He continued to stare at me in silence, his eyes roaming my face.
“What?” I asked, my voice abrupt. My heart was beating a little too fast in my chest — I told myself it was from my impending food-coma, nothing more. “Is there a reason you’re staring at me?”
“Besides the fact that you just ate me under the table?” His lips twisted as he reached out and slowly handed me a napkin from the plastic dispenser. “You have ketchup on your face,” he said softly.
My cheeks flamed. “Oh,” I whispered, taking the napkin and feeling foolish.
“Are you done?”
I nodded. “I just want to use the bathroom.”
“Fine, be quick.” He looked over his shoulder at the empty diner and I fought the urge to roll my eyes. We’d been here an hour and the place hadn’t seen a single other customer. We were so far off the beaten track, I was surprised the place was even in business.
Not that I was complaining — the food had been phenomenal after two days of saltines.
I slid out of the booth and headed for the bathroom. It was a dingy little closet with poor lighting and dirty walls, but even so, it still beat peeing in the cabin. I relieved myself in peace for the first time in days and also got my first horrific glimpse in a mirror since this ordeal started.
Pulling off the atrocious baseball cap Wes had insisted I wear, I saw my face was drawn with grief and tension. There were shadows under my eyes, as though I hadn’t slept in ages, and there wasn’t a stitch of makeup to be found on my features. I made quick work of applying a touch of lipstick and a swipe of mascara, feeling instantly more like myself. I pointedly ignored the snarky portion of my brain that questioned whether my desire to clean up had little to do with me and a whole lot to do with the man who’d just seen my face covered in condiments.
Before leaving the bathroom, I pulled my gun from my purse and made sure it was still loaded. I was surprised to find it was — Wes hadn’t taken my bullets, as I’d suspected he might. Checking that the safety was still on, I slipped the pistol back into my bag and strolled out of the bathroom.
I froze a few feet from the table, eyes widening at the sight before me.
Wes was standing beside our booth, wiping down every surface we’d touched — from the utensils to the salt and pepper shakers — with a damp, disposable cleaning cloth.
“And here I always thought Mr. Clean was bald,” I sassed, giggling at the sight.
He glanced over his shoulder at me, but didn’t stop cleaning.
I raised an eyebrow. “Seriously, what are you doing?”
He sighed audibly. “When I’m on a job, when I don’t want to be found… There’s a reason I pick places like this, with no security cameras. It’s the same reason I pay with cash and don’t chitchat with the waitresses. I don’t leave any traces.”
“Makes sense,” I murmured, looking away from him. My eyes were suddenly tingling for no apparent reason.
I don’t leave any traces.
Oh, but he did.
He might’ve wiped down every crime scene and removed all remnants of his DNA… Hell, he could’ve scrubbed every goddamn surface in Budapest. But the fingerprints he’d left all over my heart couldn’t ever be removed. They were invisible scars, reshaping my soul like a sculptor’s hands would the most malleable clay. Scored so deeply beneath the skin, he couldn’t have undone the damage even if he’d tried.
I stood, unmoving, as he brushed past me on the way to the bathroom I’d just used. He returned a moment later, dropped a few bills on the tabletop, and turned to me.
“Time to go,” he said, his hand finding the small of my back as he guided me out the door. He pulled the baseball cap down over his face as we walked past the waitress who’d served us, and I nodded goodbye with my own brim-shielded face averted.
I made sure not to touch the door handles when we stepped outside and climbed back onto his bike. The meal I’d just consumed turned to stone inside my stomach as I wrapped my arms around his torso and tried very hard not to cry.
Chapter 52
Faith
TRUTHS AND LIES
* * *
After our outing to the diner, another day slipped away with very little of interest to report.
With nothing to do, I grew so bored and stir-crazy, I would’ve welcomed the arrival of some heavily-armed assassins, if only to liven things up. Even arguing with Wes had lost its charm — we barely spoke as day faded into night, then day again.
