My taunting doesn’t get me the reaction I’m after. Instead, he slips his mask back into place, hiding from me.
My next breath is accompanied by a long stretch and then I take another drink. A coldness sets in between us. I can feel it coming. It used to come so often when we were forced to be together. The moment he knew he’d let me in, he’d shut it down.
I should have known better than to think it would last. Maybe I didn’t think it would, but I sure as fuck want it to.
“Something is truly wrong with me,” I speak the thought without conscious consent.
“You’re a product of your environment,” Sebastian answers me. He sinks back against the booth and stares at me long and hard. The fake, thin leather protests as he watches the front door.
“I should get home,” I tell him, so we can end whatever this moment has been. “I’m sorry I came and…. decided to be crazy and vent to you.”
“I’m not.” He answers me the same way he did with paying for lunch. No nonsense, no bullshit. And the same response flows through my body. For years, in school and up till the day my uncle died, I wanted him to be like this with me. To just talk to me.
“Be careful what you say at the shop though,” he tells me and then adds, “people listen.” The tone in which he says it brings an uneasy feeling over me and with a tightness in my throat, I start to tell him I’m sorry, but he cuts me off.
“Just so you know for next time.” The softness to him, it does something to me I can’t explain. Next time. As if I could have this moment again with him.
“You’re different,” I marvel at the revelation out loud.
“I’m not the one who’s different.”
“What do you mean?” I search his eyes for answers, wanting to know how he meant me to take that statement. Needing to know.
“Does it matter?”
“I don’t know what matters anymore.”
“What do you know, Chloe Rose?”
The way he asks it, or maybe it’s just my own thoughts, but it feels like the way he asks it is so much dirtier than what he actually asked.
“I know I should go to work or go home.” Neither of those options sounds appealing, but both are true.
“It’ll already be two by the time you get to work,” he says and shakes his head, “don’t bother.”
“Home it is then,” I say, easily conceding, and reaching for my purse as I scoot out of the booth to stand. “Thank you for lunch,” I tell him and then add, “I can walk since it’s--”
“Let me take you home.” He doesn’t look me in the eyes when he gives the command, he doesn’t even look at me. It’s clearly non-negotiable, so I don’t bother objecting.
The drive back to my place is even worse than the drive to the diner. Thankfully, it only takes about four minutes. And two of those were spent at a red light.
“I really could have walked,” I tell him as I slip out of his car. He opened his door first, intent on getting out rather than just dropping me off, so I walk a little quicker, eager to get to my front door first and cut him off there. I just want to be alone for a while. I want to hide away if I can. I need to process everything, but Sebastian has a way of bringing me out of my hiding place and showing me more of this world that makes me want to risk living.
“Should I come in and look around?” he asks as his car keys dangle from his hand. He stands in front of me expectantly, but I can’t give him that.
“I'd prefer it if you didn't.” The moment I unlock the door and turn around, I block the doorway and put a hand on the doorknob. It’s only open wide enough for me to stand in the gap comfortably. “I think I need to decompress; today’s been a lot to handle.”
He cocks a brow at me in that way I like. “You wouldn’t lock me out, would you?”
The way he asks makes me smirk, which slowly shifts into a genuine smile as I consider him. He’s so tall, so much taller than how he is in my thoughts. And his shoulders, so wide. He could protect me from anything. That pull to him is so strong it’s scary. But Sebastian himself doesn’t scare me, not in the least. He never has. It’s the power he has over me that’s terrifying. “I would… but if you asked to come in, I’d let you.”
My answer puts a smile on his face that matches mine. “See? I told you, you’re different.”
I huff a laugh, shaking my head. I’m not so sure that I’m different. It’s more like I’m letting him see more of me. That’s not the same thing.
He leans in close as I fail to summon a response, so close that I know exactly what he would want if I didn’t lock him out tonight. I’m in over my head with him, hot and bothered and wanting the same thing he does.
I need to get away from this city more than ever.
“Get some sleep then,” he says softly, in a deep, rugged tone when my eyes meet his. The carnal need that burns in his gaze sets my body on fire. I’m still standing there, watching him walk away when I can finally breathe again.
What is he doing to me?
The feeling deep in my gut, the one that used to be constantly present, still lingers as I walk up the stairs. Something is telling me it’s not all right, it’s not a coincidence. But that something is quieted by the thoughts of Sebastian and the idea that if it’s not all right, I can run to him. It brings out a strength in me I desperately need. He does that to me. And I find it hard not to be drawn to him even more because of it, my stupid heart especially. He’s been good at hurting it in the past, but it still wants more of him.
Sebastian
The second her door closed, I felt eyes on the back of my head. I could feel someone watching. But when I turned around, there wasn’t a single soul in sight. No neighbors on their porch, no kids playing in the street.
Fuck, I’m just as paranoid as she is. The sound of my boots slapping on the cement stairs pounds as hard as my pulse does in my ears.
When I get in my car, I lock the doors but don’t turn the key in the ignition. Not just yet. The light in her bedroom isn’t on and I wait, staring at the curtains until the soft yellow glow floods the window. Even though dusk hasn’t hinted at its arrival, I can still see she’s turned on the light.
