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Chapter
10

Sofia

“What the fuck happened to you?”
says my dad.

“It’s
nothing,” I say. “I slipped and fell.”

My
dad’s pockmarked face gets that steely cold
I’m-going-to-kill-someone
look. Nobody does that look better. Most street thugs threw up their hands when
he used it on them.

“Who
is he? Who did this to you?”

“Nobody.
I swear, I slipped and fell.”

“Don’t
lie to your father!”

I put
the groceries I bought down on the counter. Jorge did a good job cleaning up last
night. Place is only in mild disarray tonight.

“I was
sparring, okay? I tried slipping a punch but my sparring partner was quick.”

“Who?
What sparring partner?”

I sigh
as I take the chicken, onions, peppers, beans, and rice out of the bag. I try not
to think about that glorious magnificent cock.

Inside
me.

Pounding
me into total submission with its frenzied thrusts.

“It was
a girl I was sparring with at the gym, okay?”

“A girl?
No. No girl did this to you.”

“We
were sparring, Dad. Boxing. Working out. It was an accident, that’s all.”

I bite
my lower lip as I find the carving knife and begin chopping the peppers and onions.
I can feel my dad staring at me.

Eventually,
he opens his first beer. Thank God for beer.

We don’t
say much as I make dinner. Chicken with instant rice and canned beans. Only meal
I can make without fucking it up.

God,
I wish mom were here. I miss her. Is she ever going to be here again? Is Jorge right
about the Puerto Rican-style divorce?

I’m doing
a pretty good job keeping my head clear until I see that Jorge found the fruit bowl
and placed it back on the kitchen table. He arranged a red apple, a green apple,
an orange, and three bananas.

Big bananas.

Big,
long, hard bananas.

Then
I get a flash of Colton Stark’s tongue in my ass.

Zing!

“What
the fuck is wrong with you?” says my dad as I stare at the bananas.

“Hmm?
Oh, nothing.”

I stir
the beans into the rice.

Soon
we’re eating, sitting at the kitchen table. I sit so I’m facing away from the bananas.
The window is open to let in the refreshing cool breeze.

“Is it
okay?” I say.

My dad
nods and continues eating.

We talk
about his woodworking, some news, and the cool weather. Then I break out something
that I had rehearsed on the drive over here.

“So what
was the best op you ever worked on with Frank?” I say.

My dad’s
eyes light up.

“Easy.
The
Sobchak
affair. Two guys thought they could con
us into a scheme to fleece Billy
Sobchak
. We had this
store set up, running some hot merchandise, doing some reputation building, you
know to make it look legit. And Frank... goddamn... did Frank ever get into the
part. He slicked his hair back and wore a cheesy brown suit with the wide
lapels and an open shirt collar with a chain around his neck. Talked in a
Brooklyn accent like he’s from New
Yawk
. So one night
the guy comes in with Billy
Sobchak
and Frank’s eyes
pop out of his head. We had been looking for him for months and he walked right
in. Arrested him right there. It was beautiful.”

The only
time my dad gets this animated and talkative is when talking about his days on the
force.

“You
had some great times as a cop, huh?” I say.

“The
best
times.”

Hmm.
I let that slide.

“Dad,
did Frank ever show signs of... anything?”

“Anything
what? What do you mean by anything?”

“I mean,
I don’t know, skimming. Cutting corners.”

The
I’m-going-to-kill-someone
stare returns.

“Never.
Frank is top of the line. What are you saying?”

“Nothing,
Dad. Nothing.”

The
stare continues. “Tell me what’s going on, Sofia! You tell me right now. I have
to know.”

“Nothing,
Dad. It’s just that... I’ve been wondering about Frank, that’s all. Just
concerned about him.”

“Concerned?
How?”

“Look,
it’s nothing. Forget it.”

My
dad sips his beer and returns to eating.

“It
ain’t
Frank,” he says after a long pause.

“What’s
not Frank?”

His
eyes meet mine again. “Whatever it is.”

“Okay,
fine. Fine.”

We eat
in silence for a while longer.

“What’s
been going on with that rich guy you’ve been staking out?”

“Nothing.
Still collecting surveillance.”

“Good-looking?”
he says.

I’m
about to reply, but I end up holding my breath with a forkful of food halfway
between my plate and my mouth.

“Sure,”
I say, as I feel a flush spreading across my face.

My
dad eats some more, then gives me the look again.

“Be
careful,” he says. “Make sure you know what you’re doing.”

Watch for
Blaze:
The Stark Affair Book 3
by
Skylar
Cross,
available on November 15, 2014

Here is a free preview:

Chapter
1

Sofia

According to the flashing arrow
on my laptop, Colton Stark’s Bentley, with its hidden firefly, is still in his
driveway.

I’m
on
DiLido
Island, parked on the opposite corner from
where his street meets the Venetian, in the unmarked car I got from the pool.

In TV
shows and movies, cops always drive indistinct, late-model, American cars.

In
real life, we use whatever we confiscate from a variety of sources. Today I’m
in a green 2002 Accord. Rear right door doesn’t quite match the color of the
rest of the car, which adds to the non-cop look.

My disposable
cell phone rings.

“Hello,”
I say.

“Sofia,”
says
LaTashia
, “sorry I didn’t give you a heads up that
I was going to do that. I sensed that I was being too easy on you lately and the
office might notice.”

“No problem.”

I breathe
an inner sigh of relief.

“Although
I was play-acting, Sofia, I am a little concerned. You haven’t told me what you’ve
learned from Colton Stark.”

“So far,
not much. He hates his dead father. Doesn’t get along with that Jasper guy.”

“We know
all that, Sofia. Don’t you have anything new?”

Shit.

“I’m
working on it.”

“Well,
find something, Sofia. And don’t let him get to you.”

I feel
a sting from the soreness in my pussy. “It’s all under control. I told you before.
He’s not my type.”

“I hope
so.”

Damn,
does she know? Can she tell? Is it that obvious that I’ve been fucked
senseless?

Or
am I being watched 24/7? Shit, what if
LaTashia
is
the informant herself? What if all this is to set me up as the informant?

“I’m
still on the job, Lieutenant. I can handle it.”

I
see an old Toyota Corolla directly in front of me across the causeway with its
left blinker on. The flashing light on my laptop shows the Bentley still in his
driveway.

But fuck, that’s Colton Stark behind the wheel!
I know that outline!

I’m
wearing a black beret and dark sunglasses, but I slink down in the seat anyway.
He doesn’t seem to notice me as he turns left onto the Venetian.

I
start my engine. I’m about to follow when I see a light blue Buick pull out
from its spot and coast behind him.

I
turn right, following the light blue Buick across the Venetian.

“Lieutenant,
I think I’m onto something,” I say. “I’ll call you later.”

I
click off.

We
cross into the city proper to 2nd Avenue. Our little parade takes a right,
heading north.

* *
*

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