“I’ll cut your fucking dick off so you won’t get caught putting it where it’s not wanted,” I grit into his ear.
“You live in this building?” Lance asks, sounding like the miserable schlub he is.
“Practically roommates, right, Sam?”
Natayla stands paralyzed like a deer in headlights. “Go on. Mom’s expecting you,” I tell her, gesturing with my chin.
She backs away from us, but not without giving me a look first. One that begs me to behave, not do something I’ll later regret.
I shove Lance to the ground as soon as Taye’s out of earshot. “Leave her the fuck alone. Are you here on the bidding of Katerina? Acting as her fucking minion?”
“For your information, Natayla and I were an item. Our families are the best of friends,” Lance says from the floor.
He’s trying to recoup his dignity but can’t get up due to the foot I have pressing on his chest.
“So go fuck her family. Stay the hell out of her life unless you want to see what it feels like to get dragged by a Cunningham,” He tries to get up, but I shove him down again. “I don’t ever want to see your face in this building again, and if I do, there will be hell to pay.”
Maybe a little over-the-top, but I mean what I say.
I run him out of the apartment and make sure he gets on the elevator before turning off the access to this floor with my card. My toying with Sam is one thing, but this guy doing Katerina’s bidding and inflicting her same brand of abuse when Natayla left home to escape it is another. I won’t tolerate it, and it certainly won’t be done right under my nose.
When I push open the door to Penthouse B, Sam and Lizzy are seated at the table, plates full of salad, talking delightedly like old friends. Mom’s got wine and music playing; it’d almost be a romantic date if my blood pressure weren’t through the skylight.
They both stop talking and watch me roll up my sleeves.
Chapter Eighteen
Natayla
I’m not sure what’s more appetizing; dinner, or Dash’s forearms. He threw Lance out like he was trash and somehow it feels like retribution for all the times Dashiell was needlessly tossed aside by those in power when he was struggling.
“Come sit down, sweetie,” Lizzy says, pouring wine for her son.
I smile, embarrassed by all the drama that comes with my proximity. Instead of apologizing, I shovel in the salad. It’s everything I’m not allowed to eat, with dressing, cheese, and croutons—so delicious I want to weep.
“Save room for lasagna,” Lizzy says, her hand on mine as I go for the salad tongs again.
“Oh, I can’t. I don’t do pasta. The bloat will show through my leotard and I’ll fail my weigh-in.” I’m savoring the golden, crispy garlic bread when I realize I’ve said too much. Mother still weighs me, and now I’ve let them both know.
“You’re having lasagna. I’m not taking no for an answer. You’ll burn that off in your sleep, Natayla,” Dash says.
He’s served himself a piece and cuts the steaming heap of sauce, cheese, and noodles with his fork. Brow furrowed, he blows on the bite before holding it out to me like a small child. I am immediately aroused and wrap my lips around his fork like I want to wrap my legs around his thighs.
“Oh my God, that’s good,” I say around the steaming bite as the flavors meet my tongue.
I chew and swallow as heat pours through my body and sits between my legs like a delicious weight, a pressure I know only one thing can sate.
“I can’t,” I say, chewing and covering my mouth with my hand.
I’m talking about the food and sating my desire for Dash, who has turned into a full-grown man, an extraordinary dancer. Yet he’s still my hero, always having my back and being more real than anyone else ever has been. I’ve spent ages wanting to stand up to Lance and watching Dash do it stoked a fire inside me.
“I think you should sleep here tonight,” Dash says. He looks at his mother. “The keeper Katerina assigned just tried to attack Sam in her own home. I don’t think it’s safe for her to be alone.”
“Of course not,” Lizzy says. “Sam, stay with us tonight. Or as long as you like. We would never have had a place to stay all those years ago if not for your precious diamond bracelet. It helped us weather many a storm, right Dash?” she says. Lizzy stands with her plate, looking pointedly at her son.
I open my mouth to speak and Dash brings another fork-full of lasagna to my mouth. As I chew and watch Lizzy tidy up the kitchen, I realize this is what family feels like, ease and warmth. Eating together is a pleasure, not a test of discipline. I’ve spent my whole life living under the glare of scrutiny, even by those who were supposed to love me best.