Caspian
The blinds lowered automatically on their timer while the girl was already half-undressed.
“Cas,” she whispered, pulling off my T-shirt, “I’ve been waiting two months for you to invite me over.”
“Patience is a virtue,” I smiled, letting her push me back onto the bed.
We were in my guest room; I only ever brought girls here.
My bedroom was strictly mine.
I lived in the penthouse.
A wrap-around terrace circled the entire apartment.
To the right was the master suite, complete with a walk-in closet, a master bath, and a jacuzzi; to the left were two guest rooms with a shared bath; and at the center lay the lounge, living room, kitchen, dining area, home theater, and library.
She was clearly eager to show off what she could do.
Since she’d been clinging to me for this long, I decided to give her the chance and didn’t protest—until my phone started ringing loudly with a very specific ringtone.
I’d only left the twins an hour ago, so I picked up immediately.
“Cas,” Leo groaned into the receiver, “Dad’s out.”
Without a word, I hung up and lifted the girl off me.
“Get dressed,” I commanded.
“I have to go.”
I started dressing in a hurry.
“But Cas,” she complained, “what happened?”
“If you don’t get dressed, you’re leaving this apartment naked,” I snapped.
She scrambled into her short dress—just enough for the end of summer.
The elevator opened directly into my apartment, and arrived seconds later.
I pushed her inside while she fumbled with her sandals and hit the buttons for both the lobby and the parking garage.
“This is where we part ways,” I said.
She huffed in frustration.
“I don’t understand what happened.
You seemed to be enjoying yourself.”
“You don’t need to understand, Sweetheart.”
I pushed her out at the lobby floor and hurried to my flame-red, fast, and rare convertible in the garage.
I tore through the deserted night streets to the other side of town—the ghetto—and pulled up in front of Leo’s small, run-down house.
I toggled the roof up with a button before jumping out.
Two street kids immediately ran over; they knew my car well.
“Watch it,” I told them.
They nodded.
I burst through the front door, the whimpering audible from the hallway.
A middle-aged, bloated, filthy man in a worn-out tracksuit was clutching a beaten, thin Mike by his leather jacket.
His twin, the tattooed but equally thin Leo, was already on the floor, also bloodied.
I grabbed the man by his shirt and threw him into the corner.
Against my height and strength, the half-drunk man was no match, but he scrambled up.
“I told you,” I began, “if you touch the twins one more time, you won’t walk away.”
“What, are you pimping them out now?” the man laughed.
I punched him in the solar plexus, sending him doubling over, then seized his grimy sweater.
“What are you doing home, you piece of trash?” I asked.
“I paid for your rehab.”
“Didn’t like the place, and I missed my boys,” he chuckled.
I slammed him against the wall, pinning my forearm against his chest until fear finally flickered in his eyes.
“You’re going back, and you don’t come home until the doctors clear you,” I said.
“No more chances, Lewis.” He just nodded.
“If you ever lay a hand on them again, I won’t care that you’re their father.
You’ll rot behind bars for the rest of your life.
Is that clear?”
“Cl-clear, Caspian,” he wheezed.
“You know I have enough on you,” I said.
“We settled that before rehab.” He nodded again.
“I’m taking the twins for the night.
Be gone by tomorrow.
I’ll know if you ditch the clinic.”
I helped Leo off the floor and guided both boys out to the car.
Despite the late hour, a crowd had gathered around my beauty, but no one dared touch it.
In this neighborhood, they knew exactly who owned this car.
“Cas,” a middle-aged woman approached with a box.
I leaned the boys against the car.
“I wanted to send this with the twins,” she said.
“Thank you for saving my daughter at the beach a few weeks ago.”
I remembered—helping a teenage girl at the shore when two jerks wouldn’t take no for an answer.
“Thank you,” I said, opening the car.
The two teenagers helped me settle Leo and Mike in the back.
I tucked the box in beside them.
“If Lewis is still here tomorrow night, text Leo,” I told the two boys.
They nodded and began dispersing the crowd.
I drove straight to the boxing gym.
The twins’ injuries needed tending, but the ER would ask too many questions.
I called Bob, and by the time we arrived, he was waiting with the doors open.
Bob was the age of my parents—a retired, bald, tattooed heavyweight pro who now trained young talent with great success.
He owned the biggest boxing gym in the city.
I’d been learning from him since I was ten, mostly in secret despite my parents’ protests.
He lived alone above the gym; it was his life, and he had plenty of experience treating blunt-force injuries.
I sat the boys down, and Bob got to work.
“The bastard came home,” I said.
Bob just nodded.
“You shouldn’t have quit boxing,” Bob muttered disapprovingly to the twins.
“It’s not for us,” Leo said, wincing at Bob’s touch.
“How long do you plan on looking out for everyone, Cas?” Bob asked me.
“As long as I can.” I replied.
He nodded in agreement.
Once Bob patched them up, I drove them home.
We took the private elevator from the garage straight to my penthouse.
“You guys want food?” I asked as they sat at the kitchen island.
They nodded.
“Thanks, Cas,” Leo said as I scavenged leftovers from the fridge.
“We’re friends.
It’s the least I can do.”