The Moth and the Flame (When Rivals Play Book 2)

by B. B. Reid

  “It might if you tell me why he’s after you.”

  My head whipped back around. “You mean you don’t know?”

  When his only response was to clutch the steering wheel tighter, I shook my head, pulled my camera from my bag, and after popping the memory card back in, I searched through the last photos I’d taken.

  The last photos I’d ever take.

  This particular memory had ruined all ‘memories’ for me. “This is what the man whose orders you so blindly follow is capable of.”

  Wren glanced over, and what he saw made him slam on the brakes, angering the driver behind him who honked their horn loudly. Wren didn’t seem to notice the commotion he had caused as he swiftly pulled into the parking lot of a Wawa and snatched the camera from me.

  “I know this guy,” he said while inspecting the photo closely. “He’s a cop. One of the only good ones left in the city.” There was respect in Wren’s tone and…sadness? Had Wren truly not known?

  “And do you know the woman lying next to him?” Before he could answer, I said, “What about the two children next to her?” I took a deep breath, and it shuddered out of me. “He killed them, Wren. He set them on fire and watched them burn.”

  “Jesus, Lou.” He reached out for me, but at the last minute, I pulled away. I saw the hurt he wasn’t quick enough to conceal, and my pain mounted. Any other time, I would jump at the chance to be held by him, but it felt wrong for him to comfort me when he was one of them.

  “So no,” I continued, sniffling, “you can’t convince Fox not to kill me because I’m not going to let him get away with this.”

  Compassion fled as he stared back at me in disbelief. “You can’t be serious. Fox won’t just kill you. He’ll go after everyone you care about.”

  “Then there’s no reason to worry because there’s no one I care about.”

  “Really?” he scoffed. “Cathleen? Dan? Eliza?” he questioned, referring to the Hendersons. “What about Miles and Leo?” There was a pause, and I knew he was ready to ask if I cared about him, but then his nostrils flared, and he looked away. “I refuse to believe you’re as heartless as you pretend,” he said when my silence stretched too long.

  “Heartless?” I echoed. “Your boss tortured that family, and you think I’m cruel?” Of course, he didn’t respond, and I swiped at my tears as I released a bitter laugh. “Maybe I am heartless, but I never took you for a coward.” I grabbed my bag and was out of the car before he knew what was happening. I made it two or three steps before he grabbed, spun, and sat my ass on the hood. “You’ll smudge the paint.”

  When he stepped between my legs and cradled my face in his hands, I forgot to be mad. “You’re fucking right I’m afraid, Lou, but you’re dead wrong if you think I’m afraid of Fox for my sake.”

  I wanted to melt, but I couldn’t be weak. Not now. Not even for Wren. “I’m not backing down.”

  His forehead touched mine, and he closed his eyes before inhaling deeply. I could feel him pleading with me even before he said, “Is this really worth your life?”

  “Am I worth yours?” Afraid of the answer, my voice trembled.

  I felt him flinch. “Are you asking me if I’d die for you?”

  “I’m asking if I can trust you.”

  He froze at the same time I did. I wanted to take back the words, but I knew I never could. Wren treated my trust as a precious gift, and I’d just callously taken it back from him.

  He lifted his head and met my gaze. “What did you just say?” The black look he gave me warned me to back down, but the memory of Fox slaying that innocent family wouldn’t let me dare.

  “You heard me.”

  Wren had the power to make me do anything he wanted by force or finesse although he hardly ever bothered with the latter, so when he didn’t do either, I knew without a doubt that I had hurt him.

  “Get back in the car.”

  I did. Neither of us spoke a word or dared to breathe too loudly as he pulled the car back onto the road. The camera holding enough evidence to put Fox away for a long time, if not forever, was resting in his lap. I didn’t take it back even though I knew he wouldn’t stop me.

  Ten minutes later, he pulled into the garage of a two-story stone and vinyl home where the smell of salt was even heavier in the air. I wanted to ask who lived here, but Wren was already out of the car and stalking toward the door by the time I’d built up the courage.