As time went by, we developed an unspoken routine of sorts. Wes hated being stuck in the cabin so he’d disappear outside for most of the day, doing manly things like keeping watch and chopping logs and God only knew what else, which suited me just fine. I spent my time inside listening to an iPod that was quickly running out of battery, sketching on gum wrappers I found in the bottom of my purse, cleaning things that were already immaculate, and playing thousands of rounds of cards.
A single day of solitude and solitaire, and I’d been driven half-mad.
Which was, perhaps, the only explanation for why I thought it was a good idea to grab the whiskey from the cabinet, shove some matches in my pocket, and pull the quilt from the bed, as I headed out into the dusky twilight. Wes was nowhere in sight and, thus, couldn’t thwart my plans, which brought a smile to my lips for the first time all day.
Dumping my armful of supplies, I began collecting rocks from the clearing. Once I had enough, I laid them in a circle on the dusty earth just off the side of the cabin, then turned for Wes’ woodpile. Within minutes, I’d stacked several logs in a pyramid and shoved some dry twigs in the space beneath them.
My patience expired after a few unsuccessful attempts to light a fire with nothing but matches and grass. Twisting the cap on my Jameson bottle, I doused the logs with a splash and watched giddily as flames began to consume my makeshift fire-pit. The logs burned warm and bright as I spread my quilt on the lawn a short distance away and sprawled out on my stomach to watch them crack and hiss.
As the sun set and full night descended, I fed the fire and took small sips of whiskey on alternating intervals, which sent an entirely different kind of flame burning down my throat and into my empty stomach. I knew it was cold — I could see my breath puffing in the darkness — but I felt perfectly warm.
Whether from the fire or the liquor, I didn’t care much.
Eventually, I flipped over onto my back and looked up at the stars until they blurred before my eyes.
The last thing I thought before my lids slipped closed was that they were almost as beautiful out here as they’d been from a bridge in Budapest, with a boy’s arms wrapped around me and a future brighter than the moon painted in my mind.
* * *
“Fuck. You have to be kidding me.”
I knew that voice, but right now it sounded low and pissed off, grumbling in my direction like a freight train. I felt fingertips against my cheeks, patting my skin lightly, but like a stubborn child refusing to wake, I turned my head so they couldn’t bother me anymore.
“Perfect. Just perfect.” The voice was back, angrier than ever. “As if you weren’t already the biggest pain in the fucking ass in history, now you’re a drunk pain in the fucking ass.”
I made a light sound of protest.
“Open your eyes, Red.” His fingers traced my jawline lightly, and it felt good — so, so good. “Come on, time to wake up.”
I leaned my head into his touch so my cheek rested in his palm and listened to the breath hiss between his lips in a sharp exhale. He muttered a few words I couldn’t make out under his breath, and suddenly, his hands disappeared from my face altogether.
Some small, sober part of my brain was screaming that it was a good thing he’d backed off, but mostly I felt the loss of his touch like a physical blow. I wanted it back.
I opened my mouth to say so, but was cut off when he spoke again. This time, there was no anger in his voice — it was soft, coaxing.
“Faith.”
&n
bsp; My eyes cracked open.
His face was inches from mine, illuminated by the firelight. We were so close, I could’ve counted his eyelashes, if I’d been clearheaded enough to count anything. His gaze burned into mine, hotter than the fire mere feet away, and all I could think was that he was absolutely, unquestionably the most gorgeous human being ever to walk this earth.
“You’re beautiful,” I told him, my voice sounding slurred even to my own ears.
His crooked smile appeared. “And you’re piss-drunk.”
“Nuh-uh,” I said, grinning goofily. “Am not.”
“Whatever you say.” He shook his head slightly, but his voice was amused. “Can you walk?”
I blew out an incredulous puff of air. “Totally.”
