Carpe Diem (Sumettikul's Universe Two)

{5} I Need You Safe

"Why?"

"You know why." I roll my eyes.

He gazes at me, his eyes burning.

"I'm sorry, Bui. I didn't know he'd be here. He's never here. He's opened a new branch at the shopping centre, and that's where he's normally based. Someone was sick today."

I turn on my heel and head for the door.

"We won't need Franco, Greta," Bible snaps as we head out of the door. I have to suppress the impulse to run. I want to run fast and far away. I have an overwhelming urge to cry. I just need to get away from all this fuckedupness.

Bible walks wordlessly beside me as I try to mull all this over in my head. Wrapping my arms protectively around myself, I keep my head down, avoiding the trees on the street. Wisely, he makes no move to touch me. My mind is boiling with unanswered questions. Will Mr. Evasive fess up?

"You used to take your subs there?" I snap.

"Some of them, yes," He says quietly, his tone clipped.

"Alex?"

"Yes."

"The place looks very new."

"It's been refurbished recently."

"I see. So Mr. Young met all your subs."

"Yes."

"Did they know about him?"

"No. None of them did. Only you."

"But I'm not your sub."

"No, you most definitely are not."

I stop and face him. His eyes are wide, fearful. His lips are pressed into a hard, uncompromising line.

"Can you see how fucked-up this is?" I glare up at him, my voice low.

"Yes. I'm sorry." And he has the grace to look contrite.

"I want to get my hair cut, preferably somewhere where you haven't fucked either the staff or the clientele."

He flinches.

"Now, if you'll excuse me."

"You're not running. Are you?" He asks.

"No, I just want a damn haircut. Somewhere I can close my eyes, have someone wash my hair, and forget about all this baggage that accompanies you."

He runs his hand through his hair. "I can have Franco come to the apartment, or your place," He says quietly.

"He's very attractive."

He blinks. "Yes, he is."

"Is he still married?"

"No. He divorced about five years ago, but the staff still calls him by his married name."

"Why aren't you with him?"

"Because that's over between us. I've told you this." His brow creases suddenly. Holding his finger up, he fishes his phone out of his jacket pocket. It must be vibrating because I don't hear it ring.

"Welch," He snaps, then listens. We are standing on Bank Street, and I gaze in the direction of the larch sapling in front of me, its leaves the brown and orange.

People bustle past us, lost in their Saturday morning chores. No doubt contemplating their own personal dramas. I wonder if they include stalker ex-submissives, stunning ex-Dommes, and a man who has no concept of privacy under Thailand's law.

"Killed in a car crash? When?" Bible interrupts my reverie.

Oh no. Who? I listen more closely.