I’m tired as fuck. I couldn’t sleep last night, and I don’t have a clue when I’ll finally be able to rest easy again. The image of Chloe in my bed soothes the beast inside me. The caged animal that needs to be released. If she was next to me, in my arms and in my bed, I’d sleep then.
I pick up my phone and call Carter, needing some relief tonight and wondering if he’d drive by and keep a lookout for me. I don’t like the way she’s thinking and worse, the way she’s acting. I can’t risk her doing anything stupid, like telling anyone else about that list.
The phone rings. And rings. An unsettling feeling in my gut churns until he picks up. I’m reminded that his mom’s doing worse and worse. One day he’ll answer and tell me she’s gone. I fucking dread that day. The cancer’s been eating at her for two years now; she doesn’t look like herself anymore with all the weight she's lost. She can’t go anywhere without getting winded. It’s only a matter of time at this point.
“Hey man, I’m having a rough time. I was just about to call you.”
“What’s going on?” I ask him, feeling guilty that I forgot the shit he’s going through.
There’s silence for a long time before he tells me, “It’s just getting harder.”
“You all right?”
I can hear him swallow before he replies, “As all right as I can be.” I forget what it’s like to have a family, let alone what it would be like to watch someone you love to slowly die in front of you. “You need me to do anything?” I ask him.
Again, there’s only silence.
“Nah,” he says. “What is it you needed?”
With his question, comes a beep signaling I’ve received a text and instantly I think it’s Chloe. Looking up and watching as the light goes off and the window loses its light, I answer him, “It was just a passing thought, i
t doesn’t matter.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah,” I answer him. “But if you need anything, let me know. I got you.”
I don’t rush getting off the phone with Carter, but he does, ending the call right then with the sound of his father yelling in the background. My heart goes out to the kid.
More than a time or two I’ve thought about showing his dad what it’s like to have someone take out their anger and fear on a man, but I don’t know if Carter would forgive me for stepping in. Or whether it would just make things worse on him. His family is his. It’s what he told me when I suggested it once. I never want to get between him and his family. Never. No matter how fucked up they are.
The second the line goes dead, I check my text messages, but the message isn’t from her.
Are you going back on your word?
I read the text from the unknown number with a mix of anger and fear coloring my consciousness as I stare at the words.
I turn the key in the ignition, although I know I’ll be back tonight once the sun has set. I’m dead set on staying right here tonight. Right in front of her house until the early morning’s passed. I don’t need to sleep. I can sleep when I’m dead.
I answer, No, I understand what I have to do. She’s staying out of it. She doesn’t know.
The unknown number replies, Good. I’d hate for you to find out what would happen if you go back on your word.
Chloe
“You didn’t come visit me on my birthday.”
I hear my mom’s voice in the pitch black of my dream. The darkness spreads all around me. I can’t see.
“I missed you,” she says but her voice sounds closer this time and it echoes all around me. The only other sounds are my chaotic breathing and the pounding of my heart as fear filters into my blood. Every pulse feels harder and forces the desperation to get out of here to climb high into my throat.
Run.
I try to run; I try to scream. But I can’t.
Open your eyes. Wake up!
I wish I could obey my own pleas.
Slowly my eyes open, but I’m not in my bed. I’m in the alley on Park Street. I swear I feel tears on my face. My throat is raw from hours of screaming. My nails are broken and there’s blood everywhere. The metallic scent of it, the feel of it dried but still sticky and wet in other places over my skin, it’s all I can smell and feel.
My body is so heavy.
“Why didn’t you come visit me?” My mother’s voice taunts me as I try to lift my head.
My body’s heavy, lying on the ground. My cheek is flat against the cold, hard asphalt.
“I wanted to sing you a lullaby, baby girl. I miss being your mama.” I feel fresh tears start.
“Please don’t,” I whimper where I am. The pain flows as freely as the fear of seeing her again. I wish I could run.
“So, did I, baby girl,” my mother responds to my unspoken thoughts. “Or for someone to help me,” she adds.
I hear footsteps behind me and my heart pounds harder and faster. The adrenaline in my body is useless.
On instinct, I scream for help, but my voice is so quiet.
“No one can hear you, baby girl.” She’s closer. My body trembles and I try so hard to move, but not a single limb obeys. I try my fingers. One by one, please. Please move, but nothing moves. I’m cemented where I am.
“Well, maybe they can, but they don’t listen.”
The chill from the night air gets colder as a darker shadow covers my body. She’s behind me now. I try to swallow, so I can clear my throat and beg her, but it’s pointless.
“It’s time for your lullaby,” she threatens.
“I promise I’ll sleep.” My words come out as a strangled plea. I remember the way the heavy base of the glass vodka bottle landed against my temple. She didn’t sing it like this, so calmly. It started out this way though. And once she started, she never stopped. Not until I was unconscious. She knew when I was pretending. She always knew.
“Go to sleep,” she sings to me in a gravelly voice, dry and slurred from drinking, “go to sleep, lit-tle Chlo-e.”
Tears stream down my cheeks.
“Close your eyes, rest your head.”
Remembering how she beat me furiously with the bottle.
