by Ava Benton
“I told you. There was a reason I didn’t want you to do it—I knew you wouldn’t be able to let it go. And I was right. You can’t. That’s okay. I can, though. That’s why it was best for me to do it and not you.”
“That’s why?”
“Well, that and I didn’t want you to lose your cherry there in a filthy alley.”
She looked away, biting down on her bottom lip. I couldn’t tell if she was embarrassed or trying to not to laugh.
“I’m hungry.”
“I bet,” I replied. “Sorry, I didn’t think to pick up food on the way. I thought maybe you would rather go to bed for a few days.”
That got a grin. “Yeah. I was pretty out of it.”
I looked around, hands in my back pockets. It was a beautiful day, if a little cold. But I liked the cold, even if it made hunting a little more challenging. “We’re a half-hour away from the closest market, but it’s a pretty tiny area. There’s still a pay phone out front. There was the last time I visited, at least.”
“So you think it’s safe?”
“Yeah, I do.” I looked over at the chopper. “You ever ride on the back of a Harley?”
She shook her head hard.
“There’s a first time for everything.”
After I took an hour to make sure everything was working after the bike sat there unused in a leaky shed, I went through one of the closets on the first floor to find a helmet for her.
“Hey—you should empty your backpack and bring it, so we’ll be able to carry more stuff.”
“Okay.” She sounded hesitant. Probably nervous about unpacking.
It only made sense to me—there was no telling how long we’d be there. I had a week’s worth of clothes there at all times, just to be safe.
She walked down the wooden staircase slowly. Wary.
“You all right?” I held out the helmet. “Here. This should fit.”
“I’m a little worried.” She took the fiberglass helmet from me and examined it.
“Nothing to worry about. I’ve been riding since I was a little kid. My dad was what you’d call an enthusiast.”
I found her a jacket, too, one lined with sheepskin to keep her warm. It was so big she had to roll the sleeves up three times and made her look like a little girl.
Only she wasn’t a little girl. I had to keep reminding myself of that. Namely every time her scent went to my head and made me want to take her by the hips and grind against her.
I had to help her climb on behind me. “Now, you put your arms around my waist and hang on.”
“I—what?”
“Did I stutter?”
“No.” She clasped her hands just above my navel. “Happy?”
Was I happy? Did it make me happy when the swell of her breasts pressed against my back? Or when the overwhelming smell and heat of her wrapped itself around me like a blanket?
I told myself to keep control—otherwise, she’d feel a lot more than my belt buckle by the time the ride was over. I started to stir a little, but that was as far as it went.
Thank God for small favors, as Dad used to say.
“Keep your feet up and stay still.” I turned the motor over and relished the feeling of the bike roaring to life between my legs. I was fairly sure I heard Hope squeal over the noise.
“You all right?”
“What do you think?” she called out.
What did I think? I thought she was about to have a lot of fun with the massive vibrator I had just turned on. I was smiling when we pulled away from the cabin.
Riding into the wind on a cool, clear day was almost as much fun as running full-out during a hunt. My blood raced. Every sense ran on overload.
Everything was sharp and clear around me—the blue of the sky and the smell of the trees and exhaust and animals who made their homes on either side of the road.
I thought I might’ve heard Hope laugh more than once. She had a good laugh. Strong, like her.
And she was beaming from ear-to-ear when we got to the store. She jumped off the bike with a mile-wide smile.
Her eyes sparkled when she pulled off the helmet. “That was incredible!”
“You liked it that much? I mean, I thought you would like it, but I didn’t think you would love it.”
“Are you freaking serious? Ahh!” She laughed and spun around. “I’ve never felt so free. I mean, I never understood before why people are even interested in riding motorcycles. Now I get it!” Her laugh was bright and sweet.
“We’ll have to ride around some more, then.” Funny, but knowing she shared an interest with me was a good feeling.
All I wanted was to show her more and watch her smile and hear her laugh.
We went inside, where the market hadn’t changed a damn bit—probably since it was first built, decades earlier.
“Sorry. They don’t offer organic food here,” I muttered as we walked from aisle to aisle.
“Shut up,” she whispered. “I can live like a normal person.”
I remembered the house she grew up in and wondered about her definition of “normal.”
Did she know what it was like to have a father who grilled hot dogs and burgers on July evenings? Who would teach his sons to play catch in the backyard? What about going for rides through the countryside, learning how to tune-up bikes and cars?
And there were other things. How to live just outside of “normal” society. How to conceal certain parts of our nature.
I didn’t envy Dad the early days of when Slate and I came of age to start shifting. It happened at almost the same time—I was ten, Slate was nine, and Dad was on his own. He enlisted his brother, Carter and Drew’s father, to help him out. The four of us went through our weird pre-puberty together.
“Hello?” Hope nudged me. “Do you like ice cream?”
“Who doesn’t like ice cream?” I asked, as I shook off my memories.
It must’ve been something about riding Dad’s Harley again. It brought back a lot of things I hadn’t thought about in years.