He pulled back and watched from a few feet away as I struggled to sit upright. As soon as my torso went perpendicular to the ground, the world around me began to spin dizzily. I could feel my body swaying in place, until two solid hands landed on my shoulders and steadied me.
“Totally,” he agreed wryly.
I tried — and failed — to narrow my eyes at him. “Are you mocking me?”
“Never.” His grin was back. “Can you put your arms around my neck, at least?”
“Why?”
“Time to put you to bed.”
“Ohhh, how presumptuous of you.” I giggled and draped my arms over his shoulders.
He laughed. “I’m not sure who you’re going to be angrier at in the morning — me, for witnessing this, or yourself, for downing a half-bottle of Jameson.”
Before I could retort, his arms looped under my knees and around my back, as he lifted me from the ground. My head immediately fell into the hollow of his throat. I focused my spinning eyes on the vein in his jugular, watching it thrum with each beat of his heart.
“I won’t be mad,” I protested, snuggling into his chest and pressing my nose against his warm skin.
“I very much doubt that.” The rumble of his laugh vibrated my entire body.
I sighed and closed my eyes as I listened to the screen door creaking open. Wes’ steps were steady as he crossed the cabin toward the bed. He came to a stop and began to shift me in his arms, preparing to set me down.
I didn’t want him to.
So, I pressed my lips against his neck and felt his entire body tense tighter than a bowstring.
His spine went ramrod straight as my tongue slipped between my lips, gently tracing the pounding vein in his neck. I worked one of my hands up into his hair as I pressed light, wet kisses against his skin. His arms tightened around me like steel bands and his voice cut through the air like glass.
“Faith. Stop.”
I didn’t stop. Instead, I nipped at his skin with my teeth and was rewarded when he growled in response.
Before I knew it, my hands and lips were touching nothing but air as he tore my body from his and tossed me, none too gently, onto the bed. My whole frame bounced with the force of it. I glared up at him hotly, pissed off by his rough treatment, and saw his face was set in stone, his arms muscles bulging into cords as his hands clenched in tight fists by his sides.
He stared at me for a long moment, sprawled on the bed looking up at him with a haze of lust and liquor in my eyes. He said nothing but, as I watched a muscle tick in his jaw, I thought he looked like a man pushed to his breaking point and forced to hover there for far too long… like someone on the verge of snapping.
He was breathing hard, his nostrils flaring with each labored pull of oxygen. His eyes were darker than I’d ever seen them. His mouth tightened, his lips holding in words I was sure he wanted to scream at me, but he was silent as he simply turned on his heel and walked away. I heard the distant, splintering sound of wood as the screen slammed closed. Normally, his anger would’ve concerned me. Right now, though, my eyes were already drifting shut.
I fell back against the pillows and consciousness faded once more.
* * *
Shit.
Total mortification consumed me before I’d even opened my eyes.
I had a raging headache and one hell of a hangover, but that was nothing compared to the pain I felt when I thought back to my actions last night.
I’d called him beautiful.
And I’d licked his neck like some kind of sex-crazed, whiskey-fueled hooker.
Jesus Christ. I was never drinking again.
At least, not until I was out of this cabin and far, far away from this man who made all my common sense flee faster than my self-control.
I fell back against the bed, pressed a pillow against my face to muffle the sound, and screamed until my breath ran out.
“So, you’re awake.”
Shit.
I pulled the pillow away and lifted my head to peek at the man who’d just walked inside the cabin. I tried to gather my composure as I sat up and ran a hand through my hair, but it was hard to feel composed when I was still wearing yesterday’s clothes and my mouth tasted like day-old whiskey.
Perfect.
“Advil,” he said, nodding toward the small bedside table where he’d placed two tablets and a glass of water.
“Thanks,” I whispered, reaching out a shaky hand for them. Within seconds, I’d swallowed the pills and drained the glass, my hangover improving almost instantly.
He nodded. “Next time you plan on being an idiot, getting piss-drunk, and falling asleep outside, do me a favor and tell me first. By the time I got to you, you were half-frozen.”