She drags her finger across my skin, trailing along the curve where my neck meets my shoulders. Her nail is jagged and slick with fresh blood. Pulling my hair behind my neck so she can whisper in my ear, she finishes the lullaby, “It’s time for bed.”
Sebastian
I debate on sending the text. I’m staring at the phone in my hand like I’m back in high school.
You didn’t go to work today either?
The words stay right where they are, waiting for me to send them. I know she’s all right; no one’s approached her, no one’s messaged her. Although, she hasn’t left the house since I walked her to her door. Not two nights ago, not last night and she called out from work again this morning.
I know she’s in there. I’ve been watching every inch of that place.
“Mr. Black.” A man’s deep voice disrupts me from my thoughts. Sitting at the lone desk in the back room of the shop, I can see him through the open door. He’s standing in the front of the butcher shop, peeking behind the counter, and trying to get a look into the kitchen.
“Officer Harold,” I answer him in a monotone and slip the phone into my pocket. I just got in and didn’t see his car in the lot. But I didn’t check for it either. I didn’t do anything except worry about leaving Chloe Rose alone in that house. She’s getting to me even worse than she did back in high school.
All I can do is think about her, and that’s a mistake. For both of us.
“What can I do for you?” I ask him as I walk out of the back and head straight toward him. As I cross my arms, I make a mental note of who all’s in here. Eddie’s behind the front counter and watching everything, although he’s pretending to go through the weekly invoices. I don’t know why he bothers putting up a front. Officer Harold is in Romano’s back pocket and Eddie knows that. As does everyone else who’s working in the back.
So that means Romano sent him, or this is a test.
Either way, I don’t care for it. Other than Eddie, I don’t think anyone else is here yet. Which could be bad news for Eddie if this goes south.
“Have you heard about the recent killing spree?” he asks me and gestures to one of the two small tables in this place. They’re circular with peeling, flaking vinyl on the top and thin metal legs that match the rickety chairs. They’re dated and not meant to keep people wanting to stay. Most of the people who come in here pick up their packages and leave. Those who decide they want to hang around often change their minds as quickly as they can sit their asses down in these spindly seats.
“Killings?” I question him like I haven’t thought much about it. The sound of the metal feet of the chair dragging across the floor makes Eddie cringe as he peeks up from scratching his pencil on the notepad. “I know Tamra Stetson was shot and killed, I heard about that the other day.”
“Tamra and before her, Barry Jones, a few days before him a girl named Amber Talbott was found dead.” Officer Harold doesn’t sit like I do. Instead, he remains standing. Fucking prick.
I push back the chair and spread my legs wide as I sit back and shrug. “I only know what you know,” I offer him, and he gives me a smug smirk.
“And what is it that you think I know?” he taunts me, sucking his teeth and keeping his back to Eddie. Eddie doesn’t hide the fact he’s watching.
Again, I shrug and say, “Whatever’s in the paper and on the news.”
It’s quiet for a moment. Not a sound from anything. Not the air conditioner, not the cars outside. Nothing as he watches me, looking over my expression. I keep it easy and relaxed. It’s something I worked hard to accomplish. You never let them see a damn thing from you. Carter said his dad taught him that once. That you don’t give anyone anything. It’s the one
thing Carter taught me that’s helped me survive longer than I would have otherwise.
“And what about your girl, Chloe?” Officer Harold asks me, and Eddie stops jotting on his pad. The scratching of the pencil halts and my heart pounds heaviy. I can feel my lips twitching on my face to pull down into a scowl and the need for my forehead to show a sharp crease.
I want to rip out his throat for even mentioning her name. I wish I could see her right now. That I could see she’s safe and ensure they’ll leave her out of this. Adrenaline pumps hard in my blood knowing she’s involved now, but she did that to herself when she came here. Fuck, I wish I could take it back.
I can protect her though. I will protect her; I’ll make this right.
“Chloe Rose?” I say her name and force my face to soften, to stay casual wondering how the best way to play this would be. I rub the stubble on my chin and look past him. “What about her?”
“Why did you go to see her?” he asks me. Anxiety races through me. She’s always flown under the radar. Gorgeous and tempting, but no one’s paid her any mind. No one wants to deal with the sad girl who’s stuck here with no one and nothing. Now she’s a person of interest, all because of me.
“She came to see me,” I correct him.
“That’s not what I heard.” My pulse pounds at my temples. And again, I struggle to keep my composure. I feel my throat get tight as I swallow.
Letting out a low sigh, I exaggerate. “A few nights ago, she was walking home.” I meet his eyes to add, “Alone. And the streetlight went out. Spooked her some.”
His eyes stay hard as I sniff and shrug my shoulders. “She wanted some company. I checked out her place. I don’t know if you know this, officer, but someone broke into her house a while back.”
His eyes narrow; I know damn well that he knows what I did. I had to tell Romano, who tells Officer Harold when he doesn’t have to go searching for a killer. Problem is, Romano doesn’t know who’s doing these killings. Romano should know if I had something to do with it, I’d tell him. The fact that Officer Harold is here is telling. The uneasiness flows through me the more I think about it.
Keep This Promise Page 8