  He didn’t wait to see if I’d follow as he pushed open the unlocked door attached to the garage and crossed the threshold a second later. My confusion only mounted because I knew without a doubt the home didn’t belong to Wren. If Wren had his way, his dream home would be completely secluded. Perhaps underground or in a cave, and you’d have to wade through shark-infested waters or wrestle a bear to gain access.

  With a sigh, I unbuckled my seat belt and followed him.

  Inside, the smell of cinnamon assaulted my nose, making my stomach growl. I followed the sound of beeping and found Wren inside the kitchen, removing a plate filled with cinnamon rolls from the microwave. The kitchen had pastel pink walls, dark blue granite countertops, frilly white and pink striped curtains decorating the windows, and white cabinetry. Our gazes instantly met across the center island, but then, just as quickly, he turned away and removed an old-fashioned milk jug from the fridge.

  I watched him take the jug to the head and drain half the container before stopping. Heat bloomed in my stomach as I watched him move around in such a domestic setting. Every action he took showed how at home he felt in the space.

  “Who lives here?”

  Picking up a cinnamon roll, he bit into and chewed thoughtfully as if considering answering. “Does it matter?” he said after swallowing. “You’re safe here.”

  Before I could argue, he swaggered past me with the rest of his cinnamon roll and disappeared from the kitchen. It hadn’t escaped my notice that he never offered me one. Hoping to piss him off since he clearly didn’t care to share, I snagged one from the plate. Before I could enjoy my sweet revenge, however, I noticed a handwritten note lying next to the discarded saran wrap.

  Biting into my roll, I picked up the note and read it without a second thought as to whether I should.

  Sweet rolls for my sweet boy.

  Love,

  Nana

  PS. There’s fresh milk. Use a glass.

  A giggle escaped me, but then it died when shock and betrayal rippled through me in its wake.

  Nana? As in his grandmother? As in Wren had a family?

  Why hadn’t he told me? I’d questioned if I could trust him because of his loyalty to Exiled. I never once questioned if he trusted me.

  “What are you doing?”

  I whirled around with the note in my hand, and rather than hide the fact that I’d read it, I held it up accusingly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  He shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal. It was fucking huge. All this time, I thought he was alone out in the world like me. As his best friend, I should have been happy for him, but instead, just like at the skatepark, I felt like I didn’t know him at all.

  “You told me you lived with a woman who took care of you. You never mentioned that woman was your grandmother.”

  I expected him to brush me off as usual, but instead, he surprised me when he said, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” I was even more taken aback by the sincerity in his voice.

  I could only nod as I hid my surprise. “Where is she?”

  “She left for one of those world cruises this morning,” he answered as he grabbed another roll. “She’ll be gone for a few months.”

  “Does this mean we’ll have this place to ourselves?” I blinked at what sounded like an invitation in my tone. If he heard, he didn’t let on. Sex should have been the last thing on my mind, but I couldn’t help wondering if it would serve as a much-needed distraction. After all, I had made a vow in that dark alley to finally steal the kiss I’d been wanting.

  Those t
houghts, however, were shattered when he said, “You will. I’ve got to figure out how to keep you alive.”

  I gaped at him in disbelief. “You’re going to leave me alone in a strange town and in an even stranger house to go running back to that sadistic bastard?”

  “What do you want me to do, Lou? He has a price on your head that could buy anyone in the city!”

  “Which means you belong here with me! You can’t protect me from another city.”

  “Watch me.”

  Crossing my arms, I stuck out my hip. “If you don’t have to stay, then neither do I.”

  He took a threatening step forward. “Oh, you’ll stay. Even if I have to chain you to the bed.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  His dry chuckle had my lips tightening. “If you believe that, then you don’t know me at all.”

  I gestured around the house that looked to be straight out of a Disney storybook. “Clearly, I don’t know you at all!”

  “You’re staying, Lou.”

  “You’re in for a rude awakening, Harlan.”

