Growl gave an almost imperceptible nod. His face was unmoved, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes I wouldn’t have noticed a few days ago. I was becoming more perceptive and growing used to the small changes in his facial expressions.
“Why?” I whispered. Why would anyone want to work for such a man? Maybe something had been irrevocably damaged when Growl had to watch all that at such a young age. Part of me wanted to reach out to that damaged little boy and squeeze him into a tight hug and tell him everything would be okay. But for one, I wasn’t sure if that boy was still hidden away somewhere in Growl or if he’d shriveled with time and the horrors he’d witnessed. And second, I knew I would be lying to that boy. Few things would be okay in Growl’s life. That boy would be molded into a monster through abuse and cruelty. Perhaps it would have been better if he hadn’t survived in the first place. Not only to spare him the horrors of his life but also to save the many he’d tortured and killed for Falcone.
I’d given up on an answer from Growl when he said, “Because he’s my father.”
I sucked in a deep breath. “Falcone?” I asked because it seemed impossible. I didn’t doubt Falcone had many mistresses beside his wife. A man like him couldn’t be faithful. But it simply seemed impossible that word hadn’t gotten out. That people didn’t mention Falcone’s name in one breath with Growl, the bastard. My eyes searched Growl’s face, but if there was something of Falcone in his features, it remained hidden to me.
He nodded again. “That was one of the reasons why he wanted to get rid of me. And why he killed my mother. She threatened to tell people. Falcone doesn’t let anyone threaten him.”
“He killed your mother. The woman he had a child with,” I said slowly.
Growl didn’t react.
“How could he do that? What kind of monster would do something like that?” I winced, suddenly worried I’d gone too far. For some ridiculous reason, Growl was loyal to his cruel father.
“A monster like me,” he murmured.
“Like father, like son?”
Growl shrugged. I could tell that he was done with our conversation but I was way too agitated to let the topic drop so quickly. “Maybe you shouldn’t take your father’s horrible nature as an excuse to be a monster yourself. Maybe you should strive to be better.”
He let out a low breath, which might have been a laugh, I wasn’t sure.
“I’m not joking.”
He rose to his feet. “I’m not a monster because of my father. I’m a monster because I chose to be.”
I doubted that was the truth. He’d been a young boy when he’d experienced horrors even grown men could hardly imagine. “It’s never too late to change and to make up for your mistakes.”
Growl shook his head. “You’re naïve if you think that’s an option. I won’t change. I don’t want to. My life is good as it is.”
“You’re working for the man who killed your mother. I don’t believe you can live with that.”
“I have for a very long time.”
“If I were you, I’d want to get revenge.”
Growl smiled darkly. “But you aren’t me. And you don’t know me.”
He turned around and left the room. A second later I heard the backdoor open and close.
He was right. I didn’t know him. Yet. But today he’d handed me a few pieces of the puzzle that was him, and I was determined to get the remaining pieces as well.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Cara
Idecided to not push Growl further regarding Falcone and what happened. I had a feeling that he would close up completely if I tried too soon again. At least he didn’t seem too angry about my questions to stop sleeping with me.
When we lay next to each other in my bed after Growl had driven me to three orgasms, my mind was racing for a way to make him stay with me. He usually always left directly after we were done, giving me no chance to get to know him better. We didn’t even touch afterward. Or hadn’t so far at least.
Now Growl’s arm was lightly brushing mine. It wasn’t by accident. Perhaps deep down he longed for closeness beyond sex?
His eyes were half closed and his breathing was already slowing. His muscled chest glistened with sweat. “What happened to my father after you took me to your house?” I asked.
Growl opened his eyes. “He was dead.”
“I know,” I whispered harshly. “That’s not what I meant. Where is his body? What did you do with it?”
Growl turned his head toward me, frowning. “What does it matter? He’s gone.”
“People bury their dead for a reason. Because they need a place to feel connected to them, a place where they can go to say goodbye or talk to what remains of the people they love. It’s what people do.”
Growl didn’t seem to understand. “Maybe. I can’t see how that helps.”
“You don’t have to understand,” I said quietly. “Just accept it. I really need to know where my father’s body is. I need to say goodbye to him to get peace.”
“He was buried outside the city borders.”
“Buried? So he wasn’t dumped somewhere or worse?”
“I wasn’t there when they buried him. But it’s what they told me.”
“Do you know where it is? Can you take me?”
Growl let out a sigh. He sat up like I’d expected and swung his legs out of bed, turning his back to me. That, too, was covered with tattoos, thorns and roses, skulls and snakes, and intricate black letters that read ‘Pain’, nothing else. There were more scars on his back, shoulders and neck.
“You have to move on.”
I stifled my frustration. He simply couldn’t understand. So many human emotions and habits were foreign to him. I pushed into a sitting position and scooted closer. I hoped it was a good sign that he hadn’t gotten up yet. Perhaps something in him wanted to stay with me?
My fingertips grazed the strange round scars that littered his back and upper arms. They didn’t look like shot wounds, more like someone had burned Growl. After a moment of hesitation, I asked quietly. “What are those?”
Growl peered over his shoulder, amber eyes softer. “Cigarette burns.”
My fingers froze. He sounded so detached, as if we weren’t talking about his body. “Who did this to you?”
“Perhaps I asked someone to do it to me,” he said.
“Why would anyone ask for pain?”
“I like pain. Learned to like it over time.”
“You like it?” I repeated, dropping my hand from his skin. Did he ask someone to burn him? Was he that messed up? The idea didn’t sit well with me. Someone who did this to themselves would probably do much worse to others. Though why that surprised me was ridiculous. I knew what kind of man Growl was. More monster than man.
A corner of his mouth twitched in an almost smile. That small gesture managed to change his entire face, making him seem more approachable, less dangerous. But the usual hard line returned to his lips too quickly. “Not getting burned. I didn’t ask for those scars,” he said roughly. “When I was a kid, I wasn’t into pain yet.”
My eyes trailed over the many burn marks, counting almost a dozen. “Someone did this to you when you were a kid?” I paused, unsure about the next question. “Your mother?” That would at least explain why Growl didn’t want to avenge her.
Growl shook his head. “She wasn’t the best mother. She worked as a whore. Her addiction and job didn’t really help with raising a kid, but she never beat me or hurt me physically.”
I licked my lips. This was dangerous territory I was treading. My curiosity made me eager for more, but at the same time I was equally scared of the horrors I’d hear and what they would make me feel. With every piece of Growl’s past and his character that I uncovered, it became more difficult to not feel compassion, and more. “Then who did?” I asked despite my worries.
“After my mother died and I was released from hospital, Falcone gave me to one of his henchman, Bud, who was responsible for one of the brothels. He was a pimp, really, and didn’t want a kid around. But he couldn’t give me away if he wanted to get in Falcone’s good graces, and so he kept me. But he was a sadistic bastard and when he grew tired of beating the shit out of his whores, he liked to torture me.”
“Why didn’t Falcone stop him?” I shook my head. “I don’t know why I’m even asking. The guy almost killed you. It’s not like he’s a decent human being, or anything close to that.”