Page 19 of Bronx

What the fuck is going on here?

“Are you sure you’re Karma?” I ask the woman.

“Oh, I should have been more clear. I’m not Karma, but this is my house. Karma is coming down now.”

I look over at the staircase and am disconcerted as I watch a vision of lush curves tentatively descend the stairs. Karma has wide hips, a small waist, and round breasts that sit high with defined nipples that are poking through her shirt.

She’s definitely fuckable.

Then my gaze raises higher and lands on her face. She is a natural beauty and wears little to no makeup, has pouty lips, and wide set, baby-brown eyes framed by long natural lashes–not those fake ones that so many girls wear these days.

Yet there is one glaring flaw.

One of those eyes is surrounded by a halo of purplish-blue flesh. Someone hit this woman and someone hit her fucking hard. It reeks of a man’s doing. I’ve seen it a thousand times before, but something about her black eye makes me… angry.

I don’t say a thing as I unhurriedly rake my eyes up and down her entire curvaceous body until finally settling my gaze back on her eye. When I do, she immediately pulls some of her dark brown hair over her face to camouflage the purple bruising. The corner of my mouth turns slightly down when she does it. I can tell that she’s used to hiding herself.

She’s done this before.

“Thanks for letting him in,” she says to the other woman.

“You’re welcome. You’ve got about a half hour before Kim comes home and then, well, you know.”

“Yep, I got it. We’ll be quick. Thank you, Ruby.”

The woman named Ruby exits the room, and it’s just Karma and I left amid an awkward silence. She’s also wearing a graphic tee which I have to blink and register in my brain several times to believe even exists.

“Is that NSYNC on your t-shirt?” I ask, my throat aching from holding in a laugh.

“The legendary band?” she retorts. “Why, yes, it is.”

“Where did you find that relic?”

It’s a serious question. That boy band hasn’t been relevant since before I was born, so I’m curious.

She squints her eyes at me, clearly annoyed with my line of questioning. “At the mall, where everyone buys their clothes.”

“They sell NSYNC shirts at the mall?” I try asking with a straight face. “Are you a time traveler?”

“Can I get you that drink you demanded yesterday?” She points toward what I guess is the kitchen. “Your throat sounds like it needs it.”

My mood immediately changes.

And my smile drops.

Is this woman being serious or a smart ass? Did her brother tell her what happened that night in the cabin? Did he confess to her how he sliced my throat and tried to kill me?

Am I being set the fuck up?

6

Bronx

“No, I’m good.” I say, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. “Let’s just get to business.”

I’m going to see where this whole thing leads me, and I pray it’s straight to his treacherous ass.

Karma folds and crosses her legs completely beneath her in the wide armchair that she’s sitting in, and I try to avert my eyes as her breasts sway underneath the thin fabric of her shirt.