I watched, silent, as Hope picked out a pint of chocolate and a pint of cookie dough. It rounded out her basket of coffee, sugar, milk, cereal, bread, canned food. Pasta and rice and other staples. Not a ton—she was tiny and probably didn’t eat much—but enough.
“What about you?” she asked. My basket was still virtually empty.
“What about me?”
“I thought you were going to get meats and vegetables.”
“Oh, right.” There was no way to tell her I didn’t need to eat a lot of regular, human food when there was so much good hunting around. It felt like a waste to sit down to lasagna and garlic bread when half a dozen meals were wandering just hundreds of yards from the cabin at any time.
I picked up a few things, not really thinking about it, and enough for salads and stuff.
She seemed satisfied when we met up by the register.
I loaded up the trunk on back off the bike, then helped her load the rest into her backpack before we got started.
She couldn’t wait. Her eyes sparkled again and she just about jumped on behind me.
“Ouch,” I groaned. “You’re gonna crush my balls if you’re not more careful, throwing yourself behind me like that.”
“Oh. Sorry. Don’t wanna hurt those.”
I could hear the grin in her voice and couldn’t help but smile, too, even though my balls did ache a little.
“Come on!” she urged, squeezing my waist.
I laughed out loud as I started the chopper and turned back to the road.
For the first time in a long time, my heart felt light.
10
Hope
It was almost like being two normal people.
Not that we weren’t both normal. I didn’t know why I kept thinking about it that way, like there was something wrong with us. No, we weren’t like any normal couple staying in a cabin together. But we were just two people.
So why did I feel sometimes like he wasn�
��t?
I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something different about him. Maybe it was the secrecy. He would only tell me a little bit about himself here and there. Whenever I asked too many questions, he’d shut down.
I couldn’t explain how important it was for me to have something to talk about—something, anything, whatever would pass the time and keep me from thinking too much. I couldn’t stop thinking. I didn’t want to think.
After three days, I’d already finished three books from the massive collection all along one wall of the living room. I liked reading by the window, turning on the oil lamp once it got too dark outside.
When I was reading I could shut off my brain. The only thing that ever helped like that was going for a run—not like I could do that in the woods. Roan would never allow that. He didn’t allow a lot of things.
I looked longingly out the window over the kitchen sink as I washed vegetables for salad. It was already pitch black out there.
A large flashlight sat on the counter by the door in case one of us needed to go outside at night. It was expected that I’d never used it. I didn’t intend to. What bothered me was the way he told me what to do.
Which was exactly why Dad and I used to get into it all the time. I never wanted to do the wrong thing, per se. I just wanted to do the opposite of what he told me to do. It was a perverse thing about me. Even though I knew it only got me into trouble, I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing I would do what he wanted.
I told Roan all about it during our second dinner together—the nights out, partying, letting my father’s name get me into clubs and private events. That used to drive him craziest, the way I’d let people know his daughter was out partying every night. Too much drinking, occasional drug use. Nothing too heavy, but enough that I would’ve gotten into big trouble if anybody found out.
The sort of thing even Dad’s name and position wouldn’t be enough to get me out of. Not like he would’ve helped me. It meant more to him that others saw the image he presented—honest, confident, honorable. If anything, letting me go to jail would’ve cemented his no-nonsense reputation.
“Are you really a genius?” Roan had asked after I wound down a polluted stream of consciousness over a bowl of chili.
I made really good chili. He even took seconds, and I had watched him wolf down the second bowl like he was starved. Definitely a gratifying sight.
“I guess so. The IQ test said so when I was a kid. I skipped a grade in school and double majored in Pre-Law and Political Science. Graduated Summa Cum Laude.”
“Damn.” He looked impressed.
Another gratifying sight.
I shrugged. “I never wanted to be one of those genius kids in the special classes with pre-college course loads. I wanted to be a real kid. Dad didn’t like that, so I really wanted to be a real kid.” I laughed in spite of myself.
He laughed, too. “A real kid?”
“Oh, you know what I mean. Somebody who had friends and played sports and didn’t get made fun of for being too smart. I know it sounds extremely stupid, but it matters when you’re a kid.”
His face had taken on a different expression then. “I know what it’s like to be different.”
I had wanted so much to ask him what he meant by that, but I knew enough to know he’d shut down.
“I wanted to fit in. And I was always stubborn. No way was I gonna do what he wanted if I could help it.”
He’d smirked. “You know what? I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t do what that guy wanted me to do, either.”
“Which is why you smuggled me out here?”
“Partly.”
Only partly.
What was the other part?
Why did it always feel like the thermostat was going up, up, up whenever he was in the room? I’d gotten up from the table then, so he wouldn’t see me blush.
I hoped he would tell me a little bit about himself that night. He had spent the day working on his bike—the cold didn’t bother him, he said.
I couldn’t imagine how.
