by Mara Black
"Seems to make you happy." She looked down at me thoughtfully from the exam table.
I'd never thought about it. I certainly wasn't unhappy when I worked like this. It gave me something to focus on, something to quiet the voices. Even the Viper didn't bother me when I was focused on a task.
"I heard something, once," she said. "Don't know how true it is. Especially nowadays. But they say that happiness is fifty percent genetic, and only ten percent circumstantial. The other forty percent is whatever we make for ourselves."
I snorted quietly.
"Right," Autumn went on. "I'd like to hear someone make that claim while they're starving in the streets. But the point is...people are happiest when they're doing something they love. In the zone. For some people it's gardening, or painting, or whatever. Maybe for you, it's practicing medicine."
Why are you telling me this?
Why do you care if I'm happy?
How can you even look at me, without feeling disgusted?
"Maybe," I said. "Don't know how that helps me now."
She cleared her throat lightly. "The Syndicate, you know - I bet they could always use more doctors."
Taking a deep breath, I focused on my task. She was right about one thing; now that I was paying attention, I could feel the sense of calm spreading through me. "I was only pre-med. That was a long time ago."
"Better than nothing," she said. "Probably better than this."
I looked up at her. "Do you want to join them?"
She half-shrugged, looking like a deer in the headlights. "I don't think I'd be very useful."
"Why not? You're smart. You'll do anything to survive." I felt a wave of bitterness rise in my chest. "Better than nothing. Better than this."
"They don't need another person to protect," she said, softly. "Another useless mouth to feed."
Was that really how she saw herself?
"Stop it," I said, firmly. "Don't talk about yourself like that."
"Oh," she said. "Are you the only one allowed to insult me?"
I grimaced. "Yes. As a matter of fact, that's exactly the rule."
Don't leave.
I'd cut out my own tongue before I said those words, but it was all I could hear in my head. She wanted to. She wanted to get away from me, to be with him. To try and be a force for good. How could I possibly resent her for that?
Oh, but I did.
Swallowing down bile, I ripped off the final pieces of the cast. Her leg was a little atrophied, the skin over her wound ugly and scabbed. But it was healed. The pain was much better than it had been, and with some help, she was able to walk with only a little limp.
Helping her back into the house, with my arm wrapped around her waist, I bit the words back one more time.
Don't leave.
I was slightly mollified by the fact that she seemed to want me there, too. But that wasn't in the cards for me. I was no freedom fighter.
If she went to the Syndicate, she went alone.
There was a certain aching inevitability to it. She would go. She felt she had to, and I couldn't possibly argue. Once her leg was healed, there would be nothing keeping her here. And why should she stay? She deserved better.
She deserved a man like him.
My stomach churned at the thought. He might not be what she wanted, but he could probably make her happy. He could make her laugh. His smiles came easily, and he'd never hurt her. Not if he could help it.
I'd never be carefree. I'd never be able to love her. Try as I might, I'd never be the man who would stop in a field to pick her wildflowers.
When I thought back to that night, the way I'd thrown his bouquet into the fire, I cringed. What an utterly childish display. Completely, unforgivably ridiculous.
I'd do it all again.
No matter how logical I tried to be, I couldn't escape the tidal wave of feelings when it came to her. It knocked me down, sweeping me in the undertow and surfacing me God knows where with a mouthful of seawater and not a fucking clue how to get back to dry land.
Until now, I'd never understood why people compared women to the ocean.
"Are you making dinner?"
I turned around, trying to rearrange my face into an impassive mask. I realized I'd been standing over the kitchen sink for an untold amount of time, holding a tomato in one hand and an empty glass in the other.
Autumn was half-smiling, very earnestly. She hadn't spent much time in the kitchen since she broke her leg, and I'd relished the solitude. Everything was easier when I didn't have to look at her.
"Yes," I said. I set the tomato down, and then the glass, trying to figure out why I'd been holding them in the first place. "Just weighing a few options."
"May I help?" Her hands were clasped in front of her. I groaned inwardly. Was she trying to resurrect our game?
I couldn't do this anymore. It was a huge mistake, letting it slip back in when I'd first put her cast on. She didn't belong to me. She never would. I hated it when she pretended.
Except - I didn't.
"You may," I said, hearing my voice rumble with promise that had lain dormant for too long. A warm anticipation spread through my veins. "Get the basil out of the fridge. Just a handful."
Her chest rose and fell, hypnotically. "Yes, Sir."
God damn it.
I was lost. Every ounce of deferred arousal rushed in my blood, making me lightheaded. I gripped the edge of the counter, my cock growing painfully hard in an instant. My balls ached. My nerves clamored with the need for release.
How I'd held back this long, I'd never know.
The doubts and hesitations still hummed in the back of my mind, but I couldn't let them rule me anymore. My throat dry, head pounding, I found the presence of mind to beckon her closer.
She drifted to me, eyelids heavy. "Is everything all right?"
I swallowed hard, forcing my brain to one last coherent thought.
"I need you to answer me something," I said. "Honestly."
"Of course," she said. Her lips were parted, breaths coming quick and shallow. Her eyes darted down to my lap.