  My threat sank in, and a silent battle of wills commenced. It was all I could do not to jump in the air when he cursed and followed it with, “Two days.”

  “Three,” I countered.

  “One.”

  “Okay, two,” I quickly conceded.

  His lips twitched, and for a moment, I thought our friendship might survive until he said, “I’m surprised you want me around since you don’t know if you can trust me.”

  And then he left me alone, feeling gutted.

  Everything before waking up in Wren’s car and after getting cornered in that alley came rushing back all at once, and I didn’t get the chance to wonder why I’d blocked it out before shame overcame me. I’d screamed at Wren, accused him, and when hurting him emotionally didn’t work, I tried to take his head off before running from him.

  Wren hadn’t said a word until now, and I finally understood why he was angry with me. Well, I was angry, too, so two could play that game.

  I don’t know how long I stood where he left me before my legs felt strong enough to use. The house was silent, making me wonder if Wren had left me here or if he’d disappeared somewhere to brood alone. My pride wouldn’t allow myself to chase after him.

  The open concept allowed me to see the dining and living room from where I stood in the kitchen. The large wall—also pink—adjacent to the maple dining table was a mural of framed photos and mementos, and it drew me to it.

  The first to catch my eye was the photo of a beautiful girl with raven hair like mine smiling so sweetly at the camera in her green cap and gown. An older, stern-looking man stood next to her holding a sign that read Class of ’93. She was flanked by a tiny, jolly woman who I knew had to be her mother. The resemblance was glaring, although she stood a few inches taller than her mother. She’d clearly inherited her height from her father.

  With an urge to know who this girl was, I forced my gaze away from the photo seeking more happy memories but found an obituary instead.

  Pamela Harlan had only been thirty-two when she died. I was already beginning to realize the significance of who she was and why I felt connected to her when I saw the photograph of her smiling and holding a little boy on her hip. He had dark hair, bright blue eyes that seemed to have dimmed with time, and a happy smile that rivaled her own.

  I knew instantly who the little boy was.

  He couldn’t have been more than a few months old, but I could pick Wren out of a crowd from space.

  He had chubby cheeks, and his hair was a bit curlier then, a complete contrast to his hard edge and the dark cloud that kept anyone from venturing too close. Until now, I thought I’d been the only one who dared.

  There were more pictures, but none of them included Wren’s father, who was still a mystery even after saving me. The next photo to capture my attention was a picture of Wren, maybe a couple of years old, holding a newborn baby. His head was bent, and the chair he was sitting in seemed to swallow his small body, but I could see the look of wonder on his face even as he held the baby tightly as if he’d never let anything happen to him.

  Of course, maybe I was just being overly emotional but gazing at that picture, I knew I hadn’t been fair to question where Wren’s true loyalty lay. Protecting was in his marrow and the way he took care of me…I might as well have been.

  I wanted to push my pride aside. To run and find him. To fall to my knees and beg him to forgive me, and while I was there, I could show him in a more pleasurable way how much I appreciated him. If only he’d let me.

  I was so caught up in my fantasy I hadn’t realized he’d crept up on me until he spoke.

  “I see you met my mom.”

  “She’s beautiful.”

  “Yeah, she was,” he agreed reluctantly. I didn’t detect any sadness, but Wren wasn’t exactly an open book or a myriad of emotions. He was indifferent until he wasn’t, and then God help you. You’d never know how angry he was until you were already lying bloodied and broken.

  “Were you there when she died?”

  “I was here.” And then he mumbled, “As usual,” before walking away.

  This time, I followed him out of the living room. I was getting sick of him dropping bombs and just walking away. I trailed him down a dark hallway and ended up following him into a bedroom. I stopped short just inside the door when I spotted the many posters adorning the wall, the cluttered desk in the corner, the five skateboards, each a different color, size, and shape, hanging above the black iron bed rail, and the dark blue and green plaid comforter atop the double mattress. This was a boy’s room, and after everything I’d learned, I knew without a doubt that this was Wren’s room.