“I didn’t plan it,” I muttered, feeling a blush rise to my cheeks.
“The passing out part?” he asked, his voice dropping to that dangerously soft tone. “Or the trying to kiss me part?”
My eyes fell to the quilt and I felt my stomach clench. “I didn’t plan any of it,” I snapped. “But thanks so much for throwing it in my face and affirming, once and for all, that you’re not even remotely a gentleman.”
He scoffed. “It took you this long to figure that out?”
I raised my eyes to his. “Sorry, it’s a little hard to keep track of what’s real and what’s fake when it comes to you and your ever-changing identities.”
His eyes narrowed in anger. “I was never a gentleman and I never pretended to be. Even back then.” He took a step closer. “That’s what you liked about me. And, if you were honest with yourself for a goddamn minute, you’d realize it’s what you still like about me.”
I threw a pillow at him. “I don’t like anything about you.”
“You’re a shitty liar.” His cocky grin made me scream.
“Don’t pretend you understand me.” My voice was dark as I scrambled to my feet. “You don’t know anything about me!”
“I know you’re a fucking minx who drives me up a wall.”
“Well, you’re a bastard! And a liar!”
“Find a new insult, Red. That one’s wearing thin.”
I fought the urge to throw a lamp at his head. “You… You’re an arrogant, domineering prick.”
“And you’re a royal pain in my ass who’d rather fight with me than admit she still cares.” He stepped closer and I backed away until I felt my shoulders hit the wall. He kept coming, until only a foot or so separated our bodies. My chest heaved with anger as I glared up at him, daring him to close the distance between us. If he tried, I’d punch him.
“I don’t care about you,” I gritted out between clenched teeth. “I never cared about you.”
“Now who’s the liar?” he asked, his eyes glinting darkly.
“Still you. Always you.”
“Fine, you don’t want lies. Let’s see if you like the truth any better. I have a feeling you won’t.” He stepped closer, and the space between us dwindled to inches. I inhaled sharply at his sudden proximity. Though he wasn’t touching me, I could feel the heat of his body and his breath ghosted across my lips when he spoke.
“Truth number one: I want you and you want me. I’ve wanted you from the minute I first saw you in Budapest, and I kno
w you feel the same. You might hate me, but your body doesn’t, Red.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but he cut me off.
“Truth number two: you and I drive each other crazy. We fight constantly, we push each other’s boundaries, and we’re probably more likely to kill each other than go more than a day without screaming our heads off. But that fire between us — it’s hot and it’s real and I couldn’t fabricate it if I tried. Neither could you. The only time you’re not yelling at me is when your mouth is pressed hard against mine, which seems to piss you off but, frankly, doesn’t bother me a damn bit.”
I huffed.
“Truth number three: I don’t know where you’ve been for the past three years because, if I did, we’d have been having this conversation a whole lot sooner. I don’t know who you’ve been with or what you’ve done to occupy your time, but I do know one thing.” He leaned closer and made sure to annunciate every word so I couldn’t possibly tune him out. “You’ve been hiding, Red. But not because you were scared I’d come looking for you. No — you were scared of what you knew would happen between us when I did.”
Every bit of saliva evaporated from my mouth as I processed those words, recognizing the truth in them even as I tried to conjure a denial. I pulled in a shaky breath.
“That’s not true…” I muttered weakly.
He paid me no attention.
“Truth number four: I didn’t give a damn about you when we first met. It wasn’t personal — I’d never really given a damn about anyone before. But from the moment you fell into my arms in Heroes’ Square and started talking a million miles a minute, you began to change me into someone different. Someone better.” His hands came up and he braced himself against the wall, his arms caging me in. Still, not an inch of his body touched mine. I pressed my eyes closed, hoping it would help me stay in control.
“Truth number five,” he whispered. A tremble moved through my entire body. “This is my last one, Red, so pay attention.”
Love & Lies Page 74
