. Kimberly continues what she's doing as she answers flippantly, "You sit three rows behind me."

  "Oh."

  I didn't notice.

  I don't pay attention to my classmates.

  I've been too busy trying to fly under the radar.

  "He's a nice professor," I say, not sure what else I can say in response to that. "Better than most, anyway. I've definitely had worse."

  She shoves her chair back, turning to look at me. The screech of the legs against the floor silences my babbling. The scowl is still on her face, but it's deeper now, etched with a stark sort of anger.

  "Can we not do this?" she asks, motioning between us. "Can you stop trying to engage me in conversation like we're friends so I can pretend you're not here? It would make my life so much easier."

  I blink a few times, balking at her tone. "Excuse me?"

  "You heard me. It's bad enough I have to live in this hellhole with that… girl. I don't need whatever bad karma you bring on top of it."

  I'm utterly flabbergasted.

  Did she really just say that?

  "Look, you don't even know me, so I'm not sure what I've done to make you—"

  She laughs, cutting me off, but it's sort of a maniacal laugh, like the girl has a bit of Joker in her that's dying to come out. She's three seconds away from painting her fucking face and going after Batman.

  "You can't be that stupid," she says. "Maybe you're a nice person, I don't know, but stuff happens when you're around, stuff I'd rather not happen in my life. Maybe it's all a coincidence, but maybe it's not. And people talk. The Reed girl, the last person to see Professor Santino alive. The girl whose roommate's boyfriend disappeared. The girl who was shot by a frickin' gangster last year. That stuff... it's not normal. It doesn't happen to normal people. So please, take whatever baggage you have elsewhere, because I'd rather not help you carry it."

  She swings back around, going right back to her books, as if she hadn't just raked me over the damn coals. I stare at her, my stomach tied up in knots. I feel like I'm going to throw up.

  Melody waltzes back in then, returning from the quickest shower she's ever taken, and is yammering away about something. I don't know. I'm not listening. I can't focus. My mind keeps replaying Kimberly's words.

  People talk.

  People talk about me?

  "Earth to Karissa!" Melody snaps her fingers in my face. "Jesus, girl, what's been wrong with you lately? You always seem so far away!"

  I glance at her.

  I still don't know what to say.

  A ringing shatters the silence, though, saving me from having to come up with some words yet. The room phone. Kimberly huffs, standing up and storming out, while Melody grabs the phone to answer it. "Room 1313."

  The call only lasts a minute before she hangs up, telling whoever it is she'll be there in a minute.

  "Package or something," she tells me, even though I didn't ask. She quickly finishes dressing and brushes her hair. "Walk with me downstairs?"

  "Uh, yeah... I should get going, anyway."

  "Right, you've got class."

  "Yeah."

  Melody continues her yammering on the way down to the lobby. I catch a few of the words—she's gushing about Leo. I smile and nod, trying to be a good friend. But is that even possible?

  I don't know, honestly.

  Because all those things Kimberly mentioned?

  Definitely not a coincidence.

  "Are you okay?" Melody asks, grabbing my arm to stop me when we reach the first floor and step off the elevator.

  "Yeah, uh... I don't know." I shrug, because really, I don't know. I'm not an idiot. I'm not stupid. I know people gossip. But I've ever had someone blatantly bring it up. "Have you heard…? I mean, do people really talk about me?"

  Melody stares at me in confusion before her expression shifts, a knowing look overcoming her face. I wouldn't call it pity. Melody isn't the kind of person to pity anybody. But it is sympathetic, like she knows exactly what I mean.

  Like she's heard rumors.

  "People are assholes," she says, waving it off. "They like to make up stories like this is General Hospital and Sonny Corinthos is out there running the streets. I don't even pay them any attention and you shouldn't either."

  Easier said than done, I think.

  She smiles, like she means what she says, and I smile back, because maybe she does. Regardless, I know I don't deserve a friend like Melody. She's better off without Paul in her life, sure, but that doesn't forgive me for my part in his absence. I didn't lay a finger on him, personally, but that doesn't make me innocent.

  I walk with Melody to the front desk, where she flashes her school ID. The lady working, in turn, hands over a bouquet of white lilies. Melody squeals excitedly, flashing me the tag. No message written on it, just the words: x, Leo.

  "What did I tell you?" Melody says, clutching them to her. "Perfect."

  I leave her still basking in her post-date glow, telling her I need to get to class, but I stroll the opposite way instead, heading for the subway. I rarely take it home, because it's always so crowded, but I'm so much in my head I barely notice the others.