  He crossed the room and dropped down onto the bed until he was flat on his back with his booted feet planted on the carpeted floor. I stood there feeling awkward while he seemed perfectly relaxed. “Something on your mind?” he taunted without ever opening his eyes.

  “What did you mean by ‘as usual’?”

  He didn’t answer right away, and I could tell he was contemplating if he should. “I told you I lived here. My grandmother raised me. Pamela was good to me, but she didn’t come around all that often.”

  “I know how that feels,” I grumbled as I stared at the floor.

  I could feel Wren’s gaze on me when he said, “Then I guess I can understand why she stayed away.”

  I shrugged even though I felt anything but indifferent. “Your loss. Someone thinks I’m good for you,” I pettily boasted before I could stop myself.

  “Who?” he immediately demanded.

  I shrugged and refused to meet his gaze. He stood from the bed and stretched, drawing my attention to his bulging muscles. I shifted against the heat and moisture pooling between my thighs, but the itch I couldn’t scratch continued to build.

  “Come on,” he said. “I’ll show you to your room.” He moved past me, and I followed him to a larger bedroom with dark pink walls. I stared at the queen-size bed covered by a frilly pink quilt, which had so many decorative pillows in varying shades of pink that there was barely room to sit, before eyeing the ivory gossamer curtains. Besides the gray carpet and the white furniture, it was the only thing that wasn’t pink.

  “This isn’t your grandmother’s room, is it?”

  “No.” And then he frowned. “Why do you ask?”

  “It’s so…pink.” I felt like I was trapped inside a bubble of gum.

  “All of the rooms except mine are like this. I helped her paint after my grandpa died.” He seemed sad as he looked around. “This was my mom’s room whenever she visited.”

  Not wanting to think about the fact that I could be sleeping with a ghost tonight, I moved to the window. I was pleased to find that I had a view of the water and the small beach just a few paces away from the house. “When did your grandpa die?” I asked him while still facing the window.

  “A heart attack took him a year before my mom died.”
<
br />   “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too.” There was an awkward silence that he filled by saying, “You have your own bathroom.”

  I turned in time to see Wren pointing to the door I hadn’t noticed a couple of feet from where I stood.

  “There should be clean towels inside if you want to shower.”

  “Sure. Thanks.” It was his turn to feel awkward although he hid it better as he continued to stand there. “Is there something else?” I peeked at him from under my lashes while trying to hide my smile. “Something you need?”

  “No,” he answered tightly before backing up a step, turning, and swiftly heading for the door. The moment it clicked shut behind him, I groaned and sank onto the bed. My heart was pumping wildly, but at least it was still beating. Right now, it seemed Wren’s only concern was keeping it that way.

  At least one of us had our priorities straight.

  Half an hour later, I emerged from the bathroom, dripping wet from my long, hot shower and wrapped only in a fluffy pink towel. After searching my bag for five minutes straight, I realized with a deep groan that I was out of clean clothes. I was willing to bet Wren’s grandmother had a washer and dryer, but the tired ache in my bones wouldn’t even consider the thought of doing laundry tonight. The inviting bed beckoned, and after only a moment of contemplation, I undid the knot keeping my towel around me and padded to the bed with a sleepy grin.

  I knew Wren wouldn’t approve, but it was late, and he was in evade mode, so I knew he wouldn’t be back tonight. After tossing all the tiny pillows onto the floor, I flipped back the quilt and slipped inside.

  The cool covers lulled me to sleep in no time.

  I MADE MY WAY DOWN the hall listening for any sign of life from Lou. The water from the shower had stopped almost an hour ago, but she hadn’t come looking for me like I thought she would.

  Lou was safe for now, but that didn’t stop me from worrying, especially after the horror she’d witnessed. I wished to God that I’d been in those mountains. I wouldn’t have been able to stop their deaths from happening, but I could have prevented their suffering. Something told me Fox’s anger over my absence was the reason he’d resorted to such a cruel method.