Raw (RAW Family #1)(51)

And what I saw lifted my mood from a Class A glum chum to a Class B rainbow fairy.

And rainbow fairies are pretty damn happy.

Well, if they’re not, they should be. They make rainbows for chrissakes!

Reading the note a second time, I leaned my hip on the kitchen counter and sighed.

Dinner. 6pm. Staying with me tonight. I’ll send a car. Dress nice.

Chuckling, I looked down at the command I’m given almost every time we’re together.

Dress nice.

I desperately needed to go shopping. Which is why I text Nikki, asking her to meet me for lunch.

Walking into my office, I stop in my track when I see Michael sitting behind my desk. Glaring at him, my fists ball by my sides and I grit my teeth. “You’d better have a good reason for skipping school, Mickey.”

He grins, “Pupil free-day.”

My steam evaporates and I stroll all the way into my office, “Well, that’s a pretty good reason, I’d say.” Winking at him, I walk all the way over to him and sigh. Twitch told me he’d been roughed up. He also told me he dealt with it. When I asked what had happened, he threw seriousness in my face and said in dead calm, “Don’t ask, don’t tell.”

That obviously made me feel about as relaxed as a person with a boil on their eye.

Taking Michael’s face in my hands, I look down at him with sad eyes. “Let me look at you, sweetie.”

His nose swollen and crooked, his lip cut at the left side, and his eye black but the swelling seeming to have gone, I decide to play it cool and not show just how much I’m freaking out over the fact that one of my kids was beaten. And beaten good.

Still cupping his cheek, I run a hand through his now short and neat do. “You okay?”

His eyes close at the feel of my fingers in his hair.

My chest pangs.

How long has it been since someone has shown Michael motherly affection?

My guess is a long stinking time.

Eyes closed, he mumbles, “I’m good. Nothing I haven’t been through before. I love my job.”

That makes me smile. A genuine smile.

Releasing him from my clutches, I cluck, “Good! No, great! How’s your new boss?”

Okay. I’m officially fishing for information. Can you blame me?

Michael dips his chin and smiles softly. “I don’t know where that guy came from, Miss Ballentine. But I’m grateful.” Looking up at me, his face turns serious. “The way he took care of what happened...” His eyes widen and he shakes his head. “Your boyfriend is seriously f*cking scary.”

Rather than correct his assumption, I scowl at him. “Language.”

Looking into me with empty eyes, he utters distractedly, “Sorry. He was all cut, stab, and gouge, and I was just like what? And then he was all smiley again, like nothing happened, and I was seriously freaking out worrying.” His eyes meet mine, and Michael comes back from the trip delved deep into his mind. “But I think he likes me.” He smiles.

He looks so happy. But I’m still stuck on cut, stab, and gouge.

My blood runs cold.

Clearing my throat, I turn my back to him and ask in false cheer, “What are your plans today?”

I hear Michael stand. “Work. I should get going. Mr. T wouldn’t be happy if I was late.”

Pretending to fetch some books from the shelf at the side of the room, I call out, “Okay, Mickey. Be safe.”

The door closes behind him, and placing a hand to my heaving chest, I wonder how I’m going to get through dinner tonight.

Cancelling on Twitch is not an option.





Sitting in the back of the car, smoothing down my little black dress which doesn’t need smoothing, I hyperventilate a little more and think about how I bring up what Michael told me today.

Having decided I would wait until dinner is over, I do my best at placing a poker face on as the door to my side opens and the mature, greying driver holds a hand out to me. Placing my hand in his, I step out and come face-to-face with Twitch. His eyes crinkle in the corners, but then he loses his smile when he spots my dress and heels. His already hooded eyes hood a wee bit more, and he leans in, placing his lips at my cheek in a gesture of affection that takes me aback.

Breaking out into goosebumps, I shiver and close my eyes.

Twitch takes my small hand in his large tattooed one and leads me towards the front door of the quaint little Italian restaurant.

His choice of venue surprises me. This doesn’t look like something he would choose. He looks the type to choose fancy. Or expensive. And modern.

Not sweet, warm, and delicious.

We stand in line waiting to be seated when an older man comes towards us wearing a white shirt and a white chef’s hat, wiping his wet hands with a dish towel, and speaking rapid-fire Italian.

Twitch grins at the man before letting go of my hand and taking a step towards him. The older man kisses his cheeks, still talking up a storm. With his animated hand gestures and playful scowls, I can’t help but smile at him. He pinches Twitch’s cheek hard, shakes it a little, then let’s go, but not before slapping his cheek.

And the thought of someone treating him in such a way is a shock. So much of a shock that my eyes widen and I have to bite my lip hard to hold in my laughter.

When the man spots me, he does a double-take, and his enthusiastic speech halts. Smiling a sweet smile, he says, “Hello. I’m Joe.”