  The front door is locked when I get home, but Naz's car is in its usual place in the driveway, so I'm guessing he didn't go anywhere. I let myself in, heading to the den, and find him sitting behind his desk, reading today's newspaper.

  I'm starting to sense a pattern.

  He looks up when I enter. "You're home early again."

&
nbsp; I plop down on the couch, dropping my bag by my feet. "Is that a problem?"

  "For me? No. For you? Maybe."

  "Why?"

  "All this skipping class can't be good for your grades," he says. "So I guess we'll see if it's a problem when report cards come in."

  I laugh at that. "What are you going to do, ground me?"

  "No, but I might spank you."

  "Promise?"

  He stares at me.

  He's not laughing.

  His eyes search my face, looking for something. I'm not sure what, but I don't think he sees it, because he folds his paper and sets it aside, leaning back in his chair to regard me. "Come here."

  "Why?"

  He cocks an eyebrow before repeating himself. "Come here."

  Part of me wants to resist, simply because he ignored my question, but I don't have it in me at the moment. I get up and walk over to where he sits, scooting between him and the desk. I climb up on it, sitting down, my legs dangling. He continues to stare at me, like he knows something's wrong.

  He probably does.

  He doesn't ask me if I'm okay.

  He doesn't have to.

  "You're beautiful," he says, "even when you're not smiling."

  It's so out of the blue that I can't help but smile at the compliment. "Thank you."

  He nods, his hands coming to rest on my calves. He strokes my legs through my jeans. "Do you want to talk about it?"

  "Not particularly."

  He nods, yet again, and that's the end of it.

  His hands roam further up, caressing my thighs, before he reaches for the button of my jeans, easily undoing it. I wordlessly watch as he tugs down the zipper, his hand slipping right inside. My jeans are tight, barely giving him any access, but his fingertips still somehow manage to stumble upon my clit.

  His fingers are magnetic, drawn right to it.

  He rubs, and strokes, working instant magic, the kind that makes my toes curl and my skin tingle, setting my insides on fire. I close my eyes, tilting my head back, as the tiny jolts of pleasure ripple through my body, coursing up my spine. I don't know how the man does it, taking my body from zero-to-sixty in half a second flat. I lay back on the desk, almost falling off the thing when he yanks on my jeans, pulling them down.

  One second it's his hand, the next it's his tongue, pressing flat against my aching clit, tasting me as he rids me of my clothes. I help him out, pulling them off and tossing them across the room, not caring when I'm completely naked and he's still fully clothed in his suit. I reach for his coat, to try to help him out of his, when he grabs my wrists and pins them to the desk.

  "Relax," he whispers. "I've got this."

  Who am I to argue?

  I forgot what the hell I was about to do, anyway.

  Because his mouth is on me once again, licking and sucking, his teeth grazing my skin. I'm writhing and moaning as he increases his pace. It takes me forever to get myself off, but somehow this man can accomplish it in seconds, like my body just knows it's all for him. I can feel the pressure building and building, faster than I know how to deal with. My heart is racing. My fists are clenching. My back is arching. A scream is building in my chest that I try to swallow back, to keep down, but I can't. I can't. I let it out, a rough, strangled cry, as orgasm rips through me, making my legs shake from the intensity of it.

  I'm panting, clutching my breasts, my muscles like jelly beneath my skin. Opening my eyes, I instantly meet Naz's gaze as he stands there, leaning over me.

  It's almost instinct as I wrap my legs around his waist, trying to draw him closer as my hands reach for him. His serious expression cracks with a small smile, and he grabs ahold of me, pulling me off the desk and onto his lap as he sits back down in his chair.

  I'm straddling him.

  He still has all of his clothes on.

  Mine are God-knows-where.

  His hands start at my hips and slowly run up my back before slipping around to the front. He palms my breasts, his thumbs stroking the nipples, as he stares at me. Again.

  He makes no move to take it any further.

  No indication that this is going anywhere.

  "What was that for?" I ask, my voice still breathless.

  He shrugs a shoulder. "You looked like you could relieve a bit of stress."

  That's an understatement, I think, but it certainly did the trick. The tension I've felt all morning has lessened. I almost feel at ease sitting here with him. Just the two of us. Just me and him. It's all still there, though, in the back of my mind, but for the moment I let go of the guilt over it all.

  Guilt is an ugly thing.

  It slowly eats away at your insides.

  I wonder how Naz does it, how he makes it through his days without feeling the nagging sensation deep within him, the ugly reality of regret. Because he's done things... a hell of a lot more than I ever did. He ended lives. He took away futures. He destroyed dreams.

  Hell, he almost murdered me.