I stared at the countertop, to keep myself from looking at her, and losing any more of the last few shreds of self-control I had left. "How can you still want me?"
She laughed softly.
"Hell. I've been trying to answer that question since I woke up in your barn."
The last of my resistance shattered. I reached out and pulled her against me, groaning, my knees buckling when her hand grasped me tightly. Lifting her dress, I slid my fingers between her folds. Hot and slippery, blooming open with arousal, and maybe - just maybe - almost as desperate as me.
She rubbed the palm of her hand against the underside of my cock, trapped under the fabric of my pants. It was rough and harsh and not nearly what I wanted, but it was something. I surged. It had been too fucking long. My toes already curled inside my boots.
Panting, she stumbled against me. "Fuck, fuck."
I loved the filthy sound on her lips. Curling my arm around her back, I held her close. My mouth against the juncture of her neck and shoulder. As the unstoppable rush of pleasure slammed through me, I bit down. Hard.
Crying out, she collapsed against me. I dimly felt her inner muscles twitching and quivering against my fingers, a gush of wetness signaling her climax loud and clear. The coppery taste of blood was sharp on my tongue.
I slithered to the floor, taking her with me.
"You bit me," she whispered, with a lopsided grin.
I took a moment to drink her in - eyes dark and glassy with passion, hair coming loose from her ponytail. Cheeks flushed, lips swollen. And the little welling of blood left from where my teeth marred her perfect skin.
"Don't worry." I licked my lips, staring at her. She might have made me come, like a fucking schoolboy, in my pants - but I was nowhere near satisfied. "Nothing that's wrong with me is contagious."
She blinked, languidly. "I wouldn't be so sure about that."
; "Come here." I pulled her against me, letting her curl her body against my chest. She felt so small, like this - so vulnerable. For once, I wanted her closeness. I didn't feel the immediate need to push her away.
Later, soon, I'd find some of that grain alcohol and clean the wound I'd left. Jokes were jokes, but I didn't actually want her suffering from my lack of self-control. I was stupid to let myself break the skin. It wasn't safe.
But it was so, so sweet.
"Be careful when you make a woman cry. God counts her tears."
I stared at the ceiling, the sound of the clock ticking in the corner keeping time to my madness. Someone said that to me once. A teacher, I thought, or a friend of my mother's. The memory was long faded now, but the words stayed forever. I turned them around and around in my mind, scornfully.
There was no such thing as God. But if there was, he'd have enough to drown me in.
After our encounter in the kitchen, I spent a long time just holding Autumn in my arms. I wanted more, I wanted to touch her and taste her, to really sink inside her for the first time. But instead, I stroked her hair. I felt her heartbeat thudding against mine.
It was almost...normal.
After I showered and changed, I looked at myself in the mirror. Nothing seemed different. But I felt it, deep inside the pit of my stomach. Autumn and I had touched each other, made each other come, enough times before - but we'd never made love.
We still hadn't. Not really. But no matter how desperate and quick and filthy, this still felt like something more.
And it terrified me.
A heavy, sinking feeling was taking over my chest. My mind startled tumbling the same thought over and over again. This is you. It's real. You're here. This is now. This is real.
Fuck, not this again.
I tried to force my mind to separate, to focus on anything else - but it was already useless. The tightness started in my chest, spreading, spreading, and my heart was beating so fast I was sure it would give out.
THIS IS REAL.
My hands clenched into fists, as the hideous hyper-awareness took control. My body felt impossibly heavy, while my brain screamed pure fucking panic.
Autumn.
Through the fog, blessedly, I remembered that she existed. I'd endured these attacks alone for so long, I had almost forgotten, in the thick of it. Would it help? Just seeing her, just feeling another human presence in the room?
I had to try.
Throat dry, pulse pounding, I jumped to my feet and crept to her room. The door was slightly ajar. When did she start leaving it like that?
I nudged it open a few more inches, and stepped inside.
Instantly, I felt a flood of relief in my body. My mind quieted, focusing on her soft breathing, the way her eyelids fluttered in her dreams. My heartbeat began to slow.
She was like a fucking drug. Her presence calmed the demons, who were determined to drive me out of my mind once and for all.
I could have woken her, but I didn't. All I needed was to know that she was there. To reassure myself that there were still other people in the world. That I wasn't alone.
My bed was so conspicuously empty.
So order her to come sleep with you. She can't say no.
But even the Viper was a little pale, a little shaky. He couldn't remain unaffected by my little episodes - and that was a small comfort.
I didn't fucking want that. I wanted her in my bed because she couldn't stay away. Because she felt the same thing I did. The connection. The thread.
It was always working, always tugging us closer together. I couldn't be in the same room without wanting to touch her. I couldn't touch her without wanting to kiss her. I couldn't kiss her without wanting to taste her. I couldn't taste her without wanting to fuck her.
She felt something too. I could tell. But I was just too fucked-up for her to give in to it.
I'd tried. I really had. For days, weeks at a time, I'd made a good faith effort. I'd tried to be normal. But it was too late. After the way I'd treated her on that first night, sneering at her fear and suffering, dragging her into my room and groping her - there was no going back.