The cabin was always chilly, even when I turned up the heat. I wished I could build a fire, but he didn’t want to run the risk of anybody seeing the smoke. It seemed so silly. We were in the middle of nowhere, the land time forgot.
He came in through the front door, making me jump.
“Sorry,” he muttered before jogging upstairs to clean up.
His hands were streaked with dirt and grease, which he’d smeared on his forehead and cheeks. Even then, looking like a grease monkey, he set my heart racing.
That was the other thing about him, the way my panties started steaming whenever he looked at me.
I wasn’t an innocent little virgin by any means, but I couldn’t remember any guy having that sort of effect on me. Not even my biggest crushes back when I was a kid and didn’t know any better.
I plated the chicken parmigiana just as he was coming back down from the shower.
His shaggy hair was still wet, dripping on his broad shoulders.
I swallowed hard and willed my heart to stop racing.
“That smells incredible,” he murmured with a smile as he sat at the little table in front of the stove. “You’re a really good cook.”
“You don’t have to sound so surprised,” I winked.
“I never imagined you as a cook, is all.” He sliced into a chicken breast and made no secret of how much he enjoyed it. His eyes practically rolled back in his head.
“I’m not a spoiled rich girl—at least, that’s not all there is to me. I’m honest enough with myself to admit that I’m a little spoiled.”
I wished we had some wine. I could’ve used a drink, and not just to go with the meal. It might’ve eased my nerves. Then again, it might’ve made it harder to keep my clothes on.
“I never could stand spoiled people.” He tossed that one off as easily as he would if he were telling me he hated paying taxes.
It stung—a lot.
“Are you saying you have a problem with me?” I asked, keeping my voice even.
“What? No. I didn’t mean it that way.”
“Hmm. Funny, seeing as how I literally just told you I’m a little spoiled and I know I’m a little spoiled. Funny how you chose that very moment to illuminate me on how you feel about spoiled people.”
“You said you’re a little spoiled. You didn’t say you were a spoiled person. Neither did I. Why are you always so argumentative?”
“Because we’ve been here together for three days and you keep reminding me that you don’t like me. Not in so many words, but you make it pretty clear.”
“You’re crazy.” He shook his head and kept eating.
“Could you please give me the benefit of looking at me right now?”
“Why?” But he did put down the knife and fork.
“Because you hurt my feelings and I would appreciate if you would at least pretend that matters.”
“Aw, shit.” He pushed his plate away, then pushed himself back from the table. “I don’t need this.”
“What?”
“This crazy bullshit.” He waved his hands around. “All of it. I put my life on the line to bring you out here. I risk my team and my future. And all you wanna do is break my balls over hurting your feelings. I’m tired of feeling like I have to walk around on eggshells.”
It was like a knife to the heart. “Is that what you think? Well, you don’t have to do me any favors. Go do what you want to do. Get out of here. Leave me alone.”
“For what? What will you do without me here?”
“What does it matter?” I picked up my plate and threw it against the wall with a scream of rage and heartbreak, sending tomato sauce dripping down the wood planks. “My father will find me and have me killed, or I’ll starve to death or die from exposure. I’m dead no matter what, right? I don’t have a life so I might as well be dead, anyway. I have nothing!”
I burst into gusty tears with my chest heaving up and dow
n as I struggled to breathe. It was all true. I had nothing. Nothing to look forward to, nothing to plan for or hope for.
Nothing.
I expected Roan to explode in rage—the memory of how cold-blooded he could be was never far from the front of my mind.
Instead, he stood and reached for me.
“No. Don’t touch me.” I stretched out my arms, palms facing him. “Don’t even come near me. I don’t want anything from you anymore. Please.”
I was crying so hard, my words were barely intelligible.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.” He took another step.
I backed away.
“I told you to stay away!” My back was against the counter. I spun around, only half-conscious that I was looking for a weapon. I was just that crazy and hopeless, at my wits end.
The flashlight sat there, waiting.
I picked it up and swung as I turned back to him. It made contact with his forehead with a thunk.
“Fuck! Are you serious?” He held a hand to his head, where a thin trickle of blood dripped from between his fingers.
Horror washed over me. Who had I become? I didn’t mean to do it, but I had done it just the same. Who was I?
Instead of hanging around to apologize, I ran out the back door with the flashlight still in one hand.
I heard him calling my name, but I was too afraid of what he’d think of me for hurting him to stop and turn around. I tore through the darkness, totally disoriented, but using the flashlight to light my way.
What was happening to me? Who was I? Some neurotic who threw plates and beat people?
That wasn’t me at all.
My mind was going, my nerves were frayed to the point of snapping. I was tired of pushing everything down inside, telling myself not to think too much about my own father wanting to kill me.
I was tired of thinking about Dan and how his murder would go unsolved if I didn’t come forward. He would never get justice—especially if I ended up dead, too.
And Roan.
He hated me.
He only protected me because he got caught up in the moment—after a few days of getting to know me, he saw me for who I was and didn’t like what he saw.