  But yet he gets up every morning and goes to bed again every night, and he survives the hours in between without ever buckling.

  He's trying to be better, yeah, but I think, when it comes down to it, he's doing it for me. He's not doing it because he wants to repent for his actions. He's not doing it to make up for his sins. He's doing it not because he's tired of being the man he has been. He's doing it because he thinks it's what I need.

  He wants to be a better man to ease my guilt for loving someone like him.

  A leopard doesn't change its spots.

  That's what Giuseppe said.

  You can dress a wolf up in sheep's clothing, but the son of a bitch will still eat you alive if you let it.

  Naz's hand shifts to the necklace around my neck. The pendant lies low, almost between my breasts. He rolls the small, round encased crystal between his fingertips, gazing at it. "You never take it off."

  "No," I whisper, even though he hadn't actually asked it as a question. He knows I don't. He sees it on me every day. "Well, I mean, I take it off to shower, and when I go to sleep, but I put it right back on in the morning."

  He's given me a lot, but the necklace has special meaning. I still remember the day vividly, the words he said to me after he fastened the necklace around my neck.

  It could be like this all the time, Karissa, every moment of every day. I can give you the best of everything. You just have to let me.

  Those words have stuck with me. Even when we were at odds with each other, I never forgot what he said. Because that night, for the first time in my life, I felt truly worth something. I felt like I mattered, like maybe I was somebody. And it's not because of a silly piece of jewelry, although, okay... it's gorgeous. It's because, even if he hadn't said the words that night, I truly felt loved.

  Carpe Diem. The words are etched in the metal pendant. Tomorrow isn't a guarantee. Nothing is promised. So today? Seize the Day.

  That's how Naz lives his life.

  That's how I want to live it with him.

  He glances at me, letting go of the necklace. "Let's go upstairs."

  "Why?"

  He cocks an eyebrow at me... again... but this time he answers that question. "Because you still feel a little tense. I think you've got some kinks we can work out, if you know what I mean."

  I laugh, gripping onto him tightly as he stands up, clutching hold of me. Once he's upright, I drop down to my feet, pushing away from him.

  "I could've carried you," he protests.

  "Pfft, and have you throw out your back, old man? I don't think so."

  "Ha-ha," he says, trying to grab a hold of me, but I slip away from his grasp. Laughing, I dodge through the doorway, heading for the stairs. I take them two at a time, grasping my breasts so the damn things don't bounce, almost out of breath when I reach the bedroom.

  I can hear Naz as he comes upstairs, his footsteps measured, methodical, intentionally loud. The man is damn good at sneaking around, but he's making sure I hear him. He's taunting me.


  Anticipation is a bitch.

  He heads down the hallway, right for the bedroom, and pauses in the doorway.

  Instinctively, I back up a few steps, toward the bed.

  "You think you're funny, don't you?" he asks, taking a step toward me, not hesitating when I retreat some more.

  "Maybe."

  "Maybe," he repeats, pausing in front of the dresser, opening up the top drawer. Every muscle inside of me freezes up, my stomach in knots when he pulls out a thick leather belt. He wraps it around his fist as he turns back to me.

  The look is on his face.

  That look.

  It has been a while since I've seen it, since he's looked at me that way. Since he let his guard down and let the monster come out to play.

  It's thrilling.

  Titillating.

  Terrifying.

  Maybe it's sick that I've missed this side of him, but I have. I've missed it. I haven't admitted that even to myself until now. There's something exciting about living on the edge, about inciting what I know he keeps buried inside of him. He's not going to hurt me. I know he isn't. But he's passionate and primal. Ferocious.

  He steps closer.

  And closer.

  And closer.

  I back up until I run into the nightstand, wedged right beside the bed. Naz stops in front of me, the tips of his black shoes against my bare unpainted toes, his body almost pressing against mine as he towers over me. He leans toward me, his face coming close to mine, the slight stubble of his jaw rubbing against my skin.

  It's dead silent.

  My heart is racing.

  The thump-thump-thumping is all I hear.

  "I was going to take it easy on you," he says, his voice low. "Lay you down on the bed and worship you, all day and all night. Kiss and caress every inch of you. Taste you with my tongue until you can't take anymore. And then I was going to give it to you, deep and slow... make you come over and over again, until all you can do is whimper, cry my name." His free hand, the one not clutching the belt, slowly ghosts along the front of my body, his fingertips brushing against my flushed skin. He runs the hand along my breasts before settling on my chest, over my heart. "You like it that way, don't you? Like when I make you feel all of my love."

  I nod, tingles erupting all over. "Uh-huh."