I still hated myself for that, as much as the memory still gave me a hard-on.
It was impossible for me to behave like a normal human. Anger still throbbed in my blood when I thought about her watching me. I'd been ready for her, in case she really was sent to kill me. I was watching - which was how I noticed in the first place. But she didn't have a weapon, or a plan. She just wanted to see me. She wanted to see things I wasn't ready to show her.
And for that, she had to suffer. My mind went red. She wasn't a person anymore, just a doll for my amusement.
Yet I held back. So many things I could have done to her, wanted to do, but didn't. How was it possible that my conscience was so unscathed? All of my good impulses were drowned out, but I still had all the guilt of an ordinary man. That was the only reason why I didn't break her completely. At first, I thought maybe it was because I wanted to toy with her. But I surprised myself.
I actually cared for this girl.
And that was dangerous. That was when I withdrew, like she'd bitten me. I couldn't handle caring. Not again.
Last time, it almost killed me.
I'm still covered in reminders of what it means to care. Sometimes, the lingering aches and twinges from my caring still keep me up at night.
Stay cold. Switch it off. The only way to survive.
And here I was, sticking my neck out for this girl. In total defiance of every principle I'd been living since I escaped from that hell.
She'll send you straight back.
That's exactly what they wanted.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
A Good Listener
Tate
The pain is a constant thing.
It's not emotional. It is a deep and physical ache, lodged in my chest where no surgeon could ever hope to find it. It's as real as a snakebite or a broken leg. It is not the sting of a whip or the heavy thud of a bat against my ribs, although I still have a twinge when I breathe in deep.
If all the broken things from my past were like vicious shards, embedded deep, an ache I'd grown used to - didn't know how to live without -
Then Autumn was like a paper cut. Sharp and bright and sudden. Unexpected. Hurting more than it had any right to.
All these years I have been waiting. Expecting. A knock on the door, and the chunk of a silenced bullet would put me out of my misery. Some days, I prayed for it - or would have, if I believed anyone was listening. I couldn't do it myself. Not unless they came for me first. I stayed alive in defiance of them, but my final act of rebellion would be my refusal to go into captivity.
That was how I imagined it.
Instead, they sent another kind of pain. Not the hot and cold of a bullet, spreading through my chest, making my vision slowly go black. They sent a pain I'd have no choice but to endure. Knowing my compassion was my downfall.
Autumn walked around my house like a dancer, toe-heel, ever since I had told her that her footsteps were too loud. I only noticed because it was a sign of her healing. But the Viper felt the need to say something. I hated it. I hated her silence, I wanted to hear her feet thumping on the ancient wood as she ran to me. I wanted to hear her laughter echo in the halls.
And the dark poison in my veins wanted the opposite. Fucking pain. Tears. Screaming. Begging.
The conflict threatened to tear me apart. And that was exactly what they wanted. Holland's final taunt. Giving me a gift I couldn't refuse, a girl I would have to help, a girl who would make me remember everything I wanted to forget.
On the night she ran away, I ran to the sound of her scream like the wind. Knowing what must have happened, and knowing that if I let her die, that would be the end for me.
Why didn't you wear the fucking boots?
She felt bound to me for protection, but that night, I had pushed her too far. Trying to punish her for my sins. I had done it, k
nowing it was wrong, knowing she didn't deserve it - any of this - because I wanted her to run.
I understood why she didn't. Years ago, I'd met the man who killed her parents. The man who wanted her dead. Of course I couldn't have known the connection. I had never met her, and likely wouldn't have cared if I did. A lot of people died senselessly every day. And Birdy was the kind of man who made it happen.
Yes, I'd met the man. I'd shaken his hand, though I would never tell her that. The point was that I understood. I'd looked Birdy in the eyes, and I'd seen the same thing I saw in Holland's. Pure fucking evil.
No wonder Autumn thought she was better off with me. I was the lesser of two evils.
A ringing endorsement, from a woman who'd sold her soul for a hot meal.
The bitter aftertaste of self-hatred tinged my words. You did the same thing.
Yes, but I got out. I escaped. I did everything, rather than let them sell me.
Only because you're a coward. They're the survivors. The ones who endure.
Slamming my palms against my forehead, I banished the thoughts.
A soft noise crept into my awareness. I stood up, stalking over to the door. Straining my ears to hear it better.
"I don't know, do you think he'd even notice? Or care?"
As quietly as I could, I made my way towards the sound of Autumn's voice. It was somewhere on this floor, not too far away.
Who the fuck is she talking to?
"I just think maybe...hey, you missed a spot over there, buddy. Or...okay, I guess you could just ignore me." A sigh. "Like always."
With a bitter twist, I realized what it was. But I had to see it with my own eyes. She was in the billiards room, and the door was open a crack. I pressed my eye to it, looking.
The robot vacuum whizzed its way around the floor, in random patterns that made sense only to it. And Autumn sat, curled up in a chair in the corner.
Talking to a fucking vacuum cleaner.
Without warning, the little shit started careening its way towards the door. Autumn's eyes followed, and I jumped back, right onto the loudest creaking board in the entire hallway. The only creaking board in the entire hallway.
